FOUR

We stayed with Dad until the parents’ evening began to wind down at about eight thirty. During all this time the weather had stayed fine and warm and although the numbers coming to view the efforts of the Horticultural Club had gradually dwindled, Dad had still managed to spread the word on the arcane rituals necessary to entice asparagus to grow to at least a dozen more ever-so-slightly interested parties. The pupils were well behaved and most of them helped him clear away the tools and, as a reward, had been given a selection of vegetables to take home; they even managed to look slightly delighted. The shed locked, Dad clapped his hands together and asked, ‘Well? What did you think of her?’

I said with genuine honesty, ‘She seems very nice.’ Thankfully he didn’t ask me to comment on her son, daughter-in-law or grandchildren. Max agreed enthusiastically, and Dad was satisfied. Max added, ‘And you’ve achieved a lot here.’ She indicated the neat rows of vegetables and soft-fruit bushes.

‘Mr Silsby’s very pleased,’ admitted Dad. ‘Some of the lads and lasses who’ve been working here were quite troublesome, but this seems to have given them a bit of focus in life.’ He lowered his voice, although we were outside and unless there was a hidden microphone amongst the runner beans, it was unlikely that we would be overheard. ‘Ada’s grandson, particularly so.’

‘Really?’ I said, I think quite convincingly hiding the fact that I was not in the least bit surprised. ‘How come?’

‘Well . . .’ Another glance around, but he failed to spot the hordes of spies and eavesdropping equipment he evidently believed might be arrayed around us. ‘He’s got into quite a lot of trouble over the past couple of years. Very disruptive in class, truanting, threatening behaviour; he’s been caned on several occasions and once he even physically assaulted someone. Beat them up quite badly, actually. It was only because the poor chap didn’t want to press charges that nothing further came of it.’

I was saved having to make further surprised noises by Max who, bless her, said, ‘Gosh! I’d never have guessed.’

Dad smiled proudly. ‘That’s because he’s changed.’

‘You’ve changed him,’ she said, a sight too gushingly for my taste.

Before Dad could perjure himself with false modesty, a figure appeared in the doorway to the gym. I recognized him vaguely, which meant almost certainly he was a patient of the practice, although not registered with me, I thought. He was an inordinately tall and broad-shouldered man with cropped dark hair, unshaven features and the merest hint of a stoop as he poked his head out the doors to the gymnasium. ‘I’m locking up soon,’ he pronounced in a deep voice. He spoke slowly, with care, as if words were a thing new to him.

Dad waved and smiled at him. ‘OK, George.’

The figure retreated. Dad explained, ‘The caretaker, George Cotterill. Nice chap. He sometimes helps out in the garden; we often have a cup of tea together.’

The evening was progressing as we trudged back towards the front of the school. Dad was apparently amongst the blessed in this life, for he had been given a parking space close to the school buildings (I noticed that the Mayor’s reserved spaces were still empty, presumably because he had found something better to do with his evening – perhaps a statue to unveil or the freedom of Thornton Heath to convey upon someone), so we said goodnight to each other and Max and I began our expedition to the outer reaches of the known world where the car was parked. The sight of my BMW all alone, far from civilization, was slightly surreal; behind us, we could hear Dad turning over the engine of his bright red Hillman Avenger, the ‘Red Hornet’ – a sound that the denizens of Pollards Wood, where he lives, were well used to.

A further five minutes passed before we were in the car and retracing the bumpy, dusty way back to the school entrance. The Red Hornet was still there, its bonnet up, Dad daring to put his head in its maw; I drew up beside him. ‘Problem?’

I made him jump so that he hit his head on the bonnet and nearly dislodged its support. ‘For God’s sake!’ he said, rubbing his forever disordered hair. ‘Do be careful, Lance.’

‘Have you got a problem?’ I asked again, although it was obvious that he did.

‘Alternator’s been misbehaving for a while now. I’ve been meaning to buy a new one, but kept putting it off; I thought this one would see me through a couple more journeys.’ He sighed, ‘Apparently not, though.’

This was typical of Dad; he wasn’t about to replace a part of anything until it was not only dead, but mouldering in the ground and all but an archaeological exhibit. ‘You’d better leave it here for the night, Dad. We’ll give you a lift home.’

He hesitated, looking slightly shocked as if we had suggested leaving his ailing baby grandchild out on a hillside. ‘I suppose . . .’ he said eventually.

‘It’s getting dark, Dad. You can come back tomorrow and fit a replacement.’

It had probably been an easier decision when they decided where precisely to put the Iron Curtain, but he got there eventually. ‘All right,’ he sighed.

As we drove off, I saw him looking back at the school gates as if grieving, a man separated from his spouse for the first time in years.