Читать книгу Jacqui Rose 2 Book Bundle - Jacqui Rose, Jacqui Rose - Страница 25

It was Friday morning and Maggie stood in the doorway observing the refurbished ceiling of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church in Soho Square. A church she’d been coming to since she was a child and where she’d had her first Holy Communion, watched by her father who’d sat scowling at her with a hangover, with her mother nervously sitting next to him on the front wooden pew, nursing a fresh black eye.

The domed ceiling had been painted and the walls whitewashed. The high arched windows sparkled, letting the sunlight beam through the coloured glass, bouncing its rays towards the altar where a large painting of the Virgin Mary stood ten feet tall in judgement and framed in gold.

The refurbishments of St. Patrick’s had finished last May and Maggie hadn’t seen it since it had been re-opened.

‘Maggie Donaldson, why it’s good to see you. The sheep returning to its fold.’

Father Maloney greeted her at the church door. She’d never warmed to him, always getting the sense that if it wasn’t for her father’s large donations of laundered money given to the church in exchange for ten Hail Marys and all his sins forgiven, Father Maloney would never let them near the church – let alone in the continually reserved front row pew.

The other reason why Maggie had no time for Father Maloney was because she felt he’d let her down as a child. And though it might’ve been petty of her, she could never quite find it in her to forgive him.

Growing up, she and her siblings had been taught never to talk about what went on at home. She’d unbendingly kept to the rule until the day of her eleventh birthday when she’d bunked off school to go to church to ask God for help. Not for herself, but for her mother who, instead of making her a cake, was laid up in bed after having the shit beaten out of her the night before by her enraged father.

She’d sat at the back of the freezing church with her eyes scrunched up, trying to concentrate hard on remembering her prayers. Trying to stop the tears rolling down her face. Father Maloney had come to sit next to her and asked what was wrong. Like a naive fool she’d trusted him, needing to talk. Thinking maybe God had sent the priest to come and sit next to her, Maggie had broken her own family’s sacred vow; she’d opened her mouth.

After she’d told him, Maggie had pleaded her concern. ‘But Father, you won’t tell my Dad I’ve told you will you? If he ever found out I think he’d kill me.’

He hadn’t killed her, but when she’d seen Father Maloney standing in her kitchen with her father that same afternoon laughing and joking about life back in Ireland, Maggie had wished she was dead. She stood rooted to the red tiled floor as her whole body started to tremble; once more the fear of what was to come had almost made her vomit. Her father had spoken to her. ‘I understand you paid Father Maloney a visit today Maggie. Gave him a tale.’

Father Maloney had scowled at her then, looking over his glasses as he spoke. ‘You know what they say about liars, Margaret?’

Maggie had looked at her father, then at the priest and had known she was going to get the beating of her life that night. Even at her young age she’d felt her temper rising, incensed by the injustice of the situation. Standing humiliated in the kitchen Maggie had decided she’d nothing to lose. She wanted to make it clear to Father Maloney exactly what she thought of him for breaking her trust. A trust she’d never given to anyone before. ‘And you know what they say about cunts like you.’

She’d flown across the room along with a mouthful of blood and landed on a pile of shopping bags. She’d presumed it’d been her father who’d hit her with such almighty force that her front tooth was loose. But when she’d looked up, half dazed, her father was still standing in the same spot. It was Father Maloney who’d stood red-faced, his hand raised in the air. She’d touched her swollen lip and glared at the priest, calmly speaking to him and sounding much older than her eleven years. ‘And Father, by the way, it’s Maggie – not Margaret.’

The church bells began to ring, bringing Maggie back from her thoughts. She looked at Father Maloney and smiled. ‘I’ve been away, detained as it were Father.’

The priest looked at Maggie, puzzled, and then continued to question her, his strong Irish accent carrying over the ringing church bells as they stood at the door of the church.

‘Pastures new, Margaret?’

‘I’ve heard them call it a lot of things but I’ve never heard them call a year banged up in Highpoint Prison pastures new. Oh and Father, perhaps you’re forgetting the discussion we once had. It’s Maggie, not Margaret, remember?’

Father Maloney blushed and Maggie saw he’d at least had the decency to look ashamed. With that, she turned on her heel and marched down the aisle into the cool of the church, catching the grin from Nicky and the angry glower from her father.

The regular congregation at St. Patrick’s church was an odd sight; made up of locals and tourists, sex workers, gays and lesbians, drunks and the homeless from the melting pot of Soho’s community. Then of course there was her own family; the Donaldsons.

Her family were worlds and hearts apart from each other. However, on Friday mornings they’d turn up for the ten o’clock service; sober, drunk, stoned, stressed, whatever state the morning delivered them in, to stand in what was supposed to be the house of God listening to Father Maloney and taking Holy Communion.

