Authors: Janet MacLeod Trotter
George intervened. ‘Rose told him.’
‘Rose!’ Maggie exclaimed, indignant.
Heslop held up his hand. ‘I know you’ve argued and gone your separate ways, but Miss Johnstone still worries for you. She knows I would never give away your whereabouts to the police and I wanted to tell you the news in person.’
‘What news?’ Maggie was suddenly anxious. ‘It’s not Mam?’
‘It’s not bad news.’ John Heslop smiled for the first time. ‘Your sister Susan and Mr Turvey are going to be married on Saturday at the chapel.’
‘I see,’ Maggie said. ‘That’s all very sudden. I suppose Susan has asked you to find me and tell me to come.’
‘Not exactly,’ John Heslop said, clearing his throat once again.
‘Maggie can’t go,’ George broke in, grim-faced and feeling resentful of the older man’s intrusion into their privacy. ‘It’s too dangerous. She’ll be picked up straight away.’
‘It’s hardly a society wedding,’ Heslop answered dismissively. ‘It’s a simple chapel service and it’s been arranged so quickly that I doubt that anyone in authority will link it with Maggie.’ He turned to stare at Maggie. ‘I think you should go. It’s an opportunity to be reconciled with your family. As you know, your mother is not well and it would cheer her greatly to see you. Susan too, I’m sure, would want you to be there.’
‘I can’t,’ Maggie answered bluntly, ‘and I don’t believe Susan would want me to spoil her day by appearing like the prodigal either.’
Heslop stepped towards her and took her hands in his.
‘That’s it, Maggie. The prodigal. Go home to your family where you belong - where you’re needed. Give up this destructive life you’ve fallen into, this militancy. They’ll forgive you.’
‘Forgive her!’ George shouted ‘There’s nothing to forgive. You’ve got a bloody cheek coming here and preaching at her like some fallen woman.
’
Heslop turned on George. ‘It’s not right, her living here like a criminal. You’re protecting an arsonist, remember.’
‘If that’s what you think of me, why are you here?’ Maggie asked, furious at his condemnation of them both. ‘And you used to be full of such praise for the women’s movement and equal rights. You hypocrite!’
John Heslop flinched at her scorn. ‘I did believe in those things - I still do. Your non-violent protest was brave and right, but not this burning and breaking of people’s property. I want to save you, Maggie. Go and see your sister married and then give yourself up.’
Maggie shook him off, horrified. ‘Do you know what you’re asking? You’re asking me to admit defeat, to go back into that prison and submit to their torture.’
‘Not if you renounce your militancy,’ Heslop urged. ‘Admit that you were misguided and that you won’t have any more to do with violent protest or terrorism. Then you’ll be free to go home. You have so much to offer the world, Maggie, I can’t see you throw your life away, here with this man.’
George cursed in anger, but Maggie grabbed the hand he raised at the butcher and held on to it.
‘George Gordon is a good man,’ she answered with passion, ‘and he’s stood by me when everyone else turned their backs. This home of ours may be damp and poor, but it’s not a place of sin, Mr Heslop. It’s a place of love and warmth, where I’m cherished for the lass I am, not the lass others would make me. And I’ll carry on with me work to free women from the slavery they’re in even if it meets with the hostility of me family and so-called friends.
’
Heslop looked at her dumbstruck, but her tirade continued.
‘I never expected the struggle to be easy but I’ve chosen to struggle rather than submit to an easy life, to letting things go on as they are. I know you came here with good intentions, Mr Heslop, but I don’t want saving from the life I’ve chosen. And if it means ganin’ back to prison then I’d gan, but at least I’ll know I’ve not betrayed me own beliefs or the sisters I fight for!’
She watched the expression on his face turn from angry frustration to bewildered resignation. He jammed on his hard hat, tight-lipped, and strode to the door, exchanging a look of animosity with George.
‘Mr Heslop,’ Maggie said as he reached for the door handle. ‘Please give Susan my love and best wishes for Saturday.’
He gave her the curtest of nods. Then George blocked his way with an arm on the door.
‘If you betray Maggie to the police or anyone else, I’ll come after you, Heslop,’ he threatened.
Heslop glared back. ‘I’ve already given my word that I’ll do nothing of the sort.’
George stood back and Heslop dived for the open door, slamming it behind him. The candle snuffed out.
