But no one seemed to have taken any notice of what she’d said, and as the conversation moved on to something totally different, Maggie just sat quietly, feeling oddly out of place in the clubhouse she had known all her life.
Instead of joining in, she studied the boy opposite her. Andy Blythe was an attractive and very modern-looking young man with longer than average dark-brown hair that flopped over his forehead and hooded hazel eyes framed with long thick lashes. Whenever she saw him or even fantasized about him, Maggie thought he looked like a pop singer or as if he’d stepped out of the pages of her favourite Honey magazine. Tall and athletic, he was always immaculately turned out in expensive, fashionable clothes that he wore well, and he had an air of confident entitlement way beyond his seventeen years.
Maggie had never met anyone quite like him before. Some of the local young men had tried hard to find something to criticize him for, but mostly they had failed. The main comment was usually: ‘Who does he think he is?’
There was also an undercurrent of jealousy and distrust in the village towards the Blythe family as a whole, mainly because they were complete outsiders who no one actually knew anything about. And not only were they outsiders, but outsiders who had moved into the old Manor House, the most coveted house for many miles. Their biggest crime of all was that they didn’t have the same perceived breeding as the previous aristocratic owner, who was allegedly connected to the royal family.
The old Manor House had always been spoken of with deference and in hushed tones, and many were upset that it was no longer in the hands of locally born and bred landed gentry. The expression ‘new money’ was often used when the older villagers were discussing the new family, and it always made Maggie wonder what it was about new money that meant it wasn’t as good as old money.
The removal trucks had barely started to unpack at the Manor when the village gossip mill had whirred into action with rumours of dodgy dealings and the possible incarceration of family members. They saw something dodgy in the fact that Jack Blythe worked in show business and spent most of the week in London, leaving his wife Eunice to play the role of lady of the manor while their only son was away at boarding school. Whispers echoed around of shady relatives living there in secret, adultery, lovers, and second wives and husbands, but Maggie didn’t know or care about any of it. All she was interested in was the son of the family: Andy.
From the first moment she’d seen him in the local newsagent shop she had been besotted and had sought him out at every moment she could, but now she watched curiously as the other girls stared and hung on his every word. She hoped that she didn’t come across as shallow and daft. She was almost in a trance, and it took her by surprise when he suddenly jumped up and started scooping his records into his duffel bag.
‘Well, I’d better be off. I’m under orders to be home for the latest house-warming; I think this is the third so far. It’s taken Mother so long to arrange, and guests are coming from all over, so I’ll be dead if I don’t get back in time for lift-off!’
He held his arms out wide to the side of him; he shrugged his shoulders and stretched his back, before hooking his jumper on his finger and flipping it over his shoulder. He was dressed all in tennis whites, even though he hadn’t been playing; his shorts and shirt were pristine, and his shoes were the best on the market. He looked more like a walking advertisement for tennis clothes than a young man at a village club.
‘Ciao, everyone. See you all anon …’ He bent over in a bow.
‘I have to get home as well.’ Maggie jumped up from her seat and moved to the door. ‘I’ll walk with you; we’re going the same way.’
‘Actually, I’ve got my bike.’ He stopped, looked Maggie up and down, and smiled. ‘But I don’t mind pushing it. Where did you say you live again? At the top of the hill?’
‘At the doctor’s surgery. My father used to be the doctor – Dr Wheaton – but he’s retired now.’ Maggie knew she’d explained all that before, but she didn’t mind too much that he’d forgotten. It saved her having to think of something new and witty to say.
He pushed his bike by the handlebars, and she walked beside him as they strolled back up through the village. Maggie let Andy do most of the talking because her natural self-confidence had deserted her at the door of the clubhouse and she felt unusually tongue tied, but he more than made up for her silence. Andy Blythe talked constantly, and he had a way of looking at her when he was talking that made her just want to grin. For the first time in her life she felt like a grown up – a young woman with a young man looking at her appreciatively.
As they approached the driveway that led to the main part of the house, Maggie stopped. ‘Here, this is where I live.’
‘Ah, yes, the doctor’s house. I suppose that’s where we’ll go if we’re poorly! When we moved here we were given a list of the key points in the village, and this was one of them. Not that there’s many. I walked through in ten minutes the first time. Top to bottom and back again in one go.’
As her nerves threatened to get the better of her, Maggie tried her best not to hop from foot to foot. ‘It’s a nice village though … Oh, I nearly forgot. I’m probably having a party next Saturday. Can you come?’ The words were out before she could stop them.
He looked at her curiously. ‘What sort of party?’
‘Just a party with a few friends. I’ll be sixteen, so it’ll be for that. I just have to make the final arrangements, and I can easily add you to the guest list if you’d like to come …’ She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could while praying he’d say yes.
‘I think my parents have something planned for next Saturday. Again! They’re always entertaining, and I usually have to show up and play the role of devoted son, which of course I am, but I may be able to stick my head in at yours for a bit. I’ll let you know. Give me your telephone number.’
Maggie dug into her tennis bag and found an exercise book and pencil. She ripped a page out and scribbled the number. ‘Do you want to give me your number while I’ve got the paper here?’ she asked.
