Maggsie McNaughton's Second Chance

by Frances Maynard

  Now she put a funny-looking sausage in a pan to boil. Boiling a sausage! I kept my eye on her.

  Big Shirl came in. Turned round and winked when she saw the loaf of Hovis on the worktop. Probably one of those who were OK with you, once they’d put you in your place. She took out three slices. I hoped me replacing them so quick wasn’t going to go to her head. Then she asked Kasia how business was. Well, the only business Big Shirl knew about was running her brothel. So, Kasia must be on the game then. That was another thing I hadn’t realized. That was another thing that might make you think I was thick. Only you’d be wrong.

  Big Shirl shook her head at Kasia shrugging. Told her she’d be much better off, safer, being in an organized set-up. One like hers had been, you could tell she meant.

  I warmed up some soup and swallowed a too-hot spoonful. Bet Kasia had taken my butter. Being on the game was breaking the rules here, but it wasn’t breaking the law. Managing a brothel was, though. That was why Big Shirl had been sent down.

  Juicy Lucy was sat opposite me chopping up an apple, her eyelids drooping like sagging blinds. Didn’t look safe in charge of a sharp knife. I dipped a slice of Hovis in my soup to use it up. Give me white bread any day.

  Kasia slithered her sausage down onto a plate. It was still pink. A horrible link between it and what she must see a lot of in her line of work sprang to mind. Maybe that was why she’d boiled it.

  She got her bread out of the fridge. Brown sour slabs, like cork tiles. Took out a jar of what looked like little cucumbers, warty things, swimming around in vinegar like diseased fish. Big Shirl told me afterwards they were called gherkins – said she’d served them with cocktails at her ‘parties’. Then, blow me down if she didn’t reach to the back for my packet of butter, bold as brass, and cut herself off a hefty chunk.

  ‘Hey!’ I shouted, spluttering soup. ‘That’s mine!’

  You’d think the way Dad carried on would have turned me off getting worked up, wouldn’t you? Turned me into a meek and mild sort of a person. Someone who discussed things and nodded, like Ruby. It didn’t work like that. Dad, and Dougie after him, had tried to grind me down. No one was going to make me feel that way again. Powerless. That’s why I always got angry – well, firm – first. The anger management tutors, therapists, whatever they called themselves, someone what tried to fix us lesser mortals, never quite got that.

  ‘Your dad’s your role model, then?’ one had even asked.

  I hated people trying to make me think about stuff. Like I’ve told you, I didn’t do long-term thinking. Not forwards or backwards. Thinking spoils things in my opinion.

  Another thing they’d said was, don’t let your anger out. I never got that. Were you supposed to just bottle it up then? Swallow it down and pick up a piece of knitting? Yes, they said. Getting angry made the person you were angry with get angry. Lost you your job. Landed you inside. Yeah, alright for them that could just drive off, shut a door, call the police. They didn’t realize that sometimes anger was all you had to defend yourself.

  Kasia stared at me. Her dark eyes had eyeliner all the way round. Made them look like currants. ‘Is yours? No, is woman’s upstairs. Woman who not eat much.’

  ‘No, it bloody ain’t!’ I jabbed the packet under her nose, what was left of it. ‘“MM”, it says, see? Marguerite McNaughton.’ For once I got my full name out perfect.

  ‘Sounds posh when you say it like that.’ Big Shirl was spreading jam on her Hovis toast. Getting it right into the corners and looking at the two of us, like she was waiting for something to kick off.

  Kasia scraped the butter back into my packet. Some of it had touched her sausage.

  ‘Too late for that!’ I burst out. Her next door to me was a nosey cow. But it didn’t give Kasia any right to steal her butter. She hadn’t, I know, seeing as it was mine. But still.

  I stared at Kasia. Someone once told me I had piercing eyes. Didn’t think they’d meant it as a compliment. She was taller than me; most people were. Plus she had high heels on. She had her jar of gherkins in one hand and my butter in the other. Tottered as I snatched it back. There was a jangle of gold chains. She lost her grip on the jar – it was a big one. Smashed on the floor. Glass and warty little things everywhere; a stink of vinegar.

  The others stared at the gherkins. Big Shirl shook her head. Put her jam with its great big ‘S’ label back in the fridge. ‘Chrissie’s in the office, Maggsie. She’ll hear that.’ Chrissie was another support worker that came in sometimes.