It had always been like that; one long hour of hypocrisy. Maggie had turned her back on any belief she’d had in God the day Father Maloney had betrayed her trust and like most things in her family, she only came along because her father told them to. There was no other choice.

Maggie looked down the pew. At the end was her mother, dressed as usual in her beige cashmere coat. She gave Maggie a quick nervous glance and a short smile then looked away. Next to her was her father, who immediately felt Maggie’s gaze. He stared at her with disgust before turning away, sticking another piece of gum into his mouth as he did so. Tommy sat next to him, tall and handsome. She hadn’t seen him since he’d ran away from her. He stared ahead into the distance, his look blank, cold, frozen. He didn’t turn towards Maggie even though she was sure he could feel her looking at him. She loved him so much but she’d no idea how to get through to him anymore.

Nicky stood next to Tommy, his face swollen with bruising, twitching and twisting from one foot to another. Uncomfortable in his own body. Occasionally he leaned his weight on the pew in front for support until it creaked, sending a loud echo through the church.

He looked terrible and as Maggie caught his eye she felt uneasy. This was the first time she’d seen him since she’d got out. She got the distinct impression he was avoiding her. She needed to talk to him but from the manic wide-eyed stare she could see she’d have to wait until he came down from his high. He was sniffing and rubbing his nose restlessly until her mother passed him a handkerchief. He blew his nose and Maggie stared as the white delicate hankie turned scarlet red from his blood.

‘Sorry … sorry.’

Nicky pushed past them and hurried to the back of the church where he made his way out watched by a worried Maggie, but ignored by his father who couldn’t care less what part of Nicky’s body was bleeding.

Maggie put her head down and closed her eyes. She’d no idea what she was supposed to do for Nicky, for Tommy, for her mother. They all seemed beyond helping themselves and the way things were going she wasn’t far behind them. And then of course there was Harley. Her beautiful daughter who with every breath she took, she missed. She needed to have Harley with her but quite how she was going to do that, she didn’t know. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting the tears to trickle down her face.

She sighed and opened her eyes, twisting her head slightly, catching her father looking at her with a scowl. Maggie turned away and tried to concentrate on the service but her mind kept bringing her back to Johnny.

For so long Johnny had been everything to her. She’d given him her heart and he had given his to her. But she didn’t know if that was enough. Had she really thought that by being with him everything would be alright? Or had she just wished and wanted it to be so much she’d refused to see what was staring her in the face? That it was impossible. Her relationship with Johnny could never go further than their fantasies. He could no longer leave his life than she could leave her mother.

Perhaps Harley would be better off without her. Maybe she was being selfish, thinking she could be what Harley needed. She knew there’d be loving people, good people who didn’t have children, who’d take Harley and give her a home and a life she deserved.

Harley was only four; given time and the right family, her daughter would soon forget about her. She’d be able to blossom and grow into a flower, rather than being stunted by the life she had now. But how would Maggie let her go? She loved her daughter so much, the idea of not being part of her life was almost too much to bear. But then if she loved her daughter, truly loved her, wouldn’t she let her go? Love her by setting her free.

Father Maloney chanted loudly the holy sacrament in Latin, shocking Maggie out of her thoughts. She stared down at the marbled floor.

The church service was over, much to Tommy’s relief. Though he would’ve rather have done without leaving the cool of the church to walk down the overbearing Soho streets.

During the whole service Maggie had kept her eyes on him, but he’d stared ahead at the altar, listening to Father Maloney’s uninspiring sermon. But he’d known. Known she wanted him to look at her. Wanted to give him her warmest smile. He didn’t know how to give her what she wanted. Didn’t she realise that coming too close would only hurt her? And the worst thing about it was, he probably wouldn’t even be able to stop himself.

Tommy continued to walk up Greek Street as the sun beat down on the back of his neck. He didn’t want to go straight home, so decided instead to stop off at the coffee shop on the corner of Frith Street and get himself a double espresso.

As he stood in the queue of the overheated and under air-conditioned coffee shop, he watched the waitress struggling to walk about behind the tiny counter.

He watched her in fascination as she leant over the sandwiches on the counter. Rolls of swollen fat hidden under her ill-fitted jumper. Her colossal weight leaning just above the food, passing over it like a solar eclipse.

Tommy looked at her mouth. For all her size she was pretty. Young and pretty. The voice at the back of his head came from nowhere as it always did. Making a noise, until it became louder and louder. The din turning into a scream.

The blood from her nose ran into the back of her mouth. And Tommy watched as it choked her. Her face was covered in dirt whilst she struggled for breath. The gag was still tight. Her eyes wide open, staring directly into his.

‘Tommy?’

Maggie stood next to him, a look of concern on her beautiful face. As his thoughts were broken, Tommy realised he’d been clenching his fists so tightly his little fingernail had dug into his palm, drawing blood. He could feel his face covered in perspiration while the adrenalin pumping through his body started to dissipate.

