Maggsie McNaughton's Second Chance

by Frances Maynard

  He wanted to run up the five flights of stairs again, but I wasn’t having none of it. I walked up and he walked beside me.

  ‘My dentist. Marek.’ TJ sat on the bench. He took up a lot of room. He had broad shoulders and his legs stuck out a long way in front of him. He stank of peppermint. Sugar-free gum. His dentist mate had recommended it. And he’d bought some tiny little brushes to scrub in between his teeth. He was getting obsessive, to be frank. Boring. He was even trying to cut down on smoking because it was bad for your teeth. Reckon his dentist was taking him for a mug.

  ‘I don’t want to hear no more about no dentist.’ I lit up. ‘You free Sundays again, then, TJ, or you staying in to clean your teeth?’

  ‘No, no. I do first. No, Maggsie, I think of you.’

  I looked at him. Turned out the bit of me he was thinking about was my teeth. He’d told his new dentist mate about them.

  ‘Yeah, thanks for that, TJ. Thanks for talking about me behind my back.’ About the bit of me I was least proud of. I got up, fag and all, heart thumping. Couldn’t go no further than the stairs, though, because I was still smoking. I stopped, breathed o-u-t. Why was I annoyed? My brain whirred. Talking about me without me being there was like I didn’t matter.

  ‘Maggsie, I only tell about you to Marek because you are important person.’ TJ blinked. He looked worried. ‘Person I care about. Person I want to help.’

  I sat down again. Looked at the London Eye. It turned so slow you could hardly see it moving.

  Apparently, this Marek had offered to treat me for free if I cleaned his surgery weekends.

  ‘So you can have teeth like mine.’ TJ leant close, flashing them in my face.

  I stubbed out my fag. Squashed it flat on the bench arm. Told him I didn’t want teeth like his. Or two jobs. Or him arranging things. I was an independent person. Could manage on my own.

  Plus there was the slight problem of me being terrified. TJ seemed to have got over his nerves, so I couldn’t admit to being scared.

  Back at home, I looked in the mirror. Squeezed my eyes shut. To be honest, just the word dentist made my palms sweat. I saw myself, on hands and knees, cleaning his surgery. Scrubbing blood off the chair where he did his torturing.

  Breathed o-u-t. Pictured myself smiling, looking people full in the face. Them taking me serious. Them not noticing, well, not straight away, I was poor and been in prison and hadn’t had an education. Saw myself wearing loads of lipstick, a soft peach. Smiling hello at Nella. Saw her taking a step back, putting on sunglasses against the dazzling whiteness of my gnashers.

  Pictured meeting Alastair. Him noticing my brilliant teeth. Thinking I was an ordinary, normal woman, not the shop-soiled version I really was.

  Yeah, I was brave. Hard. Wonder Woman. But even she wouldn’t have looked forward to going to a dentist.

  30

  Woman’s World, 17 October 2018

  Unusual Ways to Boost Your Bank Balance!

  Me and Juice and Big Shirl were in the yard smoking. A lot comes out over a fag. That’s something doctors don’t understand – it bonds you together. Reckon that was why I was telling them about Alastair. That, and because I’d been on a high since saving Audrey’s life. And because Juice looked up to me.

  I should have kept it to myself. Other people can put a dampener on things.

  ‘You going to try and get him back?’ First time I’d seen Juice’s eyes wide open.

  Well. ‘Not exactly. He’s eighteen, now. It’s more, well . . .’ His birthday had been back in June. I’d opened the ‘A Present from Margate’ box and got out his baby photo and had a little weep. And, when I’d ticked the calendar that day, I’d drawn in a little star above the date. I glanced at Juice and Big Shirl. Tapped ash off. ‘I just want to tell him I hadn’t wanted to give him up. And maybe see him again, one day, I suppose.’ I was floundering. Nobody had ever asked about Alastair straight out before.

  Juice’s forehead creased. ‘But what about his real mum, though?’

  I stiffened.

  ‘I mean his adoptive mum.’ Juice bent down to stub out her fag. ‘Like I said about mine. She’s the one that brought him up.’

