No Greater Love

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘No one’s there, hinny,’ she called at the shadowy figure. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘It’s me, Mrs Smith. Maggie.’

  For a moment there was silence, then Mary Smith screeched, ‘It’s never!’ She advanced out of the door and up the first few steps. ‘Where have you been hiding yourself, hinny? Your mam’s been that worried. Eeh, and you missed Susan’s wedding. She looked a picture.’ Mary reached out and pulled Maggie by the arm. ‘Come in an’ have a cup of tea with me. They’ll not be long. Your Susan’s giving them all their tea at your Aunt Violet’s.’

  Maggie needed little persuasion to keep her old neighbour company. She could not bear the thought of returning to the empty rooms in Arthur’s Hill and no longer knew if she was welcome there. They sat by the stove, drinking tea while Maggie listened to Mary Smith chatter on about the family and Susan’s wedding and how well Mr Turvey was doing.

  ‘Always so nicely turned out, is Mr Turvey,’ she said in approval. ‘And Susan’s never too busy to visit her mam. Over here every day, she is. Course she’s always been close to her mam - a real one for family.’

  Maggie winced at the unintentional criticism but let the garrulous, lonely woman continue.

  ‘That Helen’s full of mischief, mind. Needles your Susan whenever she can. If you ask me,’ Mary said, leaning closer and dropping her voice as if someone might hear, ‘she shows Mr Turvey too much attention when he comes round. She’s going to be a terrible one for the lads. Don’t say a word of this to your mam, mind. She’s got enough to worry about with Granny Beaton and Jimmy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Maggie asked in concern.

  ‘Well, with your grandmother wetting the bed all the time and wandering off like a bairn. And Tich packing in his job because he thinks he can get summat better. He’s turning into a right tearaway - he’s out now somewhere with my Tommy. The devil knows where they get to.’

  Suddenly Maggie could not stay another minute. She wanted to rush out and find her mother and hug her and ask forgiveness for the worry she had put her through.

  ‘Mrs Smith,’ Maggie said, putting her cup down on the hearth, ‘ta for the tea but—’

  A door banged open in the hall.

  ‘That’ll be your mam back, I expect,’ Mary Smith said with a nod.

  Maggie jumped up and rushed to the door, opening it without another word. Under the fuzzy gas light, she made out three wrapped figures, the one with a stick being helped in by the other two.

  ‘Mam! Granny Beaton!’ Maggie cried and dashed forward. ‘Helen!’

  For a moment they all gawped at her as if they had seen a ghost, then her mother put out a hand and clutched her arm as if to convince herself she was real.

  ‘Maggie?’ she gasped. ‘Eeh, Maggie, you little bugger!’

  Her mother’s arms went about her in a cold damp hug of delight and Maggie clung to her, not sure whether she was laughing or crying.

  ‘Get yourself upstairs this minute,’ Mabel ordered her daughter, pulling away with a sniff, ‘and you can tell us everything.’ She shouted at her mother-in-law, ‘It’s Maggie, Mrs Beaton, she’s come home. Maggie,’ she repeated to the deaf old woman.

  ‘Oh, Maggie,’ her grandmother smiled, understanding. ‘Dear lassie.’

  Maggie was delighted. ‘Let me help you, Granny,’ she offered.

  Helen harrumphed. ‘Typical! You blow in like a bad smell from goodness knows where and get all the attention. But what have you done for the family but get us a bad name?’

  ‘Hold your tongue!’ her mother ordered. ‘You’re beginning to sound like Susan.’

  ‘How is Susan?’ Maggie asked, ignoring Helen’s resentful words. ‘I wish I’d seen her wed. But it was too risky.’

  ‘Eeh, hinny,’ Mabel sighed as she mounted the stairs, ‘what sort of life are you leading?’

  ‘Different,’ Maggie said, blushing in the gloom.

  They helped Granny Beaton upstairs and Mabel went over to light the lamp with a taper from the banked-up fire.

  ‘Mam,’ Helen spoke again, this time more sweetly, ‘shall I go and fetch our Susan? I’m sure she’d want to see Maggie.’

  Mabel gave her a suspicious look. ‘What are you up to, offering to run errands?’

  But Maggie interrupted eagerly, ‘That would be canny of you, Helen,’ she smiled. ‘I can’t stay long.’

