With Love From Ma Maguire

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘In a pig’s eye! He’s one of them, one of the takers who’d stand on your face for a chance of an extra tanner in a back pocket! Just ’cos he showed you round his house—’

  ‘Stop being so damn stupid!’ Joey’s face was reddened by anger and indignation. ‘He took me up there on account of what I did – the break-in and that. He wanted to make sure I wouldn’t do it again.’

  ‘Don’t talk so daft! He was showing off, enjoying being powerful while he frightened you. He doesn’t care about Miss Leason, doesn’t give a damn! He’s just doing what he thinks looks right by giving her that little house and a few hens. I reckon he’s bothered about nobody but himself.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Joey jumped up from the table. ‘He cared about his kids and his Missus. He’s lost everybody, Jan. Now, he’s even lost one of his sheds—’

  Janet rose quickly and leaned across so that her face almost touched his. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be well insured against fire, Joey. I bet Ronnie wasn’t, though. There’d only be a penny a week on Ronnie for a decent coffin. But he doesn’t matter, does he? Who gives a damn for a penny a week lad, eh? I’m telling you now, I don’t want to talk about this. If he comes in my side of the shop, I’ll walk out till the air clears up a bit.’

  ‘You’re a right hard-faced bitch at times, you are . . .’

  ‘Me?’ She chuckled humourlessly. ‘You two-faced beggar! I wouldn’t leave me mam or me gran. I wouldn’t write me dad off as useless and stupid. You were the one as wanted that, Joey! You were the one for getting away till this money turned up.’ She beat her breast with a closed fist. ‘I know how I feel. I don’t change with the wind.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘You said I were unforgiving. Can’t you forgive either? Me for robbing Witchie Leason, him for something as wasn’t even his fault? He’s paid Robbie’s mam, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Not enough!’ she spat. ‘I’d like her to sue bloody Swainbank, drag him through the courts for leaving that place dangerous. Ronnie was in my class ten years – yours too – only you seem to have forgotten your mates all of a sudden. Have you ever seen a burnt body, ever caught a whiff of one? ’Cos I have and it’s not something I can live with easy. And it’s not just Ronnie! It’s the fact that Swainbank can just walk away! I want his name dirt in this town. If it takes me all my life—’

  ‘But that’s not fair!’

  ‘Tell me what is fair, then. You hated him for taking me on in the mill, didn’t want me slaving. A ride in his posh car and all that’s changed. I’ve no time for you, Joey! And I think we’d be best not talking about this any more.’

  She moved away and began to stack the chairs. After a few moments, he came to stand behind her. ‘We’re going up, Jan. Soon, we’ll be like Swainbank ourselves, nice new house, a van – happen a car in time. Why do you think we’re working so hard, eh? To give it all away, to worry over other folk?’

  ‘Not to trample on them, that’s for sure. Anybody as works here will get a fair deal, a bonus on profits if we make good. This business is not just for our pockets – it’s for decent working folk to come and buy a bargain or earn a living wage. Don’t you ever say we’re like Swainbank!’

  ‘And you’re buying curtain linings wholesale from a mill?’

  ‘Not from his mill!’

  ‘What’s the difference? They’ve all been the same!’

  She stood, cheeks flushed, feet apart and arms folded, an expression of fast diminishing patience on her face. ‘Not to me, they haven’t. Leatherbarrow didn’t kill Ronnie.’

  He sighed heavily and turned away to look through the lace-curtained window. ‘You’re going to be what Gran calls a bitter woman. You know what she always says – “Don’t carry a grudge because it’s an awkward shape and has no handle.” I’ve been wild and grabbing, I know that now. Whether I’d have learned to behave without this chance at me own shop – well, I’ll never know. But you’re worse than me, our Janet. You’ve picked on a man to hate without even getting to know him proper. He’s done nowt to you, nowt to this family. I know I didn’t like him meself at one time, only it didn’t go as deep as what you feel now.’ He gazed at her over his shoulder. ‘It’ll eat you up. And I’ll tell you summat else – Mrs Bowles won’t go to court and sue him, ’cos he’ll see she’s looked after. Please, Janet—’ But she was already out of the shop, coat trailing from a hand along the pavement behind her.

