Maxwell's Return Read Free

that.’
    ‘Rightly so, I should think. No, it was time we got back. Jacquie was having a good time, a few lectures, working with the DA; all good for the CV but not what she’s used to. We’re not sorry to be back.’
    ‘So … I suppose you’re after the goss.’
    ‘If you have the time.’
    ‘Not for all of it,’ she said. ‘But I suppose you’ve heard the main points, anyway.’
    ‘Not really. You know me and emails. Paul and Hector just got on with it and obviously you had no problems, so I haven’t really been in touch with anyone.’
    ‘Well, Legs hasn’t done anything too heinous, you might be glad to hear. Charlotte …’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Thingee Two,’ Helen Maitland translated. ‘Afternoon Thingee. You know, the one with blonde hair.’
    ‘Of course,’ Maxwell said, clicking his fingers. ‘Pregnant?’
    ‘Naturally. She was an accident waiting to happen.’
    ‘Andrew Baines, PE.’
    ‘Good Lord, Max!’ She was astounded. ‘How on earth did you know that? I’ve only just found out.’
    ‘Ah ha,’ Maxwell tapped the side of his nose, despite the fact that there was no one to see, ‘We have our ways. Body language, heart, bodylanguage. I won’t embarrass you by mentioning the thinness of track suit bottoms – let my nuance be enough.’
    ‘I’ll know where to look, next time,’ she muttered. ‘Where was I?’
    ‘Lascivious PE teachers.’
    ‘Hmm. Let me think. You saw the thing about Bernard Ryan in the paper, I expect?’
    Maxwell blinked. ‘What thing?’
    ‘You missed it? I thought Sylv was sending you the
Leighford Advertiser
out.’
    ‘She did, but for some reason, our neighbour took rather a shine to it, so it often disappeared from the letterbox.’
    ‘Oh, well, if you missed it … it’s a bit complicated, Max. It will take longer than a phone call to fill you in. Look, why don’t …?’
    A shrill peal rang through the house. ‘There’s someone at the door, Helen,’ Maxwell said. ‘I’ll get that and give you a call later. Bernard
Ryan
, you say?’
    ‘I do,’ she said. ‘Answer the door, Max, and I’ll wait to hear from you. I’ll see if I can find some backnumbers so that I can get everything in the right order.’
    The bell shrilled again, accompanied by Jacquie’s call, asking him to answer it. ‘Must go,’ he said, putting the phone down. Trust him to have used the only non-cordless in the place. Then he made for the stairs, muttering ‘Bernard
Ryan
?’ to himself, trying to make it sound like sense.
    Maxwell reached the bottom of the stairs just as the bell pealed for the fourth time. He threw open the door to remonstrate with whatever lowlife was outside but instead of a neighbourhood urchin, his doorstep was decorated with Sylvia Matthews and two bulging Asda bags. They stood there for a moment, grinning at each other before Maxwell dived forward and grabbed the shopping, which he dumped in the hall before grabbing Sylvia in a hug which was once all she longed for. He planted a kiss on each cheek and pulled her inside.
    ‘Where’s Guy?’ he asked, sticking his head out and looking ostentatiously left and right.
    ‘In Brighton,’ she said. ‘He has a new job, Head of Department, no less, and he has gone in to suss out his office. Bless him, he’s taken in a little bit of carpet for under his desk. He’s learned a lot from you, over the years.’
    Maxwell’s square of carpet was famous throughout Leighford High School. School hierarchy dictated that only the most upper of the upper echelons had carpet in their office, so Maxwell had provided his own. It was a physical symbol of the Revolt of the Middle Managers. Along with a kettle that boiled in less than thirty minutes and a tin to keep the biscuits dry. Of such things are legends made.
    ‘Well, it’s lovely to see you,’ Maxwell said. And it was; they didn’t make school nurses like Sylvia Matthews any more. He ushered her up the stairs. ‘I’ll leave the bags down here, shall