It hadn’t been hard work exactly, more that Herbert was shy, a bit backward at coming forward. Nevertheless she persevered and had it not been for ‘the incident’ and those three teenagers telling their lies, they would have been together, a couple. As it was they’d wasted fourteen long years and that was why they couldn’t and wouldn’t let anyone or anything come between them ever again.
It was going to be a challenge but as long as Herbert stayed away from the village, all would be well. She really didn’t relish the thought of what the gossipmongers would say because it was bad enough the first time round. Once word had spread that she was standing by Herbert and visiting him in prison, she became a social pariah. There was nothing for it, though, so Margaret toughened up and learned to ignore the snide looks and barely whispered comments, stoically weathering the storm of disapproval. Herbert was paying his dues so why should she hide their love away?
Had it not been for the vicar reminding them of God’s word and quoting from the Bible, Luke 6:37 ‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven’, then his parishioners would have shunned her completely. As it was they tolerated her, which was fine. She may not be in the bosom of the church like before and had shed a tear when dear friends rejected her, but she was still free to worship each Sunday and that’s what mattered. Even if it was from the pew right at the back of the church.
It was nothing new, though, presenting a fake persona to the world… well, Elkdale. It had been like that for as long as she could remember. She was good at it.
* * *
It began when she was five, having two faces. Margaret blamed the pools man mainly. He kind of started it and after that, life changed and so did she. It made her sad to think that she’d only enjoyed five years of a normal childhood, before Sheila.
Even now, after such a long, long time, Margaret bore the mental scars. When she saw an advert for bath salts, or some woman luxuriating in clouds of bubbles, she would look away. The sound of running water gushing into a tub gave her palpitations which was why she always took showers. Fifty years without ever taking a bath! If people knew, what would they think? The tub in her lovely bathroom was as pristine as the day the suite was fitted and she’d only allowed it in the house to avoid odd looks from the plumber.
It had never left her, what happened to Sheila, and even though Margaret had only been a child herself, some had blamed her for her baby sister’s death. It was so unfair, all of it was, even Sheila being born in the first place and ruining their happy family life. Margaret loved being an only child, Mother’s Little Helper and Daddy’s Perfect Moonbeam.
Margaret’s sister never stopped crying from the minute they brought her home. Mother was tired all the time. Father was moody because he had no help in the shop and then he was kept awake during the night. Their whole world was turned upside down because of one annoying baby. Then, on the evening of Mother’s birthday, Sheila finally stopped crying and when she did Margaret thought that everything would go back to normal. She was wrong.
For once, seven-month-old Sheila was smiling, splashing around in a few inches of water, delighted when the bubbles landed on her face. At the opposite end of the bath, six-year-old Margaret shivered and wished she could have the tub at least half full and all to herself like before but Mother said that there wasn’t enough water in the immersion heater so they had to share.
When the doorbell rang, Mother, who was steadying Sheila and just about to wash her hair, tutted. ‘Damn, it’s the pools man. Margaret, watch your sister while I pop down and pay him. I’ll be two ticks.’
Before Margaret could protest, Mother had stood, dried her hands on the towel and shot off downstairs. Sheila watched her go, then turned her attention to the three little ducks that bobbed along in her direction. That’s when it happened.
Margaret was splashing her legs, trying to keep warm and noticed that the water around Sheila had gone yellow and it was flowing in her direction. Instinct took over. She leapt out of the bath, no desire to bathe in urine and in contrast to her own disgust, Sheila was clearly enjoying having a warm wee. Grabbing a towel from the radiator, Margaret wrapped it around her body and without a moment’s thought, stomped off to their bedroom to get dry while Mother chatted in the hallway to the pools man.
Margaret had no idea that once Mother had closed the front door, she would nip into the kitchen to check on the casserole that was cooking in the oven before popping in the apple pie. Mother had talked of nothing all day because once baby Sheila and Margaret were fast asleep their parents were going to have a nice quiet dinner together, a birthday meal and perhaps some wine. Mother had been looking forward to it.
It only takes minutes, sir, you turn your back and tragedy strikes. That’s what the ambulance man said to Margaret’s father while his female colleague attempted to calm her hysterical mother, and the ashen-faced policeman hovered on the landing.