‘Oh, sorry, I don’t actually know the number yet. I haven’t got round to learning it. Bad, I know, but I will eventually. I’ll give it to you when I phone.’
Maggie wondered for a moment if he was lying, but she was pleased that he hadn’t said anything to make her feel silly. He hadn’t laughed at her having a party, even though he was obviously used to more sophisticated functions. She hoped against hope it was because he liked her. ‘I’d better go in … When do you go back to school?’
‘Didn’t you know?’ he asked with a grin. ‘I’m not going back. I’m finished with school. It’s always been accepted that I would go to work with my dad in his business, so staying any longer at school is a waste of time and money. I’ll inherit everything one day, so I’m going to start learning how it all works.’
‘You’re going to live here permanently then? Not just during the holidays?’ Maggie asked hopefully.
‘No, not really. I’ll be living mostly in London – we’ve got a flat there – but I’ll be here most weekends. Ma would never forgive my dad if I didn’t come back. I’m still her baby boy.’
‘See you around then?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.
‘Yes. See you around, probably at the club. I’m going to get Dad to replace the record player. It needs livening up there, and I’ve decided I’m the one to make it a bit more hip, make it the place to be! Anyway, ciao again …’
‘Don’t forget to let me know about the party,’ she said, but he didn’t answer.
He swung his leg over his bicycle and pedalled quickly away, although he did manage a quick wave of his hand before he disappeared off into the distance.
Maggie turned and walked up the driveway, steeling herself for the telling-off she knew was inevitable after her slamming out of the house earlier.
And then she would try again for a party; there was always a chance Andy might turn up.
Two
After Andy had cycled off home leaving Maggie standing at her gate looking after him, she thought for a few minutes about the party and decided to try a different tack. Shouting hadn’t worked, so maybe charm might – if not on her mother, then on her father, so she decided that as soon as she was indoors she would look for one or the other.
From the outside, the Wheaton family home was impressive. Clad in wisteria, it stood at the top of the village high street and was a beautiful landmark for Melton. However, inside it was draughty and damp and in dire need of modernizing and redecorating. Maggie often offered up ideas for making it warmer and brighter, but neither of her parents wanted the upheaval at their ages and especially with George’s increasing ill-health.
To make things easier for her ailing husband, Babs had turned what was originally the formal front parlour into a bed-sitting room for George, who now tended to spend most of his time there. It was a light and spacious room with wide windows, and when George retired to bed early, as he often did, Babs would sit in there with him in the evening listening to the wireless or reading until he was completely settled for the night and then she would go upstairs to their old bedroom, which was on the first floor next to Maggie’s.
It was an arrangement that worked well, although the strain of constantly helping her husband move in and out of his wheelchair had left Babs with a constantly aching back and knee joints that creaked and crunched at every move. The noisy old stairlift, which had been redundant after George moved downstairs permanently, had recently become her preferred method of getting up and down the stairs, and she had had to accept that she needed a walking stick most of the time. Maggie helped out with much of the running around, but both her parents were loath to ask her to do any more than was absolutely necessary, and Babs Wheaton especially didn’t want to give up any of her independence.
But the couple had been happily married for nearly all their adult lives and were still devoted to each other, so even when it was a struggle Babs did everything willingly. She was used to doing it; as a result of childhood polio, George had always been in a wheelchair, but he had led a full and successful life despite it. He had gone to medical school and then been the Melton village GP for most of his adult life, but the time had come when he had had to give it up and retire, and now his health was deteriorating and they were both feeling the effects of getting older.
After many years of childless marriage, which neither of them had wanted but which they had both accepted, baby Maggie had come along just after the war, and they had welcomed her as their very own gift from God.
Margaret Wheaton was the adored daughter neither of them had ever thought they’d have.
Maggie found her mother dusting in her father’s bed-sitting room. ‘I’m sorry I was rude earlier. I didn’t mean it, really, I didn’t,’ Maggie said, looking sheepishly at her mother.
Babs Wheaton studied her face for a few moments before responding. She was an adoring mother who loved her daughter unconditionally, but she was also very perceptive and realistic.
‘Yes, you were rude, and there really was no need to be like it. You know I expect better of you,’ she said, still looking intently at Maggie. ‘But it seems that at least you realize it. Well, I sincerely hope you do.’
‘I do, honestly I do, and I’m really sorry.’ Maggie put her arm around her mother’s shoulder and hugged her. The hug was genuine enough – they had always been a tactile family – but the underlying motive was to get back into her mother’s good books and sway her round to the idea of a real birthday party, a party which someone as sophisticated as Andy would appreciate. ‘Where’s Dad?’ Maggie asked, still trying to decide which one would be the softer touch.
‘He’s out in the garden. He only got up from his nap a short while ago; he tires so easily nowadays. I’m just having a quick tidy up while I have the chance.’ She looked at her daughter and smiled to take the edge off her words. ‘So, do you feel better now after your door-slamming tantrum?’
With good grace Maggie shrugged and grimaced apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. I know it was really childish. I was sorry as soon as I slammed the door. I only went to the tennis club, like I’d said I would today. I was going to have a practice and see who was there.’
‘And? Who was there?’
