Maggsie McNaughton's Second Chance

by Frances Maynard

  A couple of weeks doing that and anyone would be begging to go back inside.

  So then it’s nicking something. Making sure you get caught. Head-shakes from the judge and the screws. The whole thing starting up again.

  I always meant to go straight, but it was hard. Nothing much for me at the Job Centre. Even less after a couple of prison stretches. I pretty much gave up. Everyone else had given up on me anyway.

  Coming out, the stretch before last, I’d ended up in A&E. Collapsed after my first drink and some old biddy called an ambulance. Lot of fuss about nothing. If I’d been left where I was I’d have slept if off. Hospitals don’t like people coming in drunk.

  But it hadn’t been like that. I’ve spoken about him before. A young doctor. Blue eyes. This was him. He didn’t look no more than twenty. Good-looking, if you were into that sort of thing, which I wasn’t. I’m still not. Dark hair, those eyes, white teeth. I’d thought, uh-oh, he’s going to be up himself, but I was in too much pain to get a snarky comment out. Anyway, he wasn’t. He even asked about my pets. Pets! That was a first. I’m a cat person, I told him. They’re independent, like me.

  I heard about his cat. Then he pushed back a floppy lock of hair and asked – asked, mind, not told – me to put my top back on and sit down for a chat.

  Of course it was about my drinking.

  Doom and gloom. Enlarged liver. If I carried on I’d die. ‘Far too young, with the rest of your life not lived.’ He looked at me. ‘Which would be very sad.’

  Funny, him looking sorry about it brought a lump to my throat.

  ‘What will be, will be. I might go on for ages. Prove you wrong.’ I smiled, covering my teeth with my hand.

  He smiled back, which was another thing people in charge didn’t do. They looked tetchy, or tired, or their lips went tight. If they did smile, their eyes didn’t move.

  He touched my hand. ‘Have another go at staying off it, Maggsie. Keep trying and you’ll get there. I know you will.’

  One chat with one person and I’ve never touched a drop since. It was because of the way he was. Nan had always said I’d get there in the end, but she was my nan.

  Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t easy. Once you stop drinking you remember all the things you’ve done you wished you hadn’t. That’s what makes you want a drink again. I had to cross roads when I saw pubs coming up. Stay away from the booze aisle in supermarkets. Just keep walking sometimes till the craving passed. Put my hand on my belly, where my liver was. Imagine it poking through my skin like it was trying to escape.

  But I still ended up back inside. Nella didn’t believe I’d stopped drinking and neither did Mum. She said, Dougie looming behind her, I could only stay if I got a job. Well you know how likely that was. Dougie drank loads, but he had a job. Bricklayer. Could carry more bricks in his hod than anyone else, he said. Kept on about it, flexing his bicep, blown up to twice its normal size like Popeye. Each time the number of bricks got bigger. I didn’t point that out. I wasn’t daft – in spite of Dougie saying I was because I couldn’t read.

  The Job Centre said no chance with my record and lack of literacy. I wouldn’t even get benefit unless I went to college. Well, blow that for a game of soldiers. I’d had enough humiliation at school. Wasn’t going to sign up for more.

  So, no choice but to steal something and get sent back down. Not booze. This time it was posh food from Marks & Spencer. Strawberries, cream cakes, a wodge of strong cheese that made my eyes water. I’d opened all the packets, eaten half the basket before security latched on.

  First time I’d been arrested sober.

  Inside, I still thought about drinking. The craving doesn’t go away, even when you’ve got no access to it.

  That’s when Enid turned up in my cell with her Woman’s Worlds. It was trying to read them that took my mind off things.

  Then it was that probation officer coming up with the Scanda scheme.

  Funny how one thing can lead to another in a good way.

  Until now.

  25

  Woman’s World, 15 August 2018

  Make Positive Changes – We Show You How!

  Now I’d thrown up all the lager, I was sober again. Pain was flooding back. My tissue was too wet to use. I dropped it in the bin, along with the cans. I was still a tidy person. There was half a can left, but I was too sick to drink it.

  My legs were weak, walking home. Got in without anyone seeing me. Tomorrow I’d buy more booze, drink it slower. Get sent back down. It’s simpler inside; no responsibilities, no stuck-up twats dissing you.