  ‘Yeah. Exactly.’ I stared straight ahead. Juice giving me advice was the wrong way round. ‘I didn’t want to give him up. They had to pull him out my arms.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Juice nodded. ‘I know, Maggsie – I felt the same when Shania went to live with Mum. But I know how she’d feel if my birth mum ever turned up. Not saying your little boy, no, your son, wouldn’t look up to you. He’d be dead proud of you, Maggsie. You don’t have to tell him you’ve been inside. Only better to tread careful, eh?’

  Big Shirl stubbed out her fag with her little pointed toe. Did it so firm and thorough, I knew she was building up to some advice and all. No right to give it, but that wouldn’t stop her. She had a grown-up daughter but they kept falling out. The daughter was in charge of a care home somewhere. Dead respectable. Too respectable to have much to do with Shirl. She was closer to Jordan, her grandson, the one she went on about.

  Big Shirl had heaved herself up the stairs once to ask me if she could borrow a couple of teabags till tomorrow, till Jordan did her shopping. She’d picked up my school dictionary. Cheek. Seen how clear it was with the blue print. Said she might buy one for Jordan. I’d noticed him handing over her shopping bags. He had a pink pointy nose like one of them white rats you get as pets. Headphones trailing from his ears. Nodded at whatever you said.

  ‘Can’t get a job because he’s . . . what do you call it? Dis something? Can’t hardly read.’

  Dyslexic. I couldn’t say it neither. Wasn’t going to let on that’s what I was. Give Big Shirl an advantage.

  I always spoke to Jordan after that. Helped him up the steps with the bags. Big Shirl got through a lot of food. The fridge was stuffed with it and the top shelf of the cupboard. Covered in sticky ‘S’ labels.

  Poor lad had a habit of putting himself down. Reading was a sore point, he said. I told him straight it didn’t mean he was thick. That, until someone with a bit of patience showed me, I’d been the same.

  A magazine with pictures would help him. Big Shirl tapped her bottom lip, not looking at me. Didn’t like to be told anything. Then she went out and bought him one about fishing. Loads of pictures. Of fish, mostly.

  ‘Your son’s mum’s never going to be over the moon, is she?’ Shirl put in now. Getting her own back if you asked me. ‘Even if you was Mother Teresa. Especially if you was someone like that. Not going to want her nose put out of joint.’

  ‘She’d worry you’d take over. Worry she wouldn’t be his mum any more. That’s what I think sometimes with Mum having Shania,’ Juice nodded like she was an expert. Another one.

  ‘Like how you felt when Trudie had Audrey in her room.’ Big Shirl blew out a lazy curl of smoke. ‘Just saying.’

  Yeah, but . . . In any case had she forgotten I’d made up for that by rescuing Audrey? I had a habit of rescuing people, actually.

  My face was hot. It was like they were ripping off my Wonder Woman headband. I caught a glimpse of Snappy’s snout coming round the kitchen door. He yawned, gave a lazy lash of his tail. Stopped in the doorway like he wasn’t sure I’d let him in. I’d more or less retired him to my holdall permanently. He’d got too keen on putting people to rights. Using his teeth. Seemed to get bigger each time he did it. I ground out my fag. ‘Go away,’ I breathed out slowly. Mentally sent him scuttling back upstairs.

  Juice changed the subject to a bargain pack of root veg she’d got for a pound at Sainsbury’s. We went back inside. Big Shirl stuck the kettle on. I took my mug upstairs.

  Alastair’s mum had had him to herself for eighteen years. So she’d be OK sharing him now, wouldn’t she? I took a long swig of tea. Or were Big Shirl and Juice right about me muscling in? Look at the trouble that had caused with Audrey. I wouldn’t want Alastair running off.

  Ruby gave me permission to stay out late for my dinner with Louis
e. Plus advice to be on my guard with alcohol around.

  I should have been on my guard. But not for booze.

  I’d never been anywhere with a wine list before. Louise pushed it away. Wanted to keep a clear head. Detoxing, she said. A show-off word for staying off booze. And drugs, which were more her scene.

  We had Diet Cokes, and grub that was even more poncy than the stuff Primrose cooked. Baked aubergine and a salad with little red things in it. I thought for a second, because nothing would surprise me in London, they were jewels, but they turned out to be pomegranate seeds. I wasn’t none the wiser. I speared a couple. Even the fork was heavy, with a posh swirl to its handle. I wished, again, that Nella could see me.