  Paddy arrived and placed an arm about his son’s shoulders. ‘Let her go, lad. Women is a thing we can never understand, ’cos we’re only men. They’re all the same, son – not one to mend another.’ He shook his head. ‘Yet they’re all different. Even one on its own can be half a dozen all at once. As long as you know that, as long as you can predict that they’ll be unpredictable, then you’ll keep in front. Well – alongside, which is the best you can hope for really.’

  Joey stared in amazement at this man who had always been labelled daft, who seldom had anything interesting or meaningful to say.

  Paddy grinned sheepishly. ‘I know, Joey, I’ve ever been thought on as a few butties short of a picnic, but I’m not. Nay, I’m all there with me lemon drops as me Ma says, though I get away with murder when it suits. Acting dumb can get you a long way. But about our Janet – she’s had a right bad shock with her friend dying like that and him nobbut fifteen, poor beggar. Death’s never what you might call acceptable, Joey. Best we can hope for is that we’ll stop being angry. She will. In time, she’ll learn—’

  ‘No, Dad. There’s something in our Janet – I can’t pin it down, only it’s as if she’s always going to be mad about something or other.’

  ‘Nay, it’s her age. Most are a bit rebellious at fifteen, some do odd things, things they grow out of towards twenty—’

  Joey’s chin dropped. ‘I did a burglary, Dad.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You . . . you knew? You knew and you did nowt?’

  Paddy stood his ground, the only sign of discomfort showing in his hands as they twisted together on his chest. ‘Not because I don’t care, lad. Never think that. Only I’ve lived that long in a house of women, folk who reckoned to know better than I did – well, I’ve had to keep me place to keep the peace! When you get treated as stupid, you act stupid. And there’s no two ways, Joey – I was fair pickled at the time, knocked out with drink and fever. But I knew what was going on – or had a fair idea. And I’ve been a lazy sod, I admit that right enough. I knew your mam would see to things. Yes, you did wrong, but you’re never a wrong ’un. No lad of mine could ever be that bad.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  Paddy moved towards the scullery. ‘Are you coming home with the rest of us?’

  Joey glanced at the wall clock above Ma’s range. ‘No. It might get to about half past ten – I’ve had a fair amount of stock through and it needs checking. Then I said I’d have that kiddy’s trike ready by morning. Customer’s got to come first, Dad.’

  ‘That’s right. See you later, then.’

  Joey Maguire watched his family disappearing round the corner, Paddy pushing a small handcart containing all the dishes and pie plates for tonight’s cooking session. It was a long walk along Bradshawgate, through Deansgate then up to School Hill, especially for the old one with her dragging foot. Yet they managed it daily, found the strength somehow, drew on this newborn promise for a better future and channelled all energies into making the business work.

  Tomorrow would be brighter. Tomorrow, he’d make his peace with Janet, give a bit of ground in the hope that her anger and hatred would begin to burn out as Paddy had predicted. Whatever had gone wrong could be put right.

  He walked into the back yard, took up his brush and began to paint the small tricycle. Yes, there was always tomorrow . . .

  Chapter 16

  Paddy Maguire was a truly contented man. It occurred to him from time to time that he was forgetting to be ill, that his various wounds and disorders should perhaps be troubling him more, that everything would surely c
atch up with him in the end, make him suffer twice over. But the opportunity to ail was now denied him, the need to hide away and drink was suddenly absent, for he found himself caught up in a project so exciting as to leave little space for self-indulgence. He felt proud of his family, proud of what they were making of the shops and, most importantly of all, Paddy was happy with himself, enjoyed a sense of usefulness and fulfilment at last.

  He sat alone in the kitchen, the proof of his worth spread out before him on the table in the form of account books and receipts. He had rediscovered his good head for sums, was given the weekly task of balancing the sheets, took great care to keep his work neat and legible.

  ‘Paddy? Have ye the ledgers filled yet?’ called Ma from the scullery.

  He scratched his head with the end of the indelible pencil, then licked the point before inserting a final digit. ‘We’re more than eighty quid to the good this month – that’s clear profit after Janet’s paid off her materials and the butcher’s bill’s seen to. Next month, we might hit three figures.’