  OK, it’s good being able to do stuff, but once you can, pressure builds up. People expect more. I mean, once you can read a form you’ve got to fill it in. Before you know it, you’ll be paying council tax. Worrying you’ve put your bin out on the right day.

  No more seeing the sights in prison, of course. No Audrey, no Scanda, no Alastair, no future – but you can’t have everything in this life.

  I scrubbed my teeth to take away the taste of vomit. Splashed my face with cold water. Didn’t look in the mirror.

  All sorts of gurgles were coming from my insides. My liver whining, told you.

  I didn’t hang up my clothes. Just pulled them off and left them on the floor. That’s one example of what drink does to you.

  I got into bed. Prayed for morning to come quick so I could get hammered proper. Audrey sat up in her beanbag. Started washing. One paw hovered in the air as she stared at me. If a cat could have put their paws on their hips, she would have.

  There was a tap on the door.

  ‘Maggsie?’ Ruby’s voice.

  Someone come to have a go. Be disappointed. Just when I was stone cold sober.

  I got up to let her in. She had a key anyway.

  She put down two mugs of tea and switched on the light. Sat down on my bed, like we were all girls together, only she was posh and educated, with lovely teeth and a healthy look to her, and me, well . . .

  ‘Big Shirl said you’d come home early.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I kept my eyes shut because of the light going on. Trust Big Shirl to gab.

  ‘She was worried about you.’

  Oh yeah?

  ‘What happened, Maggsie? Tell me.’ I opened my eyes, blinking. Her face had that pink glow Woman’s World was always on about. Only Ruby’s was through whizzing around on her bike, not make-up. ‘Come on. You’ll feel better for getting it all out.’

  I couldn’t feel any worse. I sat up and took the mug of tea. Sniffed. I had a bit of a cold. ‘Lost my job. Had a drink.’ I put the tea down because I was spilling it. Ruby went down to the office for a box of tissues and handed me a couple for my cold.

  Shook her head. ‘Oh, Maggsie.’

  It all came out. Ruby didn’t say much. Her eyebrows went up and down. When I’d finished the tea she said I’d feel better after a shower. No, I wouldn’t. I had one anyway. She’d only have kept on about it.

  She brought up another cup of tea and the rest of a tub of soup, French onion, that had my initials on it. I’d been getting posher with my soup choices. Not that that counted for anything now.

  I’d stopped feeling sick. In fact, I was hungry, though my insides were still giving me gip. Don’t know why. My liver hadn’t had to do anything, seeing as the booze had more or less come straight back up. I tied back my damp hair and slurped up the soup.

  A bit of onion caught in my throat when Ruby said she’d phone Scanda on my behalf. ‘I’ll put your side of the story, Maggsie, but I can’t promise anything.’

  Yeah, they might listen to Ruby, with her advantages in life, where they hadn’t with me. Stuff their job, I thought. Then: no, please, please, give me back my job.

  Then Ruby got more official even though I was in bed and tired and worn out. Tomorrow, whatever Scanda said, me and her were going to have a proper talk. Go through how I could have approached today differently. Anger management stuff. Again. I buried my face in my pillow, head thumping.

&nb
sp; I didn’t get much sleep. Ruby phoning Scanda was a bit of hope creeping back. But drinking again so quickly was a lead weight pushing it down. I didn’t tick off my calendar. Obviously.

  I pulled on a black T-shirt, sleeveless. Heard Ruby on the stairs. My nails dug into my palms. She had a faint hint of a smile.

  ‘Count yourself very, very lucky, Maggsie. It was because of the lady in charge – Primrose, is it? – speaking up for you. She said how hard you worked. How efficient you were, she said. Very efficient.’ Ruby’s head was on one side. A dangly earring – a silver dragonfly and turquoise bead – brushed her shoulder. ‘Alright? How are you feeling?’

  I sat down sudden like I’d been winded. Audrey lifted her head. Gave a sleepy prook. My eyes were prickling. I wouldn’t be leaving Audrey, or work, or anybody. I still might be able to contact Alastair one day.

  Had the pep talk to get through first, though. I came back down to earth in Ruby’s office. Felt like the barmaid in her poster. Fed up. Only smaller in the bust department.

