A Christmas Wish

by Lizzie Lane

  He lowered his arm, looking at his wife as though she too needed a beating.

  ‘So, it’s a relic is it?’ The timbre of his voice had sunk to a growl; there was fierceness in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw. ‘Let me tell you, woman, that cane was used on me by my father and his father before him. If I’d given those boys of ours more beatings, perhaps they wouldn’t have ended up so useless. Joe is like he is because of you, Molly. You were too soft with him, and you begged me to be the same. And look at him. A foreign wife, a family and him off gallivanting around the world without a care. And we left with the consequences. Spare the rod and spoil the child. Now that’s a fine old saying,’ he declared, his physical exertion in laying on the cane reflected in his red face and sweaty forehead.

  ‘One of our sons is dead, Dermot. Remember that.’

  Whilst Anna Marie continued to sob, Venetia had hung onto every word. She couldn’t remember much about her father, the man who had wandered the world leaving his family to their own devices. What she was hearing helped put flesh on the scant memory she had of him. He’d left the farm to travel the world and his younger brother had followed him.

  ‘I must take after him then, wanting to travel the world,’ she blurted, her dark eyes luminescent above pink cheeks.

  Dermot Brodie’s long, hard face seemed to drop to his chest and his voice grew louder.

  ‘Well, would you listen to that! The girl’s no shame! No respect for her elders. Well, let me tell you this, my girl,’ he shouted, his red, sweaty face only inches from hers, ‘any more of yer wild ways and I’ll hand you over to the sisters at St Bernadette’s. They’re the ones who know what to do with wayward girls!’

  Venetia gulped at the threat and Anna Marie sobbed from behind a veil of pale brown hair. They’d both heard of the place. Hearsay relating to its reputation was patchy at best and spoken of in whispers – as though to speak of it out loud would bring down a thunderbolt from heaven.

  Girls who were wayward went there; the wild, the unruly and those who were so feeble minded that they’d acted brazenly and ended up in the family way.

  That night as they lay in the dark in their beds, Anna Marie’s small voice trembled.

  ‘I don’t want to go to St Bernadette’s. I’ll be good from now on. Very good and I’ll never leave the farm. Not ever.’

  Venetia lay silently on her back, arms folded behind her head, staring wide eyed, and seeing pictures in the darkness of foreign lands, blue seas, golden sands and the soaring skyscrapers of New York.

  In the short term there was little chance of leaving the farm without permission and mostly in the company of their grandmother. But it couldn’t last forever. Surely they wouldn’t be kept here until they were married? If so, then they were no more than prisoners. She couldn’t believe it would be so. There had to come a time when past behaviour would be forgotten. That is when I shall make new plans, Venetia decided. That is when I shall leave.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Magda 1936

  Magda had arranged to meet her old friend Susan and was looking smart in a navy-blue costume with a nipped-in waist, black court shoes and handbag.

  ‘You look a bit like the Duchess of York,’ said Susan.

  ‘And with your red hair you look like Maureen O’Hara. She’s got red hair like yours,’ returned Magda and sighed.

  ‘Not schoolgirls any more,’ said Susan, ‘and three cheers for that.’

  ‘I miss the old place.’

  ‘Goodbye and good riddance,’ laughed Susan. ‘The brewery pays me a good wage. For the first time in me life I’ve got a few bob in my pocket – that’s after me mam’s took ’er share of course.’

  ‘I’m still sad though. Do you remember Miss Cameron and that lovely stew she used to save for us?’

  ‘Mrs Norman! That’s what she is now.’

  Dear Miss Cameron, their favourite teacher, had left just two months before they’d left school behind to marry her sweetheart, a man who’d returned from the Great War with only one arm, but luckily enough money to get them through.

  The rules were that a teacher had to leave once she was married. Magda thought it unfair and she said so. Susan didn’t care much one way or the other.

  ‘Who cares about working for a living when you can be married and have a man look after you?’

