Maggie

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Recent Titles by Marie Maxwell

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Recent Titles by Marie Maxwell

  Writing as Bernardine Kennedy

  EVERYTHING IS NOT ENOUGH

  MY SISTERS’ KEEPER

  CHAIN OF DECEPTION

  TAKEN

  OLD SCORES

  PAST CHANCES

  SHATTERED LIVES

  RUBY

  GRACIE

  MAGGIE *

  * available from Severn House

  MAGGIE

  Marie Maxwell

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2015

  in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2015 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2015 by Marie Maxwell

  The right of Marie Maxwell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Maxwell, Marie author.

  Maggie.

  1. London (England)–History–20th century–Fiction.

  2. Nineteen sixties–Fiction.

  I. Title

  823.9’2-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8476-3 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-581-0 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-629-8 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  One

  ‘I don’t care! I don’t want her there – I don’t want any of them there. I just want my friends! I don’t want them spoiling it all. I’m old enough not to have to have them here every single birthday,’ Maggie Wheaton said, the words pouring out quickly. ‘Ruby and Gracie, Ruby and Johnnie, that’s all you care about! Ruby and Johnnie and their bl—’ She paused. ‘Ruby and Johnnie and their blooming kids and friends.’

  She was wide-eyed and very angry, so angry that she was on the verge of tears, but her stubborn streak wouldn’t let her cry. Maggie was a determined and confident girl who was so used to getting her own way that she was finding this sudden denial of her wishes hard to accept.

  Barbara Wheaton sighed and shook her head as she dried her hands on her apron and made her way across the kitchen to the long pine table where her daughter was sitting. Her movements were laboured as, leaning on a wooden walking cane, she pulled out a chair and carefully lowered herself down before wriggling slightly to get comfortable.

  ‘Oh, dear me, this hip is getting worse. I’m going to have to go next door and get something for it; it aches all the time now. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe I will have to have something done to it before I end up not being able to walk. Or drive. We’d be lost if I had to give up driving.’

  Maggie didn’t respond; she simply folded her arms on the table dramatically and buried her head down on them.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, I know you’re upset, but this really is the last time we’re discussing this. I’m simply not going over it any more.’ Babs reached across and touched her daughter’s arm. ‘I’ve already invited Ruby and her family. They always come over for your birthday, and I can’t possibly change that on one of your whims and fancies. As it happens, Gracie isn’t coming this year, but Ruby and Johnnie and the boys are and that’s final,’ she said calmly.

  ‘It’s not a whim or a fancy. I’ve been saying it for ages, and you just ignore me. It’s my birthday, and I should be able to have a proper party with who I want, with my own friends, not yours.’ Maggie’s head was still buried in her arms and her voice was muffled, but the sulky teenage sarcasm was loud and clear.

  ‘You’re simply not old enough to be having the sort of party you’re asking for,’ Babs continued. ‘Maybe in another couple of years. Now, weren’t you going off to the tennis courts? Isn’t there a tournament?’

  ‘It’s not fair! you never let me have any fun.’ Maggie looked up and flicked her head to get her newly cut fringe out of her eyes. ‘And now you want me to have another baby party. You’re probably already planning the rabbit jelly and musical chairs. Well, that’s not what I want,’ she said, her voice rising with every word. ‘I want a real party. In the evening, with music and punch and snacks …’ Frustration was written all over Maggie’s young face as she failed to talk her mother round and get what she wanted, the way she always used to be able to.

  ‘I’m sorry you feel like that, darling, but Ruby is family, and she wants to be here for your birthday,’ Babs reasoned firmly. ‘However, Ruby is beside the point here. Daddy and I both think you’re too young to have that kind of party anyway.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘Now, I’m not discussing this again with you. You’re not having a party, and Ruby and Johnnie and the boys are coming here on Saturday for the usual birthday buffet, and that’s the end of it.’

  ‘But I’ll be sixteen; that’s old enough to have my friends here! You and Dad could go and visit someone, take Ruby with you, or I could have a party on a different day. I promise we’ll all behave and—’

  ‘Stop it. You’re beginning to sound whiny, and that’s not nice,’ her mother said, cutting her off mid-sentence. ‘The answer is no, and it’s going to stay no. Maybe next year we can think again. Two or three of your friends are welcome to come as well, of course – you can have the record player in the front room and we won’t interfere – but it’s going to be in the afternoon on Saturday, and Ruby and Johnnie and the boys will be here, and that’s that.’

