Authors: Lizzie Lane
‘I haven’t got it with me. I’ll be back with it on Friday night if you can have the Bible ready for me. Is it a deal?’
A triumphant sneer flickered like a weevil over her aunt’s mouth.
‘That seems fine enough. Friday night it is. I’ll have it ready here. Sure I will.’
‘Fifty pounds. Is there any chance I can take it now? I’ll still bring the money on Friday.’
Spindly wrinkles erupted around her aunt’s narrowed eyes and spittle oozed from the corner of her mouth when she smiled.
‘Do you think I’m a bloody fool? Oh no, Magda my girl, I’ll not hand it over until you pay me. Then you can have it.’
‘On Friday. All of the fifty pounds?’
‘Are you deaf, girl?’
She nodded, could barely speak, and it was hard not to look elated. But she knew she mustn’t look mightily pleased. If her aunt thought there was any chance of getting more money, she would demand more.
It didn’t occur to Magda that she’d been holding her breath until the door shuddered shut. The rancid smell of old drains lingered in the air, but even that was better than the filthy smell coming from her aunt’s crumbling home. At least when she’d been there she’d cleaned it round a bit.
The fact is that the house her aunt lived in was as ill-used as she was. Edward Street was far from being handsome. The big old houses on one side of the street had been built for merchants’ families some two hundred years earlier. On the
opposite side the houses were mean and cramped, small places built of red brick with two rooms downstairs, and two upstairs.
Her Aunt Bridget’s house was squeezed in between its neighbours, both of which were boarded up due to timber problems in the roof.
Despite its age, Winnie’s old place was well looked after both by Winnie and by whoever owned it now. Its stonework was as clean as it could be, the door newly painted and the brass knocker so brightly polished it gleamed in the sunlight.
A dark girl wearing a glittering blue headband sat in the window, her head held proudly. Magda held up a hand meaning to wave, and then let it fall. Winnie had ordered her never to acknowledge anyone in that house again and never to linger anywhere around Edward Street after dark. It was summer, but evening was setting in.
‘The alley cats are dangerous,’ Winnie had told her. ‘And not all of them have got four legs.’
Heading back to Prince Albert Mews, her footsteps were lighter than they’d been in a long while. The Bible might soon be in her possession. She would finally be able to search for her family, even if it meant opting out of medical school.
Winnie and the delicious aroma of the evening meal were waiting for her when she got back to the cottage.
‘Something smells nice,’ said Magda as she lay down her bag and took off her jacket.
‘A little lamb with fresh vegetables for tonight,’ Winnie said to her.
Winnie set her plate in front of her.
Magda, feeling somewhat pleased with herself, breathed in the appetising aroma. The pleasure did not last. Winnie was bound to be upset if she mentioned putting off her start at medical school and leaving Prince Albert Mews – even if it was only for a little while.
Picking up her knife and fork, she flashed her benefactor a heart-warming smile.
Winnie sat herself down, rubbing her bad hip as she did so. Magda knew it was getting worse, but then Winnie was getting old.
‘You were late coming in.’
Magda guessed that Winnie had been watching out of the window for her, as she had every day since they’d moved here.
‘I went to see Aunt Bridget. I asked her again for my mother’s Bible.’
Winnie’s head seemed to jerk in surprise.
‘And?’
She tapped a bony finger against the side of her face, elbow resting on the table. Her eyes were strangely piercing, almost as though she feared what she was about to hear or could read the words in Magda’s mind.
‘She’s going to let me have it but at a price. I’ve been careful with my wages from the market. I’ve managed to save enough to buy it from her. Fifty pounds in fact. I didn’t tell her I was going to medical school. I told her I’ve got a job in the office at the brewery and that’s how I managed to save so much.’
‘I can help. You know I can and she’s not to know,’ said Winnie.
Magda chewed methodically on a portion of lamb chop. Telling Winnie that bit had been easy. Telling her the rest wouldn’t be so easy. Laying her cutlery carefully on her plate, she swallowed and prepared herself for what had to be said.
