Maggsie McNaughton's Second Chance

by Frances Maynard

  Mr H’s door was right at the end of the corridor. Weird passing the boardroom. Weirder for the Woman Reading. I didn’t look in. My heart was hammering and it wasn’t because of the stairs.

  I knocked on the door.

  ‘Come.’

  I marched in. I didn’t want to go in. What I wanted to do was leave the painting outside his office and scarper. Only then what? That’s why I marched in.

  He looked up from his computer. Geeky-looking glasses on the end of his nose. A V-necked jumper. Pink. Men did wear pink in London. He smiled. Perfect teeth, of course. He smiled because he didn’t know why I was there. ‘Marguerite, isn’t it?’

  I didn’t smile because of my teeth. And because I had a painting I’d stole from him down my top. I nodded. ‘Maggsie.’ My face was burning.

  ‘And what can I do for you, Maggsie?’

  ‘I’ve got something. Something of yours.’ I tugged out the painting. The frame got caught on my bra strap and there was a bit of a tussle. My face was scarlet now. ‘Here.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ He stood up. ‘The Hammershøi. My Woman Reading. Is it the real thing?’ He touched it gently. Took it over to the window. Turned it over. ‘It is her. How did you get hold of it? Tell me, tell me. Sit down.’ He gestured to a chair, a spindly black one. I sat down, carefully.

  He propped the lady against his screen. Looked younger now he’d taken off his glasses.

  I shifted in the uncomfortable chair. My legs were dangling six inches off the floor. ‘You ain’t, aren’t going to like it.’

  He ran his hand through his hair when I told him. It stuck up after. I had to repeat the bits he didn’t believe. I told him everything except lousie’s name. You might think I should have done. Thing is, you learn, inside, never to snitch. It’s just you cons against the rest of them, see? So you don’t drop people in it. Even if it’s all their fault and they deserve everything they get like bloody lousie. That hefty wazzock was probably still swimming off a tropical beach somewhere with all her posh family. I imagined her struggling to get underwater, because of her size. Imagined her keeping popping up like a cork. Saw her surrounded by a sea of jellyfish. Stung to death, her skin a mass of little boils.

  He shut his eyes when I said why I’d wanted to help Enid out. ‘What a tangle.’ When he opened them again his thrilled expression had gone. He shook his head. Stood up. ‘You go back to work, Maggsie. There’s a lot to sort out here.’ Go back to work was a glimmer of hope.

  Primrose was short with me. Thought I’d just taken the day off yesterday and hadn’t let her know. TJ was rushed off his feet. Only had time to smile and raise his eyebrows. I only had time to shrug.

  Thank heavens for the dishwasher. The rhythm of it, the whoosh and rumble as it got everything clean, the unloading of all the shiny plates and glasses.

  Mid-afternoon I got a call to Mr H’s office.

  He didn’t ask me to sit down this time. It was more of a headmaster’s study scenario. He’d talked things over with the police.

  I shut my eyes. Clung to the back of the Scanda chair. It tipped like it might buckle.

  Given the value of the painting it had taken a lot of talking, he said. He’d had to persuade them not to prosecute me. They’d ‘invested time and resources’ in the case. Interviewing people, I suppose he meant.

  The chair legs scraped on the floor. I kept my eyes shut.

  Mr H’s voice got louder. He’d had to ‘varnish the truth’, lie, basically, tell them the painting had been ‘temporarily borrowed without his knowledge’. It had all been ‘a dreadful misunderstanding’.

  You could say that again. Only not in the way he meant.

  He paused, let out a long sigh. Sounded very tired when he said the case had been closed. I wasn’t going to be charged.

  My legs sagged with the chair. Puts you at a disadvantage, being grateful.

  Then a but. There’s always a but. He was concerned I’d been taken advantage of so easily.

  Like I was weak or something! Thick!

  He was worried I hadn’t thought things through. Apprehensive about my recklessness.

  I put my hands in my jacket pockets. Didn’t say anything. Another first for me.

  He was in two minds about keeping me on. Long, long pause.

  Talk about a rollercoaster. I held on to TJ’s packet of cigarettes.

  Another but – I looked up – he had decided to give me another chance because I had tried to put things right.

