A Christmas Wish

by Lizzie Lane

  Venetia stopped stirring, handed the paddle to her sister and sat down on a bale of hay.

  ‘Are you mad? Why would we ask permission to run away?’

  Anna Marie felt her cheeks burning. She hated it when Venetia snubbed her like that. It made her feel stupid.

  ‘What if there was a good reason for us to leave? What if we said that we wanted to find Magda and Michael?’

  For once Venetia, normally with an answer for everything and the out and out ringleader and organiser, didn’t know what to say. The truth was that she too had often wondered about their older sister and baby brother. They’d asked their grandparents how Magda was, but had met a frightened silence on their grandmother’s part, and outright anger from their grandfather.

  ‘You’re never to mention your sister’s name again. Is that clear?’

  Venetia reminded her sister of that fact.

  ‘We’re not to mention her. Remember?’

  Anna Maria sighed. ‘I wonder why. I wonder what she’s done.’

  Anna Marie recalled that visit, one of the rare ones their father had bothered to make and just after their Uncle James had been lost at sea.

  ‘She’s with your Aunt Bridget and doing fine,’ he’d told them.

  Believing him was a matter of faith. Despite the years he was as fickle in his dealings with his family as he’d always been.

  Their grandparents’ attitude towards Magda had changed some time after that.

  ‘I expect she got into some kind of trouble. You know what Granfer is like about girls getting too friendly with boys – and the like.’

  Whilst the girls stirred in the barn, their grandmother took a break from curing hams.

  She rubbed her back, a normal occurrence nowadays after hours of bending and lifting, mixing and rubbing in the salt and herbs that would give the ham its unique taste.

  Now she had a few minutes to herself, to sit and muse and write in her diary, a secret book that not even her husband knew about.

  Pressed flowers served as bookmarks for those entries she was particularly prone to looking at. There was a bluebell marking the day she’d received the news of James’s death, a cowslip for the last time when Joseph had come home. She’d asked her eldest son if Bridget, James’s widow, would be able to cope with just Magda for company, and wouldn’t it be a grand idea if she came back to Ireland and the pair of them live with the rest of the family.

  Joseph Brodie replied that, indeed, he couldn’t think of any reason why the pair of them, Magda and James’s widow, wouldn’t jump at the chance. What he failed to convey to them was that he hadn’t been back to Bridget’s grubby house since leaving Magda there all those years ago. Not only did Joseph believe what he wanted to believe, he chose what truths he would tell and what ones he would hold back.

  A tiny spray of speedwell, the blue flower as bright as the day she’d picked it, marked the day she’d received a response from Bridget Brodie after asking that she and Magda come to live with them at the farm.

  After Joseph had gone back to sea, Molly had written in response to the telegram Bridget had sent advising them of the death of her younger son.

  The words didn’t come easily, especially as she needed to dab at her tears whilst writing heartfelt words of condolence and sadness.

  I want to throw my arms around you and my granddaughter, she wrote.

  Their grandfather was less moved to emotion.

  ‘You never liked Bridget. Why would you want to throw your arms around her now? Besides, Joseph had her before James. Did you not know that? She’s a woman of dubious character. Aye, that’s what she is.’

  ‘Whatever she is, she’s still my daughter-in-law.’

  Despite her husband’s misgivings, Molly had gone ahead and written her letter.

  The response she received was unexpected and a terrible shock. Basically Bridget told her not to meddle in her life and that she had no intention of ever returning to Ireland. She preferred England thank you very much.

  And as for that ungrateful little tramp, Magda, she’s run away from home and become a prostitute. Living with a woman who runs a bordello. Blood will out as they say …

  Molly Brodie had collapsed into a chair, her hand flat on her chest as though her heart would jump out through her ribs if she moved it. Even now she felt a terrible pang of anguish; were all her family doomed to be scattered far and wide, never for her to see them again?

  Dermot had fallen to instant silence at the news, his snow white brows beetling over those fine blue eyes that both sons had inherited from him.

  ‘Is that so?’ he’d said at last, and left the room.