  Kasia started to pick up the broken glass. Gave me evils while she done it. Juicy Lucy tried to rescue the gherkins. Big Shirl sighed and went to fetch the mop.

  I sat back down, breathing heavy. Blowed if I was going to help. There was a red blur in front of my eyes through staring at my tomato soup. Must have been, because, since anger management, I’d kept a pretty good hold on myself. Hadn’t touched Kasia, had I? Done deep breathing like they’d said. I breathed o-u-t, remembering. See?

  Next minute Chrissie came in. Big-built girl. Posh voice. Single. I knew that because Big Shirl had asked her. Kasia was kneeling on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. The rest of us was dead quiet. None of us daft enough to have seen anything. But Chrissie put two and two together and made five.

  12

  Woman’s World, 7 February 2018

  Feeling Frazzled? Five Effective Ways to Keep Your Cool

  Well, that meant a sleepless night, didn’t it? With my luck, just standing next to someone who’d dropped their jar of gherkins would get me kicked out. No way could I afford London rents. So lose my place here and I’d lose my job. Then where would I be? Back to square one. No chance of crowing to Nella. Or Mum. No chance of contacting Alastair one day.

  Monday, after work, I got the talking-to. I put Nan’s earrings on for it. Ruby’s office had two swivel chairs, a desk with a load of files, probably all about us girls, and a big poster of a blonde barmaid. Old-fashioned clothes, tight-fitting, looking straight out at you with a fed-up expression. Knew how she felt. Ruby said it was a famous painting. Then her lips pressed together in the way that meant bad news was coming. I’d seen it a lot over the years.

  I stared out of the window, arms folded. Here we go. The security light came on. There was Audrey walking past the shed. Much warmer inside. I still hadn’t got her to come through the door. If I had to leave here she’d never manage it. I drummed my heels on the chair legs. What else can you do with your legs when they don’t reach the floor? Audrey sat down to wash her face with a little white paw. Every so often she looked at the kitchen door, like she was waiting for it to open.

  Ruby gave me some guff about self-control and how important it was to get on with other people, without friction. Yeah, but not pinching someone else’s stuff is important as well. Or it ruddy should be. She’d have to report me if there were any more ‘outbursts’.

  My head whipped round from the window so quick my neck cricked. See, this was what happened to me. People never listened to my side of things. Ain’t you got any idea what Kasia’s up to when she’s not stealing my butter, I wanted to say, but didn’t. Snitching wasn’t my thing. You don’t, not once you’ve been inside.

  I twirled one of Nan’s earrings round. Stared out of the window. Saw Audrey’s tail disappearing under the shed. Could think of other people I’d like to see under there and all. Ruby twitched her skirt, a long one with a fringe thing round the hem, over her knees. Big Shirl had asked her why she didn’t wear short skirts, given she had the figure, and Ruby had said she preferred an ethnic look. That meant rusty colours and fringing and droopy skirts. And dangly earrings. ‘Well, let’s think how we can improve things. Alright?’

  She didn’t hear me mutter, ‘Nah. Let’s not.’ Leapt in with it being bike-riding that kept her sane. Burnt up that adren . . . something. Same stuff they’d mentioned in anger management. Alright for her. She was exercise mad. She was training for a tri-ath-lon. (Try anything once, I’d thought she meant at first. Did
n’t know it was three horrible sports joined together. Cycling was only one of them.) I already told you how she fussed over her bike. It even had a name. Bee, short for Beyoncé. Wouldn’t have a coffee out without it being chained to her table. Outside, she meant. In February. No way was I going to cycle in London. I’d be dead in five minutes, or anyone cutting me up would be. Ruby said a brisk walk would be just as good to defuse tension. A power-walk.

  I didn’t like the word brisk. Sounded like risk. At risk. Power sounded better. Useless advice, though, seeing as I’d always walked fast. Made me look like I knew what I was doing, where I was going, when I didn’t always. Made me look taller. Whizzed me past people before they could have a go.

  ‘Alright, Maggsie. Lecture over.’ I nodded like I’d learnt something, when I hadn’t, and I closed the door, rather than slammed it. If that wasn’t self-control then I didn’t know what was. That was how much I wanted to stay. Plus I’d hardly said a dicky. Not that you ever got much of a chance of that with Ruby.

