Maggie's Boy

by Beryl Kingston

  He and Bronwen were flushed with success and talked about it all the way back to their house on the estate. Baby Morgan had been so good; the weather was lovely; what a day it was.

  Tea was taken, the cake was cut and presently they all trooped out into the garden bearing chairs and stools for the family photograph. It was none too warm out in the open air because a wind had sprung up and a shower was threatening.

  ‘This’ll go on for ever,’ Trefor warned the happy parents. His father was the photographer and he always took ages to arrange a picture.

  ‘We don’ mind,’ Bronwen said, gazing at the infant on her knee. ‘He’s all wrapped up lovely and warm. Snug as a bug in a rug, issen it, cariad.’

  Morgan did mind, although he couldn’t say so. He was still watching Granddad and it was clear that the old man was getting chilled.

  ‘Hurry up Dad,’ he called. ‘We want to get down to the pub today not tomorrow. Right Trefor?’

  Unfortunately Thomas Griffiths wasn’t a man to be rushed. He continued to give instructions in his unhurried way. ‘In a bit, Dai. Put your arm round the back of the chair, like. Bronwen, could you shift towards the middle. Just an inch. That’s it. Now then, “Cheese” everybody. Marvellous! One more?’

  They let him use all the film in his camera. But then they hustled him off to the local to wet the baby’s head, and Morgan made sure that the first drink was a warming brandy for his grandfather. And not before time.

  It was an uncomfortable pub but they were so happy in one another’s company that comfort was immaterial. There was a lot to talk about. Trefor told them stories about his life on the liner during his latest cruise, Dai and Hywell kept them laughing about the impossible fares they’d had. Between coughing fits, Granddad entertained them with stories of the new doctor in his village. ‘Hassen got a clue, boy. Not a clue.’

  But after the third round, the talk grew serious.

  ‘I see British Steel are shuttin’ Ravenscraig,’ Trefor said.

  ‘Eleven thousand jobs gone,’ his father said.

  ‘Poor buggers. What’s it like here?’

  ‘Tickin’ over,’ Thomas said. ‘Just about.’

  ‘Aren’t you glad you retired, Dad?’

  ‘No. Not really,’ Thomas said. ‘Had no option, did I?’ He’d worked in the steelworks all his life and taking early retirement had been quite a blow. For the first few months he’d felt idle and useless. ‘I’m gettin’ used to it now.’

  ‘It’s a national disgrace what that woman’s doin’ to this country,’ Dai said, wiping his moustache with the back of his hand. ‘The way she’s goin’ on, by the year two thousand there won’t be a pit left open the length and breadth of the country, nor a factory still working neither. We shall all be servants or working for the bloody Nips.’

  ‘Total madness I call it,’ Hywell agreed.

  Distress was making Granddad cough. ‘Breaks my ’eart,’ he spluttered. ‘Good men goin’ to waste. I thought we’d ‘ad enough a’ that in the thirties. There’s machines rottin’ underground for want a’ use, and miners rottin’ above ground for want a’ work, and coal bein’ imported from abroad. Imported! Where’s the sense in it? That’s what I should like to know.’

  ‘It’s not a matter a’ sense,’ Tom said. ‘It’s a matter a’ prejudice. We’re the enemy within, don’t forget. We vote Labour. There’s a crime! We belong to unions. There’s a crime! Good God man, barely human we are. We brought down a government once. Remember that. We got to be cut down to size, thrown on the scrap heap, put in our place. Revenge, that’s what this is about.’

  Granddad was now red in the face from coughing.

  ‘My round,’ Morgan said, making a deliberate break in the conversation to give the old man a chance to recover. ‘Same again?’

  ‘I’ll come with you, Mor,’ Hywell said. And he got up to follow his cousin to the bar.

  ‘We got to change the subject,’ Morgan said, as they waited to be served. ‘The ol’ feller can’t take all this serious stuff. It gets him worked up. Look at the state he’s in.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Hywell said. ‘He don’t look healthy. But you won’t get ’em off politics. Not now.’

