Maggie

by Marie Maxwell

  ‘I’m Mrs Ruby Riordan. I’ve got an appointment with Mr Smethurst. I know I’m a bit late, but I got lost in town. I had the wrong street in mind and then missed your car park. I don’t know how it happened.’

  ‘Mr Smethurst is expecting you. If you go through I’ll let him know you’ve arrived at last,’ the woman said brusquely, completely ignoring Ruby’s apology. ‘His office is at the end of the passage. His name is on the door; I’m sure you can’t miss that.’

  Ruby went out into a small dark corridor and took a few steps to the correct door, but as she reached her hand out to the brass doorknob, the door was opened sharply from the other side.

  ‘Good day, Mrs Riordan – Ruby.’ The man held his hand out to her and smiled.

  ‘Good day to you too; you must be Mr Smethurst Senior,’ Ruby replied, taking his hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you in person. I’ve heard a lot about you over the years, but up until now I’ve only ever met your son.’

  ‘Bertie is away on holiday in Italy or Switzerland or somewhere in that direction – who knows if he’s where he said he was going …’ The man looked puzzled for a moment. ‘But anyway, as a result I’m temporarily shunning my early retirement and hopping back into the saddle, so to speak, to help out. I’m sure you’d sooner have someone who knows the family.’

  ‘I would, thank you; we appreciate it,’ Ruby said.

  ‘It’s unfortunate that it’s under such sad circumstances that we’re finally meeting,’ the elderly man continued. ‘I’m shocked, my dear, truly shocked at such a terrible turn of events. Who would ever have thought it?’

  ‘I know. I still can’t believe it. It’s awful for all of us, but especially unbearable for Maggie. She’s only just turned sixteen, and now she’s an orphan.’

  ‘You’re right, it’s awful, awful, but at least she still has you.’ He smiled sympathetically and put his hand on her back to guide her across the room.

  Ruby felt relieved that she wouldn’t have to go over everything with someone else. Herbert Smethurst had been the Wheatons’ solicitor right up to his retirement and had remained a family friend, but Ruby had only ever seen his son, Herbert Junior, who also worked at the family firm. The junior Smethurst had taken the helm a few years previously, although his father still stayed involved on the periphery. The son was tall, sporty and ruggedly good-looking, so it was a shock for Ruby to find that Herbert Senior stood a good head shorter than herself and was as round as he was short, with a narrow edging of crazy grey hair around a shiny bald pate. His tweed jacket, which didn’t meet around his rotund middle, had definitely seen better days, and his faded yellow tie was all askew, but he had the same wide smile and kindly eyes as his son, which put Ruby at her ease.

  She sat down on the well-worn leather captain’s chair that he indicated and waited while he rounded the desk and then shuffled through the papers on his desk.

  The room was spacious and airy, but it was filled with bookcases, and there were several chairs around his desk bearing Manila files tied with pink tape. It was a crowded but neat working space that reminded Ruby of how Aunt Leonora’s office used to be when she had first gone to live at the hotel.

  ‘The Smethursts aren’t best known for tidiness … Aha! Here we are,’ he said as he pulled a file out from amid the organized chaos. ‘This is the relevant one.’

  ‘I can’t stay long today,’ Ruby said apologetically. ‘I’ve left Maggie at home on her own. She has a friend coming round, and she didn’t want to come with me to see you. I did ask her …’

  ‘Probably best she didn’t. She’s too young to hear all the legal mumbo-jumbo from an old man who’s not used to the young folk of today. Best coming from someone who knows her and loves her to start with. Someone like you, my dear.’ He fumbled around a little longer and then pulled a long envelope from the folder. ‘Here we are. The wills. I knew I’d put them somewhere safe in readiness. Now, I’m sure you’ve seen this already—?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. I’ve brought the locked box file that was in Uncle George’s office cabinet … I remember them saying that everything was together in case of an emergency, but I never expected this. I couldn’t find a key for it, and I didn’t want to break into it. It seems so intrusive.’ Ruby passed him the large metal box, but he simply put it on the floor.

