Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017

by Denise Deegan

  Tom stood. ‘All right! All right! Jesus. I’ll apologise.’

  Then he, too, was gone.

  ‘It’s all right, Maggie Mae,’ David said.

  She nodded – for him. She tried to stop crying – for him. But how could it be all right with a great big hole sitting beside them, with their mother upset and their brother a ball of rage? And how could it be all right when she couldn’t make a difference, not really?

  ‘Remember the time you started school and you thought that there was only one school and we’d all be together?’ David asked her.

  She nodded, aware that he was trying to distract her but liking the memory all the same.

  ‘And remember how you refused to go back the next day because you missed Da’s stories?’

  She smiled. ‘No one told stories like him.’

  ‘No.’

  She remembered that day like it was yesterday, how her father told her that it was the law to go to school and that the police would come for him if she didn’t go.

  ‘One day, Maggie, you’ll understand that education will save this country,’ he’d said.

  ‘From what?’

  He’d ruffled her hair. ‘From bad stories.’

  She’d sighed, long and deep, wholly unsatisfied.

  ‘In the meantime, what would you say to a story?’ he’d asked.

  She’d folded her arms in silent rebellion.

  ‘I’m thinking The Salmon of Knowledge?’

  It had always been her favourite. And he knew it. She’d sighed again. ‘You may as well go ahead so if I have to go to school anyway.’

  He’d winked at her and smiled. ‘That’s my girl.’

  ‘I’m going to check on Mam,’ she said now.

  David nodded. ‘I’ll clear up.’

  ‘I’ll help in a minute.’

  ‘I’d like to have a go at it alone.’

  She knew that he was lying and hugged him for it. He was smaller than Tom but still towered over her. At fifteen, she thought she’d have been taller by now.

  ‘Tom’s just upset,’ David said.

  ‘Still.’ Not for the first time, Maggie wondered how different they all might have been had their father lived. Then she shook the useless thought away and went in search of her mother.

  She knocked on the door to her bedroom, quietly so that she wouldn’t have to answer if she didn’t wish to.

  ‘Come in, Maggie.’ She always – magically – knew which of them it was.

  Maggie found her sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes and nose red.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘I am, pet. Are you?’

  She sighed deeply. ‘I miss him,’ she whispered. It was good to say it aloud. She rarely did for fear of upsetting everyone.

  ‘Me too.’ Her mother smiled and patted the bed. ‘Come sit with me.’

  Maggie went to her gladly.

  ‘Tom feels things intensely,’ she explained as she put an arm around Maggie.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He didn’t mean to upset me.’

  Maggie looked at her. ‘Did he say sorry?’

  ‘He did.’

  Maggie sighed deep and long. Then she eyed her mother earnestly. ‘You did the right thing, Mam. You did what Da would have wanted you to do. You must see that.’

  ‘I do, Maggie. I do.’ But her eyes welled.

  Maggie leaned in to her and squeezed her tight.

  Next day, Maggie, Tom and David cycled to school together as always, though Tom, looking like a man in a child’s uniform, cycled ahead. Maggie doubted that he even noticed he had left them behind. Like their father had, he raged but unlike him he never softened. Maggie kept pace with David, allowing herself to see the world as he did, to notice the cloud formations, the birds, the butterflies.

  Too soon, they were approaching Maggie’s school.

  David looked across at her. ‘Tell me, sis,’ he said softly. ‘Have you made any friends in that school yet?’

  She smiled brightly. ‘Why would I need friends when I have you?’

  He frowned.

  ‘Anyway, I’m too busy for friends.’ She would have to learn to lie to him. He was far too innocent for the world. She’d never have friends in that school now. It was too late for that. They thought her entirely queer. It wasn’t simply that she had arrived there by scholarship and had none of their luxuries. She had none of their interests. She did not wish to sit quietly and listen while someone tinkled on a piano. She did not wish to tinkle. She did not wish to excel at needlepoint, plan social events or arrange flowers. How could she care, as they did, about turning herself into a fine marital prospect when there was so much to do? She knew that she was too intense, worked too hard, cared too much for things they did not understand, did not wish to. It had been a mistake to ever think that they might. She had only ostracized herself further. Not that she ultimately cared what they thought. They were idiots.

  Reaching the school gates, though, her stomach clenched. She smiled widely at David and waved. Even Tom remembered to turn around.

  ‘Stay out of trouble,’ he said.

  She rolled her eyes.

  David smiled.

  Maggie took a deep breath and turned into the school.

  Locking her bicycle in the shed, Maggie heard giggling behind her. Instinct told her whom it was and she did not turn.

  ‘How’s the tyre pressure, Maggie?’ Polly asked.

  There was an explosion of laughter.

  Maggie finished locking her bicycle, breathed deeply and straightened. Then she turned to face Polly and her gang of three. They were the prettiest and, at the same time, ugliest girls that Maggie had ever met. And now they were proving her right; it was they who had let the air from her tyre.