  ‘Talk about the baby,’ Morgan advised. ‘Get him thinking about his great-grandchildren. That’ll calm him. He’s too ill for all this.’

  ‘Right,’ Hywell said, looking back at Granddad’s discoloured face. ‘I’ll do what I can, Mor. We can’t talk babies all evenin’, though.’

  ‘Grandchildren then,’ Morgan said. ‘Just to give him a breather. He’s got enough of them.’

  ‘No thanks to you,’ Hywell teased.

  ‘Slow but sure, me,’ Morgan parried.

  Which wasn’t something that could be said about Rigby Toan. That night he’d rushed Alison off her feet. He’d arrived in Shore Street just as she was getting the fish fingers out of the fridge, ready for the children’s supper. He was flushed and excited and full of snapping energy.

  ‘Look sharp and get ready,’ he instructed. ‘We’re going out to dinner. You’ve got ten minutes while I buy my cigars.’

  He was right. Ten minutes was all she’d had. It had been a real scramble. All her usual baby-sitters had already made other plans. But Brad had turned up trumps and not only offered to baby-sit but said the kids could stay the night at her flat.

  ‘They can eat their fish fingers with me,’ she said, when she came to collect them. ‘Can’t you kids. An’ if you’re very good I’ll let you watch my telly.’

  ‘Is it good?’ Jon wanted to know.

  ‘It’s wicked,’ Brad told him. ‘Better’n yer mother’s.’

  ‘You are a dear,’ Alison said gratefully, putting mascara on her eyelashes.

  ‘You deserve a night on the tiles,’ Brad said. ‘Enjoy yourself. You don’t have to rush back. Remember, you’re only young once.’

  So here Alison was in the best Chinese restaurant in Hampton, stunned by the speed with which the outing had been arranged.

  ‘I feel like Cinderella,’ she said. It was a pretty accurate description, for half an hour ago she’d been giving the toilet its weekly scrub while the kids watched some rubbish on the television. It was almost too good to be true, to be sitting here on a nice comfortable chair, with a clean table-cloth under her plate, and wine in her glass, and lashings of good food keeping warm over the night-lights.

  ‘That was first rate,’ Rigg said eventually, wiping his moustache with his table napkin.

  He looked very handsome in the soft light from the candles. Handsome and prosperous, in a new jacket Alison hadn’t seen before. Perhaps this would be a good moment to ask him how he’s getting on, she thought, if I’m careful not to sound too pushy. ‘I gather things aren’t quite so bad these days,’ she said.

  He smiled. So that was all right. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Actually they’re rather on the up.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Actually, I’m thinking of buying another shop.’

  That was such a surprise she could help showing it. ‘Really,’ she said, trying to keep her voice noncommittal. Was he serious? Or just testing the water?

  ‘I’ll give you a tip,’ he said, ‘for what it’s worth. The best way of getting out of trouble is to spend your way out. I’m going into partnership with Harry Elton.’

  Alison had never heard of Harry Elton but she didn’t like to say so. ‘Oh yes.’ So he was serious.

  ‘We’re putting up the cash between us. It’s a new venture, Kitten. A video shop. It can’t fail.’

  Now that she knew she could show an interest, she began to ask questions. ‘Where’s it going to be?’

  ‘Here in Hampton. Up at the Selsey end. There isn’t a video shop for miles around. We shall be raking it in.’

  It sounded plausible.

  ‘Well aren’t you going to congratulate me?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Of course. You know I am.’

  He leaned across the table towards her and took
her hand. ‘I’m doing this for you Kitten,’ he said, nipping her fingers softly with his teeth. ‘All for you. You know that don’t you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’

  ‘It’ll be the answer to all our problems. We shall be coining it, you’ll see.’

  ‘Does it mean you’ll be home again?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. In no time at all. Good eh?’

  ‘Wonderful!’ she said, and meant it.

  For the rest of the evening Rigg talked about the new shop, telling her how it was going to be decorated, and what it was going to be called, and what a great chap Harry Elton was.

