Maggie's Girl

by Sally Wragg

  She jumped from the high wall she’d just scrambled up, and found herself in the Bradshaws’ orchard.

  If her dad was here now, Mam would never have gone careering off to France in the first place. Mam just had to come home.

  But so many other people hadn’t come home. Was she being selfish?

  Holly pulled mutinously at a clump of blossom. Dad would never have let her go surely …

  She squared her shoulders and tried to think what her mam would tell her to do now.

  Accept things that can’t be changed – she could almost hear her saying it. She couldn’t change the fact that Mam wasn’t here.

  She had to find John Bertram. She knew he was coming to see the Bradshaws, because she’d been with Granddad when Auntie Mary left to meet him.

  ‘Of course, it’s an excuse to see me!’ she cried, disappearing in a cloud of perfume and high heels.

  Granddad looked after her, frowning, but Holly had only been full of a wild joy to know John was safe, and coming to Castle Maine.

  She padded quickly down the rough path that split the orchard in two, and approached the gardens beyond.

  She could see the house, red-bricked and square, with ivy growing up the front, green shutters, a conservatory to one side.

  Was this the first view her mam had had of this place all those years since – she and Dad, two youngsters taken unawares by the formidable Nanny Coates?

  It had nearly got her mam the sack before she’d even started work!

  There was a porch to the house, with stone pillars, and steep stone steps leading down to the gardens. Directly in front of her was a fountain, splaying water high up into the air over a large pond.

  It looked lovely, but Holly’s first impression was only one of surfeit. Too much of everything!

  People with too much money lived here. She hated the idea that some had so much and others so little, no matter how hard they worked. People like her mam, working their fingers to the bone and then putting their life in danger!

  The drive was a hive of activity. There were two large vans with the doors wide open, and men coming in and out carrying things.

  Gran had told her the place was taking in evacuee children from a school down south; the whole town was full of it.

  There was Silas Bradshaw, with his shock of white hair, watching the men and looking none to pleased about it, either. Holly supposed he wouldn’t be, children running helter-skelter over his house.

  Of John there was no sign.

  She settled down to wait as patiently as she could. Eventually the men disappeared back into the vans and drove away, and Silas returned inside.

  Still Holly waited, praying John would come, hurting over it, like a physical ache inside her rib-cage.

  He might even have news of her mam …

  All at once she heard an engine, some distance away at first, then louder. She refused to let herself hope. The Bradshaws must have visitors all the time.

  Then her heart leapt as John’s sports car pulled up smartly in front of the house.

  Holly flew from her hiding place, running pell-mell towards him, heedless who saw her now. John was here, safe, at last.

  ‘What the …’

  She flew into his arms like a small depth charge, burying her head in the region of his chest. His arms folded around her in shocked surprise, almost lifting her off her feet.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t young Holly!’

  ‘John, you’re back!’

  ‘Of course I’m back, silly. Why shouldn’t I be?’ He started to laugh then, gently disentangling himself, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking down into her face.

  She stared back greedily, as if he might be a vision that would disappear before she had a chance to lay proper hold of it.

  He’d lost weight. He looked older, too – something had changed him, the things he was bound to have seen, she supposed.

  Holly wasn’t surprised; she’d heard what had happened in France, read between the lines of what was written in the papers. She’d a particularly bright and vivid imagination, and it was suddenly too much. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘What is it?’ John asked quietly, and then understanding dawned. ‘Of course, your mother. You must be worried sick.’

  ‘You’ve not seen her? Heard anything? I was praying you might have news.’

  He shook his head, wishing he had some words to give her comfort.

  ‘Come into the garden,’ he offered gently. ‘My grandparents can wait a while. We’ll have a talk. Try not to worry – she’ll be back.’

  He marched her over to one of the benches on the top lawn, where they sat underneath a cherry tree whose blossom lay scattered like confetti at their feet.

  She felt the thrill of his hand against hers, and her heart turned over, even though she knew it shouldn’t.