For a moment, Maggie stood staring at the place where her old family friend had been and felt an acute wave of loneliness engulf her like the sudden darkness of the room. Then George’s arms went about her and pulled her into his warm hold. She leant against him and sobbed quietly into his rough jacket as he caressed her head.
‘Don’t leave me, Geordie,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, Maggie man, I’ll never leave you,’ he promised fervently, clinging to her tighter.
She looked at him with haunted eyes in her tear-stained face. ‘No, I mean tonight. Don’t leave me alone tonight.
’
For a moment he seemed not to understand. Then he bent and kissed her gently on the lips.
‘I’ll do whatever you want, pet,’ George whispered into her hair.
Maggie took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom.
That night was a startling awakening for Maggie. Faint gaslight filtered in from the street through the dirty skylight, but hardly penetrated the blackness of the box room. They undressed in an awkward, expectant silence, each as bashful as the other to be seen naked. In the end they got into bed still in their undergarments, shivering at the touch of the chilled bedding, and reached for one another, thankful of the dark.
For a while they simply lay and held each other, wondering what to do next. Maggie, having invited the intimacy, had no clue how to act. In the raciest film she had seen, the actress just lay on a couch looking furtive. Perhaps this lying together in the same bed was sex, she thought in bafflement.
George lay, overcome with nerves. He had only had lasses standing up in back lanes, never lying down. They had been older girls, doing it for coppers or food and he had hardly touched them. Sex had been a quick gratification, for mutual self-interest, a transaction carried out and quickly forgotten, a bodily function like eating or urinating. But here he was, lying next to the woman he had desired for months, petrified she would find him disgusting, would turn her face to the wall in boredom or disdain like the other girls he had penetrated. He was paralysed, yet already aroused.
Maggie spoke softly. ‘Kiss me, Geordie, man.’
George felt relief as he began to cover her hair and face with gentle exploring kisses. Soon their kissing became more urgent, the exploration more daring and the lovemaking began.
Maggie, who had not even seen her own brother naked, was fascinated and aghast at George’s body. The touch and smell of the man was quite alien and the way her own body responded to his caressing was terrifying and thrilling. Under the warming bedlinen they wriggled out of their clothes, eager to experience more.
Awkwardness was forgotten as they gave way to pleasure and excitement on the ancient iron bedstead.
‘I love you, Maggie!’ George whispered.
Maggie held him fiercely and responded, ‘Don’t ever leave me now.’
‘Never!’ he promised and kissed her tenderly.
Later, George fell asleep, his arm resting across Maggie, heavy and protective. But she lay awake, staring up at the skylight, thinking of her sister about to embark on the same experience with Richard Turvey.
Was Susan lying awake nervously at this same moment? Maggie wondered. Would Richard be as affectionate and passionate a lover as George? She could not help thinking that Susan would probably be revolted by the mess and intimacy of the marriage bed and for a moment worried for her elder sister.
But after tonight, Maggie knew she could not possibly return to her family as if nothing had happened. They would look at her and know.
No, Maggie thought with only a twinge of regret, she had put herself beyond the pale of society, just as Rose had accused. She was not only an arsonist and a criminal, as Heslop had said, she was also a fornicator. It sounded such a harsh, unforgiving word, she thought sleepily, denying the depth of love she felt. Yet that is how the world would judge her for giving herself unreservedly to George Gordon, the loving, strong man at her side.
Maggie kissed his sleeping face, comforted by the feel of his regular warm breath on her cheek, and fell asleep.
Susan woke on her wedding morning to see snow lying like a sprinkling of sugar over the densely packed roofs and cobbled lanes around Gun Street. It gleamed in the dark and for an instant she was delighted by the dazzle of whiteness covering the grime of the back yards and listened to the silence that had descended with the snowfall. It seemed an omen of good luck; of purity, of a fresh beginning. Then Helen spoke from the bed they shared.
‘It’ll ruin our shoes,’ she yawned and complained at the same time. ‘We’ll be slipping all o’er the place. And the slush on me new frock—’
‘Belt up!’ Susan shouted at her crossly. ‘You’re not going to spoil me wedding day with your whingeing on.