  ‘I’m not sure about putting my trust in a man. My mother did and he left her to get sick and ill with no money. And then he left me with Aunt Bridget. I’ve never been too sure whether he sent her any money to keep me with or not. It’s possible he did, but she spent it on drink. But he left me there. Left me there and didn’t come back.’

  Susan sniffed. ‘My dad weren’t much better. Too many kids and not enough money, and what there was he still had to have for his drop of bitter down the boozer. Still, I’d sooner be married. And the sooner the better. In the meantime I’ll go on working at the brewery and enjoying the fifteen shillings a week – well – less me keep. But the rest I spend on me. The pictures, the Palais, a tube of lipstick and a small bottle of Evening in Paris. Lovely!’

  Magda laughed. ‘You as a mother with babies. Well, that would be something.’

  ‘And you going on to study a bit and try and become a doctor. Well, there’s a surprise!’

  ‘I suppose so, though it was always there at the back of my mind. I mean, what with my mum dying without a doctor on hand; not until it was too late.’

  ‘But you won’t be earning anything for ages. I couldn’t stand that.’

  Susan’s laughing eyes were full of disbelief. She couldn’t quite take it on board that it would be a long time before Magda earned anything as a doctor.

  ‘Lucky your old dad put enough aside to pay for you to go to medical school,’ Susan said to her. ‘He couldn’t be all bad. Had to be your Aunt Bridget spent all the dosh.’

  ‘Had to be. Glad he managed to keep some back. It came as quite a surprise.’

  Magda turned her face away, pretending to study the tired-looking playground where they used to play doctors and nurses as children. She wasn’t good at lying and she couldn’t bear to tell her friend that it was Winnie One Leg who had paid for her tuition – Mrs Jones as she was presently calling herself since moving into her cosy mews cottage.

  As she turned away from the grey stone building, she felt Susan’s eyes on her.

  Susan folded her arms across her ample chest and closed one eye. ‘Go on. Tell me what you’re doing ’round ’ere. What’s on yer mind?’

  ‘Nothing. There’s nothing on my mind.’

  ‘Yes there is. Have you got a sweetheart you’re not telling me about? Has he asked you to marry ’im?’

  Magda laughed and shook her head, her dark brown hair catching the light as it swung around her shoulders.

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m too young.’

  ‘No you ain’t. My mam was only fifteen when she had me.’

  ‘Well, it’s no sweetheart,’ said Magda feeling her clothes were in marked contrast to those Susan was wearing.

  Susan was dressed in everyday clothes; a pale green dress, the colour long washed out, and a beige cardigan that only barely buttoned up over her full breasts.

  ‘I’ve something more important than a boy on my mind. There is another reason I’ve come back.’

  ‘There’s nothing more important than boys,’ returned Susan. ‘And getting married. I can’t wait to get married and have kids and a place of me own. Wonderful!’

  The summer air was warm and Magda almost felt as though they were girls again, excited to be on the threshold of adulthood.

  They stopped outside the corner shop where they used to part company, Magda to walk in the direction of Edward Street and Susan to George Street.

  ‘How about us going out tonight – just a look around the shops,’ Susan suggested. ‘How about we …’

  ‘I’m going your way anyway. There’s something I have to do,’ Magda said thoughtfully. ‘I want my mother’s Bible.
My aunt keeps it under lock and key. Winnie offered her money on my behalf, but she wouldn’t accept it. I think it’s the fact that it was from Winnie – the wages of sin and all that. I think if she were to accept money it has to be from me. She’ll want a lot, anything to make me pay for the wrong my mother did her – she believes my father would have married her, if my mother hadn’t come along,’ she explained, in answer to Susan’s enquiring look. ‘This time I’ve got a bit more to give her. I’ve been saving a bit from my allowance.’

  Susan nodded in understanding. ‘Old cow. She should let you have it. How about you keep her talking out front and I barge past her, nip inside and pinch it?’

  ‘I wish.’

  Susan eyed her warily. ‘Will she let you have it this time?’

  Magda took a deep breath and hunched her shoulders. ‘This time I’m giving her everything I have.’

  ‘Want me to come with you?’