  Pride comes before a fall, Nan used to say. I was proud. First time ever. Never been so pleased with myself. Reading, writing, working, staying off the drink, using psychology. Plus the Wonder Woman thing. No end to all the good stuff I was doing. I was practically respectable. Less than three months to make the year up and I’d be good enough for Alastair. Feeling smug makes you take your eye off the ball. I was worried about Enid, yeah. But not about myself. Should have been.

  I didn’t like Louise. All we had in common was we’d been inside and we knew Enid. So why were we having dinner together? Alarm bells should have rung from the start. She’d only want to mix with the likes of me for a reason – a dodgy one.

  ‘Good to see you looking well and happy.’ Louise clinked her glass against mine. ‘To absent friends. To Enid.’

  ‘Enid.’ At least we’d got to her quicker this time. Her last letter had been cheerful. She’d said the nurses had been angels and nobody had treated her like a con. Didn’t give me any details about her actual condition, though. My heart thumped. ‘You heard how she is?’

  Louise troughed up a forkful of salad, munched slowly. Told me, through a tangle of chewed-up leaves, the radiotherapy had wore Enid out without curing her. Now even chemo couldn’t touch the cancer. ‘It spreads, you see.’ She swallowed a last bit of green, not looking too troubled.

  I put down my knife and fork. I did know that. It was what Nan had died of. Enid hadn’t told me about it spreading. She’d wanted to protect me. I stared at Louise. ‘So, what will she do now?’

  She smacked her lips together. ‘Mm, love this salad dressing. Really flavoursome.’ She shrugged. I stared at my knife. I could have stabbed her quite easy. ‘Well, what can she do? There’s a new breast cancer drug but the NHS won’t fund it. Too expensive.’ She shrugged again. ‘As far as I know Enid’s got no funds, has she?’ Shoved in another bunch of green leaves. ‘Could be curtains for poor old Edith.’

  The pomegranate seeds were shining and winking. Not wanting Enid to be disappointed was part of what was keeping me on the straight and narrow. All those years she’d done for her mum. The trip to Romania that had kept her going. She might never get there now. And here was this posh, porky cow not caring. A rush of heat swept through me.

  ‘Why can’t you fork out for them, then? You must be loaded, well, your dad must be.’

  Louise shook her head. ‘No, no.’ A couple of leaves fell onto her plate. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. I have thought about it, of course. But Pa’s got no cash. Inheriting a stately home means a lot of expense, you know.’

  No, I ruddy didn’t know. But what I did know was that Louise was a selfish cow. She picked up her Diet Coke, her eyes fixed on me, not blinking. Like a mad scientist studying a little white mouse. No way was I a mouse. I stared right back. She gave me one of her patronizing smiles. Changed the subject. At least I thought she changed the subject. She lowered the braying a bit. Took me a while to work out why.

  ‘Last time we met, we were talking about Scanda. Their art collection. I don’t know how much you know about modern art, but—’

  That was her way of saying you don’t know sod all about modern art, but I am an expert. Reminding me about her poxy degree in Art History. She’d only got it because she’d been inside so long.

  ‘I been to the Tate Modern,’ I interrupted. ‘Twice.’ Saying that was giving her a little tap to put her in her place. ‘And I been to that place in Trafalgar Square with all the pictures of people.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her mouth fell open. ‘The National Portrait Gallery. Have you?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I nodded. ‘The week before last. And I know loads about Scanda’s paintings now.’

  TJ had told me what he’d found out about the artists. Bet he knew more now than Louise did. After, I’d gone and had another look at the paintings through the boardroom door. Beat me what him and Louise got so excited about. Bright and cheerful, I give you that, and all from Denmark like Scanda, but just lines and circles and splodges. Blimey, if they were valuable, reckon they saw Scanda coming.

  Except for one. A small one, out on its own on the far wall. A woman in a long dress, standing in a room, reading. It was the only proper painting there, if you want my opinion.

  It was by Wilhelm Hammershøi, TJ said. He wrote the name down in my personal spelling dictionary, under ‘H’. It had a funny line through the ‘ø’, like a skew-whiff no-entry sign.

  The Woman Reading turned out to be Louise’s favourite painting too, which spoilt it a bit. She was amazed I knew the artist’s name. I remembered it because of the word hammer in it. Practically fell off her chair when I wrote it out on a paper serviette. Pow! Like landing a punch. Bet she couldn’t have spelt it, not with the funny little line and everything, in spite of her degree. Funny seeing her trying to hide being surprised. She must have thought I was really thick.

