My Year as a Pirate

For my fourth birthday, Mum and Dad gave me a black tricorn hat, an eye patch, and a skull and crossbones flag. However, it was Mrs Devland who provided a sea-worthy vessel in which I could rove the oceans in search buried treasure. I had the time of my life but my pirate days were curtailed when my mother’s engagement ring went missing prior to my fifth birthday.

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My father had given Mum the three stone diamond ring as a token of his sincere intentions. That was ten years ago; shortly after they met. Since then, they’d been too busy to get married. Well, that was his excuse, anyway.

I don’t think either of my parents was ever happy with their work life balance. Often I’d hear them arguing next door as I enjoyed a hot cocoa and homemade cookies with Mrs Devland. Our old neighbour’s husband died before I was born and all her children had grown up and left home. Mrs Devland had become a reliable friend to my parents, and they leaned on her for childcare. She was fine about entertaining me after nursery school and I enjoyed her home cooking. Sometimes my mother couldn’t get back from work until early evening and Dad was useless in the kitchen. We lived on takeaways if he was in charge or Mum rustled up a quick dish when she got home. 

Mrs Devland prepared home-baked biscuits for me and used a special cookie-cutter to create amusing shapes as per request. Her pirate-skull biscuits were my favourite when I was four. She restyled them as dinosaur bakes when I was five and rocket snacks after my sixth birthday. She open to my suggestions and we had fun coming up with new ideas. 

Mrs Devland’s biscuit recipe was moreish and combined melted butter, chocolate powder and dates melded together with broken cookie pieces. She’d heat the mixture in a large pan and then compress it into a baking tray. Next, I’d watch in awe as she created the toothsome top layer by drizzling and swirling molten dark and white chocolate. We’d then let it all solidify in the freezer before carving new and exciting shapes. Mrs Devland’s recipe had one magic ingredient that improved over time; the intoxicating component was a sprinkling of joyful memories.

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Most weekdays, my mother would collect me around six o’clock and stay for a chat with Mrs Devland. I learned a lot about my home life next door when they thought I wasn’t listening. Mum spent her visits discussing my father’s shenanigans. I discovered he had a problem with money. He was always short, however hard he worked. They struggled through life, and he was prone to placing a regular bet or two. I guess he had his reasons, but the local bookmakers weren’t complaining.

Mrs Devland never passed judgment and gauged her responses with tact. I believe she thought it helped matters to allow Mum to let off steam. Maybe she’d experienced a similar issue in her marriage? However, my mother appreciated her discretion, and it eased the tension at home, even if little changed.

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My father was from a large family; he was the youngest of seven siblings and the baby of the brood. He was the bonnie lad that never tried very hard. Real life came as a shock and that’s why he married someone like my mother. He needed a good woman to look after him and steer him through his days. She was his moral compass and ship’s rudder in his meandering voyage through adulthood. He wasn’t practical in many respects, but he cared for my mother, even if she couldn’t count on him.

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Mum had struggled with life after her pregnancy and swore she’d never have another child. She could be scatty and absent minded and Dad would run circles around her. Their married life together, and the housekeeping overwhelmed her every so often. Sometimes I found her in bed and hiding under her duvet.

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My visits to Mrs Devland’s house were always fun. We’d convert her over-sized sofa into a marauding galleon complete with a broom for a mast and a bed-sheet for a mainsail. She’d draw treasure maps and prepare written clues for me to find hidden treasure around her home. I could spend all afternoon searching for foil wrapped chocolate coins that might be under cushions, inside cupboards or behind her furniture. I thought I’d got to know every hiding place and each nook and cranny in that house, but she never failed to surprise me with her ingenuity. 

My welfare concerned Mrs Devland, don’t get me wrong. She encouraged me to nibble carrot batons and slices of apple between searching for her hidden trinkets. I’d listen to her imparting the benefits of a healthy, balanced diet while she enjoyed an herbal tea and a hand-rolled cigarette.