  I still had my job.

  It had been much easier scrambling up and down that drainpipe. Less scary. I couldn’t get out of his office quick enough. I ran down the stairs to the kitchen.

  I’d thought I’d never see Audrey again. She was sitting on the top step, waiting for me, or for her pilchards, when I got back from work. Even though I’d been away. Ran down, gave one of the two-toned miaows that meant hello, front paws lifting off the ground to be stroked. In and out my legs, tail up like a question mark. Didn’t hold a grudge. If Ruby didn’t let me stay on here she’d feel abandoned all over again.

  I had to open a new tin of pilchards, which meant someone had fed her yesterday. I was even pleased about that. That was how far I’d come.

  I put the kettle on and went out for a fag. No one knew I was back yet. Then I sat down at the kitchen table with my mug of tea. Looked at it still swirling round and round after I’d stirred in the sugar. Audrey jumped onto my lap. Sniffed around in case I had something interesting in my sandwiches – I hadn’t even looked to see what they were yet – and then settled herself down. Dug her claws in when I moved. I couldn’t eat a thing till I knew I was staying. Knew Aud still had a lap to sit on tomorrow.

  I rolled up my jeans leg to check how the gash from the accident was healing, only I couldn’t bend down enough to see it without disturbing Audrey. I could feel the knife by the side of it. My other ankle was still swollen from where I’d landed slithering down the drainpipe. I could see it, looking down. Two injuries I’d got rescuing the painting. And what had lousie got? A ruddy great holiday of a lifetime!

  I’d been on high alert for days. Takes it out of you. Audrey was purring her head off. Nice, just stroking her. A tear dropped onto her fur. One of mine. Lord knows why. Ridiculous when you think how much better things had turned out, so far, than I’d thought they were going to a couple of days ago. Maybe it was delayed shock. Marguerite McNaughton, you’re getting soft. I wiped it off. My stroking got slower, my head nodded onto my chest. Then I jerked up.

  Ruby was standing by the fridge, shaking her carton of soya milk. Her necklace rattled. She wasn’t happy. But support workers have had training not to shout. Got psychology oozing out of every pore. I carried on stroking Audrey. That cat therapist thing again. I had told Ruby I wouldn’t be back last night. I reminded her about that. OK, I’d switched off my phone after, but that was to save the battery. Yes, it was against the rules, I know. Even more so having a knife in your sock. Being eager to use it.

  ‘Where were you, Maggsie? What were you doing? Were you on a bender?’

  No, I ruddy wasn’t. ‘Ain’t touched a drop, I swear. I had to sort something. Something to do with work.’ I didn’t go into details. I hadn’t committed a crime, only going into Foxholes without being invited. No charges or nothing. No point in worrying Ruby. No point in losing my place here.

  I told the girls more later. I mean, I liked Ruby and she’d helped me out loads, but we weren’t all girls together like she thought, not really. She’d always be the one in charge. It was only because she was new and young she hadn’t realized that yet.

  She had to note everything down. Her mouth went all pursed and her skirt flounced about as she filled the kettle. She hadn’t said I wasn’t staying, though. I gently dislodged Audrey and offered to make Ruby a cup of tea. While her back was turned I sneaked the veg knife back in the drawer. Juice must have missed it yesterday.

  Upstairs I got the calendar out of my rucksack. Hung it back up on the wardr
obe knob. Two days to tick off. Once I’d done that I wrote: ‘Got paneting bak’ under yesterday.

  The Woman Reading was back in Scanda’s boardroom, getting on with her book. She had an alarm behind her now. If she was so much as breathed on, all hell would break loose. Her border, where I’d cut it, had been repaired and she had a new frame paid for by Scanda’s insurance. Only next year they’d have to pay more. A small amount of my wages was going towards it. I wasn’t quite as keen on Mr H as I had been. I’d been going to buy him a bunch of flowers for keeping me on but I changed my mind.

  TJ didn’t tell Primrose, but she found out what I’d done. I had to tell her the full story. Well, nearly all of it. She brought me in a bookmark with something from the Bible printed on it after. And wrote down when her church services were on. Like my soul needed rescuing. When it was me that did that sort of thing.

