Past Secrets (46 page)

She didn’t know how to tell them that when she got home she merely felt weak with relief at having got school over for another day.

Telling them about Sandra, about how she didn’t know if she could cope much longer, would have seemed such a failure. Sunday nights were the worst. From about four o’clock on, Maggie could feel her mood sink lower and lower.

Getting her bag ready for school, making sure she’d done all her homework, getting a clean uniform blouse ready, she felt like a French aristocrat climbing into the tumbrel.

She could never sleep on Sunday nights. She’d lie there in her bed, looking up at the stars on her ceiling, wondering if there was intelligent life on other planets and if there was, what did they do about bullying?

The production of The Playboy of the Western World in Maggie’s fourth year brought matters to a head. At St Ursula’s the fourth years - because they weren’t doing state exams that year - put on a play in an attempt to help them understand the work of the great dramatists. There were sixty girls in Maggie’s year and among the twenty-five or so with ambitions to be world-famous actresses, there was huge competition for the big parts in J.M.

Synge’s classic.

Maggie, who loved English and had adored the play the first time she’d read it, would rather have had an arm removed without an anaesthetic than get up on the stage and act. So she was able to stand back and watch the fights that went on in drama class. The play would be performed at Christmas with all the funds going towards a charitable concern.

‘I want everyone to be involved,’ insisted Miss O’Brien, the drama teacher, a woman who felt that public speaking was a great skill for any person and simply couldn’t understand why everyone

wasn’t clamouring to be involved. ‘It will be so much fun,’ she said, her eyes shiny with emotion, ‘the excitement, the glamour. Now, Maggie, you could be one of the people who help the actresses learn their lines, you’re so good at English and you love this play. That’d be a fabulous job for you.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Maggie instantly, ‘I couldn’t.’ Her school career had been spent trying to slip into the background and she’d learned that hiding was the best form of defence.

Finally, the enthusiastic Miss O’Brien persuaded Maggie and Kitty and a few of the other quieter members of their year to help with the scenery for the play. The stars of that year’s art classes were going to paint the scenery, but a few more people were needed to put it together, hammer in nails and be general dogsbodies.

‘Maggie, I thought you would want to be more involved,’ said Miss O’Brien sadly when Maggie agreed to work on the scenery but not help anyone learn lines. ‘A sense of community is vital. I’m disappointed in you.’

Maggie said nothing.

She liked Miss O’Brien. It would have been lovely to sit down and tell her the truth.

Miss O’Brien, you don’t understand. I’d love to be doing something with the play, but Kitty and I have safe places we can go to at break and lunchtime to hide from Sandra. We’d be sticking our necks out working with the actresses. Some of the gang are in the play and they would make our lives miserable.

Instead she said none of this, she just looked steadily at the teacher and Miss O’Brien studied the blank face that Maggie had perfected.

‘Well, if you don’t want to use your talents, that’s your loss,’ she said and sniffed to show her disapproval. ‘You could do much more than be in the background.’

Working on the scenery proved to be quite enjoyable and there was a certain satisfaction to be had in cutting up the enormous cardboard boxes they had been given to help create the kitchen floor.

Kitty, Maggie and a few other girls had been provided with Stanley knives to do the work. As sharp as craft knives and much stronger, they ripped into the cardboard easily.

‘Now, be careful,’ Miss O’Brien warned. ‘I don’t want anyone cutting off a thumb or anything.’ ‘No, Miss,’ said Kitty gravely. ‘We’ll be careful, we need our thumbs.’

The only person who hurt themselves was Maggie. She wasn’t sure how she’d done it, but cutting towards herself, instead of away as they had all been taught, she’d managed to make a big swipe along her thigh. The knife cut right through her uniform skirt and made an indent, a bloody indent, into the skin of her thigh.

‘Ouch,’ she cried.

‘Shit, what have you done?’ yelped Kitty.

Maggie pulled up her ruined skirt. Her leg didn’t

look too bad. There was a sliver-thin stripe of red with beads of blood emerging, like a red crystal necklace, along the rip. And bizarrely, this intense physical pain was manageable. It hurt but she could see the hurt, not like the hurt inside her that nobody could see.

‘I’ll take you to the school nurse,’ said Kitty. ‘No, I’m fine, I’m fine,’ said Maggie. ‘It’s OK, really. I’ll put loo roll on it, it’ll be OK.’

