With Love From Ma Maguire

by Ruth Hamilton

  She nodded thoughtfully. ‘What do you want me for?’

  ‘To help me carry the stuff! Can you see one lad on his own lumping fourteen suits and a dozen pairs of boots? Not to mention the odd wireless. And it has to be done quick. Some of them need the money for Monday’s breakfast. Most folk will be that happy to see half-a-crown on a Monday, they’ll more than likely give us the odd penny. So we get paid both ends. Wages off Uncle, pennies off the customers.’

  ‘And you’d take their pennies?’

  ‘Aye, I bloody would!’

  Janet fixed her eyes on her new blue clogs. Mam had had them made special, leather roses stitched on the sides and a pearl button for the ankle-strap. She felt uneasy, didn’t want to look at him. And he was getting on her nerves, bouncing that ball all the while he was talking, carrying on about how brilliant he was. She glanced up the street towards their own front door at the top. She wasn’t going to leave Mam, not even for Joey. Especially not for Joey.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not doing it. Any of it.’ She forced herself to meet that penetrating black gaze. ‘Sometimes, I don’t like you, our Joey. There’s no . . . forgiveness in you, no kindness or charity.’

  ‘What? I’ve always tret you right, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes.’ She pushed the fringe off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Yes, because you’ve always thought about me like something . . . something you own, like I’m your property. But I’ve got a mind of me own, Joey. I don’t object to helping folk borrow food money, only I’d take not one penny in tips. It would be like stealing. I know I’ve always backed you up before and if you’re ever in bother, then I shall likely stick up for you again. But I’ll not go against me and what I believe in.’

  ‘Hoity-bloody-toity!’

  ‘Say what you like, I shan’t take notice.’

  He replaced the ball in the bucket with the others. ‘You’ve no head for business, lass.’

  ‘If a head for business means cheating people, then I’ll do without.’

  ‘How do you think the mill bosses make all that brass, eh?’ His voice was raised in pitch now. ‘By treating folk right and paying good wages? Never. They get where they are by taking and not giving, that’s how. You can’t change things, Janet.’

  ‘No, happen I can’t. But like you said before, what can’t be changed must be walked away from.’

  ‘That was different – I meant family.’

  ‘Oh. I see. Well, I don’t want to leave my family. And working folk are our family too, our big family. There’s us on one side and them on the other. You’re after becoming one of them and I’m going to stay one of us. Parting of our ways, I suppose.’

  ‘Aw, Janet—’

  ‘It’s all right, we shan’t quarrel. We never have and I hope we never will. But we’re different. We can be different, you know. It’s all right to be different. I mean, we won’t always be together. I’ll get wed and so will you—’

  He grabbed her arm fiercely. ‘But we’ll still be twins and best mates?’

  ‘Oh aye.’ She smiled feebly. ‘No doubt there.’

  They walked up the street together. To an onlooker, it might have seemed that the Maguire twins were enjoying that companionable silence that so often existed between them. But Joey felt disturbed, alarmed almost. She’d always done his bidding; he’d led the way at all times. Now, a warning bell was sounding in his mind, a message from the future – if such a thing could be possible. She wouldn’t always be here. It was hard admitting, even to himself, how much he depended on her. There’d never be a wife good enough, not while Janet lived. No girl could match her beauty and cleverness, no girl could ever make him feel so proud. Heads turned when Janet passed by with her dark gold hair and big grey eyes. Not that he felt desire for her – oh no – she was his sister. What he felt for Janet went way beyond all that. He worshipped her, loved her as his other half. One day, a head too many would turn and take her away from him. No!

  Janet, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. Things needed sorting out in Joey’s mind, especially now they were near fifteen. She loved him dearly, couldn’t help admiring all that clear thinking and single-minded determination, but he’d smothered her all their lives, never letting her out of his sight if he could help it. Soon, she’d be working away from him, meeting new friends, learning a trade. In a way, she felt as if shackles were being removed from her ankles. Sometimes, when they’d been little, she’d tried to imagine what it must be like to be a single like Michael and Daisy, to be born alone, separate and individual. Yes, Joey had looked after her and she was grateful for that. But she wanted her own life, her own way of living it. And she was glad that she had expressed this need, at least in part.