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Life wasn’t all about searching for sugary treats; Mrs Devland entertained me in other ways. Our afternoons together reflected her many cultural interests. We listened to music, and she told me about all the different instruments and how to listen for a composer’s hidden themes and variations. She encouraged me to express my thoughts and feelings using words and pictures, and I soon discovered the simple joy of an HB pencil and a blank piece of paper. One of our recurring projects was the zoo for imaginary beasts, which involved designing curious amalgams of well-known animals. I remember creating herds of carnivorous cows, feather-winged arctic frogs, and snake-scaled tigers, amongst others. Each animal drawing had a detailed biography that included notes on habitat, diet and longevity. Every week, she’d pin up the designs around her kitchen to inspire me and I’d get busy adding more creations to the grisly menagerie. 

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My mother seldom removed her engagement ring from her second finger, unless she indulged in a steaming hot bath. In which case, she’d place it in a saucer, on the rim of the tub between the taps. Once she’d finished bathing and dried herself, she’d get dressed and retrieve it. I’d seen it lying around when she got distracted while drying her hair, but not often. 

It was the evening before my fifth birthday when that shiny band of sparkling diamonds went walkabout. I remember my father was under pressure at work prior to my big day. He kept getting angry and shouting at Mum when she mentioned my forthcoming party. I’d asked if I could invite six pals for a birthday get-together. I didn’t expect a major party, but his concern was always about the expense. It was my mother who’d twisted his arm until he allowed it to happen. He was less than happy with the idea, but it wasn’t as if anyone expected him to do anything to help. 

On the day, my parents were quarrelling when I returned from nursery school. She was sobbing into a crumpled paper tissue, and he was shouting at her. Dad was in a foul mood and he’d cancelled the party. I walked into the kitchen and he grabbed me by my left ear. He dragged me into the living room and slammed the door.

“So where is it?” he said.

I swallowed and rubbed my ear, not wanting to catch his eye.

“I’m only going to ask you once,” he said. “Where’s the ring?”

“What ring?”

“Now listen here, you little monster,” he said, his face turning a shade of puce.

“Ronald!” My Mum burst into the room. “It’s his birthday for God’s sake!”

“You stay out of this!” he said. “I’ll deal with it my way.”

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I remember little about causing my parents to argue and fight; however, I know the police officer had the right idea. First, he calmed the situation and then he and his colleague spoke to us all separately. I recall hearing my father swearing at the officer and being advised to calm down. My mother came to his defence, but was reluctant to concede that I’d taken the ring. At first, my father reckoned that I’d pinched it, but then he accused Mum of being lackadaisical. In response, she cited his feckless behaviour and claimed he’d hocked it to pay a gambling debt.

The officer listened to both sides of the argument and made a suggestion.

“Why not ask the little fellow?”

My father grunted in response. “I’ll ring his neck if he’s nicked it, the little---”

“Sir,” said the officer, “I don’t need to remind you that anything you say will be---”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dad said, “I’m telling you it’s a waste of time.”

“The little fellow’s old enough to be accountable,” the officer said and patted me on the shoulder. “He’s a big boy and very grown up.”

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I’ve no doubt that Mrs Devland had heard the commotion through the house’s party wall. The doorbell rang at a point of calm in the proceedings. She was on the doorstep with a beautiful galleon cake of sculpted chocolate icing; complete with miniature pirates, cannon and an anchor too. It looked too perfect to eat.

“Surprise---”

“Oh, wow,” I said, “Is that for me?”

“Happy birthday, Captain.”

“It’s got a sail and a Jolly Roger and---”

“Look, Mrs Devland,” Dad said. “Now’s not the best time, all right?”

“For God’s sake, Ron!” Mum said. “Thank you, but we’ve had to cancel the party.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, my dear is---”

“Everything’s fine,” Dad said, rapping his finger tips. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“Can I help? maybe I---”

“I think we can cope,” he said, closing the door. “Thank you so much.” 

That was the last straw. I folded my arms and my bottom lip jutted upwards. The police officer asked me questions, and I clenched my jaws. The more he grilled me, the more I ignored him and lowered my eyes to the floor. My father raised his clenched fist to my face, and I bit my lip. There was no progress and no hint of an explanation. 