  I went upstairs, eyes prickling. Too many cleaning products. Juicy Lucy was always spraying bleach around.

  At least I was staying, I told myself. But I hadn’t lost it like Ruby was making out. I’d learnt a lot about keeping calm the last two stretches. All I’d done was take back what was mine.

  Back in my room, I snatched up this week’s Woman’s World. Tried to focus on the cookery pages. ‘Winter Warming Soups’. I knew the word soup alright, seeing as I had a can of it every day. Leek and ruddy potato, the recipe said. I threw the magazine down. Lay back on the bed.

  I hadn’t ticked the calendar yet. I’d had run-ins with two of the girls here over the weekend, plus a telling-off now from her in charge. But I was the sort of person who rescued people, wasn’t I? Who held down a job. Who kept off . . . well, what you know about now. What I don’t need to discuss. OK?

  Jack’s face swam into my mind, all pink and healthy and grateful. Good job he hadn’t seen that to-do over the butter, or Ruby telling me off. Then I saw Alastair’s little baby face staring at the tiny spilt gherkins and the smashed glass. His little nose wrinkling up at the vinegary smell. Saw him turning to me and bursting out crying. Even though at one day old he couldn’t have hardly focused on anything.

  I wished Enid was here, doing her crocheting, looking up at her Romania pictures. She was the sort of person people told their problems to. Had that way of tilting her head like she was really thinking about what you were saying, instead of working out what she was going to say next, like most people. She’d have listened. Given me a little pat on the shoulder. Told me how well I was doing. Oh, I say! she’d have gone, seeing the Metro on my desk. She’d have said about Ruby the same as she had about Louise, that posh tart inside, the one with all the arty postcards: ‘Who’s she when she’s at home with her boots off then?’

  13

  Woman’s World, 7 February 2018

  Make Positive Changes!

  Kasia was on the other side of the road. Business must be slack if she was out and about and not entertaining clients. I sped up – power-walked, Ruby would have called it. Even though I’d been on my feet all day. Didn’t want another run-in, did I? And there was her boyfriend, pimp, whatever, in the entrance to the block of flats, watching. Waiting. Kasia tapped her watch and frowned. He wasn’t the type you’d want to meet in a dark alley. Gazed at her like a little lap-dog, though.

  She came in when I was turning on my soup. Carrot and Cor-i-an-der. I’d gone up to two vegetables. It was through seeing Juicy Lucy chomp her way through loads of them. Plus London made you more adventurous, posher, without you even realizing.

  Big Shirl was in the kitchen as well, unpacking a Co-op carrier bag. Her grandson, the one she went on about, lived local and helped her with her shopping. She put her fancy margarine tub that was going to give her a new lease of life, on the top shelf of the fridge. Wrote ‘Shirley’ on a sticky label from a roll she kept in a drawer. There were ‘Shirley’ and ‘S’ labels all over the place – on a mug, even. Like I said, she’d been here a long time. Plus she was used to being in charge.

  I didn’t look at Kasia. She hadn’t exactly given Ruby the whole story but I wasn’t going to let her make me lose my cool. I got out a slice of my Hovis. I had the rest of the loaf to get through. Took out my butter. What was left of it. That was awkward, but blow it. I thought about taking my soup upstairs to eat. Leaving her and Big Shirl to talk business. Then Kasia reached into the fridge and handed me a packet of butter. ‘I’m sorry I took. I told Ruby mistake I took.’ The butter had funny writing on the label. All ‘j’s and ‘k’s. I thought it was me, reading it wrong, but, after, Big Shirl said it was because it was in a foreign language.

  Kasia caught me off guard. I just nodded thanks. Then she went upstairs. Funny thing – it made me feel worse, her apologizing.

  Big Shirl raised her pencilled-in eyebrows at me. ‘All friends again.’ People in charge, specially those that thought they were in charge, could come over very patronizing. She folded up her carrier bag for next time so she didn’t have to pay five pence. You could see she’d run a business, even if it had been a brothel.

  I had the soup with the Hovis bread and one of my sandwiches. Egg and cress, on brown bread. Bits in the bread. Told you it was the unpopular ones that got left over. Not a great dinner.

