With Love From Ma Maguire (39 page)

No, he wasn’t planning anything. It was just an idea, just a daft idea. Wasn’t it?

Nay, what did old Witchie Leason want with a load of cash? She’d likely not long to go for all she was strong. And who would she leave it to? Somebody with a rest farm for old donkeys, a cats’ home? He needed it and so did Janet, only she hadn’t the sense to see what was staring her in the face, daft lass. How could he get it? He thought about this for a while. Wait till Witchie was asleep, then in and out like a shadow, nobody to know it was him. Yes, it would have to be at night. Even if the crazy old bat did leave her door open at times, a boy creeping in during the day could well be remembered once money had gone missing. It was one thing to climb over and look for balls, another entirely to do a proper robbery like what they sometimes wrote about in the papers.

He moved well back from Gran’s room and sat pondering by the fireplace. Getting out of here at night was not going to be easy, not with the four of them sleeping in the one room. And Janet and Daisy’s half, at the other side of the folding screen, was nearest the door. So, not only would he have to get out of bed without disturbing their Michael – he’d also need to get past the girls. And with two double beds in that small space, there was hardly room to move without bumping into something.

Aye, this was what it meant, being poor. Four kids in one room, no bath, clogs instead of shoes. He hated it, felt little but contempt for those who endured it year in, year out, never a question, never a thought to betterment. Like sheep they were, waiting for the masters to set the dog on them, grateful for a handful of spare fodder. The unions couldn’t do nowt, not really. Load of windbags, they were – it was still them and us no matter what the stewards tried to do. Well, Joey didn’t want the crumbs that fell off the top table. Oh no, he wanted the whole bloody loaf and the gravy that went with it. He wanted to sit at the head of that table today, not tomorrow or next flaming week!

He jumped up and stood on the peg rug, feet tapping, his mind demanding that his body should keep pace with its swift activity. It would have to be tonight, get it over and done with. If he didn’t do it right away, then he never would.

‘What’s up with you?’ Janet startled him as she entered from the best room. ‘Twitching like a cat on hot bricks, you are. Something on your mind?’

‘No. No, I just wondered if you wanted to go to the pictures tonight.’

‘I thought you were clearing that house next door to Miss Leason?’

‘Nearly finished. Just one more trip.’

She stood in front of the dresser and stared at him. ‘You’re up to something, Joey. I can always tell when you’re working on one of your schemes. You nearly had the rug worn out when you were planning that doorstep round, reckoning up how much sandy stone and how much white you’d need. Yes, you’re up to something, I can smell it.’

‘I’m not!’

‘Tell that to the pigeons, Joey. You’re like a clock with no back on – I can spot your workings from a mile off. What is it this time? A rag and bone round, window-cleaning, singing to the picture queues?’

He knew his face was brick-red again. If only she wouldn’t read him so easily and so often! To cover his discomfort, he asked again, ‘What about this film tonight, then?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Why not?’

She shrugged, her grey eyes downcast. ‘Don’t feel like it. I’ll help Mam and Gran with the exercises. And whatever you’re thinking on, Joey, is best left alone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know! But stop dreaming, will you? One of these days, your plans will get you in real trouble. You’ve that shifty look on you again, that look you always had when you’d been caned at school and I had to cover up for you in case Mam gave you another clout.’

The shade of Joey’s skin had darkened to beetroot. ‘You don’t half talk rubbish, our Janet! It’s all in your imagination!’

‘Is it? I thought I had none of that, according to you. Didn’t you say last week that I was too easy satisfied, no ambition, couldn’t imagine me way out of a wet paper bag?’

Molly broke the mood by bursting in at the front door with the two younger children in tow. ‘Get up them stairs,’ she screamed at Michael. ‘Shown me up good and proper this time, he has. He run off from the dentist’s! While our Daisy was having her teeth looked at, he shot out of that front door like a bullet from a gun! You’ll end up with pot ones like your Granny’s,’ she yelled at the boy’s disappearing back. Molly threw her aching body into a chair. ‘Where have I gone wrong, eh? I’d half the street out last week with him tying door-knockers together and chucking rice at folks’ upstairs windows six o’clock of a Sunday morning. Honest, you do your best, try to keep them healthy and well-fed with a full set of teeth and all – what do they do? Turn on you, is what.’

