think of. You’re the only person I know that could possibly help me.’ A man Dorothy had known for years, a man who worked the local markets, selling seeds and plants, flowers and shrubs, had recently made her a proposition. He had been a widower for eighteen months; his wife had always worked the markets at his side. He had one daughter who had helped in the business since leaving school but she was shortly getting married and going to London to live.
The man–Ken by name–had recently told Dorothy that if she could make some suitable arrangement for Terry, he would like to marry her. He would expect her to work the markets with him as his wife and daughter had done; he was confident she would pull her weight. It wasn’t that he had anything against Terry but there could be no place in such a life for a severely handicapped lad whose problems must increase as he grew older.
‘Ken isn’t selfish or hard-hearted,’ Dorothy had explained to Ruth. ‘He’s a decent, kind, hard-working man.’ But he was also a practical, realistic man; he had seen more than one marriage broken by the presence of a handicapped youngster. Nor had Dorothy forgotten the example of her own father.
‘Lyndale would be just the place for Terry,’ Dorothy had assured Ruth. On a scale closer to the domestic than the institutional, where he could more easily settle in, and near enough for her to be able to visit him regularly. The place wasn’t strange to him. She often called there with Terry in the course of her errands. Everyone was kind to the boy, he would probably scarcely notice the transition from his own home.
‘I’m very sorry,’ Ruth said gently. ‘I’m afraid I can’t have made myself clear the other day. It wouldn’t be kind to let you entertain false hopes. There really is no possibility, none at all. Lyndale simply will not take anyone of Terry’s age. Twenty-one is the absolute minimum. But there are places that might take him. I could—’
‘Not round here,’ Dorothy broke in, like a terrier pouncing on a bone. ‘Not in Cannonbridge.’
‘There’s a very good place only fifteen miles away,’ Ruth said patiently but Dorothy burst in again. ‘They’d listen to you at Lyndale. If you spoke up for Terry, they’d take him for sure.’
Ruth smiled slightly. ‘I’m afraid I can’t attempt to turn their policies upside down. They don’t make these rules without a lot of thought.’
‘But they did have one or two youngsters there at one time,’ Dorothy persisted. ‘I’m sure I can remember.’
‘Well, yes, that is so,’ Ruth conceded. ‘They did make an occasional exception—’
‘There you are then!’ Dorothy cried in triumph. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying all along. It isn’t a hard and fast rule. If they could make those exceptions then, they can make one for Terry.’
Ruth sighed. ‘It’s a hard and fast rule now, I’m afraid. It’s just because of those earlier exceptions that the committee decided to be very strict in future. The truth is, those particular admissions didn’t work out very well.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘But in any case, quite apart from Terry’s age, there’s a much stronger reason for not admitting him. He really wouldn’t fit in very well at Lyndale.’
Dorothy’s frown returned. ‘He’s not a troublesome boy. You know that.’
‘Yes, I do know that, but the committee have decided that in future they will only admit applicants who are capable of making some kind of personal, social contribution to the life of Lyndale, who are able to help themselves and each other to some extent. It’s far better for the residents, makes them more independent, more sociable, gives them a sense of purpose. It produces a much healthier atmosphere, and of course on a practical level it means the home can be run with fewer staff–and that’s no small consideration these days.’ She paused and then asked gently, ‘Can you honestly see Terry being able to fit into that pattern of life? I’m afraid he’ll never be capable of any more than he is at present.’ She looked down at Terry who grinned amiably up at the pale blue sky.
‘I can’t lose this chance,’ Dorothy said with fierce determination, darting at Ruth from another angle. She knew Ken wouldn’t wait for ever, or even for very long. He needed a wife now; if not her, then he would find someone else. She pressed her hands together. ‘I know we could make a go of it. We’ve always got on well, and I’d love the life. I’ll never get another chance like this.’
Ruth turned towards the house. ‘You mustn’t give up hope,’ she said in a tone of great kindness. ‘I’m sure we can find somewhere suitable for Terry. I’ll make some more inquiries.’
But Dorothy shook her head stubbornly. ‘It’s got to be Lyndale,’ she said, totally unmoved by everything Ruth had said, still confident of the final outcome. ‘Lyndale or nothing.’
Over the weekend the weather continued fair, showing signs of becoming settled again. Along the avenues the laurels raised their creamy candles; on the hills above the town the rowans were in bloom. By two o’clock on Friday afternoon the first fair of the season was in full swing on a stretch of open ground beside the railway station.
Shortly before half past four on Monday afternoon the phone rang in the Franklins’ flat in Northwick Road. Downstairs in the shop Roy heard it ring. He had just finished serving a customer and was busy returning a selection of food processors to their places on the shelves. He paused for a moment and stood listening. Along the counter his assistant explained to a woman the terms on which they offered credit sales.
The phone stopped ringing and Roy resumed his task. A minute or two later there came the sound of someone running down the stairs from the flat. The door at the end of the shop burst open and Jane Franklin darted in. She ran up to Roy.
‘Sunnycroft School’s just rung,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Venetia hasn’t turned up to collect the children. They rang the cottage twice but there’s no answer. They wanted to know if you’d pick the children up. I said we’d be over right away.’
‘There’s no need for you to come,’ Roy said brusquely. ‘You can give a hand in here while I’m gone.’
She shook her head with determination. ‘I’m coming with you.’
He looked as if he might argue but then thought better of it; he gave a little jerk of his shoulders. He spoke to the assistant and then went rapidly out with Jane behind him.
Sunnycroft School, a small private establishment, was situated in a residential suburb at the other side of town. The traffic was building up towards the rush hour and it was a good fifteen minutes before Roy drove up to the front entrance. He jumped out and pressed the bell.
The door was opened by one of the teachers. ‘I’ve just rung Foxwell Cottage again,’ she told Roy. ‘There’s still no answer. The children tell me their mother went away for the weekend, they’ve been staying with you.’
Roy nodded. ‘I expect something cropped up to make her late setting off for home.’
The teacher frowned. ‘I would have thought she’d have rung to let us know. She’s never missed picking them up before, she’s always very punctual.’
‘If her car broke down on the road,’ Jane put in, ‘she might not have been able to get to a phone.’
‘Yes, I suppose that could be it.’ The teacher led the way into the hall where Simon and Katie sat waiting. They had a subdued, anxious air, only partly dispelled by the sight of their father and stepmother. They got to
