and Maurice flowed until Anna checked her watch and an hour had gone by.
‘Bert, I need to make a move, but I’ll see you next week. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to bring? Different paper, biscuits?’ She almost offered something alcoholic but guessed that wouldn’t be allowed.
‘Assuming you can’t smuggle in a Guinness, I’d love a proper coffee. Americano with hot milk they call it. Sounds fancy but tastes bloody marvellous. They have instant here and it’s not the same. Here, let me pay you for it.’ He put his hand onto the table next to him and picked up a coaster and then put it down again quickly. ‘Now, where did I put my wallet?’
‘It’s okay, Bert, you can pay me when I bring it. Take care of yourself.’
‘Say hello to Maurice for me.’
‘I will,’ she said and she left. Bert had another feel about on the table for his wallet; he reached a bit further forward and his fingertips touched the familiar soft worn leather. He moved it to where he wanted it, folded the newspaper and put it in the bin next to him.
‘Bert,’ said Anna as she put her head back around his door. ‘Do you take sugar?’ She spotted the newspaper in the bin.
‘Uh. No, thanks,’ said Bert, clearly taken by surprise.
Anna paused for a moment, thinking. Pieces of a puzzle she had spotted before slotted into place. ‘You can’t see, can you?’
Bert sighed and continued to stare towards the window. ‘Nope, not much. I’m not totally blind but it’s not far off.’ His voice hardened. ‘That’s why they put me in here, said I wasn’t coping.’
‘And were you?’ asked Anna, returning to the footstool.
‘I like you; you ask the questions others want to avoid. And, no, towards the end I had a couple of falls. But one of those was because some stupid home help cleaner put the kitchen bin in the wrong place. That was not my fault … And I fed Maurice a tin of beef casserole.’
Anna laughed and Bert joined in. ‘No wonder he’s a fussy eater,’ said Anna, leaning over and picking the newspaper out of the bin. ‘I can stop a bit longer. Shall I read you the good bits out of the paper?’
Anna wondered if Bert’s pride would kick in but his mouth lifted at the edges. ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
‘Headlines or sport first?’
‘Always the sport,’ said Bert, getting himself comfortable.
Anna went home smiling and feeling like she’d made a friend. Probably the oddest friendship on the planet after the lion who made friends with a baby gazelle, but a friendship all the same. She liked Bert and, since her beloved grandad had passed away a few years ago, there was a vacancy in her life for someone like him. Her mobile signalled the arrival of a message. She took a quick peek when she stopped at the traffic lights: Hiya, A, How’s your weekend going? C.
Anna texted a quick reply: All good thanks :-) A and she pressed send quickly as the lights changed. Just as she was about to berate herself for not asking a question back, the phone started to ring and Anna felt a rush of excitement and something else: was it trepidation? She hadn’t banked on C calling her. She pressed the button on her steering wheel so she could answer and drive at the same time. ‘Hello,’ she said, her voice uncertain and cautious.
‘Hi, Anna. We thought you’d emigrated.’
‘Hi, Dad.’ Relief mixed with a little disappointment washed over her. ‘How are you?’
‘We’re fine apart from your mum spending all her time on Facebook. She says you haven’t done much recently.’ They were stalking her again.
‘I’ve been busy at work.’ Anna indicated and went around the traffic island.
‘Could you not just make some stuff up? Your mum worries.’ Anna shook her head. She loved her parents but sometimes they were a bit overwhelming.
Sophie found herself sitting outside Arlo’s classroom with mounting dread creeping up her spine. She’d had a phone call shortly after lunch asking if she could come in to discuss Arlo’s behaviour. They didn’t give her any other details and now she had gone over about eighty different scenarios in her head, each one more serious than the last. Arlo was sitting at her side swinging his legs and despite a thorough grilling, it appeared he genuinely didn’t have a clue as to why they were there either.
The door opened and Mrs Armitage beckoned her inside. ‘Arlo, please wait quietly whilst I speak to your mummy. We won’t be long.’
Sophie gave Arlo the look and followed the teacher inside.
‘Thanks for coming in at short notice but we felt we needed to nip this in the bud quite quickly.’
Sophie took the stupidly small child-sized seat that Mrs Armitage offered her and wondered if teachers did that on purpose to put you at a disadvantage. ‘Okay. What’s the problem?’ Sophie was already feeling defensive. Arlo was cheeky but it was part of his character, his interminable spirit. He wasn’t a bad kid.
‘It’s Arlo’s language. He’s been shouting swear words.’
Bollarding Dave, thought Sophie. She was careful to moderate her language around the children but Dave wasn’t as good. ‘Okay, I’m sorry. What’s he been saying exactly?’
As if on cue Arlo began running up and down outside the office shouting what sounded a lot like ‘Waaaaa-an-ker!’
And the teacher gave a curt nod at the door. ‘This is what he’s been shouting at the top of his voice for most of the day.’
Sophie had never felt this smug in all her life. ‘He’s into pirates so we went to London to see the Cutty Sark. One of the volunteers was quite theatrical and they told him what they used to shout and one of those things was weigh anchor.’ Sophie emphasised the last two words.
Arlo bellowed from the corridor. ‘Waaaa-an-ker!’
‘I think that’s fairly clear. Don’t you?’ Sophie raised one eyebrow and waited for Mrs Armitage to respond. She turned the colour any tomato would be proud of whilst Sophie revelled in her discomfort.
‘Oh, I see,’ said Mrs Armitage at last. ‘I’m sure you can see our confusion and …’
‘No,’ said Sophie, forcing herself to keep a straight face. ‘What else could a five-year-old possibly be saying?’
Mrs Armitage narrowed her eyes and Sophie wondered for a moment if perhaps she shouldn’t have backed her into this particular corner. ‘Arlo is a boisterous child who needs firm boundaries and …’
‘You shouldn’t jump to assumptions about him. Whilst he can be boisterous, on this occasion I think I’m right in saying he’s done nothing wrong.’
‘Indeed, Mrs Butterworth.’ Mrs Armitage dropped her head in defeat.
‘And if he starts saying something that sounds like Big Hairy Sex …’ she paused and Mrs Armitage tried to control a facial tick ‘… he’s talking about the film Big Hero Six. It’s his favourite at the moment.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Armitage, letting out a long breath. ‘Sorry to have wasted your time.’
Sophie was happy with the apology. ‘That’s fine. We’ll speak to him about being boisterous.’
‘Thank you.’ They both stood up and Sophie was thrilled that the little chair wasn’t stuck to her bottom as she’d feared it might be. She failed to hide her smug grin as she exited the room. Arlo was hurtling towards her and came to an abrupt halt.
‘Calm