‘Once I have the Bible, I’ll have to opt out of medical school whilst I search for my family. I don’t think they’ll mind if I do. I hope you don’t either. You see the moment I have that Bible back, I can find my sisters and brother. Their addresses are in that Bible. Once I have it, I can seek them out.’
All the while she spoke, her eyes stayed fixed on those of Winnie’s.
‘Ah yes. You would,’ Winnie said slowly, as if she understood completely and approved of Magda’s actions. Inside her heart was breaking. She couldn’t bear to be parted from her. It was almost as though her baby had not died but they’d merely been separated for many years. And now she was talking about leaving again – even though only for a short while. She had one other suggestion to make.
Sighing resignedly, she raised her eyes to meet those of her benefactor, hating to tell it as it was, but not able to stop herself.
‘I’m not your daughter, Winnie. She died. I have my own family. Even my father is out there somewhere.’
Winnie suddenly froze.
Magda met the twinkling blue eyes briefly before dropping her gaze back to her plate.
‘It’s gone cold. Anyway, it’s only the fatty bits left.’
‘Throw it on the fire. Here. Take mine too,’ said Winnie.
After scraping the leavings onto one plate, Magda threw the lot onto the fire, for a moment regarding the fat sizzling on the hot coals.
‘It used to spark and sizzle like that when Aunt Bridget was cooking it. She used to cook it on the fire in the grate seeing as it was just for herself. One day she caught the rug on fire. I threw a kettle of water on it, but the place was filled with smoke. She used to smoke in front of the fire too, and then fall asleep drunk. I suppose I’m lucky that the Bible didn’t go up in flames long ago. She says she’ll throw it on the fire anyway if I don’t pay her the money.’
Winnie watched as Magda closed and latched the door of the range. In her heart of hearts she believed that if Magda left now, she would never come back. She couldn’t bear it if that happened. She just couldn’t bear it.
‘But never mind,’ Magda said brightly, determined that nothing, not even unhappy memories, would ruin her day. ‘As long as she hands over that Bible, I don’t care what she does.’
Winnie forced herself to match the girl’s happy mood, though inside she felt only despair. She did not want Magda to leave her. She wanted her to stay, but if Bridget Brodie kept her word, then the one person she loved above all others would most definitely leave – unless she could persuade her to stay; unless she could do something to alter things and put the Bible beyond her reach.
Those are wicked thoughts, Winifred Sykes. Terrible wicked thoughts. What would your mother have thought of you to sink so low?
Poor old Mother, always so law abiding, with nothing much to show for her honesty except a drunken lout of a husband, a house full of half-starved children, the only reward an early grave.
Winnie stared into the dying flames of the fire after Magda had gone to bed counting some blessings and envying her poor worn-out mother for the children she’d had in plenty and had never asked for.
On the farm in rural Ireland, spring turned into summer, summer into autumn and the mists rolling in from the Atlantic Ocean sucked at the gaps between buildings and trees. Damp as they were, the mists were nothing to the rain that leaked incessantly from the overcast sky, the clouds dark grey like the inside of a kettle.
Venetia looked out from the open barn door. It seemed that Patrick had abandoned her. It must have been beaten out of him, she told herself. He wouldn’t have told where they’d gone unless he was forced to. Would he?
She sighed.
‘Ireland has to be the wettest country on earth.’
‘Never mind. It’ll soon be Christmas,’ said Anna Marie who had just finished collecting eggs from the few hens left who were still laying eggs.
A sudden fall of rainwater from an overflowing gutter dropped in a curtain between Venetia and the soaking yard.
‘That’s right. It’ll soon be Christmas and all those parties to go to.’
‘You’re being sarcastic.’
Anna Marie sounded hurt.
‘Of course I’m being bloody sarcastic. What a life! What a bloody life!’
‘And you shouldn’t swear.’
Venetia gritted her teeth to stop herself from saying something even more hurtful. They had not been allowed out either alone or together since returning from Queenstown. Three times a week attending mass was the height of their social life. Venetia couldn’t believe that their grandfather had really meant what he said. Neither of them could leave until they were married.
‘How are we going to get married if we’re not allowed out to meet any fellahs?’ said Venetia after deciding to ignore her sister’s remark about swearing.