She ran off to the loo, still holding the Stanley knife. Sitting in a cubicle with the door locked, she hesitated before making another slice in her thigh. God, it hurt, but at the same time, it felt … good. She could control this pain. The fierce intensity of the physical hurt took away the pain in her head. This was centred on her leg. She was in control of it and that roar of control surging through her was like a blessed relief from all the hurt. She’d cut herself and let the hurt drip out.

Who cared if she was marked or cut? Nobody cared. She’d do it again and feel the power of control over her life again.

Nobody noticed when the Stanley knife went missing. Nobody knew it was in Maggie Maguire’s bedroom and that sometimes, not every night, because she couldn’t do it every night, she cut small marks into her thigh. Over the months, there was a criss-cross of them: red raw and looking like she’d been flayed on one thigh. But nobody saw, she made sure of that. It was easy enough, who was going to see her with her clothes off?

Sometimes the wounds really hurt, stung her and she wondered whether they were infected. So she bought surgical spirit and doused her whole thigh in it, wanting to scream with the pain, and yet, that pain was good too, hurting her like everything else was hurting her. That knife became a symbol, the one bit of control she felt she had over her life.

The night of the dress rehearsal, Maggie and Kitty were waiting in one of the big rooms behind the stage when Sandra and her cronies came in.

They were all allowed to wear ordinary clothes and Maggie was dressed in her favourite jeans and boots with a simple fleece. One of her legs was faintly bulkier than the other because it was bandaged up, though nobody else would have noticed.

Her thigh throbbed all the time. There were so many cuts in it. But she didn’t care, the pain made her feel stronger.

‘Hello, No-Tit Maguire. Is this what you call fashion?’ sneered Sandra, who was done up like a dog’s dinner in the best schoolgirl hooker look money could buy. Her hair was platinum blonde now and her eyes were hard blue bullets in a ring of eyeliner black as hell.

Maggie’s leg throbbed. She had her knife in the pocket of her fleece. Carrying it gave her a strange courage. She clenched her fingers around it now, feeling the rage well up. Then she felt herself fall over the edge.

‘Fuck off, bitch,’ she howled in feral tones and

stood towering over Sandra, her face suffused with anger. She ripped the knife from her pocket and flicked the blade a few notches up so it glinted its dull metallic sheen.

Sandra’s eyes widened.

‘Don’t come near me or Kitty again or I’ll make you fucking sorry,’ hissed the new Maggie.

And Sandra, confronted by someone who was no longer going to lie down and be kicked, backed off.

‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said.

‘Not whatever, you fucking bitch!’ Everyone heard the roar and watched, openmouthed.

Maggie advanced, rage burning in her head. ‘Say it. Say it or I’ll make you sorry. Say you’ll never come near us again, never bully anyone here again,’

hissed Maggie and there was no mistaking her determination.

‘I’ll keep away, right? Calm down, right?’ And Sandra, who had enough cunning to know how to save her own skin, backed off for ever.

‘Mad fucking bitch,’ she muttered from a good way away.

The bullies left and there was utter silence in the room, before Kitty went up to Maggie and took the knife from her.

‘You weren’t acting, were you?’ she asked, putting an arm round her friend and maneuvering her into a chair.

‘No,’ said Maggie, weak now.

‘You’d be up for an Oscar if you were,’ Kitty remarked. She neatly reversed the knife so the blade was sheathed. ‘I wouldn’t blame you for carving Sandra up into little pieces but she’s not worth the hassle. If one of you has to end up in jail, I’d prefer it to be her.’

Maggie managed to laugh. ‘I can’t believe I did that,’ she said.

‘But I’m glad you did.’ Kitty laughed.

A voice from the corner of the room spoke up: ‘I’m glad you did too. She’s made my life hell for years.’

‘And the meek shall inherit the earth, if that’s all right with the rest of you,’ joked Kitty.

Everyone laughed and the tension was broken.

Maggie looked up into Ivan’s eyes. ‘Do you think I’m a nutcase now?’ she asked, anxiety flooding through her now that she’d actually told him the truth.

He smiled. ‘I think you’re the bravest woman ever,’ he said. ‘I’m so proud of you. That took huge courage.’

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘It was more like madness, really. I just flipped.’

Ivan’s hands touched her leg again. ‘You don’t do this any more?’ he asked gently.

She shook her head. ‘Without her hassling me, life was easier, better. I felt ashamed about cutting myself and I stopped it. I never told anyone, though. It seemed so stupid. I began to like school and she left at the end of that year. The relief! The

gang of bitches were never the same without her.