  ‘We make a great team,’ he said. ‘You’ll like him, Kitten. Tell you what, we’ve got a chap coming in on Tuesday to start putting up the shelves. You could come down and see it if you like.’

  ‘I work all day Tuesday.’

  ‘Well Wednesday then. We’re going to have them painted red. Nice bright colour. Eye catching. That’ll bring in the punters.’

  He went on talking ‘shop’ all the way home. And he was still talking as they undressed ready for bed. ‘Course the overheads are small, being a lock-up, that’s the real beauty of it. Did I leave my other jeans here? I could do with them now.’

  ‘They’re in the wardrobe,’ Alison said, getting into bed. She was disappointed that he was paying so little attention to her. On their first night together after such a long time, and with no children in the house to distract them, she had hoped he would be more loving.

  ‘I’ll take my old trainers too,’ he said, opening the wardrobe door and seeing them on the floor.

  Alison closed her eyes. And didn’t open them again until the alarm went off at seven the next morning.

  Rigg was fast asleep, lying on his back, one arm flung above his head, chin shadowed with stubble, hair ruffled into a peak against the pillow. He didn’t stir when she left the bed and when she’d washed and dressed he was still lying in the same position, sleeping peacefully.

  She tiptoed down the stairs so as not to wake him and made breakfast as quietly – and quickly – as she could. Time was shorter than usual because she had to walk to Brad’s flat to pick up the kids before she went to work. I’ll give her a ring to make sure the kids are ready, she thought, picking up the phone.

  At that point an ugly idea sprang unbidden into her brain. Rigg would be alone in the house with the phone after she left. What if he started making long-distance calls again? There’d be nothing to stop him. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Three minutes to go. If she was going to do anything she’d have to do it quickly. Her cheeks were red with shame at her disloyalty, but it had to be done.

  She took the phone out of its socket, wrapped the lead neatly round it like a parcel and put it in her shoulder bag. Then she set off for work.

  The phone weighed on her all day, in every sense of the word, plaguing her conscience and growing heavier and heavier to carry around. She was very relieved when she got back home that evening and returned it to its rightful place.

  It rang almost as soon as she’d plugged it in.

  ‘Do you know your phone’s been out of order?’ her mother’s voice said. ‘I’ve been trying to get you for nearly an hour.’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I was in such a rush this morning I left it off the hook.’

  ‘I met Mrs Maynard in Bobby’s this morning. She says your Rigg’s opening a video shop in Hampton. Just off the beach she says. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My word! He is doing well. Can he afford it?’

  ‘Oh yes. It’s going to make a lot of money.’

  That’s a relief, Elsie thought. Now he’ll be able to pay me back and get straight. ‘When is he going to open?’ she asked.

  Alison didn’t know how to answer. Anything she said could lead to more questions. If she admitted that she didn’t know, her mother would wonder why. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up having to admit that she and Rigg rarely saw one another. Fortunately she was saved by Jon, who pulled at her elbow demanding to speak to Gran, and by the time she got the phone back the subject had moved on.

  On Wednesday, she went to Rigg’s new premises. For a lock-up shop it was surprisingly big. Even though it was forested with lengths of wood and floored with shavings she was impressed. There were two men in checked shirts and jeans hard at work with saws and hammers. The shorter of the two pushed his way through the shavings to find out what she wanted.

  ‘I’m looking for Rigg,’ she explained. ‘I’m his wife.’

  ‘He’s not here, I’m afraid,’ the man said. ‘We was expecting him this morning. I’m Harry.’

  ‘Harry Elton?’

  ‘That’s me.’

  They shook hands and took stock of one another. Although it was hard to assess his character from his appearance, Alison was reassured by what she saw, for Harry was an energetic-looking man and obviously a worker. She guessed he was about forty. He had a friendly smile and a round, ruddy face that she would have called trusting if it hadn’t been for his eyes, which were small and shrewd and as brown as pennies. His hair was curly and very dark but it was cropped short like a lamb’s fleece, which gave him an air at once purposeful and vulnerable. Rough hands, clothes that had seen good service, a shirt pocket full of small tools, pencils and screwdrivers, a steel rule, a pocket torch. A worker, whatever else. The kind of man who would make a good business partner.