  ‘You’ll stay the night with us, hinny?’ her mother pleaded. ‘You can’t turn up here after months of being missing and run off into the night again. You can share with Helen the night.’

  ‘Aye,’ Helen agreed ‘I don’t mind for a night.’

  ‘Well,’ Maggie considered, thinking it might give George time to calm down, ‘maybes just for the night.’

  ‘Shall I go then. Mam?’ Helen asked, buttoning up her coat again.

  ‘Aye, be off with you. But don’t breathe a word to Aunt Violet or we’ll have the police round before you get back.’

  Helen was already at the door, tossing her fair ringlets in a habitual gesture.

  When she had gone, Mabel sighed. ‘She can’t bear to be still for two minutes, that lass.’

  ‘Is she helping you with the business?’ Maggie asked, discarding her hat and coat over the back of a kitchen chair.

  Mabel snorted. ‘It’s a constant battle to stop her wearing half the clothes we collect. She’s got an eye for what’s fancy but she’s a better spender than shopkeeper.’

  Maggie automatically set about warming the teapot and reached up for the tea caddy on the mantelpiece. She noticed that her grandmother was content to rest silently by the fire, her knuckled hands lying loosely in her lap as she stared vacantly into the flames. It was as if her spirit had quietly slipped out of her ageing body and wandered off, leaving a pale likeness of the once intelligent and compassionate woman who had captivated the young Maggie with her tales of the Highlands.

  Her mother seemed to read her thoughts.

  ‘She’s quite happy just sitting there all day long,’ she said quietly, ‘dreaming her dreams. She did well recognising you downstairs - she usually calls people names from her past life in Scotland.’

  ‘I wish I could look after her,’ Maggie sighed, ‘like I used to.’

  ‘So where are you living, Maggie?’ her mother asked and Maggie saw the worry shadow her dark blue eyes. ‘I know you’re not with that teacher Johnstone ’cos I had it out with her. She said you’d rowed and she didn’t see you anymore. But I knew she was keeping summat back. What was it that prim schoolmistress didn’t want me to hear, lass?’

  Maggie was surprised to discover her mother had tried to trace her, but could she tell her about George? And if she did, would she throw her down the stairs in disgust, as she was capable of doing? Maggie felt her face go hot.

  Mabel suddenly grabbed her hand. ‘Hinny, I wasn’t born yesterday. It’ll tak’ a lot to shock me, so you can tell us and know I won’t go blabbing to all the neighbours. You’re living with a man, aren’t you?’

  Maggie looked at her mother in astonishment.

  ‘I thought as much,’ Mabel grunted.

  ‘Did Mr Heslop tell you?’ Maggie asked, her throat quite dry.

  ‘No,’ Mabel shook her head, ‘he told me nowt, but I could tell he didn’t approve of what he’d found.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ Maggie admitted, flushing deeper, ‘and I doubt you will either. I’ve been living with George Gordon.’ As she confessed, Maggie raised her head with a defiant jut of her chin, then added, less sure, ‘He might not have me back, mind - we argued over me coming here and risking being caught.’

  For a moment she thought her mother was going to slap her, and she flinched as Mabel pulled her close, but instead found her mother’s arms encircling her tightly.

  ‘Eeh, me darlin’ bairn. Just let them try and tak’ you away - over my dead body!’ she cried.

  Maggie clung to her mother and let the tears of relief stream from her closed eyes. For a moment she felt like the ten-year-old Ma
ggie who had hugged her mother for comfort after the death of her father, drawing strength from the warm protective hold, the smell of cheap soap and mothballs and her rough love. Her mother had always been there to turn to; vital, permanent, sharp-tongued and forgiving.

  ‘Will you marry the lad?’ Mabel asked, rocking Maggie in her arms.

  ‘No,’ Maggie said firmly. ‘I’ll marry no one. Marriage does nowt but hold women back.’

  Her mother sighed, ‘Aye, you might be right, hinny. But if you love the lad ...’

  ‘Who says I do?’ Maggie bristled.

  ‘I can tell by the way you’re carrying on, pretending you don’t mind that he threw you out.’

  ‘He didn’t throw me out!’ Maggie declared, pulling away. ‘It was my choice to come back here.’