  From that day forth he’d forbidden anyone to speak Magda’s name ever again. There’d been anger in his eyes, but also sadness.

  ‘It’s what comes of marrying outside yer own,’ he’d muttered, shoulders hunched and head bowed as he slopped through the yard in his big boots, his baggy trousers tied at the knees.

  Molly shook her head, closed the diary and reached for her cup of tea, which was fast turning cold.

  Although she’d never admitted it to her husband, she’d liked the lovely Italian girl her eldest son had married.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Magda 1936

  Thursday night. This was to be a celebration of Magda being accepted into medical school.

  As planned she met Susan on the corner of George Street, which turned out to be something of a shock when Susan came trotting along looking like a grown-up Shirley Temple.

  ‘Crikey!’ Magda exclaimed. ‘What have you done to your hair?’

  Susan’s wild, frizzy red hair was a mass of permed curls.

  ‘Me sister Doris did it,’ said Susan. ‘Stinks a bit, but don’t look bad does it? Reckon I look even more like that Maureen O’Hara?’

  ‘It looks …’ Magda pretended she needed to clear her throat as she searched for the right comment, ‘… different. I hardly recognised you.’

  The truth was that Susan’s frizzy hair wasn’t easily tamed into curls, straightness or even shortness. It was wild and had a mind of its own. Back in her schooldays wearing it in plaits kept it under some kind of control, but Susan wasn’t a child any longer.

  The sleek look they’d both admired on mannequins in shop window displays up west needed hair that was sleek and wavy. Susan’s was far from being sleek and a lot more than curly.

  Susan patted her hair with both hands. ‘Me mam had a fit. Said that when me father finds out he’ll give me what for. I look like a wandering haystack, she said. Never seen a wandering haystack. Never seen a haystack for that matter.’

  ‘Your dress looks nice.’

  Susan’s dress was home-made and looked as though it had been run up from a faded curtain that might once have been red. As it was the colour had faded to a dull pink. Pink wasn’t exactly ideal but red with ginger hair would have been awful.

  Susan beamed. ‘Me mam made it. The beads I borrowed from our Doris. She’s not going out anywhere tonight and Derek is working the late shift at the docks.’

  ‘Right,’ said Magda. ‘How about a trip up to the West End? It’s on me. I’ve got some celebrating to do.’

  Susan’s freckled face broke into laughter. ‘Lead me to the nearest bus!’

  Magda giggled too. Their heels clattered in unison on the pavement as they dodged the detritus left by the street market and swayed their way to the bus stop.

  They gathered admirers en route. Magda didn’t look round to see where the wolf whistles were coming from, but Susan couldn’t resist.

  ‘Cor! He’s nice.’

  Magda hustled her along. ‘Come on. We’re celebrating, remember?’

  ‘Him that’s whistling at us … he’s got a car. Can you believe that?’

  Magda dragged at her friend’s arm.

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘No. Look. Take a look. He’s handsome. Real handsome and he’s not a docker. Not with a car like that. That’s Bradley Fitts! Bet your life
he can show a girl a good time. I don’t know why you don’t go out with a big shot like that. He’s sweet on you and …’

  ‘No!’

  Magda quickened her step and wished she hadn’t come here. Winnie had told her not to come back to George Street, but she’d determined that she would. She dragged on Susan’s arm.

  ‘He went to the same school as us. Remember? Can’t we just say …?’

  ‘No! He’s trouble, Susan. He was a bully at school, remember?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s not the school bully boy now.’

  Magda grimaced. ‘Nowadays he’s a professional bully.’

  Once they were out of sight of the car and the wolf whistles had stopped Susan was again engaged with the idea of getting one of those bright red trolley buses and going up west. For now at least the admiring wolf whistles were forgotten.

  One hundred paces further and there was the bus stop.

  The evening was pleasant and although powder puff clouds were piling up behind the chimney pots, the sun was still shining.

  Magda felt a huge sense of relief. Bradley couldn’t have seen them. She hoped not.

  Just as they were about to cross the road to the tram stop a horn sounded. A car rolled to a stop in front of them.

  ‘Going somewhere nice, girls?’