  Ma came to stand at her son’s side. She stared down at the rows of meaningless hieroglyphics on the page. ‘Humph!’ she muttered. ‘Daisy is showing me the reading – or trying to, at least. It’s a jumble of nonsense at the best of times. What’s this?’ She pointed to an item on the list.

  ‘Linings – best cotton.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ She moved her eyes downward. ‘And there’s cotton again and here’s . . . no . . . don’t you be telling me now! B – U – T . . . that must be buttons. If it were butter, sure it would be on another page altogether. Turn over to the next and let me see. Well now, there we have eggs and lard. I’m improving, am I not?’

  ‘You are that, Ma. We’ll have you reading out the news on the wireless before we know where we are.’

  She sat down opposite him, rubbing floury hands on her apron as she studied this new man who was her only son. ‘ ’Tis a fine boy you’re making, Paddy, a person a mother might take pride in after all. Not a penny piece have you taken from the business and you’re after becoming a decent sober man at last.’

  ‘Happen all I needed was a chance, eh?’

  ‘Aye well, good man yourself – I have never before seen you make an effort the size of this. By the way – where is Joey?’

  Paddy piled the takings into a green drawstring purse. ‘Stopped behind to do up a trike and check his stocks. They’ve had another row, them two. Over Swainbank, I think. Poor old Charlie. He never did me no harm – I got many a laugh out of him and a few bob extra for droving and mucking out. Anyroad, far as I can work out, our Janet’s for having him tarred and feathered while Joey wants him knighted down the palace. Like chalk and cheese – I don’t know about twins. Who’d have thought they’d turn out so different from one another?’

  Ma pushed a few grey wisps off her face, leaving behind a large smudge of flour on her forehead. ‘They’re stubborn, the both of them. ’Tis the sameness, not the difference that comes between them. Molly thinks Janet’s a saint, but young Miss falls well short of the mark for canonization. Sure, there’s good and bad in the pair of them, but Molly won’t have it that her darling girl has faults like the rest of us. As for Joey – well, I hope he’s had his slate wiped good and proper. But she’s the deep one, Paddy. Mark my words – she’s the one who’ll leave a stamp on life.’

  ‘She’s a fair talent, Ma—’

  ‘I know. And thema ruthlessness that goes along with it. Anyway, reach me down a pinch, son, then away for your drop of stout – the jug’s here on the dresser ready. We’ve a stone of praties still to peel and the chickens wait plucking . . .’

  After Paddy had left, Ma remained a while at the table and took an extra portion of snuff, sneezing prolifically to ‘clear her head’. Ah well, there was enough now, ample funds for a deposit on their own place, a nice newish semi off Bury Road with a long back garden to grow their own herbs and veg, a little greenhouse for tomatoes, that good big wooden shed for Joey’s bits and pieces.

  She glanced up at the clock. Janet was out, of course, had gone against her elders’ advice as usual. Hanging curtains in Plodder Lane, carrying heavy bundles on and off buses, burdening her young back to maintain that self-imposed breakneck speed, doubtless out to prove something without even realizing the fact. Molly was down in the wash-house with a barrel full of water and a paring knife, likely working and worrying herself to a standstill. The only two safely in place were the little ones, in bed for an hour or more now.

  Howandever, this would never get the baby’s head washed, would it? All this daydreaming and with the earth waiting to be moved! She replaced the snuff box and took a batch of hotpots from the oven, checking rising dough in the hearth at the same time, then pausing to taste from a pan of broth that sat on the open range. Tomorrow morning, all this would have to be loaded on to the handcart to be pushed down for reheating in Ma’s Irish Kitchen. Then Paddy would return home and bring down the makings for more batches of bread and pies. It was a hard life for all of them, yet Ma knew in her bones that not one of the family, with the possible exception of Molly, could bear to ever lay it down and go back to how things were before. Though Daisy seemed . . . well . . . a bit distant. Yes, she’d have to make time for a talk with Daisy one of these days.

  She piled bread dough into tins for baking. Swainbank probably had a point, she thought as she pushed the loaves to one side of the table. At the bottom, everybody was after first-class travel through life, most would work past themselves to achieve it. So what was the difference? The fact that he had arrived while the Maguires were still in the queue at the ticket office?