  Mam was setting the table. ‘Where’ve you two been?’

  ‘Witchie Leason’s,’ replied Joey.

  ‘Don’t call her that!’ said Molly. ‘She’s of a good family, is Miss Leason—’

  ‘She let us have some books and a few balls for Michael and Daisy.’ Janet gave her brother a withering look. ‘They smell a bit, so I’ve left them in the wash-house to air a while.’

  ‘We’ve a dog,’ announced Molly. ‘She gave us that and all – I’m doing me best to be grateful. It’s in the front room with your Gran, won’t leave her side. It’s called Yorick and Ma likes it. Rhymes with Porrick, I suppose. Great lump of a thing it’s going to turn out to be.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted a dog.’ Joey grinned and turned towards the best room.

  Molly held up her hand. ‘Leave it! It’s there to get your Gran better. You can take it for a walk after. Gran’s been up, by the way.’

  ‘We know. Miss Leason said.’ Janet’s face glowed with pleasure. ‘Will she start getting right now, Mam?’

  ‘Aye. I reckon she will.’

  ‘Good God.’ Joey dropped his head. ‘The eyes, ears and gob of the world shall rise and walk again—’

  ‘Joey Maguire!’ Molly clouted him hard across his back. ‘You bad little beggar, you! That’s your grandmother in there flat on her back and nearly helpless. She’s kept this family going many a year, put the bread in your mouths, she has. You just don’t understand her, that’s all. Come to think, you don’t understand anybody except yourself, grabbing little swine, you are! Never refused the pennies, did you? Would you work as hard as she has, just for other folk?’

  He looked her squarely in the face. ‘For Janet, I would.’

  ‘Why just Janet?’

  ‘Because she and I are . . . different. Separate from the rest of you.’

  Molly staggered back fighting for air and Janet rushed to her side. ‘Mam, are you all right?’

  But Molly’s eyes were fastened on her son’s face. ‘How do you mean – different?’ she whispered.

  Janet rounded on him. ‘Look what you’ve done! This is her nervous asthma back and after she was doing so well. Get the kettle—’

  ‘No! I’m all right! What did you mean by that, our Joey?’

  The boy studied his mother carefully, aware that he had touched a raw nerve, unsure of how he’d achieved that.

  ‘Different in what way?’ she persisted.

  He allowed a few seconds to tick by before answering. ‘Twins, in case you’d forgotten.’

  ‘No, I’ve not forgot, Joey. You first, then her. That’s the order you were born in. But that doesn’t mean you’ve to lead her by the nose through life! And you’re the same as the rest of us, no matter what!’

  He grinned mirthlessly, his eyes still cold and angry. ‘We’ll see about that. I’m off out – you coming, Janet?’

  ‘No. I shall look after Mam. You can start managing without me. Anyway, what about your tea?’

  For answer, he walked out and slammed the door.

  Molly found herself sobbing in her daughter’s arms. It was as if he knew something – everything, in fact. Was it possible to start hating your own child? Oh, if only there’d been just Janet and not him with his near-bl
ack eyes always reminding her . . .

  ‘I’m sorry, Mam.’

  ‘What for? Why should you be forever apologising for him? You’re not responsible just because you arrived in the same batch! Don’t let him take you over, lass. Don’t let him! Promise me!’

  ‘I promise. Calm down now. You’ve not to get excited, specially in summer. Didn’t the doctor say that grass makes asthma worse?’

  ‘What? We’ve got no grass, love. And this isn’t asthma, it’s bloody heartbreak . . .’

  How many times could a heart be broken before it disintegrated altogether? It was like papering over cracks, they always showed through at the finish. Just as she always cried and let her own cracks show . . .

  ‘Come on, Mam. We’ll get the tea on.’

  Molly followed Janet into the scullery. There was something in that lad, something cunning and not a mile short of bad. Where had he got it? Not from the Dobson side, that was for sure. And not from the Maguires by example either. Paddy might be a bit daft at times, but there was little malice in him. Bloody Swainbanks! She threw the vegetables into the pan, not heeding the splashes of water on her clothes.