  People in the canteen and the roof garden looked at me like I was some sort of wild animal. Not at all like they had when I’d saved Jack’s life. More like any minute I was going to pinch their handbags. (Even men have handbags in London. They’re called ‘man-bags’ but otherwise they’re the same.)

  Doing the right thing isn’t easy. Which is why a lot of people don’t.

  Lousie getting away with everything still ate me up.

  ‘Do not waste energy on low-life like her,’ TJ said.

  Low-life. Low-life in spite of being posh. In spite of having a degree and a stately home.

  I liked that – but it still ate me up she’d got away with it when it had all been her idea. And I’d only done it to help Enid, but lousie had just been out for herself.

  Nice the girls here were so dead against her. Juice said she felt the same about her ex. Now she knew he’d used her. But her mum, adoptive mum, said the best revenge was a successful life. ‘And I thought, yeah, she’s right. Me getting worked up is just letting him carry on getting to me. I got to move on. Think about Shania. Do stuff for her.’

  She’d given up the knitting. Now she was trying to sew dolls’ clothes for Shania’s Barbie. I’d seen her making a little mini-skirt out of a piece of ribbon and a press stud. Holding it right up close to her eyes, working out which bit of the press stud went where.

  She watched kids’ programmes on the telly. CBeebies. Peppa Pig and all that. Said it was to keep up with what Shania was into but you could see she enjoyed them. She knew all the songs. Hummed them sometimes when she was cooking.

  What she said hit home. Festering over lousie using me gave her more power. She’d be thrilled if she knew she was still getting to me. Well, not any more.

  A couple of weeks later Mr H came down to the kitchen. My heart turned over when I saw him. He had some news I might be interested in. He told me in the storeroom. I was interested because it was about lousie. Her getting her comeuppance.

  Mr H said he thought the police might not have quite believed his story – him covering for me – the ‘dreadful misunderstanding’ thing. They’d put two and two together. Checked records. There was only one girl, banged up the same time as me and Enid, who’d done a degree in Art History. Funny that. They found lousie’s address, just like I done. Well, like Stevey-boy had. Headed off to her stately home. Lousie and her pa denied everything. As art historians, they’d heard of Hammershøi, of course. Of course. But they’d never been lucky enough to have one of his paintings in their home. They’d made out they were bewildered by the whole thing.

  If only she’d been in her ruddy stately home for me to use my knife on! I told you there was no justice in this world, but you might not have believed me.

  ‘But’ – Mr H held up a finger – ‘the police think there could be something fishy there.’

  They were going to look into exactly where all lousie’s pa’s art and antiques had come from. Because, once you put the lights on, apparently Foxholes was more like an Aladdin’s cave.

  46

  Woman’s World, 19 December 2018

  Exciting Holidays in Eastern Europe!

  Enid sent me another postcard from Romania. This one had her mobile number. Then she Skyped me. Ruby let me use the computer in her office.

  The screen was a bit blurry and I couldn’t see the top of her head. Funny seeing Enid squashed into a screen. Mind you, she was a different shape anyway, because of the surgery. Smaller all over. First time I’d seen her without a cardigan. First time I’d seen her outside prison.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ She gave me a wink and a thumbs-up. ‘Look at us two, all hunky-dory. Spreading our wings.’ She pointed to her chest. ‘I’ve got two lovely neat scars there now, lovey. Don’t miss my boobs at all.’

  Always been very open, Enid. Even about her mum and that. The mercy killing. ‘I’m not ashamed of what I did for Mum, but Julie, my niece, says I should stop going on about it now. We’re not Dignitas over here, she says.’

  She had two tortoiseshell combs in her hair to keep it off her face. Perhaps they all wore their hair like that in Romania. Her cheeks had some pink to them. Could have been blusher or could have been all the fresh air they got over there.

  Lovely to see her, even if it wasn’t in the flesh. And hear how things were going well for her over in Romania. ‘I mostly got bad memories back home, Maggsie, and there’s such a lot of lovely country and open spaces here after all those years inside.’

  Her niece had bought five self-catering log cabins. Enid was crocheting the bedcovers. She helped with the cleaning and the bed-making on changeover days. Sometimes did stints on Reception. In her element now, with all the locals keen on practising their English.

