spent countless hours creating appropriate costumes for Jeremy Bear and these were packed carefully in an ancient picnic basket under the counter.
I said goodbye to Miss Golightly, put the newspaper in my duffel-coat pocket, wrapped my old college scarf a little tighter round my neck and walked out to my car. At the top of the High Street, the coloured lights on the giant Christmas tree in the centre of the village green shone brightly through the gloom. As I drove through the school gates, Ruby was shaking a carton of salt over the frozen steps in front of the main entrance.
‘Good mornin’, Mr Sheffield,’ shouted Ruby. ‘Watch y’step: it’s jus’ like glass.’
The warmth of the office was welcoming as I hung up my duffel coat and scarf. Strangely, Vera was not at her desk, so I walked through to the staff-room.
Jo Maddison was showing Anne her new lipstick. ‘Ninety-nine pence in Miss Selfridge,’ she said. ‘Dan says he likes this colour.’
I had never considered the six-feet-four-inch Sunderland-born policeman to be an expert in the subtleties of lipstick shades, but I guessed that his relationship with Jo had reached another level, whereas mine with Beth was moving at a slower pace.
‘Good morning, Jack,’ said Anne cheerfully. ‘If you’re looking for Vera, she’s in the hall, helping Sally prepare for her meeting.’
I remembered that Sally had arranged a meeting with parents after morning assembly at nine-thirty. Class 3 had begun their ‘Christmas Around the World’ topic and Sally had invited any parents who could help with books, photographs, artwork and general advice to call in.
In the hall, Sally and Vera were sorting through a collection of Vera’s postcards of European capitals. I recalled the photographs of Jeremy Bear.
‘Miss Golightly in the General Stores has lots of photographs of her trips round the world,’ I said.
Vera suddenly looked very interested. ‘You’re right, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. ‘The children would love to hear about her travels with Jeremy.’
‘Jeremy?’ said Sally.
‘That’s her teddy bear,’ explained Vera, in a very matter-of-fact way. ‘And it would do her good to get out of that shop once in a while.’
‘Fine,’ said Sally. Having in her youth wandered round the muddy fields of the Glastonbury Festival wearing nothing but strategically placed flowers and skimpy hot pants, she was not taken aback by the thought of someone going on holiday with a teddy bear. ‘Shall I go round and ask her?’
Vera thought for a moment. ‘No, it’s better if I go, but we shall need Ruby to look after the shop for her. She trusts Ruby,’ said Vera. ‘Don’t worry, Sally, I know what to do.’
Vera was deep in thought as she walked back with me to the school office. I noticed that she looked particularly smart this morning in a brand-new dark pin-striped suit and she had obviously been to Diane’s Hair Salon for a stylish perm. She looked very businesslike as she settled behind her desk.
‘And don’t forget, Mr Sheffield,’ she said, checking the school diary, ‘that the Major is calling in to see you at ten-thirty.’
I could have sworn that Vera’s cheeks flushed for a moment, but once she had inserted a sheet of paper into her typewriter she looked her usual self.
I had met Major Rupert Forbes-Kitchener briefly on various committees but I had never spent time with him. He was a popular local character and a welcome replacement for Stan Coe as a member of the school governors. It had proved a long, drawn-out process to remove the infamous Mr Coe, but, happily, the Major had been officially proposed and seconded and was now installed on the governing body. Since his wife died ten years ago, he had immersed himself in local charity work and had dabbled in politics. After his appointment, he had telephoned Vera and asked if he might have a tour of the school and meet the staff and children.
By half past nine, a group of around twenty
I said goodbye to Miss Golightly, put the newspaper in my duffel-coat pocket, wrapped my old college scarf a little tighter round my neck and walked out to my car. At the top of the High Street, the coloured lights on the giant Christmas tree in the centre of the village green shone brightly through the gloom. As I drove through the school gates, Ruby was shaking a carton of salt over the frozen steps in front of the main entrance.
‘Good mornin’, Mr Sheffield,’ shouted Ruby. ‘Watch y’step: it’s jus’ like glass.’
The warmth of the office was welcoming as I hung up my duffel coat and scarf. Strangely, Vera was not at her desk, so I walked through to the staff-room.
Jo Maddison was showing Anne her new lipstick. ‘Ninety-nine pence in Miss Selfridge,’ she said. ‘Dan says he likes this colour.’
I had never considered the six-feet-four-inch Sunderland-born policeman to be an expert in the subtleties of lipstick shades, but I guessed that his relationship with Jo had reached another level, whereas mine with Beth was moving at a slower pace.
‘Good morning, Jack,’ said Anne cheerfully. ‘If you’re looking for Vera, she’s in the hall, helping Sally prepare for her meeting.’
I remembered that Sally had arranged a meeting with parents after morning assembly at nine-thirty. Class 3 had begun their ‘Christmas Around the World’ topic and Sally had invited any parents who could help with books, photographs, artwork and general advice to call in.
In the hall, Sally and Vera were sorting through a collection of Vera’s postcards of European capitals. I recalled the photographs of Jeremy Bear.
‘Miss Golightly in the General Stores has lots of photographs of her trips round the world,’ I said.
Vera suddenly looked very interested. ‘You’re right, Mr Sheffield,’ she said. ‘The children would love to hear about her travels with Jeremy.’
‘Jeremy?’ said Sally.
‘That’s her teddy bear,’ explained Vera, in a very matter-of-fact way. ‘And it would do her good to get out of that shop once in a while.’
‘Fine,’ said Sally. Having in her youth wandered round the muddy fields of the Glastonbury Festival wearing nothing but strategically placed flowers and skimpy hot pants, she was not taken aback by the thought of someone going on holiday with a teddy bear. ‘Shall I go round and ask her?’
Vera thought for a moment. ‘No, it’s better if I go, but we shall need Ruby to look after the shop for her. She trusts Ruby,’ said Vera. ‘Don’t worry, Sally, I know what to do.’
Vera was deep in thought as she walked back with me to the school office. I noticed that she looked particularly smart this morning in a brand-new dark pin-striped suit and she had obviously been to Diane’s Hair Salon for a stylish perm. She looked very businesslike as she settled behind her desk.
‘And don’t forget, Mr Sheffield,’ she said, checking the school diary, ‘that the Major is calling in to see you at ten-thirty.’
I could have sworn that Vera’s cheeks flushed for a moment, but once she had inserted a sheet of paper into her typewriter she looked her usual self.
I had met Major Rupert Forbes-Kitchener briefly on various committees but I had never spent time with him. He was a popular local character and a welcome replacement for Stan Coe as a member of the school governors. It had proved a long, drawn-out process to remove the infamous Mr Coe, but, happily, the Major had been officially proposed and seconded and was now installed on the governing body. Since his wife died ten years ago, he had immersed himself in local charity work and had dabbled in politics. After his appointment, he had telephoned Vera and asked if he might have a tour of the school and meet the staff and children.
By half past nine, a group of around twenty
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