  How could you love someone so much and that person never know? Surely he must be able to tell – read something of it in her face?

  But John loved Mary. A sob rose up and caught in her throat.

  He frowned.

  ‘There’s nothing more, is there? You would tell me?’

  ‘I’ve found out something about my family!’ She took one long deep and shuddering breath and told him everything then. About Gramps, Granddad, what her gran had said … or not said, more like.

  ‘I think we must be related in some way,’ she finished. ‘Gramps said family’s family, and it was you he was talking about, I know it was, even though Gran swore it wasn’t …’

  ‘Whoa!’ John did his best to stem the torrent. ‘Would you like to try explaining that again, only slower?’

  She did.

  ‘I know he was rambling, John, but I still believe him.’ She finally ran out of steam. ‘And then when he told me about Granddad …’

  ‘What exactly did Daisy say again?’ The look on his face told her he wasn’t altogether sure he believed her.

  ‘She couldn’t deny it!’ she declared hotly. ‘My granddad says it’s true, even if he won’t say who. No one will tell me the truth!’ A surge of bitter anger rose up and lodged in her throat.

  ‘I’m not a child. Why should they keep things from me?’

  ‘You need to talk to your mother when she gets back.’ John was frowning. ‘You’ll have to tell her what you’ve found out.’

  ‘If she gets back!’ Holly wailed. ‘Oh, John, what if …’

  ‘When she gets back.’ He shook her hand as if to impart some of his conviction into it. ‘You need to find out what she knows, and decide if you’re going to do anything. She’ll sort things out.’

  Holly saw the sense of it. She took a deep and steadying breath. Talking to John had done her good.

  ‘I needed to tell someone,’ she confessed. Her eyes were full of gratitude – and something he refused to see.

  ‘Can I tell you something now?’ His voice had changed. Surprised, she looked up to see a transparent joy transform his face. She loved it when he confided in her, feeling closer to him at these times.

  ‘You must promise not to tell anyone, not even your granddad,’ he urged.

  Laughter bubbled up into his throat. It must be something wonderful to put that particular look on his face.

  ‘It’s Mary. Mary’s agreed to marry me!’

  Every word tore into her heart. John and Mary married? Somehow Holly had hoped he’d realise he and Mary were wrong together, and turn to her instead – knowing exactly what Mary was like …

  The colour drained from Holly’s young face. She opened her mouth to congratulate him, but what could she say? How could she lie to him?

  All at once, Holly felt deserted.

  ‘Your dad’s well away.’ Peter chuckled.

  Right enough. Daisy could hear William’s snoring from across the landing. She sighed and snuggled down into the crook of his arm, relieved he’d decided to stay up here with them tonight.

  ‘What about Mary and Billy?’ she’d demanded when first he sugg
ested it.

  ‘They’re big enough and ugly enough to look after themselves. Come on, love, they are grown up.’

  She laid her head against his chest, not wanting to confess how much she needed him. He knew, in any case.

  Her life was falling to pieces, as if someone had pulled a thread and unravelled her, and she’d never get herself back together again. She’d never felt like this in her life.

  She loved Peter so much. Lying here in what passed for darkness on this summer night, listening to the gentle rhythm of her husband’s breathing, she acknowledged that every word he’d said earlier was true.

  ‘Let it out, love! Let everything out. You’ll feel so much better …’

  How could she? She looked at him and saw only love in his eyes.

  ‘The whole thing cheapened me.’ She hated to put that thought into words, but it was true. ‘That’s how I feel, Peter, even now.’

  ‘I don’t mean Ned ever thought of me in that way, but I wasn’t good enough for his precious parents. The idea of someone like me with one of their sons? They’d never have stood for it.

  ‘That’s why Ned couldn’t tell them, why I was his guilty secret.’

  ‘Their problem, Daisy, not yours!’ Peter interrupted fiercely.

  ‘It’s unfair on you!’ she cried.