  Maggie glared again at her mother. ‘How can I ask friends round to a birthday tea at my age? They’ll all laugh at me. I hate you. You just want to ruin my life,’ she screeched before storming out of the room and slamming the door so hard that it rattled on its hinges for several seconds afterwards.

  She ran out into the large square hall, wiped the back of her hand fiercely across her eyes and sat down on the bottom stair to try and think of another way to get round her parents. She was determined to manage it somehow. She always had in the past, and this time she was desperate. She had to have a proper party on Saturday nigh
t! She’d already written the guest list, chosen her clothes, compiled the playlist for the records and found a recipe for punch. Young Maggie Wheaton was determined not to be thwarted because she was in love for the first time and wanted to have a good excuse to invite Andrew Blythe, the focus of her attention, to her house. A party would be perfect, but she couldn’t do that if it was going to be a childlike party with all the family wheeled out.

  She was a confident and self-assured young woman who had been loved and cosseted all her life and brought up to believe she was clever and beautiful and could conquer the world. But sometimes this self-confidence tipped over and she could come across as almost arrogant in her self-belief. As the adored only child of older parents, she had always been the centre of their world, but although she had definitely been indulged, the need for good manners and behaviour had also been instilled in her.

  Despite her young age, she had an appreciation of her fortunate upbringing which had allowed her an excellent education, private dancing and singing lessons and expensive school trips, but sometimes, when her parents did say no, she found it hard to accept. Especially when it seemed unreasonable, which was how she saw their decision over a party.

  Already five foot eight, she was tall for her age, with naturally blonde hair and fair skin which tanned easily under the summer sun. She was clever and attractive and she knew it, readily accepting that the boys in the village all wanted to go out with her and the girls all wanted to be like her.

  But now she was hopelessly in love, and Andy Blythe had taken over her thoughts to the extent that she wasn’t concentrating at school and was becoming increasingly frustrated at home because she didn’t want to be anywhere other than around him. So far the new boy in the village – the boy all the local girls were hanging around at every opportunity – had barely noticed her, but she was determined to change that.

  As she leaned back against the dark wood banisters she sighed and thought for a few moments, before standing up and opening the front door carefully so that her mother wouldn’t hear.

  ‘I’m going out,’ she shouted loudly over her shoulder as she ran through the porch, snatching up her tennis bag on the way. She pulled the heavy wooden front door hard behind her and raced off down the driveway to the road before her mother could respond and call her back for the apology she knew she owed.

  The Wheaton family home was at the top end of the close-knit village of Melton in Cambridgeshire. It was a large rambling house on an extensive corner plot and had always doubled as the doctor’s surgery. The Wheatons owned the whole property, so a permanent division between home and surgery had been made after George Wheaton had finally retired and a new GP installed. It was the only home Maggie had ever known, and she loved it there, but she was starting to feel stifled by her sometimes overly protective parents.

  As soon as she knew she was well out of view, she stopped and got her breath back. She carefully straightened the pleats in her tennis skirt before turning it over at the waist to make it shorter, tucked her blouse in as tightly as she could and tied her jumper casually across her shoulders. She ran her fingers through her hair and tugged it as straight as she could, then she pulled a pale pink lipstick from her pocket and, with her back to the road, did her best to apply it without a mirror.

  Hoping she looked OK, Maggie walked purposefully down the main high street that cut right through the village; she looked straight ahead to avoid getting caught up in any conversations, and then at the bottom she turned into the narrow side road that led to the local tennis club. The nearer she got the more nervous she felt, as she hoped that the young man her attentions were absolutely focused on would be there.

  The tennis club had been at the centre of village life for as long as anyone could remember. It had served many purposes over the years, but it had always been a meeting point for local youngsters, especially during school holidays. The small club served several of the outlying villages as well as Melton, and it was a good place to meet boys and girls from other schools. Evenings and weekends were strictly for the adults and private events, but there was an unwritten rule that the younger members could use the clubhouse during the day in the holidays and after school on weekdays; they were even allowed to play their own music on the club record player and bring their own refreshments.

  She paused at the gates for a moment then, doing her best to look casual, she shrugged her tennis bag on to her shoulder and tucked her hands into the pockets of her skirt before sauntering casually up to the wire that enclosed the four perfectly maintained grass courts. She glanced around the players on the courts but quickly realized Andy Blythe wasn’t playing, so she walked around to the clubhouse that overlooked the courts from the far end and tried to peer in through the small, grimy window without being seen. Although it was grandly called the clubhouse, it was little more than a large shed that had seen better days. Moves were afoot to have it replaced with something better, but meanwhile the villagers just accepted and loved the decrepit old building as it was.