’
Helen stepped out of bed, unconcerned. Susan eyed her warily as she began to unbraid the rags that were twisted into her hair, her bare legs protruding from the too-small nightgown that pulled tightly over her developing breasts. Susan was struck again by the air of defiant confidence, of knowingness that hung about her sister these days. She was just seventeen, yet Helen had the scent and sleekness of an older woman which made Susan feel as awkward as a schoolgirl.
For the first time, Susan was glad that she was marrying today. She had thought Richard too hasty and would have preferred a respectable period of betrothal while he progressed in his new job until they could afford a house of their own. As it was, they would have to live with Aunt Violet and Uncle Barny and Susan would have to defer to her fussing aunt in all things domestic, instead of running the household as she was used to doing. But Richard had swept aside her doubts, assuring her that he would soon be earning good money and she could have any house in the west of Newcastle that she desired.
And she did desire. Susan longed and dreamed for the day when she could live again on Sarah Crescent and leave behind the filth and stigma of Gun Street for ever. So she had agreed to Richard’s hasty marriage plans, flattered that he was so eager to become her husband.
And this morning, with Helen so moody and giving her those superior looks, Susan felt a new urgency to be married and regain her status over her sisters. She only allowed herself a fleeting thought of Maggie, for Maggie’s outrageous behaviour was too painful to contemplate. She had brought shame on the family with her extreme politics. To have a sister who deliberately went to prison and now ran from the police and was rumoured to be the one who carried out the arson attack on the mighty Pearsons; Susan shuddered. She must marry Richard with haste in case he changed his mind about marrying into such a family.
Dressing in work-a-day clothes and hurrying into the kitchen, she found her mother was already up. She had lit the lamp and made a fresh pot of tea and was toasting stale bread over the fire.
‘Mam, you should’ve stayed in bed a bit longer,’ Susan admonished, kissing her mother with sudden affection. Her recent illness had been a constant irritation and worry to Susan, but now that she would be leaving her for the first time in her life, she felt a keen nostalgia for the days when her mother had been the solid dictatorial woman to whom they had all clung - obeying, fearing and loving in equal measure.
‘I’ll not lie in me bed on the day me eldest lass is to be wed,’ Mabel protested ‘I’ve dreamed of this day for you, hinny.’
‘Have you, Mam?’ Susan asked in surprise, delighted to see her mother so robust on this special morning.
‘Aye,’ her mother nodded, unbending from her task for a moment and turning the heel of bread. ‘I’ve wanted to see you wed more than any of the others.’
Susan flushed with pleasure. ‘Why, Mam?’
‘You’re a home-maker, Susan hinny,’ her mother smiled. ‘Maggie got all the brains and Helen the looks, though it’ll bring them nowt but bother.’ Mabel shook her head and sucked in her weathered cheeks. ‘But all you’ve wanted was to mother folk. Now you’ll have a chance to mother your own, and you deserve it. I know you’ve taken the brunt of bringing up your sisters and brother and it’s time you thought about yourself. I just wish you didn’t have to live in with that complaining old wife Violet.’
‘Mam! Aunt Violet’s canny really,’ Susan protested. But she was touched by the sudden concern, the unexpected tenderness. She put her arms about her mother’s burly shoulders and hid her face in the sour-sweet warmth of her neck.
‘Mam, I’m sorry I’ve been a bit sharp with you lately. I didn’t mean any of those things about Richard saving the family from the workhouse. You’ve always done your best by us, I know you have. You’ve been the canniest mam we could’ve had.’
Mabel shook her off, embarrassed. ‘Eeh, haway with you. Gan and help your gran get washed and dressed.’
The brief intimacy between them was over but Susan would not forget it quickly. How often, when the younger ones had seemed to be getting all the attention, had she yearned for a hug and a confiding word from her mother.
Mabel had already bent again to her toasting.
‘You’ll not drink too much today, will you, Mam?’ Susan asked, her mind once more on her wedding day. She was desperate for it to go well and fearful that it would not.
But her mother just grunted, ‘You may be about to become Mrs Turvey, but you’re still my lass and you’ll not tell me how to carry on.’
Susan’s heart sank as she disappeared into the parlour, noticing at once the smell of her grandmother’s incontinence that would have to be disguised with disinfectant and polish before the wedding party that afternoon. The stench of incontinence and the fear of her mother’s behaviour combined to increase her apprehension.