They were still nasty, but never to me or Kitty.’

‘My warrior princess,’ he said, hugging her. ‘You vanquished your enemies.’

‘I thought so,’ she said, ‘but the day of your cousin’s wedding, one of Sandra’s gang came into the library and I thought I was going to be physically sick. It all came back to me, Ivan, the fear, the terror. It was like being a kid again.’ Her voice wobbled and his embrace tightened.

‘They’re the fear I haven’t exorcised,’ she went on. ‘Like my leg, they’re scars that won’t go away.’ ‘They’ll go away with time,’ Ivan reassured her. ‘No, I have to face them. Christie Devlin says I probably have to face Sandra to get her out of my head. She’s right, you know.’

Ivan pulled her to her feet and looked stern. ‘If you go near those women, I’m going to be with you,’ he said. ‘Let them try and bully you with me there.’

Maggie hugged him, burying her head in his chest. ‘Thank you, but no. I have to do this on my own.’

Gossip central on Summer Street was the minimarket where the surly owner, Gretchen, ruled supreme. Gretchen’s daughter Lorraine, the one who was married to the rich French pilot, and had been at school with Maggie, had been in Sandra Brody’s gang. If anybody knew of Sandra’s whereabouts, it would be Gretchen.

So that evening, for the first time ever, Maggie went to Gretchen’s checkout on purpose. She might not have had the courage to do it had it not been for the afterglow of a successful meeting with the reporters.

‘Hello, Maggie,’ Gretchen said, with the air of a cat who had a mouse’s tail trapped between her paws. ‘How are you?’

‘Great,’ said Maggie cheerfully. She was ready for tough nuts like Gretchen now.

‘How’s Lorraine?’ she asked idly.

‘Fabulous,’ said Gretchen, seeming slightly surprised that Maggie would ask after Lorraine. ‘And does she still see Sandra Brody?’ Maggie continued.

‘Sandra McNamara, you mean? Not really, I mean you know Lorraine is living in the South of France now …’

‘Yes,’ interrupted Maggie, not wanting to hear Gretchen’s boasting all over again. ‘But they were such great friends in school. Their gang did everything together, didn’t they?’

Gretchen looked shifty for a moment. ‘Well, Sandra was a bit wild really, wasn’t she?’

‘Wild?’ said Maggie, acting surprised. ‘In what way was she wild?’

Gretchen looked even more uncomfortable. ‘Oh, you know, she was a bit of a bad influence, we were all glad when she left St Ursula’s.’

‘What sort of a bad influence?’ went on Maggie, feeling as if the tables were turned and she was the grand inquisitor.

‘You know, leading girls on, getting them into trouble. My Lorraine was always a good girl, but when she was with Sandra, well, you never knew what they’d get up to.’

Maggie looked Gretchen straight in the eye. ‘Actually,’ she said coldly, ‘I do know what they got up to and you’re right, it wasn’t very nice at all. Does Sandra live around here now?’

‘She comes in from time to time,’ Gretchen stammered and for once it seemed as if she didn’t want to talk. She began scanning Maggie’s groceries with an unaccustomed speed.

‘And has she changed, do you think?’ Maggie asked. ‘Is she still wild?’

‘She has children of her own and she’s settled down, wouldn’t that change anyone?’ Gretchen said, whisking through the groceries. ‘So she’s different?’

‘You might say that.’ ‘What does she do?’

‘I don’t think she works. She’s got small children and the husband has a good job, I hear. That’ll be seventeen euros and eighty cents.’

Maggie counted out the money. ‘Do say hello to Lorraine for me, won’t you?’ she added. ‘I’m sure she’ll remember me.’

‘Eh, yeah, yes, yes, of course,’ said Gretchen.

Maggie walked down Summer Street towards her house with her shopping in two bags. She’d made progress. She’d found out that Sandra’s reign of terror hadn’t been a big secret, that people had known about it. Maggie had spent so many years wondering whether she had been paranoid, exaggerated the whole thing to herself, that she felt vindicated now to find out that Sandra Brody’s actions hadn’t gone unnoticed, that other people had seen what she was. It was just that nobody had done anything to help the people like Maggie.

This knowledge didn’t make her feel even more upset or betrayed, it made her feel stronger. Having horrible old Gretchen admit that Sandra had once been a vicious little bully had given Maggie the key to her own freedom. She hadn’t been at fault, Sandra had been, and now, she was going to confront Sandra about it. The past was not going to keep Maggie Maguire in its stranglehold any more.