Janet tried not to grin. ‘He’s scared of the dentist, Mam. It’s ever since somebody told him about getting teeth taken out with a pair of clog nail pincers. He’ll not admit it, him being such a tough lad. But he whimpered all night in his sleep – he can’t help it. It’s only like you and spiders. Shall I make you a nice cup of tea?’

‘Aye. That’d happen be a good idea. And where are you sloping off to?’ This question was directed at Joey who was making for the door.

‘I’ve a job on. After that, I’m going to the pictures without them that are too good to come with me. When I’ve took the cart back, I’ll find somebody sensible to go to the Odeon with.’ He went out and slammed the door.

‘What’s up with everybody?’ asked Molly of no-one in particular.

Janet closed her mouth firmly and brewed the tea. No point in discussing any of it, really. Miss Leason’s money, Joey’s strange moods, Michael’s naughtiness. She pushed Joey’s blue mug away inside the dresser cupboard. He wasn’t here for tea. It was as if he wasn’t going to be here again. In his mind, her brother was already miles away and she knew it. And he wouldn’t come back until he was ready.

Joey balanced on a couple of bricks and peered over Witchie Leason’s high back gate. Just a quick look, that was all he’d need. They were sash windows, not easy to open if the butterfly was clipped from the inside, but they were rotted right through, most of the putty flaking away to dust. Happen he could lift a pane out in one piece without making any noise. The back door had long rectangles of glass in its top half. If he could break one of these quietly, he might be able to reach in and turn the key. One way or another, he would get in tonight.

He stepped down on to the pavement, his eyes darting this way and that to make sure nobody was watching. Not that they’d think much of it – loads of people went looking for their ball back from over Witchie Leason’s. And he was working next door clearing out, had been hanging around for hours.

Joey walked home slowly, deliberately working on a way to straighten his face. Whatever he felt, whatever excitement he held inside himself, it must not show.

Fortunately for him, there was so much going on when he got home, so much noise and movement that not one of them paid him much heed.

Paddy stood swaying on the bottom stair, his voice raised in anger and self-pity. ‘Where’s me bloody pension?’ he was screaming, obviously the worse for drink, drink Joey had smuggled to him earlier in the day.

‘It’s not a pension!’ shouted Molly. ‘It’s a retainer, a few paltry bob! I’m feeding seven mouths with it!’ She’d got extra of course, from Ma, from the box beneath the bed. ‘What do you expect, Paddy, when you won’t work?’

‘I expect gratitude, that’s what!’ He fought to maintain a dignity already depleted by a sudden and total lack of co-ordination. ‘I got this hand feeding mouths! The hand that feeds has got bit, near bit off altogether and me no more than a lad at the time.’ His eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘Don’t start telling me about filling mouths, Molly Maguire! This hand, this poor hand . . .’ He waved an arm, then, realizing that he was displaying the wrong limb, made the necessary adjustments and stumbled down the last stairs. ‘This hand died so others might live! This hand is a monument, that’s what it is. A monument. So where’s me bloody bit of pension?’

‘Gone.’ She stood, hands on hips, her attitude challenging. ‘Will you take the bread from my babies’ mouths so that you can pour filth down your throat? Will you?’

‘Quarter of a thumb, I’ve bloody got . . .’

‘A half.’

‘Oh, so we’re going to argue over flaming fractions now, are we? You’d have me working till I dropped, you would. What about this better or worse and sickness and health, eh?’

‘Don’t forget richer or poorer, Paddy.’

‘I’m not likely, am I? Can’t even have a drop of milk stout out of me own pension, a pension what I earned, a pension what I had bits cut off me for. Burned my bloody hand away, they have! Give it here! Come on, pass it over woman, afore I lose my rag.’

‘Pa . . . trick Maguire!’

‘Oh heck.’ Paddy sank to the floor as his mother entered from the best room.

‘Get up those stairs now! Th . . . is minute!’ She watched her son as he turned and crawled through the stairway door. ‘Con . . . fession!’ she said grimly. ‘For swearing!’