  ‘I’ve probably got everything here,’ he replied, ‘but I think we’re going to have to force the box open just to be sure. But not right now. I’m sure that can wait until after the funeral. Now we shall deal with the wills, unless you want a formal reading of them after the funeral?’

  ‘No, no, I can’t put Maggie through that! Just tell me. I need to know what I have to do for her and how to do it. I know she wants to stay in that house somehow, but that can’t happen. She’s too young, and I have so much to try and do before I go back home. It would be different if we didn’t have three young boys and two hotels, and I need to know if there were requests for their funerals, and …’ The words tumbled out as she tried her best not to cry. ‘And then there’s the—’

  ‘It’s OK, my dear, I do understand,’ he cut in kindly as her eyes filled. ‘I’ll keep it informal. We’ll go through the contents of the wills, and then I’ll give you copies to take away with you. Everything else will take time to get into order. Their passing was unexpected; George always thought he would be the first to go.’

  Ruby could feel her throat start to itch, so she swallowed hard to keep the tears from rising again.

  ‘Did they not discuss their wills with you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really; I know provisions were made for Maggie … But, go on,’ she said, not trusting herself to say anything else. She just wanted to get it over with so she could go back to Maggie.

  ‘We’ll make another appointment for after the funeral, by which time I’ll have had time to assess the situation properly and do some sums, but in the meantime these are the last wills and testaments of both George and Barbara Wheaton.’ He handed her several pages, and then he went through them with her.

  The more he explained, the further her heart sank.

  ‘Oh God, what am I going to do, Mr Smethurst? I can’t put all this at her door right now! Can’t it wait until she’s twenty-one and able to make her own decisions?’

  ‘Not according to the wording here. I know George and Babs weren’t anticipating something like this when they drew the documents up – none of us ever think about joint deaths; it’s just a precaution – but it’s happened, and I have to execute their wills as directed. That means I have to share the contents with all the beneficiaries, yourself and Maggie being the main interested parties. I’m sorry.’

  Ruby’s worst nightmare was coming true. It was something she knew would happen one day, but now the wording and contents of the wills meant that, however much she didn’t want to, Ruby had no choice but to tell Maggie the truth about her life and parentage right away.

  A truth that would rip her world apart at the most vulnerable time in her young life.

  On the day of the funeral, Maggie was sitting perfectly still on the wide window seat in her bedroom, just watching and waiting. She’d been there for over an hour.

  The early summer sky was overcast and cloudy, but the air was as still and quiet as Maggie herself. As she peered out at the scene below, she prayed for rain, a deluge with thunder and lightning, which to her mind would be the only suitable weather for the day on which she was going to have to say her final goodbyes to her parents.

  A large number of villagers were already lined up on the pavements outside on both sides of the high street, many of whom had been standing there for longer than Maggie had been sitting at the window. There were people she had known all her life, but there were also some elderly strangers from the outlying villages and farms who George Wheaton had treated in his many years as a GP. They had been chatting among themselves up to that point, but in an instant the street fell eerily silent and Maggie knew the moment had come.

  The hear
ses were making their way to the house, bang on time.

  All the male bystanders, young and old, removed their hats, and every single person edging the pavements bowed their head as the shiny black funeral hearses crept up the road almost silently before rolling to a halt outside the house. As they stopped, Maggie stood up and pulled the lace curtains back on the wire so that she had a clear view of the two glass-sided hearses which held two simple coffins.

  The coffins which contained the bodies of her parents, George and Barbara Wheaton.

  There were family wreaths and tributes already in the vehicles both on top and around the coffins, and there were dozens lined all along both sides of the path from the road to the front door which people had been delivering respectfully all morning.