‘There’s Mr Duffy. I think he quite took a shine to you.’
Venetia pulled a face. ‘He’s a widower and has hairs growing down his nose and out of his ears. Besides that he’s forty if he’s a day. I don’t want to share an old man’s bed. I want a young man who smells good and looks good. Mr Duffy smells of oil.’
Joe Duffy owned the garage in the High Street. At first he’d only had one shed attached to the side of his house, but as more and more farmers bought tractors, his business had grown along with the size of his shed.
The trouble was that even though he employed two young mechanics, he enjoyed getting involved with the work himself. Even when dressed in his best for Sunday mass, he still smelled of oil.
‘Do you remember that last Christmas we were all together?’
Venetia stopped trying to wring the water from her hair. Her jaw visibly relaxed. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you think our Magda is married? I mean, she might be seeing as she’s a year older than us – or is it two years?’
‘Three,’ murmured Venetia, her thoughts suddenly twisting away from the present into a past only dimly remembered.
‘I’ve often wondered if she’ll come looking for us. Wouldn’t it be nice to see her come walking up the lane? Do you think we’ll recognise her?’
‘Perhaps.’
Venetia didn’t remind her twin that Magda and she were supposed to look very much alike.
‘I would have thought she might have come by now,’ said Anna Marie thoughtfully. ‘If she wanted to find us that is. I expect she’s doing very well for herself in London. She’s probably married or at least got herself a nice young man and everything that goes with it.’
Venetia made no comment. The past was such a murky place, part dream and part reality.
Having not received a response from her twin, Anna Marie went on wondering.
‘I wonder whether Father will be home for Christmas. I hope he is. I can’t remember the last time I saw him …’
‘Of course he won’t be back! Who can blame him? Who’d want to come back to this dreary old place when there’s a world out there to be travelled? I wish I were a man, and then I could run away and work where I pleased. I’d jump on a ship – just like he did.’
Anna Marie eyed her sister warily.
‘I’m not coming this time. Do you hear me Neesh? I’m not coming this time.’
‘I wouldn’t want you to,’ said Venetia, flouncing out of the barn regardless of the rain. ‘Next time I’ll go alone. I’ll do better that way.’
Scraggy brown hens clucked and screeched as she barged through them. She wasn’t seeing them.
After taking off her boots outside, she sauntered into the
house, carefully avoiding the kitchen and running up the stairs.
Once in the bedroom she shared with her sister, she shut the door quietly but firmly behind her.
The old kitbag her father had left behind hung on the back of the door. Anna Marie had been told never to touch it.
‘It contains private things,’ Venetia had told her.
Anna Marie had looked hurt, which had made Venetia feel quite guilty. Her sister wouldn’t dream of prying into private things. She just wasn’t like that. She obeyed the rules. She always would.
Unhooking the bag from the back of the door, Venetia rooted deep inside, removing a few precious mementoes of her time with Patrick; dried flowers; her last school report that her grandmother had wanted to frame.
Loved singing and acting in the nativity play.
Her grandfather had threatened to throw it in the fire if she did.
‘To my mind it’s not at all proper for a girl to be doing things like that and for us to keep a record of it. Not if she wants to find herself a decent man to keep her for the rest of her life,’ he’d declared in a loud voice.
It was no good trying to reason with him that things were changing for women, though her grandmother did try, reminding him that women had won the right to vote years ago.
‘No wonder this country is like it is,’ he’d yelled. ‘Women! What do they know about anything except housework and having babies?’
Her grandmother had saved the report, given it to her granddaughter and Venetia had squirrelled it away.
At the very bottom of the bag her fingers finally touched what she was looking for. A game of snakes and ladders. It was
a little battered, but the colours were still bright. The game had been a Christmas present long ago when the whole family had been together in the workhouse. The address of the workhouse was stamped on the back.
She caressed the battered cardboard and thought of Magda and her little brother. She remembered them both, but suspected that Anna Marie barely recalled Michael, their baby brother.
Where were they, she wondered?
The one thing she did know was that it was only wishful thinking to depend on Magda to come and rescue her. She would have to do that for herself.