A great fuss was made of Ma as she took her first meal with the family. Paddy kept well out of it, cursing Molly quietly when she took up his tray. But the one who must truly, for ever and immediately be obeyed had risen, not only from her bed, but also against all odds and probabilities. Even from upstairs, Paddy could feel her power. Like an invisible gas it soaked through floorboards, penetrating every pore of every brick, curling and twisting its unseen tentacles around everything that moved and everything that stood still. Or lay still. He sighed. His long rest was over. Swainbank’s tomorrow, look for a bit of droving. Other folks didn’t have mothers like his. Why was he so blessed?

Throughout the animated conversation downstairs, Joey managed to maintain his distance, bolting his food before escaping through the back door. Better keep well out of the road till bedtime, think up his plan properly, then sneak back in late, too late for any questions or funny looks off Janet.

After spending the evening at the pictures watching a film he didn’t really see, Joey lay in the bed he was condemned to share with his little brother, who seemed to have more legs than a flaming octopus. And he was bonier than an octopus, thought Joey as he pushed Michael nearer to the wall. God, it had to be midnight by now! He listened to his sisters’ breathing, trying to calculate whether or not they were properly asleep.

‘Joey?’

Oh Christ! ‘What?’ he whispered.

‘Why aren’t you asleep?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’ He turned on to his side and spoke quietly to the screen that stood between the two large beds. ‘I’m not tired.’

She yawned. ‘You should be. After emptying that house for Mr Goldberg.’

‘Well, I’m not.’

‘You’re up to something.’ Her voice was slowed by sleep.

‘Leave me alone!’ He knew his teeth were gritted with fury. ‘You don’t want owt to do with me, I’ve reckoned that these past weeks. Just let me get on with my life. You’ll be glad enough when I’m rich . . .’

There followed a short pause, then she mumbled, ‘Don’t do it, Joey. Whatever it is, don’t . . .’

Although he knew that sleep had claimed her, Joey waited for an hour or more, until all the breathing in the room was even and heavy. Then he crept furtively from the bed, every sound magnified by darkness and stillness as he pulled on his clothes. With his clogs held one in each hand, he began the perilous journey round the edge of Janet’s bed, flinching with every creak of old flooring.

The stairs were murderous, each step seeming to echo round the house as he inched his way to the bottom. He left by the scullery door in order to avoid passing Gran’s room, pausing to breathe for what seemed like the first time as he stepped into the back alley.

The walk to Witchie Leason’s was eerie – Joey had never been out in the middle of the night before. He stopped at the end of one street, watching members of a family as they moved about like grey ghosts, hardly a sound while they loaded furniture on to a cart. More evidence of poverty and what it did to people – this was a midnight flit, all done under cover of darkness because rent had not been paid. Well, that would never happen to Joey, not bloody likely.

It was frighteningly easy. Once he was over the gate, he simply took a penknife and removed a pane from Witchie’s back door, manipulating it carefully out of its space and placing it on a pile of ashes in the yard. He reached inside and turned the rusted key, retching almost as the stink of the place filled his nose.

He was in! A few cats escaped, rushing out into the night to join a choir further down the street. Christ, what a stench! He went out and filled his lungs with good air before passing through the scullery and into the living room. It was as black as hell in there except for near the window – he should have brought some matches! The table stood below the window – he remembered that from the last time he’d had a close look, or as close a look as he could get through those rotten dirty panes.

He cursed inwardly as his fingers made contact with a bucket – probably the one their Janet had brought back. Metal clashed sharply against metal until he stilled the handle. Then he found himself smiling when his hand touched the inside of a large box. Yes, this was money all right! Money didn’t feel like any other kind of paper and anyway, here were some coins too.

Right. What must he do? Take the lot or leave some so that the old girl wouldn’t notice? Nay, he wouldn’t know how much he was getting in this light, couldn’t count and make it halfy-halfy. And she’d notice her back door broken, so he might as well take the bloody lot. He dragged the box out, standing the bucket in the hearth where it could not cause further trouble.

Suddenly, the hairs on his neck stood on end. He could feel them as they prickled against the back of his collar. There was somebody here, somebody in the room with him. A cat? Just another of her horde of moggies? A match was struck and he jumped to his feet, turning to find the tiny old woman standing there with an expression of great sadness on her face.