  Maggie felt strangely detached as she watched the undertakers step out of the cars in unison and form a guard of honour on the path where they stood, hands crossed in front of them and heads formally bowed. Then one of them stepped away and walked up to the house to knock formally on the front door, even though everyone had seen the cortège arrive.

  It was time for George and Barbara Wheaton to leave their home for the last time.

  The church was in the centre of the village, so the decision had been made that the mourners would all walk in procession behind the hearses to the church with Ruby and Maggie leading, Johnnie, Gracie and her husband Edward behind, and the close friends of the family following on, while the mourners lining the road would join the procession at the back.

  Everything had been precision arranged by Ruby and the vicar to be as fitting as possible for the couple who had always been such a huge and important part of the village life while also taking into account Maggie’s feelings and wishes as chief mourner.

  Ruby and Johnnie had been to the chapel of rest in the nearby town to view the bodies for the final time before the coffins were closed, but Maggie had refused point blank to go. She had also refused to have them back to the house overnight; she could imagine nothing worse than having to look at the faces of her beloved parents knowing that she would never see them again and also knowing that it was she who had caused them to be lying there.

  But now, as she looked at the matching coffins in identical hearses, she tried to imagine her parents lying inside, but she found she couldn’t picture their faces. She simply couldn’t imagine what they, her beloved mum and dad, would look like in death, especially after such a horrendous car crash.

  As she continued to look out of the window she felt a strange detachment from the situation wash over her; she switched off and just waited for the knock on the door from Ruby or Johnnie to call her down.

  She climbed from the window seat, straightened her clothes and slipped her shoes on before glancing at herself in the mirror one last time; her previously slender body, clad from top to toe in black, was now thin and, with her long blonde hair pulled back from her face and topped with a small black hat, she looked older than her sixteen years. But at that moment she didn’t really care what she looked like so long as she was, as everyone kept saying, neat and tidy.

  ‘Maggie? Maggie, darling, it’s time to go …’ Ruby was knocking on the door, and Maggie knew she was waiting on the other side, but she needed just a few more moments to compose herself.

  ‘I know,’ she answered. ‘I was looking out of the window. I’ll be down in a minute. I’ll see you down there.’

  Maggie picked up the black leather handbag that was ready on the bed; it was the last in a long line of Babs Wheaton’s famous Sunday bags. Every year, just before Easter, Babs Wheaton would buy a new handbag especially for the Easter Sunday church service.

  ‘I don’t have an Easter bonnet any more, but I do have an Easter handbag,’ she’d say, laughing, when George went into his ritual of rolling his eyes and saying: ‘Not another one …’

  She would use the handbag every Sunday throughout the year, and then, the following Easter when a new bag was purchased, it would be demoted to everyday use. It was a family ritual that they had always laughed about, so Maggie knew she just had to use it that day as a mark of respect and to keep her mother close.

  Inside, there was a small lace handkerchief her mother had sprayed with Tweed, a phial of smelling salts, an enamelled powder compact and a Revlon lipstick. In the purse pocket were some coins her mother had already put there for the church collection.

  Maggie had kept the bag exactly as she had found it on the top shelf in her mother’s wardrobe. She had added nothing of her own and was as ready as she would ever be to carry it to church on her mother’s behalf. She held the bag up to her nose and savoured the smell of her mother on the polished leather and opened it once again to check the contents to reassure herself that everything was there. She had initially wanted the bag to go into the coffin with her mother, to keep her company, but at the last minute she knew she couldn’t part with it; she had to take it with her.

  She opened the bedroom door and calmly made her way down to the lobby where everyone was waiting for her, as chief mourner, to lead the procession down to the village church. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the waiting vicar grabbed both her hands, murmured a few words and smiled sympathetically, before turning and walking slowly out of the door first.

  Ruby then took Maggie’s hand in hers and, almost in unison, they both breathed in and out deeply before stepping out of the front door and following the vicar down the path to the road and the waiting hearses.

