Chapter 17 #2
‘The problem is Laila, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, could be a liability. She seems to be rebelling at everything at the moment. She’s fallen out with her foster parents, my daughter Jodie and her husband, who’ve had her since she was eleven, and she’s started to skip school.
It’s such a shame because she’s seventeen and so close to finishing.
Last year, she had a boyfriend who was two years older and not a good influence.
Then last week, she ran away from home. Jodie was beside herself.
’ Timothy sighed. ‘Laila has so much going for her. So much potential. I’ve been wrestling with how I can help. ’
‘Perhaps parents and child need a break from each other?’ Gemma suggested, remembering a time, at fifteen, when she’d hypothetically entertained running away from home.
Not because she wished to rebel but because she craved independence.
To be the master of her own destiny. Little did she understand then that you can never fully be in control of anything.
‘They do,’ Timothy replied. ‘I’ve agreed to have her stay with me on the boat. We’ve always got on well and we share a love of history.’
‘How wonderful that your daughter and son-in-law are foster parents,’ Gemma said. ‘It can’t be easy if you get attached to a child and don’t want them to leave.’
‘It is,’ Timothy agreed. ‘Jodie and Simon wanted to adopt Laila but they found out that if they did, she’d lose all ties to her birth mother and they didn’t want that. They hope she’ll have a relationship with her one day, but the birth mother is in prison on drug charges.’
‘Oh, no, poor kid,’ Nick said. ‘I don’t mind if she joins us, although she might not want to come to our meetings.’
‘Yes, and she may dismiss the club as something only for fuddy-duddy oldies …’ Timothy continued as if he was thinking aloud.
‘Thanks very much,’ Nick said, pretending to be offended.
‘You know what I mean. I suppose what I was thinking was that being by the river might help. I’m not sure precisely how but whatever teenage angst she has going on, a bit of mudlarking might do the trick.’
‘So bring her along to a group mudlark,’ Phyllida suggested. ‘She may be surprised and enjoy it.’
‘Great idea,’ Gemma added. ‘I can definitely vouch for its therapeutic benefits.’
‘All right let’s get that in the diary next,’ Phyllida said.
‘Thank you, everyone.’ Timothy nodded. ‘Now please tell us about your bead, Phyllida.’
‘Oh, yes, my pretty little bead. Look at it!’
Three heads leant forward. The small donut-shaped specimen had rolled to the right-hand corner of the bag. They could barely see it.
‘I’ve never found one this small before.
It’s a bit worn but I imagine it was once part of a beautifully decorated dress,’ Phyllida said.
‘Beads are everywhere in the river. If you can spot them, that is. Just because they can be colourful, they also get coated in mud like everything else. The Romans made them from glass and they were often pale blue. Later on, they were made from other materials like bone, pearl, stone and coral. From the late fifteenth century, beads were made from tubes of different coloured glass, making them look like pieces of a multi-coloured candy cane. They were used for trade. I’ve never found one of them before. That’s my goal.’
‘Nice one,’ Nick said.
‘Right, the kitty!’ Phyllida suddenly switched to club secretary mode. ‘What shall we put in to start with?’
‘Twenty pounds each?’ Timothy suggested.
‘Doesn’t it depend on what we’re going to be using it for?’ Gemma said.
‘I was thinking a bottle of wine here, coffees there …’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Nick said.
‘Maybe a lunch or two,’ Phyllida continued. Then, her eyes lit up. ‘I know! We could get guest speakers.’ Phyllida was getting carried away, but Gemma was becoming accustomed to her quick-fire, and changeable, thought process.
‘One of my Instagram followers is an historian, Megan O’Connor. I could see if she might like to come and talk.’ Phyllida looked skyward. ‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ she said and then documented it in her notebook. ‘All right, shall we put in twenty-five each to make it a hundred and see how we go?’
Nick stuck his hand in his pocket to get his wallet. But opening it up, he found it was cashless. ‘Does anyone carry money anymore?’
‘I do,’ Timothy said.
Gemma shook her head.
‘Bring it next time,’ Phyllida suggested.
‘Shall we definitely go mudlarking next time?’ Nick said.
‘I think so. Everyone in agreement raise their hand.’ Phyllida shoved two arms in the air.
Four other arms lifted, too, including both of Nick’s.
‘Let’s check the tides and make a date. I’ll send out the minutes tomorrow so we don’t forget.’
Gemma resisted the urge to do a military salute.
June Discoveries:
A late nineteenth-century penny (finally my coin finds are getting older).
A fragment of earthenware, which I’ve learnt is London salt-glazed stoneware from the early twentieth century.
A Georgian cufflink set with blue glass stones, which are so pretty I wouldn’t mind buying a man’s shirt just so that I can wear them.
A fast-food straw (why can’t people dispose of their rubbish?).
Three modern-day pennies which I put in the Thames charity box.
And how stepping out of your comfort zone isn’t so bad after all.