Maggie's Girl (3 page)

Maggie blushed, fumbling for her bag, her hand already poised on the handle of the door.

She'd been expecting him to ask her out. She realised now, too late, that was why she hadn't wanted to get into the car. Tony was a perfectly nice man, but she had no intentions of going out with him – or anyone else, for that matter. She'd tried it before, and it didn't work.

‘Wait! Maggie!' He had an open face, handsome and perplexed.

‘I really should go. I'll be late – Sister—'

‘Perhaps we could meet up after your shift? Go for a drink, or something?'

‘I'm sorry, I really am busy.'

He leaned back in his seat.

‘What are you afraid of?' he asked abruptly.

‘Nothing!' she protested.

‘Come out with me, then.' He smiled lazily at her.

‘I can see you don't know how to take no for an answer,' she answered lightly, hearing the steel in her voice nevertheless. She
managed a smile, and wondered why her heart was starting to beat so fast.

He leaned across the driving seat and his lips brushed hers.

Something long-buried in Maggie responded, met him halfway. She'd been so lonely. The joy of human warmth, of everything that had been denied her for so long, began to sweep her away.

Then she realised what was happening. On this day, of all days, how could she? Her hands pushed against his chest and thrust him away. She could see he was hurt.

‘Maggie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to happen.'

She wiped the tears from her eyes and shook her head. Blindly she pushed open the door and stumbled out, feeling the soft rain against her face.

She ran up the steps into the safety of the hospital.

‘
A
nd consequently this country is at war with Germany…'

Neville Chamberlain's voice trailed off into the ether, heavy with sorrow. The news he was imparting to the nation was hardly unexpected, but there was a sudden silence in the small back room where the family was grouped around the wireless.

Maggie was at the hospital, on the day shift, but Daisy had been up since dawn making a start, guessing what was coming and dreading it, too. She'd been to the early service at church. For some reason Billy hadn't wanted to come this morning, but the church had been packed.

Peter shifted uneasily in his chair as Mary jumped up to switch off the set.

‘That's it, then!' Her face was full of an excitement she no longer took the trouble to hide.

Daisy was silent. What a difference ten minutes made! Her mind was listing the essentials she'd been stockpiling for weeks – tea, sugar, candles, tins of biscuits. Peter had scolded her, but there it was. Daisy remembered the last time only too well.

Her workforce had been stitching blackout curtains alongside their other duties, charging enough to cover overheads, for Daisy had balked at making a profit.

‘What did the blessed man say?' Gramps leaned forward in
his chair. He was becoming increasingly deaf. Daisy got up from her chair and knelt in front of her father, enunciating as clearly as she could.

‘We're at war, Dad.'

‘Dashed if we are!' The old man stared at her. ‘What a thing!'

‘Bang, bang!' Harry used his fingers for the barrel of a gun. ‘Shall you go and fight, Uncle Billy?'

Billy went over to the window overlooking the small yard, turning his back on the room. It wasn't much of a view.

‘Stop it!' Daisy rose to her feet. ‘Your uncle will be needed where he is now, Harry. Just you wait until your mother gets home!'

‘Leave the lad alone.' Peter took her gently by the shoulders, feeling her tension beneath his hands. ‘Be fair, love. He's hardly old enough to know what this is all about.'

‘I do, Granddad!' Harry protested. ‘We're going to fight Hitler and lick him.'

‘Of course we are, lad.' His grandfather smiled at him.

‘Oh, Peter. It's really happening!' Reality washed over Daisy in a tidal wave. ‘Even to the last, I hoped some miracle might happen to stop it.'

She pulled herself free, refusing to be comforted, and hurried off to the scullery, keen to busy her hands. That would stop her thinking.

She'd put the meat on earlier. She filled a pan with water, gathered the potato peelings into newspaper, and took it outside to the bin.

Putting the lid back on, she looked about. Nothing had changed.

Everything was exactly as it should be. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, she could smell Sunday dinner cooking
from open windows along the row. It was the sort of beautiful day only memory conjured up.

These things had always made her feel safe, and now—

‘Are you all right, Mam?'

Billy had followed her outside, his eyes, so reminiscent of Peter's, anxious. He'd been quiet all week, his head buried in one of the books he carried everywhere he went, crammed in his jacket pocket. He would have taken a book down the pit if he could.

She felt as if she didn't know her son any more.

‘Don't do anything silly,' she said quietly.