  She kept on about my drinking. Last chance and all that. It wouldn’t happen again, I told her. Ever. I had a horrible flashback to being flat on my back, behind a bush, trying to pull my jeans up. The pool of vomit.

  Then it was anger management. I had been trying, I told her. Been using her strategies. Been seeing my anger as something separate. Turned it into a crocodile, only I’d lost control of him and all.

  Ruby’s lips twitched. She settled herself behind her desk. Launched into why people got angry. Understanding the psychology might help, she said.

  Psychology. Here we go, I thought. Try spelling that. Try saying it.

  Because what was behind it all was fear, she said.

  Fear!

  Yes. Fear about feeling small, being laughed at. Losing status.

  Well, that wasn’t right. I wasn’t frightened of anybody. Been standing up for myself since, well, since I could stand up.

  All angry people felt like that, Ruby said. That was why they got one in first.

  I gaped. Did they? Was I like that? I didn’t like being laughed at. Had a lot of that because of my reading. Lack of. And because of my size. Lack of, again.

  Anger showed the other person they’d got to me. That they’d scored a point, Ruby said. Didn’t want that, did I?

  No, I thought, frowning. I wanted to do the point-scoring. So I just had to take it then, did I? Let them get one over on me?

  Ruby shook her head. One of the silver dragonflies got caught in her hair and she had to untangle it. Just don’t show they’d got to me. Ask them, politely, to stop. Keep asking, if necessary. Then move on.

  Some people I mixed with wouldn’t know politeness if it hit them with a stick.

  Then I’d have to show them. Keep my long-term goal in mind. My son would be proud of me handling difficult situations in a dignified way.

  Yeah. That was a low blow of Ruby’s, seeing as it was true. Not sure me and dignity were best pals.

  Ruby got up to make a cup of tea. I needed to think about what she’d said. Not only now, taking it on board, but every time someone had a go.

  I swallowed some tea. Ruby had got the four sugars right, at least.

  I brushed my hair. The bristles seemed to scrape the inside of my brain. I fastened my ponytail. Avoided looking at positive and confidence, Enid’s words, because I’d hardly given her a thought these last twenty-four hours. I didn’t look at the calendar either. Tried to hold my hand steady enough for eyebrow pencil and mascara.

  According to Ruby, you could ask someone, even someone posh, to treat you OK. Could you? For real? Funny I’d never thought of it.

  I was ashamed about drinking yesterday, if you want to know. But we’ve all got something we’re ashamed of. Even people who read books have. And getting even with that pair of poxy dickheads hadn’t ruddy worked, had it? Maybe there was better ways of not getting ground down. Ruby’s ways, even. I sighed. My head was still aching.

  I went into the bathroom and gulped down a big glass of water. Going back somewhere I’d got into trouble wasn’t going to be much fun. Wasn’t something I went in for, usually. Well, ever.

  But Primrose would need me. Twelve o’clock was the start of the lunchtime rush. She’d said I was a hard worker, very efficient, and nobody had ever said that before. If I could spell efficient I’d stick it up on my wall now.

  26

  Woman’s World, 5 September 2018

  At Home with Our Queen!

  I was in that kitchen at Scanda faster than the speed of light. Faster than anyone could see. I rushed over to Primrose to say thanks for speaking up for me. Then I gave TJ a little wave. Pulled on my overall and helped Primrose dish up. Loaded the dishwasher so quick you could hardly see me for crumbs and dried-on bits of ‘specials’. I was very, very efficient. Best way to stop people asking questions.

  TJ didn’t ask any but in the roof garden he kept looking at me like I was a bomb about to go off. Every fag puff, then back down at his fag.

  ‘TJ.’ I stubbed out my rollie. Crossed my arms in a finished gesture. (TJ waving his about was catching.) ‘I’m drawing a line under yesterday.’ I drew an actual line in the air. ‘OK? I know I shouldn’t have lost it.’ Lucky he didn’t know about me drinking afterwards. My face burned. I shut my eyes. Imagined him and Alastair seeing me in that park, staggering about.

  TJ’s great long legs jiggled up and down. Made the bench shake. ‘I was worried. It was like you vanish off face of world.’

