three Silent Street fragments - Maggie and Margot

Margot had spent very little time with anyone who was not pretty similar to herself. Her small list of friends was mainly drawn from old school friends and family acquaintances. Margot’s grandparents had always employed a limited staff – a live-in housemaid and cook, and a gardener who visited once a week. Margot had been taught to treat these servants with good manners and reserve – giving them clear instructions, praise or criticism when requires, and never becoming ‘over familiar’. This phrase was one of her Grandmother’s favourites – spoken with ominous force Margot knew it was something to be avoided without ever being sure of what that crime might actually constitute.

On the first night in Silent Street she found herself sharing a room with Maggie, and she didn’t know how to approach the situation. The house was vast and she had at least hoped for a room of her own – she had never had to share before – but while there were many bedrooms, only two of them had intact bedroom furniture – two large cold rooms, one with a double bed, one with two singles. They had drawn lots from a hat and Margot had ended up with Maggie in the double bed. 

Maggie stood there in a worn nightdress. With her hair down and the room lit only by their two candles she suddenly looked much younger. Margot still struggled to believe that they were sisters, and in fact were almost twins. Maggie’s course accent pressed all the wrong buttons in her. She found herself being patronising, detached, ‘not overfamiliar’. But Maggie was doing her best to be friendly to the tall cold creature she was meant to love. They got into bed and Margot found herself rolling to the outside edge just to ensure that she didn’t touch Maggie. Maggie wished she had ended up with either of the other two – they were strangers but at least they seemed human. 

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‘There was a doll… ‘ Margot said in than slightly sneering tone that spoiled an otherwise pretty voice

‘A doll? Yes, yes, I remember…’

‘You had one too? A dreadful cheap looking thing in a red bonnet’

Maggie blushed then looked down. When she looked up her eyes were defiant – and she answered with a hard edge that was new to her usually hesitant, soft voice

‘ I didn’t think it was dreadful. It was marvellous! It was my 6^th birthday, he turned up early in the morning and he sat next to me. Sat next to me on the step to the house and gave me the box. I remember, it had paper, a ribbon. It was the first doll I had – the only one…the only toy I ever had of my own. No one had ever given me something of my own before.’

Now Margot blushed. She had not meant to hurt her, hurt Maggie – but now she felt ashamed.

‘He came on my birthday too – must have been later the same day. I was upstairs in the nursery and I saw my Grandmother talking to a man in the front garden. She wouldn’t let him come in. He looked….well, I thought he was cross but now I remember it he might have been upset?’

The question in her voice marked a change in her. As soon as she had found out about her Father, she had thought many things about him. he was a charmer, a fool, a con-man, someone to be ashamed of. But now she looked back into her memories her 6^th Birthday remained as a series of images. And his face had not been cross – it had been upset, disappointed. He loved me.

‘I thought the doll was ugly – I had many nicer ones… but I suppose it’s hard for a man to choose a present for a 6yr old daughter he doesn’t even know. I suppose, he was trying to be nice.’

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Maggie asked in a quiet way, 'When did you find out….you know, about father…who he was…?'

Margot took a pause before answering, 'I was sixteen or so. I saw him, standing on the opposite side of the street – he was looking up at the house and I was worried about it, about him, so I told my grandparents. I said he should be reported to the police but they decided it was time for the truth. When I was a child they said that my father had died abroad. That’s what they told, me, what they told everyone else too. But when I mentioned the man I had seen they said ‘He ruined your Mother’  ‘We will not allow him to be part of your life, but he has visited several times. You might remember….’

I did, I do…remember him. He never tried to go against my grandparents wishes, he never spoke to me. But he did come several times while I was growing up – to see me from a distance I suppose. But after that time, when I was sixteen, he never came again. I never got the chance to speak to him – to touch him, or hear his voice. And I hate my grandparents for it.