be honest, I was astonished at the way he was talking to her.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Well, taking liberties, you know. They were sitting behind me, over there. That other teacher and the sixth-form girl sat there, across the aisle. Course, you can’t hear complete conversations, but I picked up the odd snippet here and there. Sounded to me like he was chatting her up. And the thing was, she was loving every minute of it. Wouldn’t have done in my day.’
‘Nor mine,’ agreed Maxwell. ‘Is that what you meant by peculiar?’
‘Well, yes, that and the disappearing act. Mean, that other teacher lost them both in the museum, didn’t she? By the time I come to get them, she was running around in circles. Damn near disappearing herself, up her own backside.’
Maxwell thought it best for the moment to laugh with the idiot. He might remember more in congenial company.
‘It’s like that film, isn’t it?’ Freeman went on. ‘
Picnic at Hanging Rock
. Did you ever see that?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Maxwell beamed. Could this be a kindred spirit, working for Hamilton’s? ‘One of my favourite films, in fact.’
‘No, really?’ Freeman laughed. ‘Mine too. There’s something mystic about it, isn’t there? Something indefinable. Do you know, when I went to see that in the cinema, I just sat there at the end, riveted. I hadn’t noticed everybody else filing out.’
‘That’s extraordinary,’ Maxwell said. ‘That’s exactly what I did. Started getting funny looks from the usherette in the end. Where did you see it?’
‘Er … Brighton. You?’
‘Here in Leighford. Well, well, well.’
‘Sort of fitting, really, isn’t it?’ Freeman said.
‘What?’
‘Well, a film like that, where people disappear on a school outing. And here we have people disappearing on an outing to a museum of film.’
‘Know the museum well?’ Maxwell asked.
Freeman shrugged, reaching into his overalls for a cigarette. ‘Not really. Oh, I’ve been in once or twice; you know, with kids. Great place. I’m not too ashamed to admit I climbed inside the Dalek and made “Exterminate” noises.’
Maxwell extended his hand again, ‘A chip off the old block,’ he said, delightedly, ‘I did exactly the same thing.’
‘Bloody marvellous. Look, what’s your favourite film; ever, I mean?’
‘Er … oh, God.’ Maxwell gnawed his lip. ‘Difficult one, that.
Charge of the Light Brigade
, I think – the Tony Richardson version.’
‘Yeah, brilliant,’ Freeman enthused. ‘One or two dodgy bits of direction though.’
‘Charles Woods’s dialogue made it for me.’
‘Shame about the red trousers for the whole Brigade.’
‘Mr Freeman,’ Maxwell asked after a pause, ‘you’re not a wind-up, are you?’
‘You what?’ the driver looked confused.
‘It’s just that we’ve got an Ofsted Inspection coming up soon and I wondered if you were some sort of advanced guard sent ahead to catch me out.’
‘No,’ Freeman chuckled.
‘Well, it’s not many people know that only the 11th Hussars wore crimson overalls. Presumably, Richardson had them all dressed that way for reasons of cost.’
‘Blimey!’ Freeman stubbed his ciggie out on the floor. ‘Overalls. I’ve got to get these hydraulics sorted this morning or I’ll be an usherette by tomorrow’ He stood up, ‘Look, Mr Maxwell, I’m sorry I can’t help with your little problem. If anything occurs, can I reach you?’
‘You certainly can,’ Maxwell said, ‘I’m in the book. Oh, and by the way, I’ve got a better video collection than John Paul Getty, so if you ever want to come and share the one-and-nines with me …’
Freeman shook his hand again, ‘You may have made me an offer there I am powerless to refuse,’ he said.
As a kid, which essentially he still was, Peter Maxwell had always hated Sundays. It was the day his mother had done the washing, and he never popped his head out of the covers on a Sunday morning without smelling that
‘Really? Why?’
‘Well, taking liberties, you know. They were sitting behind me, over there. That other teacher and the sixth-form girl sat there, across the aisle. Course, you can’t hear complete conversations, but I picked up the odd snippet here and there. Sounded to me like he was chatting her up. And the thing was, she was loving every minute of it. Wouldn’t have done in my day.’
‘Nor mine,’ agreed Maxwell. ‘Is that what you meant by peculiar?’
‘Well, yes, that and the disappearing act. Mean, that other teacher lost them both in the museum, didn’t she? By the time I come to get them, she was running around in circles. Damn near disappearing herself, up her own backside.’
Maxwell thought it best for the moment to laugh with the idiot. He might remember more in congenial company.
‘It’s like that film, isn’t it?’ Freeman went on. ‘
Picnic at Hanging Rock
. Did you ever see that?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Maxwell beamed. Could this be a kindred spirit, working for Hamilton’s? ‘One of my favourite films, in fact.’
‘No, really?’ Freeman laughed. ‘Mine too. There’s something mystic about it, isn’t there? Something indefinable. Do you know, when I went to see that in the cinema, I just sat there at the end, riveted. I hadn’t noticed everybody else filing out.’
‘That’s extraordinary,’ Maxwell said. ‘That’s exactly what I did. Started getting funny looks from the usherette in the end. Where did you see it?’
‘Er … Brighton. You?’
‘Here in Leighford. Well, well, well.’
‘Sort of fitting, really, isn’t it?’ Freeman said.
‘What?’
‘Well, a film like that, where people disappear on a school outing. And here we have people disappearing on an outing to a museum of film.’
‘Know the museum well?’ Maxwell asked.
Freeman shrugged, reaching into his overalls for a cigarette. ‘Not really. Oh, I’ve been in once or twice; you know, with kids. Great place. I’m not too ashamed to admit I climbed inside the Dalek and made “Exterminate” noises.’
Maxwell extended his hand again, ‘A chip off the old block,’ he said, delightedly, ‘I did exactly the same thing.’
‘Bloody marvellous. Look, what’s your favourite film; ever, I mean?’
‘Er … oh, God.’ Maxwell gnawed his lip. ‘Difficult one, that.
Charge of the Light Brigade
, I think – the Tony Richardson version.’
‘Yeah, brilliant,’ Freeman enthused. ‘One or two dodgy bits of direction though.’
‘Charles Woods’s dialogue made it for me.’
‘Shame about the red trousers for the whole Brigade.’
‘Mr Freeman,’ Maxwell asked after a pause, ‘you’re not a wind-up, are you?’
‘You what?’ the driver looked confused.
‘It’s just that we’ve got an Ofsted Inspection coming up soon and I wondered if you were some sort of advanced guard sent ahead to catch me out.’
‘No,’ Freeman chuckled.
‘Well, it’s not many people know that only the 11th Hussars wore crimson overalls. Presumably, Richardson had them all dressed that way for reasons of cost.’
‘Blimey!’ Freeman stubbed his ciggie out on the floor. ‘Overalls. I’ve got to get these hydraulics sorted this morning or I’ll be an usherette by tomorrow’ He stood up, ‘Look, Mr Maxwell, I’m sorry I can’t help with your little problem. If anything occurs, can I reach you?’
‘You certainly can,’ Maxwell said, ‘I’m in the book. Oh, and by the way, I’ve got a better video collection than John Paul Getty, so if you ever want to come and share the one-and-nines with me …’
Freeman shook his hand again, ‘You may have made me an offer there I am powerless to refuse,’ he said.
As a kid, which essentially he still was, Peter Maxwell had always hated Sundays. It was the day his mother had done the washing, and he never popped his head out of the covers on a Sunday morning without smelling that
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