As a musician, I'm reasonably familiar with most of the hostelries near where I live, and I had heard of the pub that had to be Dale's watering-hole the Herring Gull but had never been in there. It was a small, run-down place, set in the middle of nowhere. Dale must have walked the three and a half miles to it from his house good for sobering him up afterwards, I supposed.

I parked the Austin in one of the s.p.a.ces outside the pub and went in. It was around seven o'clock and there was only one elderly man sitting at the bar supping from a large bottle of Guinness. The barman, a bearded man in his early fifties, looked up as I entered, seemingly surprised to see a new face. I doubted he got much pa.s.sing trade this was a local pub, if ever there was one.

'I'll have a c.o.ke, please,' I said. I noticed a dusty piano in the corner and flipped open the lid. It was reasonably in tune.

'Me da left that,' the barman said, bringing me over my drink. 'Hasn't been played in years.'

'Mind if I keep myself amused for a few minutes?' I asked. 'We always had an upright piano at home when I was growing up, and I miss it.'

'Can you play?' the barman asked. 'Every now and again one of the lads has one too many and starts clattering the keys, and it sounds b.l.o.o.d.y awful.'

I played a gentle sequence of jazz chords. 'That good enough for you?' I asked.

'Play on, young man,' he said, gesturing at the instrument. 'As it happens, there's no one to disturb in here just now, anyway.'

I'm not really a piano player. We did have an old Hohner upright in the living room when I was a kid, and I taught myself to vamp chords and knock out the odd melody, but it would be stretching the truth to say I'm accomplished. I enjoy messing about on the keys, though, and can usually get something approximating to music from my efforts.

Ten minutes later the barman came back with another c.o.ke. 'On the house,' he said. 'You've a nice touch.'

'Thanks.' I grinned.

'What brings you in here, if you don't mind my asking?' he ventured. 'We don't get a lot of strangers, particularly of a Monday night.'

'I'm looking for someone, actually,' I said. 'Guy by the name of Dale?'

'Dale Seavers?'

'Yeah.'

'He'll probably be in for one or two soon enough. Friend of yours?'

'Sort of,' I said. 'What's he up to, these days? He working?'

'No. And it's a d.a.m.n pity,' the barman said. 'He's a talented mechanic. There isn't a car on the road he can't take apart and put back together again better than what it was.'

'That a fact?'

'It is. You sit tight. He'll be in. Do you know "Sonny"?'

'I do indeed.'

I played the old ballad for him, and even sang one or two verses. We were just finishing when Dale came in, grinning from ear to ear to hear the music. The smile dropped from his face rapidly when he saw who was behind it. He turned tail straight away and went right back out the door.

'I thought ye were friends,' the barman said, but I was already running after Tammy's father.

'Dale, come on, man, I just want a quick chat,' I called.

He was heading up the road, his head bowed, hands deep in his pockets. He stopped, turned and stalked back towards me. 'What right have you to invade my privacy like this? This is my local, my place don't you ever come here again, d'ya hear me?'

'I've tried going to your house, Dale,' I said. 'You're either not there or you're unavailable.'

'I'm lookin' for work,' he said. 'Goin' out of me f.u.c.kin' mind sittin' round the house with Kylie.'

'You're a mechanic,' I said.

'Who told you?'

'Idle gossip,' I said, smiling. 'I hear you're pretty d.a.m.n good.'

'I am,' he said, pride starting to kick in.

A thought occurred to me. 'I've been getting a sort of knocking sound in my engine lately,' I said. 'Think you might take a look at it for me?'

Dale scowled. 'I don't want no f.u.c.kin' charity.'

'Listen, I'm not about to offer charity when it comes to my vehicle,' I said. 'I'm fairly particular about it.'

Dale looked over my shoulder at the Austin. 'That's yours?'

'1981 Austin Allegro, third series, mint condition, all original parts,' I said.

He walked past me and looked at it, a smile spreading across his face. 'You don't see many of these any more,' he said. 'How does she run?'

I unlocked the door and turned the ignition. The motor purred to life immediately.

'I don't hear no rattle,' he said.

I pushed my foot on the accelerator, and the banging could easily be heard.

'I'd say that's your drive shaft,' Dale said, his hand resting on the bonnet. 'But I'd have to have a quick look to be sure.'

I switched off the engine and popped the bonnet.

Dale reminded me of a musician in the way he touched the components of my car. As soon as he began to work on it, I knew my beloved Allegro was in good hands. I had a small tool kit in the back, but he told me any mechanic worth his salt should be able to work with a can of oil, a couple of screwdrivers and a wrench. He explained everything he did, and answered all my questions directly I have very little mechanical ability but understood him easily. He was a good teacher.

'How'd you learn about cars?' I asked him.

'Me da was a builder, but he was one of those fellas who could fix anything. He taught me a lot, and when I was fourteen I got a part-time job over the summer in a garage his brother, my uncle, owned. That was that. I knew I'd found me a job. Left school as soon as I could.'

'Well, it's good when you find what you love to do. Lot of people never do.'

'Problem is most of the cars they're buildin' now don't run like this baby does. If there's somethin' wrong, you just plug 'em into a computer. Makes people like me sort of ... obsolete.'

'I don't like modern cars,' I said truthfully. 'They've got no personality.'

'Well, I can't argue with that,' he said. 'There, I think that'll do it.'

He handed me back the screwdriver he'd been using.

'That's it?' I asked.

'Just needed tightenin' up.'

'How much do I owe you?'

'No. Thanks, but no. The chance to get me hands dirty and work on a little beauty like this call it quits.'

'Can I buy you a drink, then?'