  ‘My tyre pressure is grand altogether, Polly, ever since two handsome boys came to my rescue.’ Maggie smiled brightly. ‘Perhaps you should let the air out of your own tyre and see if it brings you the husband you so desperately seek.’ She grimaced. ‘Of course, he’d have to have a terrible sense of smell to spend any time in your company.’ Then, holding her nose, Maggie walked straight through her tormentors, forcing them apart.

  three

  Daniel

  Michael and Daniel looked out at the thunderstorm. Rugby had been cancelled. Michael would have missed it anyway having received detention for his latest prank.

  ‘Wait till it’s over,’ he said, ‘and we can cycle home together.’

  But Daniel felt restless. ‘I feel like adventure,’ he said, mildly baffling himself.

  Michael laughed. ‘Well, if getting drenched is the adventure you’re after, then off you go.’

  Daniel picked up his schoolbag, the edginess like an itch now.

  Five minutes later, he was soaked to the skin and shivering. Thunder growled and lightening illuminated a charcoal sky. And yet he did not go home.

  He came to a halt outside her school, no idea why he was there.

  The bell sounded signaling the end of the day.

  But no one emerged.

  At last, the door opened and a girl burst out, head down, alone and running. There was no mistaking her. It was the determination with which she moved. He found himself smiling.

  She disappeared into a bicycle shed. The school door opened again and a few girls emerged tentatively under great black umbrellas. Motorcars began to arrive and collect their precious cargo.

  Then she shot from the shed on her bicycle. Out through the gates she darted, passing him without seeing him, heading for the city. Whatever her ‘business’ there, it would not be put off by a thunderstorm. So curious was he that he considered following her. It seemed extreme. But then it was adventure. And he couldn’t get any wetter than he already was. She made him feel as if he had been asleep. And he wanted more than anything to awaken.

  So up he got onto his saddle and turned his bicycle around.

  She was fast, hunched over and flying.

  He felt like laughing
. This was madness. And she’d kill him if she discovered him. He hoped that if he stayed far enough back, the downpour would shield him from view. He doubted, though, that she would look back, so intent was she on going forward.

  He noticed very little around him, peering through the rain to keep her in sight. Such was his focus on her that they reached the quays before he realised that they were even in the city.

  She came to a halt outside a building. He stopped immediately and waited. Only then did he notice the queue on the pavement. Women and children in dark, worn clothes stood in line in the rain, carrying mugs, bowls, tins, kettles, jam jars. She hurried past them and down into the basement of the building.

  ‘What are you gawking at?’

  Daniel turned to see that a shawled woman was addressing him, her chin jutting out aggressively.

  ‘Come to see how the other half lives, have ya?’ she demanded.

  So appalled was he by her accusation that he struggled to find words.

  Others glared at him, now, as if he were the aggressor.

  ‘This is what the likes of you have reduced us to – handouts,’ another woman said. ‘Our men wanted fairness. You have given them hunger.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, mortified. By his very presence, he had become a symbol of his class. He mounted his bicycle and began the journey home. Now he understood her passion. Now he understood her intensity. Now he understood why she had punched his friend. These people were starving.

  That evening, Daniel read to his brother, Niall, bedtime stories about swallows and princes. Then he sat by the fire with a book, waiting for his parents to return from the theatre. He could not concentrate on the pages open in front of him. All he could think of were the chances of his plan working.

  At last, they were home. They were, as he had hoped, in good spirits, his mother all agog about the play.

  He got up from the chair and waited for them to settle. Then he made his move.

  ‘Father,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘I have a suggestion.’

  Mister Healy turned to him in surprise. Suggestions were new.

  ‘Let us attend an earlier Mass this Sunday so that you can take us all for a spin in your new motorcar before luncheon.’

  His father raised his eyebrows. ‘Hmm. Not a bad idea.’

  ‘The servants,’ Daniel’s mother said in a concerned voice. ‘They have their routine.’

  ‘It would only mean moving breakfast forward one hour,’ Daniel said hopefully.

  She looked at her husband.

  ‘The boy’s right,’ he said. ‘I run my house, not the servants. They can rise early this once. Let us go for a proper jaunt, out to Kingstown where we can take in the sea air.’

  Daniel’s mother frowned. ‘Are you certain the motor will take us that far?’

  ‘Don’t encourage me or I’ll have us all down in Wexford!’ He laughed at his wife’s appalled face then turned to his son. ‘Excellent idea, Daniel! You are becoming a thinking man, it seems.’

  He had, it was true, been doing a lot of thinking on this.

  Sunday seemed to take an age to arrive. But arrive it did, and with it second thoughts. Why did he think that she would be at this Mass simply because her school was nearby and she was forever in a hurry? Even if she was there, how had he ever imagined that he could approach her?

  His mother fussed over her choice of hat, making them – frustratingly – late.

  Entering the church at last, they found a pew close to the back.

  Daniel’s eyes immediately set about looking for her.

  To and fro the prayers went, the priest’s solitary voice, the congregation responding in solemn Latin as Daniel switched from haphazard checking to methodically going from head to head.

  He had done an entire half of the church when his system was thrown into chaos as people began to leave their seats and file up the aisle to the altar to receive Holy Communion. He gave up, partly in relief, mostly in disappointment.