‘Is that what you're worried about?' He thrust his hands deep in his pocket and rocked back on his heels, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Daisy longed suddenly to hold him, keep him safe.

‘Don't join up. Miners will be needed now more than ever – you'd be a fool!'

‘Stop worrying, Mam.' His eyes snapped open. ‘Who knows what's going to happen!'

It wasn't the answer she needed from him, but she was suddenly afraid to ask more. She went inside slowly, and began to get the dinner on. She still had the family to feed, even if her mind was all over the place.

‘And where are you off to, lady?' Daisy snapped. The shock must be wearing off. Mary returned her look mutinously.

The rest of the family were still at the table finishing their dinner, but Mary had bolted hers and run upstairs to change into one of her best frocks, and new shoes, with heels. Daisy hated to see the amount of make-up she'd plastered on her face, and on a Sunday, too.

‘You look nice, Auntie Mary,' Harry said, just as Daisy opened her mouth.

‘I'm going out with Dora.' Mary frowned at her nephew, unsure if the little monkey was teasing or not. ‘We're going for a walk.'

Dora was her pal from work at the chemist's shop in the centre of town. She'd been there six months now, a long time for Mary.

‘Mind you're not late back for your tea,' was all her mother said, to Mary's surprise.

Rather shocked that she was getting away so easily, Mary grabbed her bag and said goodbye before Mam could change her mind.

‘Wait, Mary!' Billy caught her up before she'd even got to the gate. She put her hand to the latch and waited, shot through with impatience.

She and her brother were hardly close – they had so little in common. Mary wondered sometimes how someone so serious by nature could actually be a brother of hers.

‘You're seeing that Bertram bloke, aren't you?' he demanded.

‘I don't know what you're talking about, Billy Bridges!' But she could feel herself blushing.

‘Cut it out, Mary!' He shook his head. ‘It's me you're talking to, remember? I know perfectly well you're meeting John Bertram. One of me mates saw the two of you together at Tony's Place the other night. You've hardly taken the trouble to keep it quiet!'

Billy was the last person she would choose to know her secrets, especially this one. He and Mam were far too close.

She stared at him defiantly, then shut the gate behind her and started to walk off down the road, her too-high heels clattering. He ran after her and caught her by the shoulders. 

‘What would me mother say?' he demanded angrily, and she looked away, angry now, too.

They both knew Daisy had a thing about the Bradshaws. She'd go mad if she knew Mary was seeing Silas Bradshaw's grandson.

The silly thing was, she hadn't meant John to happen. She'd gone one Saturday with Dora to Tony's Place, the new jazz club in town. She'd just finished with one of the lads at the factory and needed cheering up.

Mary had never been able to resist attention in whatever form it came; she needed attention as some needed sunshine.

She looked up at her brother's too-serious face and realised with a sinking heart that understanding would be the last thing she'd get from Billy. He was too wrapped up in other things.

She didn't really care what he thought, other than he shouldn't tell her mother, so she gently disengaged herself.

‘Why shouldn't I see him?' Her voice softened. ‘You mustn't tell our mother, Billy. It wouldn't be fair. I'd do as much for you.'

She would, too.

John was good-looking, handsome even – until she'd seen him in RAF uniform, she hadn't realised quite how
good-looking
he was.

‘Did you know he's joined up? He's got his wings already. He's only waiting for a posting.' She bit her lip. ‘He will be safe, Billy? Tell me he'll be safe?'

‘How should I know?' But then Billy was sorry he'd been brusque. He worried about Mary all the time; Mam didn't know the half she got up to. This needed careful handling.

‘I'm sorry, Mary. I don't agree with you seeing him, but I understand you must be worried.'

Mary looked up at him, her eyes wide.

‘Aren't you afraid, too, Billy? None of us knows what's going to happen….'

It seemed, suddenly, a terrible and frightening thing to be young.

She thought of John waiting, wondering why she was late, thinking that she might have changed her mind … It was best not to think. It was best just to enjoy life whilst you could.

‘I'm thinking about you, that's all,' Billy said softly. ‘You'll get into trouble if me mam hears.'

‘Do you think I don't know?'

Daisy Bridges was a good mother, but she had an edge on her tongue like steel. They smiled at each other, remembering a childhood shared, evading the sharpness of Mam's tongue.

‘Mary, don't go! There's something I need to talk about.'

‘What now, our Billy?' Her impatience rose. ‘I mustn't keep him waiting.'

‘It doesn't matter.' His face was guarded again as usual, the moment gone. ‘I won't tell Mam.'

