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