  ‘How long’s it going to take to get fitted?’ she asked.

  ‘Two more days,’ he told her. ‘The stock’s being delivered the beginning of next week. With any luck we shall open for business on Friday, just in time for the weekend.’

  ‘It all looks very good,’ she said, as she took hold of Jon’s hand ready to lead him out.

  ‘Wait till it’s open,’ he said. ‘It’s in a good position.’

  That was certainly true. The parade of shops was right on the corner where the Selsey Road curved down to the sea. We shall do well, she thought. Oh Rigg, you’ll be able to come home again.

  But when Rigg phoned her later in the week, he said he couldn’t make any plans yet and there was no point in coming home until September. Alison felt her heart sink. ‘But if this shop does well…’

  ‘As it will. It will. It’s a stone bonker.’

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘I’ve got to give it six months,’ he said, ‘otherwise I shall lose all the advantage of staying away since April. You don’t want me to pay extra tax, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There you are then. Have you seen the window display?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go down,’ he instructed. ‘You’ll love it.’

  I’d love it more if you were home again, Alison thought. But it was too late to tell him because he’d hung up.

  The house always seemed so empty after a phone call. She’d switched the mute button on the television as soon as he rang, now, with a sigh, she brought back the sound. But she couldn’t concentrate on the programme, bright and loud though it was.

  It was another two months to September and two months is a very long time when you are on your own with two small children to look after. Never mind, she told herself, it’ll pass. Once this video shop gets going, he’ll make so much money we shall be in clover. If he works there I shall be able to call in and see him now and then. He might even come home for lunch. I’ll cook him some really tasty meals. That’ll tempt him back.

  But Rigg didn’t work in the video shop. As it was shift work, morning and evening, he hired students to do it. In fact, Alison saw less of him in the month after the shop was opened than she’d done in the months before. It was rather demoralising. But he’d always said it would be hard. She had to admit that. He’d always told her they would have to make sacrifices if they were going to make that first million.

  If only making sacrifices wasn’t so lonely.

  Chapter Eight

  The August began with an act of aggression in the M
iddle East and a heat wave in Europe. On the second Saddam Hussein of Iraq ordered his troops to invade Kuwait, and the next day was the hottest in August since records began. Apart from the politicians, nobody in England took much notice of what was happening in the desert. The heat wave was another matter because it affected everyone. Railway lines buckled, runways melted, cars and tempers overheated. Even Alison found it hard to stay calm but she didn’t lose her temper until Rigg arrived outside the house with a brand new BMW – black this time and an even more expensive model than the previous year’s.

  With commendable self-control, she restricted herself to asking whether he could afford it.

  ‘I can’t not afford it,’ he said, admiring it. ‘It’s an investment.’

  ‘But you’re short of money,’ she said. The anger in her voice was unmistakable. ‘You’ve got a cash-flow problem. You didn’t even repay me for that phone bill. Remember?’

  ‘Slipped my mind,’ he said, recognising that he would have to pacify her. He took a fifty pound note from his wallet and slapped it into her hand. ‘There you are. That’s my share. Now you can stop fussing. I don’t know what you’re fussing about anyway. This car’s not going to cost all that much more than the other one. Less, probably, in the long run. I got a good trade-in price and there’ll be no repairs or anything like that. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is I’ve got to have it. Imagine if I turned up to a business meeting in last year’s model. They would think I was on the way down. Isn’t she a beauty?’

  Alison put the note in her pocket but she was so angry that she couldn’t see anything remotely beautiful in his new acquisition.

  ‘If you’ve got money to spend on a car,’ she said, ‘you can afford to pay the poll tax and live at home.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Kitten,’ he wheedled. ‘This is for business. You know that. If you don’t have a new reg, every year, you lose trade. I can’t run that sort of risk, now can I? I know it must look a bit flash to you, but it is necessary.’