  ‘I’m ever so proud of you, Maggsie. How well you’re getting on. Told you, didn’t I? All those lovely letters you wrote. All your London news. Now, what’s he like then, this bloke that’s been showing you the sights? Don’t let him drag you down, Maggs. Not a drinker, is he?’

  The complete ruddy opposite.

  Enid hadn’t a clue about all the to-do with lousie and the painting. Turned out she’d never got my postcard of Trafalgar Square, in spite of the three stamps. And I hadn’t written since – I couldn’t put it all into words. So this was a real catch-up call.

  ‘I’ll be jiggered.’ Enid got out a hankie. Not a tissue, a proper hankie with a big red ‘E’ embroidered in a corner. Perhaps her mum had done it for her years ago. ‘You silly girl. Silly, silly girl.’ She mopped her eyes. ‘You’ve got a heart of gold, Maggs. Doing all that for me. All those risks you took.’

  I told her about the police checking out lousie’s dad’s art collection down in Dorset. Outrageous, he’d called it, apparently.

  ‘You wait, dear. That one will get her comeuppance. Don’t waste no more time over her. Specially now you been doing so well.’

  She brought her face up close to the screen, like she was sharing a secret: ‘Whatever happens, get yourself some proper learning, dear. Keep going with it. I’ll write. And you come on over to Romania and see me. There’s a job in my niece’s complex for you any time. Bring that handsome hunk you’ve been going on about with you!’

  No one would call TJ handsome. And I’d hardly said a word about him.

  Christmas. Only a week before my year of living respectable, more or less, was up. TJ had gone back to Poland for the holiday. He’d been looking forward to seeing his kids. And getting old Sofa’s signature on his divorce papers.

  I’d gone round all the charity shops in Finsbury Park looking for something to give him for Christmas. I’d got five history books in the end, and only one of them cost more than £2. They were for my benefit as well. Sooner or later, I’d be hearing all about the stuff inside.

  TJ had bought me a pink make-up bag with a cat wearing a crown on it and my initials: MM. I’d never had anything like it before. It’s not exactly hard. But it’s classy.

  Christmas is when you get in touch with people. I bought a pack of ten cards in aid of the homeless from the Co-op. Gold around the outside and Jesus, Mary and Joseph in a stable. Never needed ten
before. I sent one to Jack. His address was on the letter he’d sent me back in the summer. Hope you’re back playing football, I put inside. Checked the spellings first. I sent one to Mum saying I’d visit soon, if I can get the time off work. That was just a taster to rub it in with Dougie. I’d never written anything in a card to her before beyond xxx Maggsie M. Mum would fall into a faint when I turned up with TJ. Plus my new hair and eyebrows and that.

  My sister Nella hadn’t bothered sending me a card these last few years. I’d send her one now. In fact I’d write her an actual letter. Have a go anyway. Give her a shock. Catch her up with what I’d been doing. The good bits. Being off work over Christmas, I had plenty of time to do it.

  I had a look at the problem pages in Woman’s World to see how to start it off. Not that I had problems any more. That’s why I was writing. My letter was going to be like the problem page answers.

  I put in some bits the agony auntie said was a good idea to repeat to yourself: I have turned my life around. I have learnt to value my unique qualities. (I knew they were spelt right because I copied them straight off the page.) Life is brilliant for me now. I got that off TJ’s toothpaste tube. The one that hadn’t worked.

  I put in the words stuck up on my mirror as well. I am positive and confidence, I got in. Changed it to confident. Then, efficient. Very efficient. As you can see I have been working on my reading and my writing, I added. It took me ages to check the spelling of writing because I was looking under ‘r’. (I ask you, what is the point of a silent letter? If I was in charge I’d dump the lot of them. Squash the smug little pillocks like flies. Those silent ‘h’s in what, when, why, all those stupid ‘k’s in know, knife, knee. What are they for except to trip up people like me?)

  I put the Polish Corner Café’s address on the right-hand side. Told Nella I had a job, at Scanda, the Danish Design company. I copied that bit off the calendar.

  I only had to rewrite the letter once and that was because I’d left off the capital letter from Greenwich. I enjoyed writing it. Never thought I’d say that. Nice to crow to someone who’d always thought I dragged her down.