Chapter 9

John Shepherd sat at the desk in his tiny office, holding his head in his hands. He had a headache – both literally and metaphorically. There was a knock at the door.

"Come!" He called it out automatically ... wearily. Sarah Johnson entered and stopped abruptly as John looked up.

"My God, John! You look dreadful!"

"Thanks for those few kind words ... seriously, Sarah, I am not having a good day. That new girl, Charmaine..."

"I was just going to have a word with you about her. She's altogether too used to winding men round her finger."

"You're not kidding there. And Tom Carmichael..."

"Don't tell me that work placement is going wrong!"

"No ... far from it. No, I just got off the phone. Tom's father ... let's just say he's out of the picture. He's going to be enjoying Her Majesty's hospitality for some considerable time."

"What's he done?"

"You name it. ABH, GBH, extorting money with menaces, drugs, receiving stolen goods. The long arm of the law finally caught up with him."

(In English law, an assault resulting in physical injury is 'Actual Bodily Harm'. A more serious injury is 'Grievous Bodily Harm'. The assault itself – the threat – of course is a serious offence in itself)

"At least Tom's mother will have a chance now."

"Except she's in hospital for detox. Seems the alcohol ... well, they don't think she'll be capable of independent living, even if she can stay off the booze."

"Poor Tom!"

"Poor Tom, indeed! He'd be better off out of there anyway, if I had anywhere to place him."

"No foster places?"

"Not a one. I'd want to be pretty careful who he went to, anyway. Who'd be a social worker?"

"Er ... you?"

"Very funny. I thought I wanted to work with suffering humanity, but it often seems that most of the suffering is my own."

"Poor John."

"I was just trying to find the energy to put my coat on and go home. Not that I have much to go home to."

"I think you'd better come home with me and get drunk with my hubby."

He looked at her, frowning. After a longish pause, "Thanks ... I will."

"I'll be maybe thirty minutes finishing off. I'll call for you when I'm ready?"

"That's fine."

Shortly after Sarah left the room, the phone rang again. He was very tempted to ignore it, but picked it up. "John Shepherd."

It was the morning after Amy's talk with the twins; they were eating breakfast ... very quietly. "Mummy..." Andrew began, "Me and Lucy, we were thinking..."

"Lucy and I," Amy corrected.

"Mummy! Lucy and I, we was thinking..." (Amy decided against a second correction) "about what you was saying last night," (Amy bit her tongue lightly) "and ... we think it'd be kinda cool to have a big brother."

"And it'd be sorta nice if we could help him to be happy," Lucy chipped in.

Amy's eyes prickled with tears and she swallowed hard. "That's ... lovely. Thank you. Now, it may not happen, so don't get excited yet. What would you like to do today?"

"Could we go and visit Serenity?" That was Andrew.

"And have hot chocolate in the café?" Added Lucy.

"Will we go sailing this year?" Andrew looked at her enquiringly.

"I'll have to think about that," his mother said, "I'd want someone to go with us."

"Can't Unca Jamie go with us?"

"I don't think he'd want to leave Auntie Beth with the baby."

"What about Uncle Terry?"

"He's going to be busy working, and he won't want to leave Annie, now."

The children both looked crestfallen.

"Don't worry, I'll think of something. Perhaps Jessica and Dave would like to come with us. Or maybe we could go to the Lake District and hire a dinghy, like the Swallows and Amazons."

They cheered up a little at that, and seemed to – not forget, but set aside – their desires for the present.

As it turned out, they enjoyed the morning so much they had lunch in the Ferry Café before walking home. The children cheerfully went and found things to occupy them so Amy could make a phone call...

"Good afternoon; Ashcroft Centre. How can I help you?" A pleasant-sounding woman's voice answered her call.

"Oh ... good afternoon. My name is Amy Conway. I was wondering if I might have a word with one of your people ... John something. I met him in Ipswich. It's about Tom Carmichael."

"Ah ... that would be John Shepherd, I think. Just a moment."

After a longish pause, she heard, "John Shepherd..."

"Mr. Shepherd. I'm Amy Conway. We met on board Emily Jane and you gave me a lift home. I wanted to ask you something about young Tom Carmichael..."

There was another pause, a long one. "You realise I can't discuss Tom's personal situation, Mrs. Conway?"

"Would you call me Amy? I don't want to ask anything sensitive. It's just ... we had quite a chat before they went off on the current cruise. I don't know how to put this, but I felt I had to ask if he needs ... I felt he needs a loving home."

"Forgive me, Mrs ... Amy. But aren't you a single mother? Oh, and please feel free to call me John."

"Yes, John, I am ... a widow. My ... husband left me well provided for. I've been working on a degree from home so I could be here for the twins, but that's nearly finished. There's a good school here in Felixstowe, and I have a good support network. I just thought ... oh, I don't know..."

She trailed off. John Shepherd did not respond immediately.

"Mrs. Conway ... Amy ... could I come and see you this afternoon? I could be there in about an hour. Your children would be there?"

"Yes, and yes. Would you like to have some tea with us? It'll be pretty basic, sandwiches and so on."

"That would be good. Thank you. I'll see you shortly, then."

He replaced the handset with an odd mixture of feelings; probably the greatest was 'unreality'. There was an element of 'hope' – he could have a solution to a serious problem, plus some 'concern' – that Amy Conway could be biting off more than she could chew, mixed with 'thoughtful optimism' – that perhaps that young woman could provide the psychological and emotional support Tom needed as well as just accommodation. Under it all there was something else that right now he wasn't acknowledging; that Amy Conway was a very attractive, intelligent, empathic and wholesome young woman. It was going to be absolutely no hardship to spend an hour or so in her company.

Leaving the office, he went in search of his colleague Sarah.

"Sarah, something's come up. I may have a solution to my quandary with Tom Carmichael and I need to drive to Felixstowe. If it doesn't take too long, perhaps I could call on you and your husband later this evening?"

"Of course. We'll be up till after ten anyway."

He left the Centre and Bury St. Edmunds, getting on the A14 for Felixstowe. The traffic was beginning to build, so he had several holdups skirting Ipswich, but found Coniston Close in Old Felixstowe without great difficulty in not much more than the hour he'd stated.

The house was fairly modern; he thought early seventies, detached with a garage with a bedroom over it, a tidy garden with block-paving in front of the garage and forming a path to the front door. He pulled up on the hard-standing, got out and locked the car automatically.

He recognised Amy immediately as she opened the door. Why was his heart suddenly thumping like an old motorbike?.