  Magda dared to turn.

  Bradley Fitts was leaning out of the car window, his gaze fixed on her and a Woodbine hanging from the corner of his mouth.

  Panicking, she looked up the street hoping to see the bus coming. Not one in sight. Typical. Just when you needed one badly. Any other time there’d be three in a row.

  ‘I asked you where you were going, Magdalena. Didn’t you hear me?’

  It was Susan that answered, dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth and a blush on each cheek. ‘Up west. We’re celebrating. My name’s Susan. I went to the same school as you, though you were a few years ahead of me, mind. You were there the same time as my brother, Ralph.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  His eyes never left Magda’s face.

  ‘It’s Magdalena that’s a friend of mine,’ he said, savouring her name long and slow as he always did. ‘We’re old friends in fact, old friends that are likely to get to be close friends. Very close. Isn’t that right, Magdalena?’

  Magda looked anywhere except at him; the window of the tobacconists shop, the alleyway dividing it from the secondhand furniture shop next door where weeds grew out of the crumbling brickwork.

  His eyes seared through her clothes like hot shears. Self-consciously, she wrapped her arms around her handbag, holding it tightly to her body, wanting to run, but knowing there was nothing for it but to face him.

  ‘Look,’ she said, sounding far more emboldened than she felt. ‘My friend Susan and I are going up west to look at the shops. That’s all.’

  ‘It’s a celebration,’ blurted out Susan.

  Magda shot her a sharp look. Not that Susan was taking any notice. She couldn’t take her eyes off Bradley Fitts, flattered that a young man who owned a car could be interested in them.

  Bradley got out of the car. Resting his elbow on the roof, he stood there smiling, his eyes narrowed against the smoke from his cigarette. His friend got out too, leaning on the car bonnet where he proceeded to pick his teeth with an unlit match.

  ‘So what are you celebrating?’ asked Bradley Fitts.

  Giving Susan a nudge with her toe, Magda answered. ‘Old friends meeting up.’

  Thankfully Susan got the message and didn’t go boasting of her friend Magda passing the interview to medical school.

  ‘Sounds nice. So how about making it a foursome?’

  Susan nudged Magda’s arm. ‘Why not? We’re just two girls alone, and these two young men are by themselves.’

  Bradley Fitts smiled his sly smile, recognising that Susan was pliable.

  ‘Very sensible of you, my dear,’ he said, directing his winning smile and flattery at Susan. ‘Makes sense for us to paint the town together. My treat of course.’

  ‘I don’t think …’ began Magda.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Susan whined.

  Magda took a few steps away, but Susan hung on.

  Bradley concentrated his charm on Susan.

  ‘So where do you work, Susan?’

  ‘At the brewery. I’m doing all right for meself too. Nice to ’ave a bit of money.’

  He nodded as though he were genuinely interested, whilst his eyes slid sidelong to Magda.

  ‘Good pay is it?’

  A gold tooth flashed at the side of his mouth.

  ‘Of course. I work in the office doing all that typing and stuff.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  Susan actually worked stripping the hops from the bines, the bits the machinery couldn’t get at.

  ‘This is Eddie Shellard,’ Bradley said, nodding at the man leaning over the bonnet. ‘Eddie is my driver. He works for me. Say hello to Susan and Magdalena.’

  The car driver was familiar too; Edward Shellard, the boy who had begged Winnie for food all those years ago, and she’d given him the leavings of a loaf.

  Susan flushed with pleasure.

  Magda tugged at Susan’s sleeve.

  ‘We’d better be going …’

  Bradley stepped in front of them, Eddie just a little behind him so that the pair of them blocked the pavement.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift. We’ll make a night of it. How would that be?’

  His tone was smooth, his movements swift and purposeful. He swung the car door open, an extra hindrance across their path.

  ‘Hop in. Only the best for girls like you.’ His look was as slippery as his tone of voice.

  ‘Girls like us?’ Magda snapped.

  ‘Pretty girls,’ he said, reaching out and chucking her under her chin.