‘Tommy, are you okay? I saw you come in here, thought we could have a coffee together.’

Tommy stared at his sister. He was breathing hard and he could feel his chest heaving rapidly but he didn’t say anything.

‘Tommy, what have you done to your hand, babe? It’s bleeding.’

Maggie tried to take hold of Tommy’s hand but he pulled it sharply back as he pushed his way out of the coffee shop, his blue eyes narrowing. ‘Just leave me alone, Maggie. Do yourself a favour and leave me a-fucking-lone.’

‘Tommy! Wait … Tommy …’

It was too late. He’d gone.

Maggie let herself into the house, her thoughts filled with worry. Worry for Harley. For Tommy. For Nicky. For her mother. So many people to worry about. But anxiety wasn’t getting her anywhere. Action, not fear, changed things – yet she didn’t know what to do, and this feeling of helplessness made her feel weak; vulnerable. It made Maggie Donaldson feel scared.

Maggie was relieved to find the house was quiet for once, though the cool silence of the Donaldson household also emphasised how void of warmth and love it also was.

Lying on her bed, she looked around her bedroom. Her room had been the only safe haven in the house when she was growing up. As a child she’d tried to leave the chaos on the other side of the white panelled door.

There was a tiny tap on her door and Maggie knew immediately who it was. It was her mother. Since Maggie was a child her mother’s knock had never got any louder or softer. To Maggie it was a heartbreaking reminder of her mother’s acceptance of her situation. A small, non confrontational – without any strength behind it – knock. Maggie hated the sound of it.

‘You holding up, Maggie love? You seemed a bit quiet in church.’

Maggie sat up and took her mother’s hand as she came to sit next to her. She smiled warmly.

‘Well you know Mum, it’s kind of hard to get a word in edgeways with Father Maloney chatting ten to the dozen. Maybe next week I’ll tell him to keep it down a bit when he’s doing the Holy Communion, give me a chance to have a chat.’

Sheila chuckled, and it warmed Maggie’s heart to see her mother genuinely smile, with her eyes lighting up in support.

‘How’s Harley?’

It touched a raw nerve with Maggie. She physically retreated, letting go of her mother’s hands and clasping them in her lap. Her shoulders slumped as her body reflected her feelings.

Sheila Donaldson noticed the change in her daughter and immediately felt uneasy, wishing she hadn’t brought the subject up. The hush in the room was too much for Sheila to bear and she blurted out a clunky apology, desperate to see her daughter stop hurting but also desperate for Maggie to forgive her for letting her down.

‘I’m sorry to bring Harley up but I can’t stand to see you moping around. It ain’t worked out the way it should, but she’s okay.’

Sheila bit her lip. It wasn’t coming out the way she wanted it to. What she really wanted to say she couldn’t express. Now she’d lit a fire and Maggie’s face had turned hostile. Sheila could see the infamous Donaldson temper boiling under the surface of her beautiful daughter’s skin.

‘Moping, Mum? I haven’t lost my brolly on a rainy day. Harley’s been shacked up with Gina for the past year and looks like she’s stepped out of a bleeding workhouse.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Maggie. Nicky’s been making sure things are okay.’

‘I love him Mum, but I have a feeling the only thing Nicky’s been making taking care of are his nostrils. Just leave it. Please.’

Guilt tended to make Sheila say the wrong thing to her daughter. ‘Why are you getting so mad at me? I covered up and I’ve kept my mouth shut all through your pregnancy. I helped you as much as I could.’

Maggie saw the pleading in her mother’s eyes, wanting her not to cause any rows. ‘I’m mad at you because I don’t know who else to be mad with. None of this is normal, Mum. It isn’t normal that I can’t have Harley to stay here. It isn’t normal that I have to keep her a secret to keep her away from harm. And it isn’t normal that I’m thinking of giving her up.’

‘What? … Maggie, no, listen there must be some other way.’

‘Well you tell me what it is then – because I’ve racked my head and I can’t think of a way out. Apart from running away, that is.’

Sheila’s face drained of colour. ‘Maggie, no. You can’t do that. You can’t leave me … what would I do without you?’

Maggie heard the panic in her mother’s voice. She didn’t look at her but gave her mother the answer she needed to hear. The answer which she’d been telling her since a child.

‘No Mum, I won’t leave you. I’ve always promised you that, but I can’t let Harley have the life I had. I love her too much. She deserves so much better. She deserves to have a childhood.’

Sheila stared as the tears rolled down Maggie’s cheeks. She was about to lean forward to give her daughter a hug but she stopped herself, unsure how to comfort her. It was rare for Maggie to ever cry and it made Sheila feel very uncomfortable. Not knowing what to do or say, Sheila got up and left the room, leaving Maggie sobbing her heart out.