  Magda shook her head. ‘No. This is something I have to do alone.’

  ‘So how about we meet up on Thursday and trot up west and take a look around the shops?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Magda avoided looking across at the women in the house that Winnie used to own.

  Taking a deep breath, she rapped hard on Bridget Brodie’s door.

  After a few minutes of no response, she stepped back into the road and looked up to the bedroom windows. A curtain twitched then fell again.

  The very thought of seeing Bridget Brodie again sent shivers through her system.

  This evening, she was here in person with more money than would keep Bridget Brodie in booze for a year.

  The slap of footsteps in floppy slippers sounded from inside. The ill-fitting door, its paintwork peeling and its timbers twisted with age, was yanked roughly open.

  Bridget Brodie’s face was a reddish blotch against the gloom of the room behind her. The familiar smell of mildew and filth filtered outwards. This evening the smell was laced with cheap sherry bought from the corner off licence and poured straight from the barrel.

  In the past Bridget Brodie used to plaster her face with makeup and wear nice clothes; the latter bought with the proceeds of selling Magda’s humble belongings. But Bridget Brodie’s life had changed when her husband James had been lost at sea, presumed drowned, though he had provided for such an eventuality in the form of a lump sum saved with the Sailors’ Benevolent Fund. Not that there was much left of it.

  Her hair was dishevelled and grey, her face, devoid of makeup, was now greasy, redder and scarred with pimples. Her clothes, a grubby cardigan, a grey skirt and stockings rolled around her ankles, were dirty and smelled sour. She looked in need of money to fund her bad habits, which was fine as far as Magda was concerned. It was all to her advantage.

  Her aunt took on a sideways stance, her eyes swerving warily to look her niece up and down. When she gave her what passed as a smile, but might just as well have been a sneer, Magda noticed there were fewer teeth in her head since the last time they’d met.

  ‘Back are ya?’

  After swallowing hard, Magda said, ‘I came here to buy my mother’s Bible.’

  Aunt Bridget stared at her whilst allowing the words to sink in – as though her niece was speaking in a foreign language.

  ‘Is that so?’ she said at last, the glint of greed in her eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ said Magda, warming to her subject and wondering why she’d ever been frightened of this woman.

  ‘Well, there’s a thing! And I suppose you’ll be telling me you have a job. And I suppose I know full well what it is. You’re going to be a whore over there – if yer not one already.’

  Magda felt her face flare red. ‘I am not …’

  ‘I really don’t care if you are. Now clear off. This here is a respectable house. Go back with your whore friends across the road there!’

  Bridget Brodie swayed unsteadily, perhaps with the effort of trying to close the unyielding door, but more likely because she was drunk.

  Magda jammed her foot into the opening.

  ‘I’ve come for my mother’s Bible and I’m not leaving until you give it to me.’

  ‘Go away!’

  The door scraped the floor on its way to closing.

  ‘In case you didn’t hear, I’m willing to buy it off you,’ Magda blurted. ‘You must need money – for food – and drink.’

  The door quivered then became still.

  ‘Buy it you say? A decent amount this time? Not the wages of sin mark you. That Winnie tried that one on. I won’t be having her money, that I won’t!’

  The wicked little eyes grew smaller as though she were counting the change in her hand.

  ‘Plenty of money,’ said Magda, though the thought of handing over money for what already belonged to her was sickening.

  ‘Pay me? From a whore’s money? No,’ she growled shaking her head and pursing her purplish lips, ‘I won’t be taking any money earned by fornication. That I will not!’

  To Magda’s dismay, she resumed closing the door, though the door itself, being so dry and neglected, was obstinate, its rotting wood grating over the uneven flagstones.

  ‘Enough money to keep you in sherry for a year. And the good stuff if you like. Not the stuff from the barrel,’ shouted Magda.

  She could not bring herself to tell her of studying to be a doctor, not without declaring Winnie as her sponsor.

  ‘I’m working for the brewery. In the office. I can even bring you home a nice bottle of stout. You’d like that Aunt Bridget – wouldn’t you?’