She smiled, grateful, only briefly wondering what else it was he'd wanted to tell her. If they'd been closer, she would have asked, but all she could think of now was John waiting in the River Gardens.

‘Tell me later.' She waved, and hurried down the road. He wouldn't, of course, but who cared? She walked even faster, unable to wait a second longer to see John….

‘I don't like to leave Mother long today, so I'll go back, Holly. She's upset,' Maisie said. She and Holly had just reached the entrance to the River Gardens. They usually walked through together and parted at the other end, but this afternoon they were unusually subdued.

Like everyone else, they'd listened to the wireless that morning, Maisie's father, who was in local government, hurried off into work after it – on a Sunday! And not even staying for his dinner!

They'd eaten a sober meal with only Maisie's mother for company, none of them with any appetite.

‘Chin up, Maisie, things can't be that bad.' Holly squeezed her arm. ‘We'll give Hitler what for; it'll be over before we're old enough to get involved.'

She sounded more confident than she felt as she watched her friend trudging back up the hill. The world was all at once a huge and terrifying place. Who could tell what would happen?

Holly passed through the arched gates and hurried heedlessly past formal beds of late flowers. The gardens were here by
courtesy
of Jedediah Brown, the town's patron and benefactor.

Holly turned along the wide path by the river. In the distance Silas Bradshaw's factory loomed, solid and dependable somehow. It had been there all Holly's life, and she found its permanence strangely comforting, without knowing why.

During the week, workers from the factory used the gardens for their dinner breaks, but now it was the turn of all the
townsfolk
in their Sunday best. More than usual, too, as if they'd come out in defiance of Hitler, determined to carry on as normal. One or two of the men were already in uniform, and looked so sturdy and sure that Holly felt a bit better.

The sky was bright blue and cloudless, the sun was shining. This wasn't really happening!

‘Holly? Don't look so worried!'

John's voice! She looked round in glad surprise, but then there was Auntie Mary clinging to his arm, looking for the entire world as if she had a perfect right to be there.

Almost as if she were laying claim to him? Holly's heart was suddenly thumping.

Seeing John like this brought the reality of war home to her more than anything. Then another, sickening thought rushed through her mind like a steam train, nearly undoing her completely.

She wouldn't think about it. She lifted her chin and spoke directly to John, ignoring her aunt.

‘What are you doing here?'

‘I'm visiting the aged ones. They have to say goodbye to me some time!' John laughed easily, disengaging himself from Mary, who looked put out.

‘Don't you think he looks fine, Holly?' There was a challenge in Mary's eyes, as if she was daring Holly to say anything about her being with John Bertram.

Auntie Mary was going with the man Holly had always loved! Something inside her crumpled. What hope had she of competing with someone as glamorous and sophisticated as Auntie Mary?

‘He looks very dashing,' she answered lightly, hiding her hurt. John hadn't a clue how she felt.

‘And talking of which, I must dash myself.' Mary gazed up at John. ‘I said I'd call round and see Dora.'

‘Must you?' His eyes held hers. ‘I'll still see you tonight?' Holly hated the urgency in his voice.

‘Of course you will. Around eight? We'll go to Tony's. There's a good band on tonight.' Mary leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, then walked away with that natural sway of the hips.

‘You like her, don't you?' Holly asked him dully, unable to help herself. 

‘You always were a sharp little miss!' John laughed, reaching out and pulling her hair as he'd used to when Holly was a very little girl.

‘Don't, John.' Couldn't he see how she felt?

Mary went through the gates at the far end of the gardens and disappeared from view. John sighed, and looked at Holly for the first time.

‘Like some tea?'

There was a pavilion just before the sluice gates. Holly nodded eagerly, her spirits lifting a little at the thought of some time in his company. They took their tea to one of the tables on the terrace. The sun was making the water sparkle. It could have been any afternoon in late summer; they could have been any young couple. Holly had imagined this a thousand times.

At the small jetty, rowing boats for hire were tied up. Sometimes, in her dreams, John took her rowing, too. How cruel that it seemed dreams were all she was to have!

‘Don't tell anyone you saw us, Holly, will you?' He stirred his tea.

She shook her head. She'd do anything for him – he must know that.

‘I love her, Holly.'

He had no idea how much pain those words caused.

‘I know what she's like,' he added. ‘I don't suppose for one minute she feels the same.'

‘She must be mad.' Holly muttered to herself, but she might never have spoken. She could see love written large on his face, and it tore at her heart.