  ‘Earth.’ Correcting him came practically automatic, I’d done so much of it. ‘Off the face of the earth.’

  He was still looking at me anxious. Had a lot of creases round his eyes. His eyelashes were pale, like mine. You couldn’t see what colour his hair would be, seeing as it was just bristles. Probably blond.

  ‘I tried to text you but no reply. Call went to voicemail. I not have your address . . .’ He lit another fag. Didn’t normally have two.

  Just as well. I wasn’t going to fall over myself giving him it, neither. Reckon he thought ‘supported housing’ was some sort of safe place for single working women. Some church thing, maybe. Like a nunnery. Nunnery, yeah right, with Big Shirl and Kasia living there . . . No way was I going to tell him we were all finishing off prison sentences. Don’t know why. Don’t know why it would matter him despising me. I licked the paper for another rollie. I’d have a second fag as well. ‘I switched off my phone.’ I’d never thought of TJ being worried. I tucked a loose strand of tobacco inside the paper, not looking at him. ‘Anyway, it’s not going to happen again. Onwards and upwards.’

  He put his fag down. Got out his notebook. Onwards and upwards, he wrote. I lit up, frowning through the smoke. Things weren’t going that way for Enid. Seeing as TJ had cared enough to worry, I told him about her having cancer. I even told him about Enid teaching me to read, though I didn’t tell him we done it in her cell.

  Next thing I knew, TJ was getting out his wallet. Offering to lend me the money to visit Enid. I had to stall him. ‘Tell you what, Enid’s big on the royals. If we went to Buckingham Palace it’d be like going there for her. I could get her a nice postcard.’ First time I’d suggested an outing. Normally, TJ was the one with the ideas, seeing as he knew about history and that.

  ‘Yes.’ He was smiling now. His face was still creased up but in cheerier places. ‘I would like.’

  I lifted the calendar off the wardrobe handle. Ticked off today. Looked at the white space around yesterday. Thing is, I did lose it. Lose control. Very nearly lost my job. Did have a drink. Three and a half cans of Stella. Been well and truly out of it. But, I had thrown it all up. Reckon I was only in that park an hour. Not long enough for it to count, really, especially with all that anger management stuff with Ruby, after. Sitting through that must have wiped a lot clean. In my opinion. You might think different. But you’d be wrong.

  Yeah. I took a pencil and slashed a tick through yesterday. Day two hundred and forty-eight of three
hundred and sixty-five.

  ‘Where are you off to this lovely sunny morning?’ Ruby had just cycled in from where she lived. Made me tired looking at her sometimes. It cleared her head, she said, in spite of the traffic fumes. Getting places as fast as possible was training for her triathlon. Full of beans, you could say she was, and you’d be right because of the vegan boyfriend.

  I mumbled about going to Buckingham Palace with TJ.

  Ruby’s eyes gleamed but she didn’t say anything.

  In case you’re thinking the same as Ruby, TJ and I were just mates. Yeah, I saw him Sundays. Yeah, yeah, I can hear your brain whirring, but it wasn’t like that. He was married. OK, old Sofa took all his wages and didn’t appreciate him, but they were still married. I could see her, perched high up on a too-small stool in her Polish bank. Welcoming customers in with a smarmy lipstick smile like a spider in a web.

  I didn’t trust men but TJ hadn’t tried nothing on. So far. Didn’t think of him in that way, to be honest. Maybe it was the apron. Or because he blushed easy. Where I came from, trust me, men didn’t blush.

  We went out Sundays so I could help him get his English right. And because he knew a lot of stuff about London – names of places, history, loads. Nella would be impressed the amount I knew now. Maybe, one day, Alastair would.

  I’d got used to TJ taking my elbow. I’d even got used to him holding doors open for me. If Dad or Dougie had ever done it, it would have been so they could land me a slap.

  I met TJ at Charing Cross. We walked through St James’s Park to Buckingham Palace. Walked around the outside. Wasn’t going to pay pounds and pounds to see poncy paintings and gold furniture that would collapse if you was ever allowed to sit on it. Anyway, I’d seen it already. Enid had a page cut out from Woman’s World about the Queen’s stuff stuck up on her cell wall.