  She stood back a little from the window and squinted. Yes. Andy was there. She could just see him, leaning back in a rickety hard-backed chair with his feet up on another chair, a bottle of coca-cola in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He looked relaxed and casual at the table he was sharing with three girls and another boy, all of whom Maggie recognized but who she knew were slightly older than her; she was disappointed that none of her own friends were there, but nonetheless she steeled herself to go in alone.

  Just looking at him made her catch her breath. He was the boy of her dreams, tall, handsome and worldly wise, and from the moment some weeks before when she had first set eyes on him she’d been besotted with a boy for the very first time. It was a feeling she couldn’t explain, but she’d read enough magazines to know what it meant.

  Before finally pushing the door open, Maggie took a deep breath to overcome the feeling of butterflies flapping around under her ribcage; usually self-confident, she found the feeling so alien that she had to concentrate hard to stay in control.

  ‘Hello, everyone,’ she said, putting on her widest smile as she approached the table. ‘Have you all been practising for the tournament tomorrow?’

  ‘The others have; they’ve only just dragged their sweaty bodies off court,’ Andy said, laughing, and he paused to draw on his cigarette. He made a big show of blowing perfect smoke rings up into the air before continuing, ‘But I don’t need to practice. I’m probably going to win; I’m the best one here. That’s if I enter, of course. I may not. I haven’t decided. I might step back and give the others a chance. Fair play and all …’

  Although the response sounded arrogant, it was also true. Andy Blythe was an all-round sportsman who was especially brilliant at tennis because, as he constantly told everyone, he had the advantage of playing both at his private school and on the private tennis courts at his own home.

  ‘Do you fancy a knockabout now then?’ Maggie asked, looking straight at him. ‘I saw there’s an empty court, and I need some practice. Not that I’m likely to get far; I’ll be out first thing.’

  ‘Actually, I’m whacked. I’ve had a hell of a day so far, what with driving lessons and things.’ Andy shrugged and grinned. ‘But come and join us. We’re talking music … My dad brought a whole pile of records home from London for me. All the latest top twenty hits! I brought them with me and was going to play them, but the record player here is kaput. I’ll have to ask Dad to buy the club a new one.’

  Delighted at the invitation, Maggie dragged a chair across from an adjoining table, and they all shuffled round to make room for her. She dumped her tennis bag on the floor and kicked it under the table before sitting down opposite Andy.

  ‘I love music and singing. I’ve got heaps of records at home but nowhere near as many as you …’ She nodded her head in the direction of the two stacks of forty-fives on the table in front of him. ‘You must have as many there as Woolworths in town.’

  ‘I can get you s
ome if you like. Dad brings them home all the time – all the hits and lots of new ones that haven’t even been released. I always get them first. It’s the advantage of being the only son and heir to the family business.’ He looked at her for a moment with his head slightly on one side and then grinned. ‘It’s Maggie something, isn’t it? Sorry, I’m no good with names. I’ve met so many new people since we moved here.’

  ‘Yes, it’s Maggie, Maggie Wheaton. I live up at the doctor’s house. My dad used to be the village GP, but since he retired we live in the house itself and Dr Banbury runs the surgery next door in the annexe. He lives in one of the new houses out the other side of Melton.’

  Maggie stopped and surreptitiously tried to breathe. She knew she was speaking too fast and saying too much. She leant back in her chair and hooked her hair behind her ears as casually as she could, hoping against hope that her face wasn’t going red.

  ‘Oh, yeah, I remember now, the doc’s daughter. Anyway, I’ll let the others introduce themselves – that’s if you don’t know them already.’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘Sorry, all. I keep forgetting that everyone knows everyone round here or else they’re related. I’m used to living in Cambridge. It’s a university town, you know, people coming and going all the time. Melton is so kind of archaic by comparison.’

  ‘I know Cambridge really well – my dad went to university there, and we sometimes go to the shops there – but it’s never going to be as friendly as somewhere like Melton. I’ve always lived here, and I rather like it.’ Maggie bristled slightly as she responded, hating the idea that he might be thinking they were all country bumpkins in the village that had been her home all her life. But she quickly excused him in her mind, telling herself that it was only because Andy and his family were newcomers to the area and hadn’t really had time to fit in.