removal of dog shit remained the problem of the kid concerned. It was easy to identify Pansyâs group: they were lolling insensible in their chairs and some had already been carried up to bed, their legs useless having seized up on the coach. Jacquie was upstairs putting Nolan to bed. This involved stripping off his clothes and replacing them with pyjamas. Washing is for mornings when on holiday, was a time-honoured Maxwell family motto.
When he judged that most of his charges had finished eating, he moved in like a ninja. The main skill here was getting them up to bed before they got their second wind. The timing was vital â too soon and they were back to full wakefulness beforethey got into bed and then ran screaming like banshees round the hotel until the wee small hours. Too late and they had to be carried insensible one by one up to their rooms, which was a tall order for even a team of teachers and he was alone on this one. Taking each child on their own merits, according to various clues such as speed of head nod, degree of eyelid droop, he walked round the room touching them lightly on the shoulder and suggesting in the low voice he had cultured over the years that they were tired and might want to go up to bed. It worked on everyone except for the traveller in underwear who was somewhat surprised to get such a suggestion from a man no longer in the first flush of youth. He had taken a bit of a shine to Pansy Donaldson in the bar the previous night, but he was aware that you couldnât be lucky every time.
With everyone safely stowed away, Maxwell ensconced himself at what he already considered to be âhisâ table out on the decking and relaxed with a large Southern Comfort to the sound of the gentle waves lapping far out on the shingly beach as it turned at low tide. The air was still warm, and as he turned his head the most enormous harvest moon crept up out of the sea, reflecting in the still water. Someone came and sat beside him, and stroked his cheek to say hello. He assumed from this that it was Jacquie, but since seeing the gleam in the travellerâs eye, he preferred not to turn his head.
âItâs beautiful,â she said. Thank goodness; it
was
his wife.
âI donât think Iâve ever seen the moon so big.â He turned his head to look at her, âUnless they cheat, like in
Bruce Almighty.
â He widened his eyes. âYou donât think thereâs anything in this Nostradamus thing, do you? Twenty-twelve, all that?â
She gave him a light punch on the arm. âNo, idiot.â Her face grew serious. âBut if there is, Iâd be OK. My men are here, except the Count and he is needed at Happy Paws, to organise the evacuation.â
He blew her a kiss. âI must say, I canât take the number 2012 very seriously. Do you remember when Nole used to count like that? Twenty-eleven, twenty-twelve, twenty-thirteen?â
âYes, Max, I can,â she said. âIt was last week.â
âAs recently as that? I suppose Mrs Whatmough knocked it out of him as being too darned cute.â At the mention of her name, a shadow passed across the moon.
One by one, the staff trickled down and joined them on the deck. They all sat transfixed by the enormous satellite and sipped their drinks in silence. They were all content that the day had been a success, that everyone had seemed to have had a good time and, as Izzy Medlicott remarked, nobody died. Only she knew that she was quoting a song by Nickelback. In the weeks to come, everyone would remember where they were when she said it.
Chapter Six
It was amusing to watch Year Seven straggle down to breakfast that Sunday morning. There was not so much as a single spring in any step â some were only making due progress by holding on to furniture or less crocked-up friends. It was, as Sylvia Matthews remarked to her husband, a very good way of getting to know each other, when you would fall
When he judged that most of his charges had finished eating, he moved in like a ninja. The main skill here was getting them up to bed before they got their second wind. The timing was vital â too soon and they were back to full wakefulness beforethey got into bed and then ran screaming like banshees round the hotel until the wee small hours. Too late and they had to be carried insensible one by one up to their rooms, which was a tall order for even a team of teachers and he was alone on this one. Taking each child on their own merits, according to various clues such as speed of head nod, degree of eyelid droop, he walked round the room touching them lightly on the shoulder and suggesting in the low voice he had cultured over the years that they were tired and might want to go up to bed. It worked on everyone except for the traveller in underwear who was somewhat surprised to get such a suggestion from a man no longer in the first flush of youth. He had taken a bit of a shine to Pansy Donaldson in the bar the previous night, but he was aware that you couldnât be lucky every time.
With everyone safely stowed away, Maxwell ensconced himself at what he already considered to be âhisâ table out on the decking and relaxed with a large Southern Comfort to the sound of the gentle waves lapping far out on the shingly beach as it turned at low tide. The air was still warm, and as he turned his head the most enormous harvest moon crept up out of the sea, reflecting in the still water. Someone came and sat beside him, and stroked his cheek to say hello. He assumed from this that it was Jacquie, but since seeing the gleam in the travellerâs eye, he preferred not to turn his head.
âItâs beautiful,â she said. Thank goodness; it
was
his wife.
âI donât think Iâve ever seen the moon so big.â He turned his head to look at her, âUnless they cheat, like in
Bruce Almighty.
â He widened his eyes. âYou donât think thereâs anything in this Nostradamus thing, do you? Twenty-twelve, all that?â
She gave him a light punch on the arm. âNo, idiot.â Her face grew serious. âBut if there is, Iâd be OK. My men are here, except the Count and he is needed at Happy Paws, to organise the evacuation.â
He blew her a kiss. âI must say, I canât take the number 2012 very seriously. Do you remember when Nole used to count like that? Twenty-eleven, twenty-twelve, twenty-thirteen?â
âYes, Max, I can,â she said. âIt was last week.â
âAs recently as that? I suppose Mrs Whatmough knocked it out of him as being too darned cute.â At the mention of her name, a shadow passed across the moon.
One by one, the staff trickled down and joined them on the deck. They all sat transfixed by the enormous satellite and sipped their drinks in silence. They were all content that the day had been a success, that everyone had seemed to have had a good time and, as Izzy Medlicott remarked, nobody died. Only she knew that she was quoting a song by Nickelback. In the weeks to come, everyone would remember where they were when she said it.
Chapter Six
It was amusing to watch Year Seven straggle down to breakfast that Sunday morning. There was not so much as a single spring in any step â some were only making due progress by holding on to furniture or less crocked-up friends. It was, as Sylvia Matthews remarked to her husband, a very good way of getting to know each other, when you would fall
Similar Books