  ‘Mam? Mam? Whatever is it now?’

  Molly’s hand was fastened to her chest. She stared down at the table where lay the peelings all spread out over an old newspaper. They were dead. Dead. Both of them. It was there, thick black print with a border, made to stand out, a declaration of their family’s position in the community. The words jumped about all over the page as she struggled to focus on this incredible and terrifying truth. His sons had been killed in a motoring accident.

  ‘Mam!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shall I get some steam to you?’

  ‘No. No, I should never have eaten that bacon at dinner time. I eat too fast and all. That’s always been my trouble, doing things too fast. Without thinking, like. You can pay all your life for a few minutes of not thinking.’

  ‘Joey’s upset you.’

  ‘It’s not that, love. I like bacon but it doesn’t like me. Go through and set the kettle on the fire, ’cos I’ll be using the gas rings. Make a nice cuppa just for the two of us.’

  ‘And Gran?’ She was dying to get in there to see this new dog.

  Molly braced herself against the table’s edge and looked at her pretty daughter. That’s not your granny, love. Your granny was a bad old bugger with a tongue like snakebite . . . ‘Yes, take Gran a cup. And fetch your dad’s tray down. He wore himself out getting her back in the front room.’

  After Janet had left, Molly reached down, picked up the paper and screwed it round the peelings as tightly as she could, as if trying to deny the words it contained. But even when she’d tossed newspaper and contents into the ashpit, she still saw the black border and the thick fancy lettering dancing in front of her eyes.

  Why hadn’t she heard before? This news was at least two days old. Aye, but there’d been no time to read the paper, had there? And with Paddy in bed most of the time and Bella Seddon not talking, there’d been little contact with the outside world. Miss Leason never took notice of much. And Janet, who was doing the shopping after school, wasn’t the age to bother about this sort of gossip. Thank God.

  Why his sons, though? Why couldn’t it have been somebody else’s? No, that was a sin. Wishing anybody dead – even some poor anonymous soul – was a sin, though a part of her wanted to go out right this minute and kill Charlie Swainbank. And he was a long way from anonymous, wasn’t he? Nay, it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t be blamed for the death of his kiddies. And there was no need for her to feel so bloody furious, so worked up and worried. There was no connection between him and her any more, no need for him to be in her life ever again.

  Why this fear, then? Where was the anger, the dread coming from? She steadied herself in the wash-house doorway. No! They were hers! Janet and Joey were hers! And anyway, surely he wouldn’t . . . But oh dear God in heaven, Joey was his living image! Yes, she’d been married all right and the twins had been born in wedlock, all properly documented, registered by their father. Only he wasn’t their father. Had Charlie Swainbank done his sums ever? Did he know she’d had twins almost exactly nine months after that night?

  Molly Maguire fell in at the scullery door and grabbed a glass of water. There was no point in wondering and worrying. No point at all. She must get a grip on herself, stop all this stupidity. And she must surely pray for those poor dead boys.

  Janet stared down at the figure on the bed, a scream frozen in her throat. Slowly, she reached down and touched his hand. It was warm, but his eyes were fixed glassy and unseeing on something behind her head. She shook him. ‘Dad! Dad!’

  His whole frame shuddered as he inhaled deeply.

  ‘Oh, Dad.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. You all right?’

  ‘No, I’m not, but who’s bloody bothered over me, eh? Your mam doesn’t care whether I live or die, stuck in here on me own all day, nowt to see, nobody to talk to—’

  ‘We do care!’ Janet relaxed. This was more like the dad she knew. ‘It’s just that Mam’s got so much to do.’

  ‘Rubbish, Jan. It’s Ma that set her off with all this housework lark, keeping one jump in front of the neighbours all the while. Daft, it is. Molly’s at it now, just like me mother, time to donkey the step before her next door, don’t be the last one in with the washing – barmpots, the lot on ’em.’ He paused, completely breathless.

  ‘Dad, you sound like Mam with her bit of asthma.’