‘None of my friends. I think they must have all gone home after practice. There were some older girls from school, though.’ She paused. ‘And Andy Blythe, he was there.’
‘Andy Blythe?’ Babs frowned. ‘Blythe? Is he the boy whose parents have recently bought the Manor House? I’ve always loved that house. I used to promise myself that if we won the football pools we’d buy it, but now we’ve been beaten to the punch!’
‘I’d have liked that,’ Maggie said.
‘Mr Blythe must be doing really well to afford it; it was ridiculously expensive. I couldn’t believe how much it was up for sale for! We were surprised when it sold.’
Maggie saw her opportunity to bring Andy, and the party, into the conversation.
‘Andy said Mr Blythe’s in the music business, an agent or manager or something. He works in London. He’s got an office there; he’s even got a flat. Andy’s been at boarding school, but now he’s going to work with his father. He’s got all the latest clothes and records, and they have their own tennis courts, but Andy likes to come to the club.’
‘I’m sure he does,’ Babs said, smiling. ‘It’s no good having your own courts if you’ve got no one to play with. He’s an only child, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, like me. They’ve got stables as well, but I don’t know how many horses. That family must be loaded, but he’s a nice boy, everyone likes him, and he’s so good at sport. He’s not even entering the tournament because he thinks it’s unfair. He knows he’ll win,’ she said.
‘Hmmm, sounds a little conceited to me. There are plenty of excellent players at the club. Young Jimmy is a top notch player. And so are you,’ Babs said.
‘He really is nice,’ Maggie continued, desperate to plead Andy’s case prior to going back to the topic of a party. ‘He’s so fashionable and modern, especially compared to the village boys.’
‘Of course he is. The family have a lot more money than most of the villagers, so they can afford all those fancy things, but they don’t mean everything, you know. The person inside is more important.’
‘I know, but he’s really nice too.’
Babs carried on pottering around the room with a feather duster in hand as Maggie did her best to lure her mother into gentle conversation. Once her brain had cleared, she had realized that she stood more chance of talking them round if she was all sweetness and light rather than stroppy, but first she had to convince her mother that she was responsible, and then she would turn her attention to her father, who was usually the softer touch.
‘Is there anything you want me to do? Take the washing out or something?’
‘No, dear, it’s all under control, though some help with dinner tonight would be nice. The veg are on the side, ready for preparation.’
‘OK, but first I’m going out to see Dad.’ She jumped up from the bed. ‘I’ll make him a cuppa; do you want one as well?’
‘I’d love one.’ She paused as she looked at her daughter. ‘Maggie I’m not silly, and I know where all this going, so please don’t go out there to harass your father about this party nonsense. I know what you’re up to, and the answer is still no from both of us. He’s really not well at all and can do without anything more to worry about.’
Maggie stopped and stared back at her, her expression pleading. ‘Oh, please! There’ll be just ten of us, we’ll be quiet, and it can be after Ruby and all of them have gone. You can have what you want in the afternoon, and then I can have what I want. I promise we’ll all behave, but I’ll look so stupid if I have to tell everyone I can’t have this party. Everyone else has them—’
‘Now you’re really starting to make me cross, Maggie,’ Babs said, interrupting her sharply. ‘Please consider you
r dad in all this. Please? He’s not up to these sort of shenanigans, and you know that. He likes peace and quiet with no pressure … We’re definitely not going to agree this year, so stop it before you upset both of us any more.’
‘But Mum …!’
‘No buts, and no more discussion. The answer is NO, and it’s going to stay no, so don’t waste your time.’
Maggie looked at her mother, who was shaking her head and pointing her finger at the same time. She looked so cross that Maggie realized that however much she didn’t want to, she was going to have to admit defeat.
There wasn’t going to be a party of the kind she wanted, with or without Andy Blythe.
Maggie resisted the urge to slam out once again. ‘I’ll go and make the tea, like I said …’
On the following Saturday, the day of the family birthday party, Maggie stood with her arms crossed and a sullen expression on her face as Babs Wheaton watched impatiently out of the window.
‘Quick, quick, they’re here,’ Babs said as a car turned slowly on to the drive. ‘Come on, Maggie, let’s go out and say hello to them all. Come on, now. Please show willing; they’ve come a long way to see you.’
She grabbed her daughter’s hand and pulled her out of the door enthusiastically, leaving Maggie with little choice but to follow her out to greet the Riordan family, Ruby, Johnnie and their three sons, who were all there to help celebrate Maggie’s upcoming sixteenth birthday.
‘Ruby, darling, how lovely to see you,’ Babs said as Ruby got out of the car. ‘We’re so glad you could all come. It’s been too long since we last saw you.’
‘Oh, tut tut, Aunty Babs, of course we came! Have we ever missed the chance to celebrate a family birthday yet?’
Babs smiled and instantly wrapped her arms around the younger woman, hugging her as affectionately as she always did, and as Maggie watched she felt the familiar feelings of jealousy rising up once again. It was always the same when Ruby Riordan visited or when they visited her; Maggie just couldn’t help feeling resentful when her mother acted as if Ruby was the prodigal offspring returning from far-off lands.
Maggie Page 2
