19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
I found Bertie and Pat playing chess in the sitting room. Neither looked up when I walked in, both engrossed in their next move. I perched myself on a chaise longue that had seen better days and watched Bertie’s forehead crease as he frowned at the board, moving the pawn in his hand back and forth until he picked the right move.
‘You took my knight,’ said Pat, throwing his head in his hands. ‘I thought you said you’d never played before?’
‘I haven’t, have I, Mum?’
‘No, he’s telling the truth, Pat.’ I smiled at Bertie, who grinned alternately at me and his opponent.
‘Then I think I’ve met my match.’
It took a further twenty minutes before the game concluded with Pat declaring check mate.
‘Good game, young man,’ said Pat, holding out his hand.
Bertie reached across and shook it. ‘Thank you for playing fairly. I hate it when people go easy on me ’cause I’m a kid.’
‘Well, well, a jolly good loser too. You’ve raised this boy well, Liv.’
‘Thank you.’ I wondered where Bertie had learned to be a good sport. Certainly not from his father, who flew into a temper reminiscent of McEnroe if he lost a tennis match, or any game for that matter. Mind you, with Hugo and Marion for parents, it was clear where Rob’s attitude came from.
‘What are your plans for today?’ Pat asked, packing away the chess set.
‘Actually, I was about to talk to Bertie about an idea I’ve had.’
‘That sounds like my cue to leave,’ said Pat. ‘Will you be swimming again tomorrow morning?’
‘Only if it’s not too much trouble for you to come up to the house again?’
‘Trouble?’ Pat laughed. ‘The only trouble will come if your son beats me at our re-match. I’m going to make myself a cup of tea before I head home. Would you like one?’
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
Pat left the room and Bertie came to sit beside me. ‘What did you want to talk to me about? Has Dad called you?’
‘No, darling, I’m afraid he hasn’t. I’ve been thinking about what we should do, and I wondered how you’d feel about staying here until the summer holidays?’
‘Really? We can stay longer?’
‘If that’s what you’d like?’
‘Yeah, I’d love it. I can help Harry with the animals and play chess with Pat. And Stephan said he’d take me fishing down at the lake.’
‘That all sounds wonderful, but if we stay here for a few months, we’ll have to see about you going back to school.’
Bertie’s eyes darkened. ‘But you said I’d never have to go back. If you make me see that polla Jack Jamison again, I’ll run away. I promise, I’ll do it.’
‘Bertie,’ I said, pulling him closer to me. ‘I’m not talking about sending you back to your old school. I thought we could see if there are any spaces at the local school in the village.’
Bertie frowned. ‘Or, I could not go to any school, and just learn how to do stuff on the farm.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not an option. You’ve got to go to school somewhere. It’s the law.’
‘You mean I’ll be arrested if I don’t go to school?’
‘No, but I could get a fine.’ I kept quiet about the option of home-schooling, knowing if I mentioned it, I’d never get Bertie to darken the door of any school ever again.
‘Can I come with you to look at the school?’
‘I don’t see why not, but we probably won’t get to see much. I’m going to call in and have a quick chat, then we can make an appointment to look round another time.’
‘Can we get some sweets from the shop while we’re there?’
I thought about the hundred pounds Dad had put in my account to tide me over. ‘OK. As long as we don’t spend too much. Until I start working, we’re going to have to be very careful with our money.’
Bertie nodded. ‘Can we see the school now?’
‘Yes, just let me have a cup of tea, then we’ll go.’
It was a mile walk along the track from the farm to the village, but Bertie chatted the whole way and we reached the village quickly. The village housed a post office and shop, a pub, a church and the school. Most of the houses were small stone cottages. Even the newer estate built on the outskirts of the village had houses clad in the same local stone. It was picturesque, with views out to moorland in one direction, and views to the river and valley in the other.
At the school gates, Bertie hesitated.
‘It’s OK, there’s nothing to worry about. We’re only finding out about spaces. I’m not signing you up for anything yet.’
Bertie took my hand, and we walked across a tarmacked playground to a Victorian building with large windows and a bright blue front door. I rang the doorbell, and a buzzer signalled we could enter.
The reception area was about as far from Bertie’s previous school as it was possible to get. The blue carpet was faded and worn through in places, and the walls looked in need of a lick of paint. Boards housed children’s drawings and photographs of the staff, who only numbered six.
‘Hello, can I help you?’
‘Hi,’ I said, peering through a perspex screen to be greeted by a middle-aged woman with bright pink hair. ‘I’m hoping for some information about the possibility of enrolling my son into the school. I wasn’t sure if you have any spaces.’
‘Have you just moved into the area?’
‘Yes, we’re staying at Lowen Farm.’
‘Oh, I know it well. I worked with Mr Nickson, sorry, Pat, for several years before he retired.’
‘He’s teaching me to play chess.’
‘Is he now? And who are you?’ asked the lady, leaning closer to her screen.
‘My name’s Alberto Simmons, but everyone I like calls me Bertie.’
‘What about those you don’t like?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
The pink-haired lady laughed. ‘Well, I hope you’ll let me call you Bertie?’
‘Yes. I like your hair.’
The lady laughed again. She turned to me. ‘Tell you what, I’ll fetch the head for you. If she has time, I’m sure she’ll be happy to give you a quick tour.’
‘Thank you.’
We’d only been waiting a couple of minutes when the pink-haired woman returned with a large lady who wore a suit, bow tie and a wide smile.
‘Good morning. I hear we may have a new recruit. I’m Mrs Grange, very pleased to meet you.’
‘Mrs Simmons,’ I said, shaking her hand. ‘But call me Liv.’
‘Nice to meet you, Liv. You can call me Mel.’
‘My name’s Alberto, but you can call me Bertie.’
‘Good,’ said Mel, clapping her hands together. ‘Now we’ve got names under our belts, would you like to have a look around?’
‘Yes, please.’
Mel led us through to a small hall, gym equipment packed to one side, and a stage set up in another corner. ‘We’re only a small school, as you can probably tell,’ said Mel, ‘but we like to punch above our weight.’
‘How many classes are there?’
‘Three, all mixed age-groups. They’re more of a challenge to teach, but we find it works well for our pupils. We run several after-school clubs, and of course we have my pride and joy, the brass band.’ Mel stopped beside a framed photograph on the wall. In it were about thirty children holding a variety of instruments. Mel sat in pride of place at the front, a French horn balanced on her knee. ‘My father was a brass teacher. When he died, instead of leaving me money in his will, he left it to the school on the condition we buy enough instruments for every pupil.’
I smiled, but wondered how I’d feel if my father made such an unusual bequest in his will.
‘I’d like to learn the trumpet,’ said Bertie.
‘Since when?’ I asked, trying to remember if he’d ever expressed an interest in music before.
‘For ages,’ he said, crossing his arms.
‘Hmm, you don’t find many trumpets in a brass band. How about a cornet? It’s just like a trumpet but produces a warmer sound. Does that sound OK?’
‘Yes,’ said Bertie with a grin.
‘Then cornet you shall learn, if you enrol in the school, of course.’
‘Do you have spaces?’ I asked, feeling the conversation was heading off in a brass band-themed tangent.
‘Oh yes. If you and Bertie decide this school is a good fit, we can fill out all the forms before you leave.’
I tried to focus as Mel showed us around each of the classrooms, but I was struggling to wrap my head around this recent turn of events. Last week I thought we were coming to Cornwall for a couple of weeks’ holiday, and now here we were, signing Bertie up to school, me taking on a new job, and with the prospect of sharing a bedroom with a beginner brass player.