  She was making this up as she went along, working out how she could fulfil her promise. Susan. Susan would get the stout for her.

  It wasn’t easy being polite to this woman who had been cruel to her as a child, but Magda was determined to get back what was rightfully hers.

  When Bridget Brodie smiled, her lips curled back from yellowed teeth and ugly gaps.

  ‘You’ll pay me for it?’

  Her tone was both vindictive and incredulous, but also grasping. She’d take anything if it came easily.

  Magda heaved a huge sigh and told her that was exactly what she would do.

  ‘If you return it to me I’ll give you a week’s wages. One pound ten shillings and sixpence.’

  The money had been carefully saved from the allowance Winnie gave her. She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping against hope that the amount quoted would be acceptable. She had more if it was not, but it wasn’t wise to display all your cards with Aunt Bridget. One pound ten shillings wouldn’t be enough. Not for her.

  ‘No.’

  Bits of rotten wood crumbled from the bottom of the door as her aunt pushed it.

  ‘Ten pounds,’ said Magda. ‘I’ll give you ten pounds. That’ll keep you in sherry for a year won’t it?’

  Realising she’d offered too much too soon, she bit her lip. If there was one thing her aunt knew how to do it was bargain and hopefully get something for nothing.

  ‘Ten pounds?’ Her aunt shook her head, a snakelike smile on her bloated face. ‘That Bible is worth everything to you. EVERYTHING! So there is a price I’ll be having from you, but not a penny below twenty-five pounds. Twenty-five or I throw it on the fire to warm my aching bones.’

  ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Of course I mean that. Twenty-five will buy me a few sacks of coal then I wouldn’t need to burn it, would I?’

  Magda felt her breath catch in her throat. To get away with twenty-five would be wonderful.

  ‘Twenty-five. I think I can manage that.’

  There was something about the look in her aunt’s eyes that turned her blood cold. This was not about money. This was about revenge for being the daughter of the woman who had taken the man she loved. The next thing she said wasn’t exactly unexpected.

  ‘Fifty pounds. Fifty pounds I want. It’s only fair. I took you in when you had nowhere else to go. I looked after you and it’s about time you paid me back for my trouble. Come on now. That Bible is wort
h it – to you. And me? All I can do with it is put it on the fire to warm my bones.’

  It was useless to argue that she’d been neglected as a child. All Magda could do was agree.

  She did a quick calculation. It was a lot of money. She’d saved a little, but fifty pounds was a fortune. Would Winnie lend her that sum? She had to hope that she would.

  ‘I haven’t got it with me. I’ll be back with it on Friday night if you can have the Bible ready for me. Is it a deal?’

  A triumphant sneer flickered like a weevil over her aunt’s mouth.

  ‘That seems fine enough. Friday night it is. I’ll have it ready here. Sure I will.’

  ‘Fifty pounds. Is there any chance I can take it now? I’ll still bring the money on Friday.’

  Spindly wrinkles erupted around her aunt’s narrowed eyes and spittle oozed from the corner of her mouth when she smiled.

  ‘Do you think I’m a bloody fool? Oh no, Magda my girl, I’ll not hand it over until you pay me. Then you can have it.’

  ‘On Friday. All of the fifty pounds?’

  ‘Are you deaf, girl?’

  She nodded, could barely speak, and it was hard not to look elated. But she knew she mustn’t look mightily pleased. If her aunt thought there was any chance of getting more money, she would demand more.

  It didn’t occur to Magda that she’d been holding her breath until the door shuddered shut. The rancid smell of old drains lingered in the air, but even that was better than the filthy smell coming from her aunt’s crumbling home. At least when she’d been there she’d cleaned it round a bit.

  The fact is that the house her aunt lived in was as ill-used as she was. Edward Street was far from being handsome. The big old houses on one side of the street had been built for merchants’ families some two hundred years earlier. On the opposite side the houses were mean and cramped, small places built of red brick with two rooms downstairs, and two upstairs.

  Her Aunt Bridget’s house was squeezed in between its neighbours, both of which were boarded up due to timber problems in the roof.