  They stood for a few moments alongside the hearses and bowed their heads in respect before walking to the rear of them. The high street was closed to traffic so that the two hearses could make their way side by side instead of one behind the other, and as soon as the vicar was ready, along with Maggie and Ruby, the vehicles pulled away almost in slow motion. Swelling with mourners along the way, the procession wended its way through the village where George and Babs had lived for so long, the village they had both served and loved so much.

  As they walked oh so slowly, Maggie tried to think of other things to stop herself from crying. It seemed as if the walk that they had all done so many times from the surgery down to the church in the centre of the village would never end. Her heart missed a beat when she saw Andy Blythe standing at the side of the road with a group from the tennis club; she wanted to run over and fall into his arms, but she didn’t even make eye contact. She knew if she did she would fall apart.

  Then after what seemed forever they arrived at the gated archway to the village church and graveyard. It took a while for the mourners to fill the church, leaving many standing outside.

  Again detaching herself from the situation, Maggie wondered if those outside were all going to stand around or if they would drift off once the service started inside. There were so many people there, most of whom had closed their shops and business for the procession; she also wondered if Andy would go straight home or if he’d wait for them to come out.

  Ruby’s grip on her hand tightened, and Maggie knew it was the moment she would have to follow her parents into the familiar church, which suddenly felt frighteningly alien and claustrophobic.

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ Ruby said as she squeezed Maggie’s hand even tighter. ‘It’ll be OK, I promise. We’re all here with you …’

  The mournful sound of the organ was audible from outside, and then as the vicar moved ahead to lead them in the choir started to hum very quietly.

  She didn’t want to go in, she wanted to turn and run and keep running, but Maggie Wheaton knew what she had to do out of respect for her parents, so she forced one foot forward and started the second slow walk, doing her best to focus on the music.

  She had been an integral part of that same choir for so many years and had sung at numerous weddings and funerals, but she had always been there as a singer. Now she was the principal mourner and her voice was silent.

  As they took their places in the front pew, Maggie knew that whatever happened she could never sing in that choir again.

 
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here …’

  The service seemed to go on forever, and Maggie was finding it increasingly hard to keep her attention away from it all. She thought about the choir, the flowers and the number of people who had turned out, including Andy Blythe. Then the service was over and the procession started again, this time to the far corner of the churchyard where the joint graves were ready and waiting for George and Barbara Wheaton.

  As the graveside service continued, Maggie was feeling sick and light-headed. She didn’t cry, she couldn’t, but she had to fight the waves of nausea. She opened the handbag, pulled out the smelling salts and slowly inhaled the released wave of ammonia from the crystals, the way she had seen her mother do so many times in the past.

  ‘It’s over now, Mags; the worst of the day is over,’ Johnnie said as he took her by the shoulders and turned her away from the adjoining open graves that now contained the coffins. ‘Come with me, and I’ll get you a cup of tea and a biscuit. You’re as white as the plaster on your arm.’

  He helped her back across the churchyard and into the church hall, which was already prepared for the funeral reception, and led her to a nearby chair. He turned to his wife. ‘Rubes, you and Gracie need to welcome them all in. Maggie’s not up to it; it’s too much for her. You go, and I’ll look after her.’

  But no sooner were the words out than Maggie, with the smelling salts still in her hand, leaned forward to put her head on her knees, but instead she carried right on until she hit the floor in a cold faint.

  As those nearby grouped around in panic, tending to her, Ruby alone stepped back and looked away; her expression was blank, her grieving mind elsewhere.

  As a child, Ruby had been one of the group of evacuees from a Walthamstow school who had been dropped off in Melton to be billeted with local families. Standing in the same hall on such an emotional day brought it all back to her; once again she could smell the hot chocolate and chunky home-baked biscuits which had been doled out to each child, and she recalled again her meeting with Barbara Wheaton, the woman who was going to be such an integral part of her life.