  She took a step back. His touch filled her with alarm. If Susan hadn’t been so impressed …

  She reminded herself that Susan didn’t know him as well as she knew him. Smiling he might be, acting the gentleman he might be, but first as last, he was Bradley Fitts and was far from being a gentleman.

  ‘Well. We ain’t got all night. Come on, get in.’

  He took hold of Susan’s arm as though he were helping her in, when in fact he was being insistent.

  ‘Come on, Magda. You’re coming too,’ Susan called from the back seat of the car.

  Magda hesitated, torn between her instinct that to get into the car was asking for trouble, and not getting in was leaving Susan alone. She had to get her out of there.

  Magda bent into the car. ‘I don’t want to go with them.’

  ‘Come on. In or out. We haven’t got all night.’

  A pair of hands landed on her back and pushed her in. The car door slammed shut behind her.

  Eddie Shellard swung in behind the steering wheel, Bradley swiftly getting into the front passenger seat.

  ‘Drive, Eddie. Let’s give these girls a good time.’

  Magda grabbed the door handle. ‘No! I want to get out.’

  Susan grabbed her arm. ‘Oh, come on, Magda. It’ll be all right. We’ll have a great time, won’t we Bradley?’

  Bradley Fitts turned round in his seat.

  ‘Hey,’ he said in an oily voice. ‘Now where’s the harm in having a little drink with us at the Railway Hotel before going home? Celebrate the two of you meeting up again. Nothing wrong with that is there, Magdalena? Such a beautiful name, Magdalena. Beautiful girl too.’

  Magda hit away the hand that attempted to caress her cheek.

  ‘Anyway, you haven’t told me where you work, Magdalena. Maybe I’ll meet you outside where you work at some time. Maybe we’ll go for a drink after work, p’raps go for a meal in some fancy restaurant. How would that be?’

  Magda swallowed the chalky feeling in her throat.

  ‘We weren’t going up west to go into a pub. We don’t go into pubs. Besides, we’re too young for you. You’re in your twenties and we’re not.’

&nbs
p; Bradley Fitts eyed her over his shoulder. A smirk spread like a cold sore over his lips, twisting one corner upwards.

  ‘I like ’em fresh,’ he said thoughtfully, more to himself than to her. ‘Don’t you, Eddie,’ he added. ‘Don’t you like a fresh young thing that’s more grown up than she thinks she is and just needs a bit of experience to set her up just right?’

  Eddie had been silent up until now, and when he had spoken it was only to say yes or no to whatever Bradley suggested.

  On this occasion he burst out laughing. ‘Untouched and ripe to be plucked,’ he said.

  Magda’s memory was jogged by his remark. The men who’d visited the place Winnie used to own had made remarks like that. Their laughs had been like that too. She used to hear them from across the road. She’d hated them for those remarks.

  Bradley turned halfway round in his seat. She hit away the hand that landed on her knee. ‘I don’t want to go with you. I want to get out.’

  The smile on Bradley Fitts’s face turned to a sneer. ‘Let’s get this straight, sweetheart. Nobody turns down Bradley Fitts. Nobody. Get it? You’ve done it too many times before, but not this time. Right?’

  Magda heard the threat in his voice and shuddered at the coldness of his eyes. The strong intimidating the weak – just like her aunt.

  She had to stay calm. She had to get through this.

  ‘Is that so, Mr Fitts?’ she said. ‘Let us out and I won’t go to the police.’

  His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

  ‘Police? Now why would you want to do that? I’ve done no wrong. You accepted my invitation to get into my car. Ain’t that right, Eddie?’

  ‘That’s right, boss.’

  Up until now Susan had been keen to take Bradley up on his offer. Hearing what he was saying and the way he was saying it changed her mind.

  Magda felt Susan’s fingers digging into her arm. Her friend’s bravado had disappeared. She was scared.

  ‘It’ll be all right – won’t it?’ Susan whispered.

  Susan, usually the bubbly bright one afraid of nothing, had lost her sparkle. The freckled face had lost its pinkness. Her eyes were round and frightened.

  Magda controlled her own fear. If they were to escape this situation unscathed, she had to keep a cool head. Panic and they were lost.