A Week in Winter(86)

‘I won’t forget working for you, Miss Howe.’

‘And I very much hope that Mrs Williams will see her way to keeping you.’

‘Yes, indeed. And thank you again for the gift. Will I open it now?’

‘Oh, please, no . . .’ Miss Howe withdrew in a sort of fastidious distaste, as if opening the gift would somehow sully this empty office.

The books had all been removed but the cheap hardboard shelves stood empty, ready to be removed in the next few days, although Miss Howe didn’t know this. There was no trace of anyone having worked here for so long.

‘Well, I will open it tonight, and let me thank you in advance for going to the trouble of choosing something for us. I do so appreciate it.’ There was sincerity radiating from all over Irene.

Miss Howe gave a little shudder at the familiarity of it all.

‘Well, I hope it will be suitable. One doesn’t know what to get, really. Especially when it’s a late marriage.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I mean, you probably have everything already, not like young people excited about setting up a new home.’

Irene would not let the light go out on the good feeling of the gift.

‘No, of course not, but to us it’s still very new and exciting. Neither of us has ever been married before.’

‘Quite.’ Miss Howe’s lips were pursed in disapproval.

‘Anyway, I wish you all the best, Miss Howe. I’m sure you have plenty of things planned for the years ahead.’

Miss Howe could have thanked her for the kind remark. She could have said vaguely that there was indeed a lot to do. But Nell Howe didn’t do vague and pleasant. Instead she said, ‘What a wonderful fairy-tale world of platitudes you live in, Irene. It must be very restful not to think things through.’ Then she took up her car keys and left.

Irene watched from the window as Nell Howe got into her small car and drove out of the only life she had known for years. She stood there for a while after the car had driven through the gates of Wood Park. What would Miss Howe do tonight, and during the many other days and nights to follow? Would there always be a tray laid in that cold room? Was there anyone to share it with her?

There had been not one friend or relative at the gathering held in her honour. Who goes through life with nobody to invite to her retirement party?

Irene was a very generous person. She could not think all bad of the woman who had insulted her, and who even now at the very last was trying to ridicule her. Miss Howe had bought her a wedding present, after all. And even more important, if Irene had not gone to visit Miss Howe that day she would never have met Dingo, who had found his uncle Nasey for her.

She sighed and caught the bus home, clutching the shiny glittery bag with the wedding present.

They opened it at suppertime. It was a lace-trimmed tray cloth. There were little rosebuds on it. Irene looked at it in wonder. She could hardly believe that Miss Howe had gone to a shop and chosen this. Not at all practical, and rather old-fashioned, but such a kind thought.

Then she saw that at the bottom of the bag there was a card in an envelope. Irene opened it and read: To Miss Howe, Thank you for getting our girl to study and turning round her life. It was signed by the parents of a child who had recently won a major scholarship to the university. Miss Howe had passed the gift on unopened. She hadn’t even opened the card to read the gratitude it contained.

Irene crumpled up the card quickly.

‘What did she say?’ Peggy O’Connor loved every detail, every heartbeat.

‘Just wishing us well,’ Irene said. In her heart she decided that she would never think about Miss Howe again. She would just exclude her from her mind and her life. The woman was a shell. She was not worth another thought.

But a week later, when Mrs Williams was in place, Irene was forced to think about Miss Howe once more. Mrs Williams had changed the Principal’s office so much that it did not look remotely like the same place.

A small laptop replaced the huge, bulky computer; the hand-carved desk held attractive raffia trays, brightly coloured files and a photograph of the late Mr Williams. The new bookshelves were filled but with spaces for ornaments and little flower pots. Mrs Williams even kept a tiny watering can at hand to make sure the plants got attention.

The hard chairs had been replaced by less daunting furniture. She had established a routine that seemed more normal and less driven than her predecessor’s. She seemed to be delighted with Irene, and constantly thanked her for her efficiency and support. This was a personal first for Irene, who had been used to the grim silence of Miss Howe as the best that could be hoped for.

They were going through the day’s agenda when Mrs Williams looked up and said, ‘By the way, why didn’t you tell me you were getting married?’

‘I didn’t want to bore you with all my doings. I’m inclined to go on a bit!’ Irene said, and smiled apologetically.

‘Well, if we can’t go on a bit about our wedding day, what can we go on about?’ Mrs Williams seemed genuinely interested. ‘Tell me all about it.’

Irene told her about Nasey, and how he had served his time in a butcher’s shop and was going to sell his flat and come and live with her and her mother. They were going to put an extra bathroom in the house . . . she bubbled on full of enthusiasm, hoping that the day itself would be a great one, and not silly or anything.