  Mabel laughed. ‘Eeh, Maggie. We Beaton women just don’t seem to click with men, do we? Since your father died, I couldn’t be bothered with a man interfering in the house. And there’s poor Susan, tappy-lappying behind Richard Turvey, doing whatever he tells her and getting her head bitten off if she doesn’t. The times I’ve wanted to shake him by the neck. But she doesn’t complain, speaks up for him if I try to interfere, so what can I do?’

  ‘Nothing, Mam,’ Maggie smiled wryly. ‘Susan chose Richard of her own free will. I warned her about him, but she wouldn’t listen, so now she’s just got to make the best of it. From what Mary Smith says, she’s enjoying spending his money and bragging about it round the houses.’

  ‘Aye, maybes,’ Mabel shrugged, ‘but I’d put money on it that she’s not happy. Perhaps I should’ve let Richard tak’ wor Helen off me hands after all.’

  ‘Helen’s just a bairn!’ Maggie replied.

  ‘I sometimes wonder,’ Mabel said with a roll of her eyes. ‘Anyhow, get that tea poured, hinny.’ Her mother pushed her gently away and went to poke the fire.

  Maggie poured the tea and placed a cup carefully in her grandmother’s lap. The old woman smiled and thanked her, but without any recognition.

  ‘So what’s our Tich been up to, packing in his job?’ Maggie asked.

  Mabel huffed and stabbed the fire harder with the poker. ‘That lad’s a loser if ever there was one. Lasted a month in that job Richard got him down the quayside. Said it was too long hours and too little money and he could get summat better - not that he has, mind. And he fights with Helen like cat and dog or disappears off with Tommy Smith - probably thieving. Well, I wash me hands of that lad. He’s neither use nor ornament!’

  ‘He’s still young, Mam,’ Maggie defended her brother. ‘He’ll grow into summat in time. Jimmy’s not a bad’un at heart.’

  ‘I know why you’re defending him,’ her mother snorted, ’cos he helped you in that daft carry-on at the launch.’ Mabel scrutinised her. ‘Is it true you set fire to the pavilion at Hebron House an’ all?’

  ‘Aye,’ Maggie confessed, ‘but you mustn’t tell a soul.’

  To her surprise, her mother gave a cackle of laughter. ‘Good on you, hinny!’ she grinned ‘I wish you’d sent a few Pearsons to heaven with it.’

  ‘Mam!’ Maggie was shocked. ‘We’re not murderers. I only agreed to do it ’cos I knew the place was empty.’

  ‘No?’ Mabel questioned. ‘Well, you’re a better lass than me.’

  Maggie smiled. ‘Mr Heslop doesn’t think so. I’m nowt but a fallen woman in his eyes.’

  ‘Heslop!’ Mabel ridiculed. ‘That man’s always trying to save us Beatons.’

  They sat by the fire and talked for an hour, reminiscing and confiding and drinking tea. Maggie could not remember her mother being so open with her before, talking about her father with unusual tenderness, while Maggie told her of the past secretive months. She sensed her mother was just as relieved to unburden herself as she was.

  Then Jimmy returned and was immediately sent out again to fetch a jug of beer before his astonished questions could be answered. A few minutes later Helen returned and the intimacy of the evening was broken.

  ‘Susan won’t come,’ she announced with a glint of glee, keeping to herself the unholy row that had erupted at Aunt Violet’s at the news of Maggie’s return.

  Maggie was dashed.

  ‘What do you mean she won’t come?’ Mabel asked crossly. ‘Did you not tell her who was here?’

  ‘Aye,’ Helen pouted, ‘but she doesn’t want to see Maggie. Said if she couldn’t be bothered to see her wed, she couldn’t be bothered to come out on a cold night and see her now.’

  ‘By, she’s got above herself, that one!’ Mabel fumed. ‘I’ll have words with her the morra.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mam,’ Maggie intervened. ‘I can understand why she’s not speaking.’

  ‘Well, I can’t!’ Mabel shouted. ‘She’s changed that much since she wed Richard Turvey.’

  Jimmy’s return with the jug of beer quelled Mabel’s wrath and she settled down by the hearth to drink it. Helen went to bed, telling Maggie not to wake her when she joined her, and Jimmy lay on the truckle bed playing with some lead soldiers he had had since childhood. Maggie tried to talk to him, but he was moody and unapproachable, so she gave up.