  ‘Why, when it brought me you? And gave me the privilege, and I mean that, of being a father to Maggie. I count myself blessed! None of this was your fault.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘That’s what you think, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘You think you were to blame – a lad and a lass, neither old enough to know what they were getting themselves into!’

  ‘If only we hadn’t—’

  ‘It brought you Maggie,’ he reminded her. ‘Never forget it.’

  ‘She was the only good to come out of it.’

  ‘Talk to her when she’s home. Tell her! Talk to Holly and Harry, too. Talking never hurt.’

  He’d dropped off to sleep at once, while Daisy lay sleepless, tossing this way and that.

  Drawing gently away from him, she slipped out of bed and made her way carefully downstairs and into the kitchen.

  She’d have a drink of tea and sit and think about what Peter had said.

  Please, God, bring my daughter safely home, she prayed while the kettle boiled, but oddly, the nagging uncertainty had left her. Peter was certain Maggie would be back! How could she not believe him?

  She smiled a little grimly. One thing was for sure. Once her reckless daughter did finally get home, Daisy had no intention of letting her out of her sight again.

  She drank her tea standing by the kitchen window, watching a rim of pale pink spread across the horizon. She could hear the birds, and the curious little dawn silence she’d always thought so full of promise. All the normal things, so far away from war!

  It would be light soon. She could get dressed, begin the day’s work, bury her thoughts in action.

  Suddenly she heard the latch on the gate. She lowered the cup and listened, every sense straining.

  Footsteps hurrying up the path. Voices. Someone fumbling at the porch door – she never locked the porch door.

  Hot tea from her cup splashed upwards, scalding her hand, but Daisy didn’t even feel it.

  She flew to the front door, her heart pounding, hope thundering through her.

  She flung the door wide, and gasped, her whole body beginning to shake.

  Tony stood on the doorstep, and by his side—

  ‘Maggie, oh, Maggie, love!’

  She was tired, dirty and dishevelled. Smiling uncertainly, her dear daughter took a tottering step forward, burst into tears and fell into her mother’s arms.

  Chapter Six

  Castle Maine.

  June, 1942.

  ‘Say that again if you dare, Cliff Bertram!’

  ‘It’s true! Your uncle Billy’s a conchie!’

  ‘He works down the mine! That’s for the war effort!’

  The two boys squared up to each other, head to head, fists raised.

  ‘Now, then, lads!’ Peter, coming to the back door to see what the fuss was about, was puzzled. Cliff and Harry so rarely fell out.

  ‘He’s a conchie,’ Cliff hissed, backing off. Without another word, he turned and ran out through the gate.

  Stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets and casting a look of anguish at his grandfather, Harry trailed up the path.

  ‘Me uncle Billy’s no conchie,’ he muttered miserably.

  ‘Who said he was?’ Peter followed him in. ‘Young Clifford? Daft young beggar! As if our Billy’d get involved with any of that nonsense. His job’s as important as any.’

  ‘What now?’ Daisy, finishing the last of the week’s ironing, glanced up at the clock anxiously. Time was getting on.

  ‘Nothing.’ Harry had the sense to keep Cliff’s accusations from his grandmother’s ears. ‘That Cliff’s a stuck-up—’

  ‘If you two have fallen out, you’d best go and make up again,’ Daisy said sharply.

  ‘He’ll be back at the Bradshaws’ by now.’

  Cliff’s mother, Connie, was visiting the old couple, so Cliff had taken the opportunity to look Harry up. They’d been getting on so well until Cliff had come up with all this nonsense.

  ‘Adèle Bradshaw won’t bother!’ Daisy shook her head at him. ‘She likes you boys playing together.’

  Sighing heavily, Harry turned on his heel and went back outside.

  ‘You’re too hard on that lad, Daisy.’ Peter came to stand in front of the empty hearth. Something was wrong, he could see. The hard part was finding out exactly what.