Margaret sat on the edge of her bed, watching the panic through the open door, wishing Mother would stop screaming and wailing in the bedroom opposite as she clung on to the lifeless body of baby Sheila.
Mother never celebrated her birthday ever again. It was as though the day had been erased from the calendar. A leaden cloud of guilt settled on the house and while Mother blamed herself for taking too long in the kitchen, her dad seemed to have lost the power of speech, his lips set in a thin line, like they were trapping any words inside.
Margaret, on the other hand, blamed the pools man for ringing the doorbell and Sheila for weeing in the bath, even her dad for not shutting the shop early just for once. It was Mother’s birthday after all. At no time did Margaret apportion any blame on herself. Why would she? Until she overheard a hushed conversation between two customers.
One Saturday when Margaret was thirteen, she was out of sight in the storeroom, unpacking a delivery of candles. The miners were going on strike and Father was expecting a rush on them. He had nipped to the loo and Margaret was about to go into the shop to serve but instead stopped dead when she heard the name ‘Sheila’.
‘Must be coming up to seven years now, I reckon. Poor Mrs Tibbs, she’s never really got over losing baby Sheila, has she? But how could you, I mean something like that? It’s too awful to even contemplate.’
‘It’s that daughter you have to feel sorry for, the guilt she must feel at what happened. I suppose under the circumstances it’s not like she could’ve been punished for disobeying her mum but, if she’d done as she was told and stayed with her sister, then Sheila would be here today.’
‘What a burden, eh? Knowing you let your sister drown and ruined your parents’ lives because you were naughty.’
‘Well, my Molly says she’s not well liked at school and the other girls give her a wide berth. They think she’s a bit strange and gives them the creeps. I told Molly to be kind and let Margaret join in, at least for the sake of Mrs Tibbsandit’s the Christian thing to do. Lord knows that woman deserves to be happy so having an outcast for a daughter won’t help.’
‘Kids can be so cruel, can’t they? I feel a bit sorry for her, don’t y–’
The sound of the adjoining door to the house slamming alerted the gossipers to the imminent arrival of Mr Tibbs who didn’t notice his daughter slink back into the shadows. And while her father served his customers with the usual cheerful banter, Margaret sat on the box of candles and wept for the first time since Sheila had died.
Now she understood. It all made sense. No matter how hard she tried, nobody wanted to be her best friend or come for tea. For a time she’d taken to bribery, friendship in exchange for her break time snack or letting someone sneak a look at her homework. It resulted in fair-weather friends that faded away once they’d taken what they wanted. She was rarely invited to birthday parties and when she was, it was probably under duress, some well-meaning parent exercising their Christian responsibility.
It was as she wiped her eyes that another more dreadful thought occurred to Margaret. What if her parents thought the same as the two customers? What if they actually believed it was her fault? No, surely they didn’t. They’d have said, told her off, sent her away as a punishment. There were homes for bad boys and girls. She’d heard people talking and one of the lads from the estate had gone to Borstal, wherever that was, and it sounded like a dreadful place.
Margaret was torn, confused and angry. Should she ask her parents if they were angry with her? Would it make Mother feel better if Margaret took the blame? She would do it, if it meant they could be happy again. Margaret sniffed and looked forlornly around the storeroom at the neat rows of stock that she’d sorted and stacked and it was there that an idea pinged into her head.
The last thing she wanted to do was bring up all that business about Sheila. She’d caused enough bother as it was so instead, Margaret decided on another course of action. Perhaps, if she worked hard to be a good daughter, to bridge the gap left by Sheila, they would forget all about her. And if anyone said bad things about Margaret, her parents would say ‘Oh no, not our good girl, she’d never do something like that, it was an accident.’Mother would smile again, Father would tell jokes and they could play Snap around the table like before, and watch Morecambe and Wise and not feel bad if they laughed. Margaret finally understood why they didn’t, hardly ever. It was obvious.
Mother felt bad about taking too long and leaving a child in charge of a naughty baby who couldn’t sit up straight in the bath. And Father felt bad about doing the pools which Mother said was a waste of money anyway, and both of these had left Margaret in a terrible situation for which she wasn’t to blame.