He pondered that for a second. 'All right. Seein' as how we're here.'

The barman seemed relieved to see we had settled our differences, and greeted us warmly. Dale took a pint of lager and I had another c.o.ke.

'Dale, I don't want to cause another row,' I said.

'Don't then,' he said, with a hard expression.

'I'm concerned about Tammy.'

He sighed deeply and drank a huge gulp of his beer. 'So what do you want me to do?'

'Well, if you're not working, why not come in to Little Scamps now and again, spend some time with her?'

'I'm not even sure that girl is mine,' he said quietly.

'I see her in you,' I said. 'Very much, around the eyes.'

He nodded. 'Yeah. I've heard that before,' he said.

'So help me to help her. I think she's very bright. I've seen her make some real progress in the last few weeks. If she felt you were behind her, I think she might make that extra leap.'

Dale took another slug of his drink. 'When I was a kid,' he said, 'I remember an aunt, on me mother's side, having a baby that wasn't right. Handicapped, y'know?'

I nodded.

'I remember me da takin' me aside and tellin' me that we would not be mentionin' that particular cousin. "There are no spastics or dullards in this family," he told me. This man was my da my hero, understand?' Dale said.

I nodded again.

'My ma brought me to see the kid. It was a girl. Looked just like any baby to me. She was cute. I said it to me da when I got home, told him I thought she was a lovely little thing I couldn't have been more than ten or eleven. Well, he gave me such a box across the ear! Floored me, he did. "Show no weakness!" he said. "That sickness is in your blood, and you need to stay strong to make sure it doesn't get out."'

Dale drained his gla.s.s and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. 'Seems to me he was right. The sickness got out. Poor Tammy.' He stood up and left.

Poor Dale.

34.

'Why can't we do a Christmas n't'v'ty play?' Gus asked.

'Well, it's getting a little bit close to Christmas to start thinking about that,' I said. 'We wouldn't really have time to practise.'

Gus was lying on the floor among the detritus of the art area. He was in the way (I was reminded of Millie in my kitchen) and Tush and I had to step over him to get the various odds and ends we needed to finish the posters advertising our Christmas party. We were inviting all the parents and any of the local shopkeepers who were interested to join us for tea and cakes before we broke up for the holidays the past few months had been good and we wanted to mark it in some way. Gus was in danger of getting trodden on, but he seemed so depressed I hadn't the heart to move him.

'My brudder is doin' a n't'v'ty play in his school.' He sighed dejectedly. 'He says I can't do one cos all the kids in my creche is r.e.t.a.r.ds.'

'You know that isn't true, Gus,' I said. 'n.o.body here is a r.e.t.a.r.d.'

'I tole 'im that, but he said they was, an' that I'm a bit of a r.e.t.a.r.d too. Mammy shouted at him and gave him a slap in the head, but he still said it. He din' take it back neither.'

Tush was listening carefully, her tongue stuck out from between her teeth as she glued one of the children's cardboard Christmas parcels to her poster.

'Well, maybe we can do a nativity play, Gus,' she said.

'Um ... how are we going to manage it, Tush?' I asked.

'Yeah, tell 'im.' Gus sat up, looking much perkier all of a sudden.

'The kids put on plays almost every day, don't they?' Tush said. 'I bet they can come up with some kind of Christmas story fairly quickly. The costumes aren't a big deal. We can perform it when the parents come in.'

'That's on Friday. This is Monday,' I said.

'Great,' Tush said, smiling. 'That gives us four days to rehea.r.s.e.'

Gus let out a whoop and blitzed his way around the room, shouting, 'We're doin' a n't'v'ty play! We're doin' a n't'v'ty play!'

Lonnie and Susan looked up at us, bemused. All I could do was shrug. It looked as if the decision had been made.

Tush's confidence that the children could formulate a recognizable Christmas story proved to be somewhat misplaced. Coming up with a story was no problem they were all full of stories. The issue was that the stories tended to change significantly every time the kids acted them out, and that they usually bore no relation to Christmas or to the gospel telling of Joseph and Mary arriving in Bethlehem to find no room at the inn.

I was beginning to despair. I didn't mind the kids presenting a ramshackle drama for their parents no one expects perfection from pre-schoolers, let alone pre-schoolers with special needs but I thought it important that the children demonstrate at least a loose comprehension of what Christmas was about.

Gus was the most coherent member of the group. He insisted that a 'n't'v'ty' play had to have 'Jophus and Mary' in it, and that the baby Jesus had to put in an appearance, although the mechanics of this seemed to evade him he had gone so far as to suggest that Lonnie might play this important figure, and come on to the stage at the end of the performance singing 'Happy Birthday to Me'.

It was Rufus's dad, Bill, who presented us with the answer to our problem. I had sent a note home with Rufus inviting Bill to pop in to see how well the tree he had donated was doing. On the Wednesday before our scheduled performance Bill arrived, looking nervous and a little embarra.s.sed, but unable to hide his delight at how lovely his gift looked.

A mug of strong tea in hand, he paused to watch Ross as Joseph, Milandra as Mary, and Jeffrey and Tammy as shepherds, all dressed in towels and other strips of material, being fed lines by Tush.

'Is this the baby the angels told us about?' Tush hissed.

'Is dis de ... angel ... de baby said was ... here ...' the kids mumbled, looking here and there and shuffling their feet in utter disarray.

Bill shook his head in amus.e.m.e.nt. 'Y'know, when I was a lad, they used to do a nativity play in the grotto at the back of the church every year,' he said. 'Some of the local farmers would bring an a.s.s and a goat and that. It was lovely.'