slammed the door shut behind her as she ran out, leaving her father on the other side of the red door, still able to hear his words.
‘You cheeky bleedin’ mare. You think you can disobey me and get away with it?’
Her father’s voice was loud and penetrating as Maggie ran into the street. She was terrified he’d choose this occasion to run after her. She glanced around just to check he wasn’t there, that he hadn’t opened the door to follow her out. As she turned back around she abruptly banged into a tall boy roughly of the same age as her. She fell awkwardly onto the pavement as she shouted at the boy.
‘Jesus, look where you’re going will you?’
‘I’m sorry. Are you alright?’
Maggie dusted the dirt off her and stood up to face the boy.
‘I’m covered in dirt, my knees are scratched and I’ve got a blood blister on me hand. So what do you think, Einstein?’
The boy stood watching her, then gently touched Maggie’s face, turning her cheek towards him.
‘And you’ve got a hand mark the size of King Kong’s on yer boat race. You didn’t get that from falling over just now. What happened?’
Embarrassed by the boy’s gentle touch, Maggie pulled away sharply. Annoyed that he expected her to explain herself but more annoyed by the fact it moved her that he could care.
‘Didn’t your mother tell you not to stick your nose into other people’s business?’
‘Yeah, but she also told me you don’t hit women. I might be a nosey parker but I’d rather be nosey than be the person who did this.’
Maggie opened her mouth, about to give him a piece of her mind, when she heard her name being called.
‘Maggie!’
For a moment she’d forgotten about her father. Hearing her name caught her off guard, sending terror jolting through her body. Her body spasmed and she wasn’t able to hide her fear from the boy. He looked at her with concern, then at the back door as they both heard it open. Her name was called again, the sound clearer now that the door had been opened.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
Max’s voice was low and menacing. Maggie tried to compose herself but she felt her throat become tight and her frown become creased as tears threatened to fall.
‘I hope you’re not speaking to her, mate?’
The boy’s voice cut through the air and Maggie looked at him in shock. She pulled at his arm but he shook her off as he walked closer to her father.
Maggie watched her father, who seemed as much in shock as she was by the boy’s involvement. However, in a matter of a split second it turned to anger. A thunderous bellow escaped from Max’s lips.
‘I’ll speak to my daughter any way I want.’
‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you mate, but that ain’t the way life works.’
‘And who the hell are you to tell me anything?’
‘It don’t matter who I am. The question is, did you do this to her?’
‘Hang on, I know who you are.’
Max stepped forward, beside himself with fury as he recognised the boy. He lowered his voice into a whisper as he stood a foot away from the young man.
‘I think you’ve made a very big mistake today, son.’
‘You don’t frighten me. I ain’t a girl to be smacked about.’
Max had had enough. He clenched his hand into a hard fist, ready to do some damage but from the corner of his eye he saw a policeman approaching and thought it was wiser to back down. No doubt he’d catch up with him, then pigs would have to fly to stop him putting his fist down the boy’s throat.
Maggie hadn’t bothered to stay around to see what was going to happen because she knew nothing good could come out of it, although there was a part of her which had enjoyed seeing the brief look of shocked surprise on her father’s face.
Leaning on the wall at the end of Meard Street, Maggie got out a box of cigarettes from inside her pocket. Lighting one, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again she jumped slightly to see the boy standing opposite her. He spoke with a big grin, lighting up his handsome face.
‘Ain’t you going to thank me then?’
Maggie blew out the smoke in rings, a trick her brother Nicky had taught her, whilst cocking her head to one side taking in the cheeky smile and the twinkling eyes. Maggie answered, sounding more aggressive than she felt.
‘Thank you for what, mate? Flipping making things worse?’
‘How I see it, things couldn’t get worse.’
‘And what would you bleedin’ know about anything?’
‘Enough to know that your old man’s a frigging nutter and he needs a steel bar taking to his head.’
‘Oh and that’s going to help is it? You’re just as bad as he is.’
She turned on her heel and walked down the street, but felt herself being pushed out of the way as the boy ran to get in front of her, blocking her path. Maggie tried to move forward and he continued to face her as he walked backwards, talking to her.
‘Get out of me way.’
‘I want to talk to you. Listen I’m sorry, I didn’t want to fan any shit between you and your Dad, but he shouldn’t do that. Nobody should.’
The boy put out his hand and stroked her cheek which was throbbing painfully. The touch, so full of warmth and kindness was the trigger to set Maggie off, lifting the lid on her skilfully controlled emotions. She cried, embarrassed that a stranger, that anyone, would see her tears. But she didn’t want to take her eyes off him.
Maggie wanted to see the person who had nothing to gain and no ulterior motive but had stepped in to help her. The realisation that in all her seventeen years this was the first time anyone had looked out for her made her cry all the more.
‘Don’t let anyone do this to you. Come here.’
Without waiting for an answer he pulled her into him. Maggie didn’t resist. She let herself be taken by the moment and allowed herself to be held; wishing it could last forever; until, that was, he spoke and told her his name.
‘My name’s Johnny. Johnny Taylor.’
She pushed him away feeling like she’d been tricked. He was a Taylor. The scum of the earth, according to her father. Her family hated them. She hated them, though she wasn’t really sure why. However, she knew the name, and like she’d been brought up to hate the police, she’d been brought up to despise the Taylors. And here she was, in the middle of Soho, falling into his arms as if he was some kind of hero.
‘What did I say?’