  Audrey appeared soon as I went outside for a smoke. Let me stroke her while I finished my fag. Opened her mouth to miaow, only no sound came out. First time she’d done that. I went in and opened a fresh tin of pilchards. Gave her two because she rubbed against my leg while I was putting the first one down. She still hadn’t had her posh little tin. I was saving it up for when I’d got her through the kitchen door.

  I made a cup of tea. Might as well make one for Kasia and all. I used my own teabag and my own milk. I got a plate for the other work sandwich, cream cheese on rye bread, which I’d fancied even less, and knocked on her door. I was putting myself at a disadvantage. ‘Thanks for the butter,’ I got out. There was a seed from the bread stuck in the back of my throat. Then, quicker, before I changed my mind, ‘Sorry about the gherkins.’ My armpits prickled. Apologizing was hard. No wonder people didn’t do it much.

  Kasia must have just come out the shower. She’d need plenty of those in her line of work. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. Dark roots showing at the front. She took the sandwich and the tea like they might explode in her hands. Then she gave me a grin. She had a gold tooth, near the back.

  Downstairs, Audrey was still crunching her pilchards – they had little bones that were safe for cats to eat – on the step outside. I had the door half open although it was freezing. What the hell, I thought, I’ll open her special tin and give her that as well. I was in a reckless mood. Be nice to see the eager look on Audrey’s face and her belly blown out like a little balloon.

  She went mad over the posh stuff. I sat at the kitchen table, drinking my tea and listening to her purring. It looked like the aggro had died down. And I was still here, still on the way to finding Alastair.

  In a minute I’d go upstairs and tick the calendar.

  14

  Woman’s World, 21 February 2018

  Getting to Know You!

  ‘Uh?’ I grunted. ‘I was miles away.’

  TJ looked puzzled.

  I sighed. Tapped ash off my rollie. ‘It means I was thinking about something else.’ I had to explain the simplest things to him. Everyday expressions you’d think he’d have known already.

  ‘Ah.’ TJ took out a notebook held together with an elastic band and wrote it down. His writing was neat. Small, for such a great big lump of a man. His notebook had little foreign squares, not lines.

  ‘You keeping notes on me?’ People had done that before, the police and that. They’d only ever written bad things.

  ‘On you?’ He lifted off his pen. ‘I learn colloquial English through you. Because of you.’

  ‘I don’t know no coll . . . English, TJ. What you sa
id.’ I didn’t want him writing down actual mistakes. I was only good at speaking English.

  ‘Slang, you know plenty. And I am used to write things because I am scientist.’ He put his notebook away and rubbed his hands together against the cold. They were like shovels. ‘When I learn English history, I write also. With date.’

  I took a drag. Looked out in front of me. The skyscrapers were brand-new. Nothing had happened in them yet. The old buildings were small and grey compared to them, but they were holding their own with their fancy windows and spiky little roofs. They must have a lot of history inside. Small things are more interesting.

  TJ pointed out some of the famous buildings: the London Eye and Greenwich in the distance. Knew what they were although he was Polish. Easy for him to show off, seeing as I didn’t know anything about them. He glanced at me. ‘I can show London sights. If you would like.’ He fidgeted his legs up and down, making the bench shake. ‘Sunday is free day.’

  I turned round. ‘Meet up?’ Was he serious?

  He nodded, not looking at me. Spread his arms out at the buildings. He got his arms involved more than an English person would. There was a glint from his wedding ring. ‘Shame not to see.’

  I leant away, frowning. ‘Got a wife at home, ain’t you? Kids?’

  TJ nodded. ‘Yes, I have girl and boy. Teenagers.’ He seemed to puff up, talking about them. Big beam all over his round face. ‘They do well at school. I Skype with often.’ He stopped smiling. ‘And wife, yes. I still have wife.’ He turned to me. ‘You are not married?’

  I shook my head, ponytail flicking on the collar of my giant overall. ‘No bloody fear.’

  He reached for his notebook, then changed his mind. Just as well. Some expressions you just couldn’t explain. He smiled. ‘So no children?’ Like of course there wouldn’t be.

  I didn’t answer. I was a private person although you might not think it. Wasn’t going to tell TJ about Alastair. Not when I hardly knew him. Not with him being so big and tall. And foreign. I frowned, thinking about his offer. ‘I don’t want no hanky-panky with no married man.’ I had enough on my plate just keeping going on the straight and narrow, without some woman coming after me all the way from Poland.