  ‘Didn’t you used to have trouble with . . . with reading and writing, Maggsie?’ She was still staring at me.

  ‘Yeah. Before. But since Enid got me started I’ve been working on it. Studying.’ I raised my eyebrows at Louise, in case she was thinking about laughing. Her own eyebrows were in a bit of a state – weird how she’d spent loads on her hair and clothes but let them straggle. My eyebrows matched each other. They were in a nice arched shape. Last week’s Woman’s World beauty page had showed you how. Ruby said reading women’s magazines, and looking up the words you didn’t know, was studying.

  Good to bring up Enid again. Enid was why we were there. And nothing that was going to be of any use to her was coming out of this chat.

  ‘Oh.’ Me studying took the wind out Louise’s sails. Second time I’d managed it in five minutes. Ruddy satisfying it was too. ‘Marvellous,’ she said, only it sounded like she meant the complete opposite. She stuffed in a hefty chunk of aubergine. Chewed for a bit. ‘Of course the Hammershøi is the most valuable.’

  I nodded. ‘Oh, yeah. I know.’ I didn’t know. But it was the only one you’d actually want on your wall. ‘How much is it worth then?’ I cut off a small piece of aubergine. It had a slimy feel to it. I didn’t say ‘Yuk!’ or mime vomiting, like I would have done before. That’s self-control, see. That’s soff . . . soph-ist-i-ca-tion. That’s eating Primrose’s weird concoctions these last ten months. That’s London.

  ‘It’s worth about half a million. Pa looked it up. He’s a big fan.’

  ‘Half a million quid!’ My voice came out in such a squeak I worried about the Coke glass shattering. Had to clear my throat to bring it down.

  ‘Hammershøi’s really collectable.’ Louise spoke with her mouth full, in spite of being posh. ‘Funny a painting’s worth so much, isn’t it, just sitting there in a boardroom, doing nothing?’

  I nodded, thinking about what I could do with half a million quid. What Enid could do with it.

  I looked up. My eyes met Louise’s across the table.

  She darted a quick look around. The restaurant was nearly empty because it was only just gone seven. I had to be back by nine. London people didn’t mind waiting for their dinners. That was why they were so thin.

  Louise lowered her voice. Leant in close. Her straggly eyebrows were practically touching each other. And she was definitely bigger since coming out of prison. Too much stuffing hers
elf in posh restaurants. Dieting and a pair of tweezers wouldn’t have hardly cost nothing. I didn’t grasp what she was getting at, at first, because I was mentally re-shaping her eyebrows.

  The way she was carrying on looked like we were planning a robbery.

  Turned out we were planning a robbery. At least, she was.

  31

  Woman’s World, 17 October 2018

  Ditch Those Toxic Friendships Now!

  The minute I cottoned on, I sat back. ‘You’re going to pinch that painting? For Enid?’ My brain was whirring. Was Louise asking me to get her into Scanda somehow? Could I pass her off as my support worker, someone come to check up—

  ‘No, Maggsie.’ She smiled. She’d had work done on her teeth. White bits glued to the top front ones. So white they looked false. ‘How could I do it? No, I’ve got a better idea.’ She leant forwards, smile widening, like she was giving me something. Something nice. ‘You are.’

  ‘Me?’ I stared.

  ‘You’re in the ideal position. I mean, I’d like to do it, but I don’t work there. And after all,’ she fiddled with her spoon, looked up from under her eyebrows, ‘it’s you Enid’s helped out, isn’t it? Her teaching you to read must have changed your life.’

  I was shaking my head. Stopped, because that last bit was true. But I had to put her right. ‘I don’t do thieving no more. I got a different sort of life now.’

  Louise nodded and smiled. Patronizing cow. ‘You have done amazingly well, Maggsie. With Enid getting you started.’

  I closed my knife and fork together over the rest of the stuffed aubergine. No way would I steal from Scanda. Not with them treating me decent. And I wasn’t going to risk getting caught. It wouldn’t have mattered back in January. It would have been an excuse to get banged up again. But I had stuff to lose now. Nine months of ticks, living normal, respectable. Nearly fit to contact Alastair. I still sat there, though. Why? Why didn’t I just walk away?