  There was something about the line. It reminded him of the food kitchen. There was one important difference. Here in the church everyone was equal. Rich and poor queued together for the Body of Christ.

  Suddenly, he was jolted into a state of panic. There she was, returning from the altar. Walking slowly, she had her eyes cast down and hands joined in prayer. She was smaller than he remembered – like a miniature saint. How had she managed to knock Michael over? Perhaps it was all the passion she had packed into that punch. Watching her retake her seat, his heart began to pound for he knew suddenly that, whatever happened, he was going to speak to her.

  He waited for the priest to utter his final blessing, then he took off, hurrying out of the church. He had no idea what he would say to her. All he knew was, he had to say it today. Another week and it would appear strange to approach her.

  Standing in the sun, he watched the congregation spill out, faces smiling, duty done. She appeared, then, with her family – a mother and two brothers. Reaching the bottom step, her mother became engaged in conversation with another woman. Her brothers found friends. She was alone. Now was his moment. Why couldn’t he move? He watched her drum gloved fingers against her frock coat then begin to untie her hat as though eager to be rid of it.

  Then his legs were moving, carrying him to her.

  ‘Good day!’ he said, as though surprised to find himself beside her. He was, indeed, surprised, given the state of his nerves. ‘That was quite the punch,’ he said in desperation.

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying that girls shouldn’t fight? Is that it?’

  ‘No. That’s not it at all.’

  She folded her arms. ‘This may come as a surprise to you but girls are capable of more than people give us credit for.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  She squinted at him. ‘What do you want anyway?’

  ‘Want? Nothing! I found myself beside you-’

  ‘In that case-’ She started to walk away.

  ‘Wait! No! I do want something! I want to know about the strikers.’

  ‘The strikers?’

  ‘Do you think that they’ll get what they want – ultimately?’

  She looked at him as if he were an unusual stain – curious but ultimately disappointing. ‘What do you care? The Lockout to people like you is a mere inconvenience. You care nothing for the workers.’

  ‘People like me? Am I not like you? You attend a school like mine.’

  ‘On scholarship.’ She looked him up and down slowly. ‘I imagine your father is... a lawyer.’

  How did she know?

  ‘You have a telephone.’

  His father’s pride and joy.

  ‘A motorcar.’

  Why did he feel guilty?

  She squinted at him. ‘How many servants do you have?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ he asked, defensively.

  She sighed wearily and began to leave.

  ‘How many do you have?’ he countered.

  She turned and raised her chin. ‘Not a single one,’ she said as though it was a matter of pride.

  She was the first person he had ever met without servants. More importantly, he had no idea what they were arguing about.

  ‘You know nothing of the life of the strikers.’

  Ah. There it was. ‘And you do?’ he challenged.

  ‘I know that their children starve. I know that they attend a food kitchen to stay alive. I know that it’s not enough. I know that two tenement buildings collapsed, killing seven people. I know that more babies die in Dublin than any other city in Europe. I know that the police killed two men in the riots, cracked their heads open like eggs. I know what hunger looks like, and shame. I’ve seen people faint from weakness as they queue for food....’

  ‘You volunteer at a food kitchen?’ Of course she did. It made absolute sense now.

  ‘I do. And if you cared, you would too.’

  ‘Then I will.’

  ‘You’ll last a day.’

 
‘How sure you are of me.’

  ‘People, I find, are predictable,’ she said as if she meant predictably disappointing.

  ‘When are we going?’

  ‘Well, I’m going tomorrow, after school.’

  He hesitated. He never missed rugby. And yet…. ‘I’ll meet you outside your school.’

  She shrugged as though expecting him to be as predictably disappointing as everyone else.

  He stuck out his hand. ‘Daniel Healy.’

  She hesitated, taken aback. Then shook his hand quickly, neglecting to offer her own name in return.

  He had never met anyone so dismissive, argumentative, so downright infuriating. Neither had he met anyone so intriguing.

  ‘Maggie! Let’s go.’ The brothers were back.

  Maggie. All his wondering was over. It was as if Daniel had been given a gift.

  The bigger of the two brothers gave him a look that said, ‘Stay away from my sister.’ Daniel had no doubt that punching ran in the family.

  And then she was gone, linking arms with the younger brother.

  So perhaps there is one person in the world she tolerates, Daniel thought.

  His own brother, Niall, hurried up to him. At eight, he looked two years younger.

  ‘Where did you go to?’ he asked Daniel.

  ‘To get some air.’

  ‘Why didn’t you wait for us? The Mass was over.’

  Daniel smiled. ‘I knew you’d find me.’

  Niall stood beside Daniel, hands in his pockets like a little man. An easy silence fell between them as they waited for their parents.

  ‘Why can’t Mass be-’ Niall stopped mid-sentence.

  Daniel looked at him.

  He’d dropped his gaze to the ground. His shoulders drooped.

  Daniel looked to see what had caused his distress. It was a boy, bigger and bulkier than Niall, who did not appear to have noticed him at all.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Daniel asked.

  Niall looked up cautiously. ‘A new boy in my school,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Is he giving you a hard time?’

  Niall’s eyes welled with sudden tears. ‘No one’s minded my leg before.’