  ‘Bit of asthma? I’ve been blessed all me life with a chest, love. Your Granny used to send me to school wearing that many clothes I wasn’t recognized some days. They thought I was a new fat lad. I went through the first twelve years of my life reeking of camphorated. Every time I went near her, she covered me in camphorated.’

  ‘You should have learned to duck. Can I get you anything?’

  ‘Bottle of stout.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. You’ve not to drink, the doctor said. Tea, milk, water – you can have them, but no beer, Dad.’

  ‘Christ. It’s you that sounds like your bloody mother! Fetch us a proper drink, lass. Joey does.’

  ‘It’s killing you. You know it’s killing you, so why do you do it?’

  ‘Because I’m stupid.’ He grinned at her boyishly.

  ‘No, you’re not. It takes a clever man to act as daft as you do.’

  ‘Aye. And a clever girl to know it. Get me a drink.’

  ‘No. I think you’d best get up and stop crying wolf.’ Was he crying wolf? After all, he’d looked so ill when she first came in. But it was no use telling him that, he’d just linger in the bed for ever.

  He was studying her. ‘I’ve often wondered how I come to get a lass like you. You’re beautiful, our Janet. I reckon as how you could be in the pictures like one of them there film stars—’

  ‘Don’t talk so daft! You’ll not get round me!’

  ‘Nay, I’m serious. Now listen while I tell you, ’cos I’m not one for speeches. I haven’t been a good dad. I’m not what you’d call a good person, see. When I was little, I plagued the daylights out of me mam and I’ve not changed over-much. But I don’t tell lies, never did – except to get out of a tight corner. So if I say you’re as pretty as a picture, you can take that as gospel.’

  ‘All right. I’ll get you a glass of barley wine.’

  ‘What?’ He sat bolt upright. ‘I’m not laying a finger on that muck. You’ve not seen what goes into your Gran’s wines, have you? I reckon she goes through the ashpit for some of the makings.’

  She smiled and reached out to ruffle his already disordered hair. ‘You win. If Mam goes to Confession, then I’ll nip down with the jug to the outdoor – just half a pint, mind.’

  ‘Couldn’t you . . . stretch it to a pint?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Paddy! Mam would have me flayed.’

  ‘All right. Have it your own road – same as you women always do.’<
br />
  She made for the door.

  ‘Jan?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I love you, lass.’

  He’d never said that for ages. Her eyes misted over as she looked at this lazy great lump of a man who was her father. No matter what he was, she adored him, always had and always would. ‘I love you too, Paddy Maguire,’ she whispered.

  ‘Wish I was worth it!’

  ‘You are! You’re my dad, so you must be worth it! It’s not every feller can have a film star for a daughter, is it?’ She posed in the doorway.

  ‘Oh, get gone for me ale.’

  ‘I’m going, I’m going . . .’

  At the foot of the stairs, she paused, tray in hand. He’d eaten almost none of his dinner. Was he really ill this time? She tutted quietly under her breath. He’d been swinging the lead for so long now – it wouldn’t matter whether or not his illness was real. Nobody would ever take him seriously. They were hard women, Gran and Mam. Perhaps they’d had to be? Mam hadn’t drunk her tea. The meal was ready, left to warm in the range. But she hadn’t drunk her tea, which was unusual. She must be at Confession early, must have a special sin to tell. Janet couldn’t imagine her mother having sinned.

  She washed her father’s dishes then went out to fetch the young ones in from play, hoping there’d be enough time to nip out for Dad’s beer. After all, a promise was a promise. And Mam was so hard on him at times.

  Molly Maguire was feeling anything but hard. With her equilibrium slipping fast, she howled her pain and confusion into Father Mahoney’s ears. She couldn’t see his face, what with the grille being there and her eyes filling up all the while. But even the man’s vague outline was comforting, while his gentle Irish voice was as good as any of Ma’s herbal sedatives.

  ‘Aw now Molly. Don’t be getting yourself into one of them flat spins. Himself may have no interest in your children – why should he have? I dare say if he met them in the street, he’d pass by and never a thought to it. And if he did put in an appearance, wouldn’t he have meself to contend with? I may not be quick on me feet, Molly Maguire, but I can cut the legs off any man if it comes to a battle of words.’