  Molly entered through the scullery door, her face flushed after an hour or more of concentrated labour. ‘I’ve done the spuds. Sliced for Lancashire pots are in the two big pans. Scrubbed for baking are in the buckets and I’ve cubed the rest for pies and stew. All right? Where’s Paddy?’

  ‘Gone for his pint of black, God love him – doubtless having a chat with the feller in the outdoor, gossiping on what it’s like to be in business these days. You’d think he was a tycoon, so you would! Sure, I never did see such an improvement in a man.’ She looked at her daughter-in-law’s haggard face, the black smudges beneath the eyes, those worry-lines around the mouth, lines that seemed to be setting deeper with each passing day.

  ‘Aye, he’s better.’ The voice arrived devoid of any expression.

  ‘Molly, cheer up, why don’t you? Look, we’re out of here by Christmas – isn’t that great? I’m going to put down on that corner one in Withins Lane. Ah, we could stop here and use the money to hire staff, but they’d never cook like we do, for we’re the best. And it would be wiser to carry on with the hard work a while more, get a nice place as long as the twins agree on it. We’re to have a van too – imagine that! We’ll be the only small business in the town with motor transport.’

  Molly lowered aching bones into a fireside chair and fixed unseeing eyes on the row of blue-rimmed enamel dishes that contained tomorrow’s rising bread. It was all the same to her. The source of the original money meant that she could take little pleasure in whatever was achieved unless they somehow managed to pay it all back. But he wouldn’t take it, might even be riled enough to come out with the tale if she tried to stuff the money down his throat where it rightly belonged. ‘Do what you want, Ma. It makes no difference to me.’

  ‘But you liked the house! Didn’t you say yourself what a pretty place it was with the bay windows and that French door to the back garden? Wouldn’t most people be delighted to get the chance?’

  Molly shrugged her drooping shoulders. ‘It won’t be ours. It’ll belong to the twins – or to their father, more like. When all this comes out, there’ll be that many tongues wagging – why – they’ll feel the draught in Manchester.’

  ‘Let it be, Molly!’

  ‘I can’t.’ Her tone remained quiet. ‘I’d sooner tell them myself what happened, that it weren’t really my fault. Only there’s Paddy �
�� he’d never forgive me—’

  ‘Molly Maguire! Are we walking that same old ground again? Haven’t we been down this road so often that our clog-irons are rusted through with it?’

  ‘Then we must choose another road. I’m for selling up and moving away – London maybe—’

  ‘What? Do you think he wouldn’t notice the shops on the market? Wouldn’t he find out in two shakes from Joey where you were for? And you cannot run from him, girl! He’d find you wherever you went! You must just wait and see—’

  ‘I am waiting! I am seeing!’ At last she reacted, jumping up from the chair, arms waving wildly in the air to emphasize her words. ‘My twins are at one another’s throats because of him! I want to be free, I’d rather be clean even if it means losing my husband! Look at me! Look!’ She held out shaking fingers, thrusting them to within an inch of Ma’s head. ‘I’m a bag of nerves and there’s grey hairs all over me head and I’m only thirty-three! Long enough I lived with what happened to me, thinking only meself knew! It hurt, but I never worried ’cos I thought nobody would ever find out. Oh, I cleared it with God, went through Father Mahoney, told my sins. But that was then and this is now! Paddy loves them kids – they’re his! If he’s got to lose them, I’d rather he got the truth from me, not from bloody Swainbank! I tell you now, this is killing me! And you can’t make me feel any better, no matter what you say. I watch that shop front like a hawk, feared to death every time I notice a big car. At the finish, they’ll find out anyway, so why not get it over or clear off out of the road? Why do I have to carry on like a sitting duck?’

  Ma rushed round the-table and pulled Molly into her arms. ‘Things do change all the time, mavourneen. In me heart, I nurse this very fierce hope that Janet and Joey will never know, that something will happen to stop the wagon rolling down the hill. But please pull yourself together! He could re-marry. He might leave all to his nephew or simply cut the twins out as unsuitable. Remember the burglary? Hang on to the knowledge that Janet near went for him with a sledge-hammer the day of that fire. Would you leave thousands to someone who half-killed an old woman? Or to a girl who hates you fit to burst? Would you now?’