My father sent me to bed, and the officers checked my parents’ statements. They offered mum victim support and my father was fortunate not to attend a second interview at the police station. Before departing, the officer cautioned him against using force in domestic disputes and assured my mother there was help if she felt threatened. 

That was some birthday.

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The next day was a Saturday, and I got up and scampered next door to see Mrs Devland. She’d returned home with the cake yesterday and stored it in her fridge. It still looked magnificent and a hearty slice made an indulgent breakfast feast.

“Many happy returns, my dear.”

“This cake is fab,” I said, munching my way through her light sponge, strawberries and whipped cream. “You should try some.”

“Did you get any nice presents, dear?”

“It all got cancelled,” I said, licking the creamy interior from my chin.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, love.” She furrowed her brow. “How’s your mother?”

“It’s a long story, but,” I said, “Mum’s diamond ring went missing.”

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips. “So that’s why your mum was so upset?”

“I think it was an accident or something, but my dad was out of order.”

“I thought something terrible had occurred.”

“She blamed him for taking it and he accused her of losing it and---”

“What did the police officer say?”

“It was all very upsetting for everybody and---”

“And do you know what happened?”

I scrunched my lips to one side and shook my head.

Mrs Devland looked straight at me and I couldn’t hold her gaze. I remember looking round the room and avoiding her eyes. She maintained her line of sight and watched me munch the remains of my cake. I’d nothing to say to anyone today. I’d said too much already. It was too soon. 

“What would happen if the ring reappeared?” she asked and smiled. “Would that stop everyone from being unhappy?”

I shrugged. I had nothing to say. 

“Maybe I could help find the ring?” she said. “Do you think I’d be able to find it?”

I placed the little shiny fork in the middle of the plate. “Maybe.”

“Do you think if I offered a prize?” she asked, slicing the cake. “Would that help?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“How about a gold-foil wrapped chocolate coin?”

I reached out for another piece of cake.

“All right, how about two chocolate coins?”

I opened my mouth and chomped on more delicious sponge cake. The chocolate icing oozed between my fingers and plopped onto my plate, burying a tiny plastic pirate in a slurry of rich buttercream.  

“OK.” She sighed. “I can offer a bag of chocolate money but only---” 

“You know what?” I grinned. "I’ve been thinking.”  

“The kettle needs filling again let me—”  

“I might be able to help, but---”

“It’ll be fine,” she said.

“Promise?”

“Yes, dear.” She smiled. “But first I need a nice cup of tea.”

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My Dad had left the house for the day when Mrs Devland and I rang the front door bell. Mum answered in her dressing gown looking bleary eyed and tired. Mrs Devland explained that there had been a misunderstanding, and it was all her fault for encouraging me to be a pirate. She believed we could solve the problem together and nobody had meant any harm. My Mum smiled and gave us both a big hug. I led the way up the stairs and stopped on the landing outside the bathroom. My Mum shook her head and Mrs Devland lowered herself to my head height.

“Can you help us solve the mystery?” She whispered.

I nodded and put my hands in my pockets.

Mrs Devland rooted around in her handbag. She plucked out a tangerine sized string bag. It contained gold foil wrapped chocolate coins. I stretched out my left hand and she dropped the bag onto my palm. The weight in my hand felt about right and I put it in my pocket. I raised my right hand and pointed my forefinger at the bathroom door. Mum looked at Mrs Devland and shrugged her shoulders. Mrs Devland rested her hand on my shoulder and I stepped forward. I stopped when my extended finger was an inch from the door handle and lowered it to point at the keyhole. Deep inside the tiny crevice, I could see the glinting edge of Mum’s engagement ring. It was impossible to spot unless you knew it was there. The precious ring was lodged beyond the reach of little fingers. It required a surgeon’s delicate touch and a pair of tweezers. Mrs Devland had just the thing to hand.

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Nobody said anything about the matter afterwards. There were no recriminations at home. My father abided by the terms of the truce. 

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The next time I visited Mrs Devland, she introduced me to pictures of dinosaurs and fossils found on Chesil Beach. We went on a day trip to the Natural History Museum together. A year later, Mrs Devland made me another cake for my birthday. She covered it with green icing and sculpted it in the shape of an ancient reptile.

The End