  ‘I’ve work in half an hour,’ Daisy said shortly.

  ‘I thought Lizzie was keeping an eye on things at work?’

  Lizzie was the supervisor at Daisy’s laundry. She was essential, too – Daisy was always busy since she’d moved back home with Peter, and Maggie had returned to the hospital. Keeping an eye on Harry alone was a full-time job.

  ‘It’s my business, Peter, I can’t leave it all to Lizzie.’

  ‘Happen Mary ought to be helping out more, married or not,’ Peter suggested.

  ‘Mary has her hands full at the food office!’

  Had Peter stumbled on the heart of the matter? Somehow he thought so.

  ‘Daisy, this silly feud with Mary will have to stop. It’s done with. She and John are married. You have to come to terms with it.’

  ‘Can we not talk about this when I’m busy?’ Daisy was dealing with the problem in her usual way, by bottling it up completely.

  Peter sighed, and changed tack.

  ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  Daisy’s shoulders sagged as some of the tension left her body.

  ‘It’s a year to the day since Dad died. I thought it was odd you’d never said …’ Her voice quavered, despite her best effort to keep it steady. She still turned to tell Dad things, then remembered he wasn’t there to tell.

  Peter had forgotten – not that she blamed him.

  ‘You’ve the Home Guard, two gardens to care for – and now another blasted allotment!’

  Peter poured his frustration over the bombing raids into work, digging for Victory.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass. I should have remembered.’

  She shook her head. How to reassure him?

  ‘Dad would never have wanted you mithering – that wasn’t his way. I’ve been thinking, that’s all – he only waited for Maggie getting home.’

  ‘Happen it was for the best, love,’ he said. ‘He was old, worn out—’

  ‘It doesn’t stop me missing him!’

  It was this blessed war. It pulled them all down.

  ‘Try and not take on so, lass.’ Peter sought for the right words.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Tea was the answer to everything, to Peter’s mind. He moved quietly about, busying himself with tea things, while Daisy sat down at the table. She was needed at
work, but hang it! She gave in, her mind too full of her father, and that last day, to think of anything else.

  ‘I’ll sit with him a while, Mam. Have a rest – you must be worn out.’

  They exchanged places at William’s bedside.

  ‘At least you are back.’ Daisy’s hand strayed to smooth a lock of Maggie’s hair. ‘He’s been so worried.’

  Maggie caught one of his hands and held it tightly between her own. His breathing steadied. The action soothed him.

  Something made Daisy linger at the door.

  ‘Your granddad used to lead me a merry dance an’ all, lass.’ The words passed from his lips like a sigh. ‘Tha’s too much like him.’

  ‘Like you, Gramps?’ Maggie smiled. ‘Of course I’m like you!’

  William’s head turned restlessly on the pillow.

  ‘Not me, lass. Tha’s like Silas. That’s who tha’ takes after!’

  Maggie frowned, still mystified, while her mother stiffened.

  William lifted his head from the pillow.

  ‘Ned was thy father, Maggie. Silas’s son.’

  Even now, Daisy hadn’t come to terms with it. Dad had betrayed her secret. He’d happen done it for the best.

  ‘Gramps?’ Maggie’s voice was low, but William was exhausted.

  Maggie turned in the chair, her eyes locked on her mother’s, reading the truth at last.

  The one person she should have told years since had found out now, in the worst way.

  ‘I meant to tell her, Peter!’ she said now. ‘If only Dad hadn’t got there first.’

  ‘Of course you did, love …’ He knew just what she meant. He put a cup of tea in front of her, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder.

  ‘She’s never forgiven me …’ Daisy looked up at him, pain on her face.

  ‘She’ll come round. I’d talk to her again if I thought it would do any good. It’s as if she doesn’t care.’

  ‘Oh, she cares, right enough! And she’s had a whole year to come round.’ Daisy picked up her cup. ‘She’s not the same, Peter! I’ve lost her somehow. Someone else came back from France in her place.’