  Later, she helped Mabel get Granny Beaton to bed in the parlour and kissed the old woman goodnight, leaving the candle burning.

  ‘She sees things in the dark,’ Mabel whispered, ‘that frighten her, so I leave the candle burning till I come to bed.’

  Maggie was struck by the concern in her mother’s voice.

  ‘You care a lot for Granny, don’t you, Mam?’

  Mabel was brusque. ‘Someone has to, and she did enough for me when your father died. I’ll not see her end up in the workhouse.’

  Maggie felt reluctant to turn in. She sat by the fire while her mother drank and dozed, wondering if George had returned to find her gone. Perhaps she would stay a few more days at Gun Street. If she drew no attention to herself, she would be safe enough, she decided. George would have to realise that she had other obligations in her life and would not be beholden to him for taking her in. If they were to live together again it must be on equal terms.

  Maggie closed her eyes in the dark warmth of the kitchen, aware of Jimmy’s even breathing in the shadows and her mother’s gentle snoring at her side. She felt safe and content as her limbs and eyelids became leaden and overcome with sleep.

  ***

  Susan leant over and was sick into the tin bowl by the bed. Richard did not even turn round as he buttoned up his trousers.

  ‘I told you. You’re not well enough to go running off to see that wayward sister of yours. Let her come to you if she’s so keen to see you.’

  Susan fought off another wave of nausea, thinking that if her husband was so concerned for her health he would stop subjecting her to the nightly ordeal in bed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she croaked, her throat stinging from the bile.

  ‘Out, darlin’,’ Richard said offhandedly. ‘I’ll be back at closing.’

  ‘Don’t wake me up then,’ Susan answered huffily.

  In a second he had whipped round and leaned across the bed to seize her arm. She winced in pain. ‘Don’t nag, Susan,’ he threatened, ‘or I might take up with someone else.’

  She stared at him bleakly, half wishing that he would be unfaithful so that she would be spared his attentions in bed. She still thought he was handsome but her fondness for him had gone. Looking at him, she felt only irritation at his selfishness and a quiver of fear at what he might do if he did not get his way. So she let him go without protest and curled up in the dark, feeling wretched and sick and frustrated at not seeing Maggie.

  Of course, she told herself, she was furious with her sister for abandoning the family and failing to come to her wedding. Yet she longed to see Maggie again, to discover what she had been doing, to hear her acknowledge her married status and be impressed by how well she had done.

  ‘Oh, Maggie!’ Susan cried noiselessly and felt the tears hot on her face. ‘I wish we could go back to how it was before
- just the family!’ She pulled the covers over her head to deaden the noise of her sobbing and thought she had never been so unhappy.

  ***

  George woke stiff and cold. He had let the fire go out. The after-effects of the beer made his temples throb and his throat was thick and parched. He groaned and pulled himself out of the chair. Glancing in at the bedroom he saw at once that nothing had been disturbed since his return in an alcoholic haze earlier that evening.

  Maggie was gone.

  He pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped himself in it. Lighting a candle he began to flick through a book on philosophy lent to him by Isaac, but found he had no concentration.

  She must have gone to see her mother, George kept telling himself, and it had grown late and she had decided to stay. Who could blame her after the way they had argued? But she would come back, he assured himself, when that Beaton temper of hers had simmered down. He would be magnanimous and forgiving and they would have a loving reunion ...

  George gripped the arms of the chair. But what if she didn’t come back? What would he do?

  The thought was so bleak, so unanswerable, that George forced it from his mind. He would go to bed and stop thinking of Maggie until the morning. They were invited to the Samuels’ for Sunday dinner and she would not miss that, he thought.

  But George found he could not move. He was frozen with foreboding. He sat on in the icy flat, lit faintly by the gas lamp in the street, and waited for Maggie to return and fill the room with her warmth.

  He watched the door and waited, but she did not come.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maggie woke with a start. Someone was banging heavily on the front door. At first she was disorientated, thinking she must be at the flat in Arthur’s Hill, then she caught sight of her mother’s solid figure, slumped in the chair next to her.

  ‘Mrs Beaton!’ a man shouted.

  Maggie shook her mother from her sleep.

  ‘What the devil...?’ the older woman asked groggily.

  The hammering continued. Maggie was on her feet.

  ‘Do you want to break me bloody door down?’ Mabel shouted back. ‘Who are you?’