“Drugs were the problem, it happens in the best of families.”
Maggie Cartwright listened with glee. Her lips thinned even more than usual in what passed for her smile. She couldn’t believe her ears, was that really Sheila Murphy’s voice? She wished she could turn and look, but didn’t dare take the risk. The noise level on the bus rose, drowning out the conversation Maggie was straining to hear, but then her patience was rewarded. Several people stopped talking, and she could hear Sheila’s voice again.
“The child is in a sorry state. Underfed and…”
Again the chattering around her blocked the next few words, but when she could hear Sheila again, Maggie knew it had been worth the wait.
“… my grandchild. She’ll be arriving next week, I’ve already got the room ready for her.”
Maggie squirmed with pleasure, fancy that stuck-up Sheila Murphy having a secret like that in her family. Not that she was surprised; she’d always felt that the Murphys were too good to be true. From the way she was describing the child, it seemed as though the poor wee mite had been badly neglected. Unfortunately the bus arrived at Maggie’s stop before she could find out which of Sheila’s three children was the bad parent. Not that it mattered; it would be a terrible disgrace, regardless.
She didn’t even bother to take her coat off before picking up the phone.
“Sybil? You’ll never guess what I just heard on the bus,” she began, and then recounted the tale, embellishing when she felt the story needed a bit more spice.
Sybil was equally pleased to hear that snooty Sheila Murphy, who always kept herself to herself and never joined in the local gossip, was going to suffer a bit of family shame. Like Maggie, she’d gone to school with Sheila O’Hara, as she was then, and she’d never liked her. Too busy with her studies to be interested in the cinema and boys, she’d always looked down on the rest of her class. Well, Maggie and the gang had always thought so, anyway. They’d been as pleased as punch when Sheila left to go to university, and as mad as anything when she’d come back and married the nicest boy in town.
“Whichever one is the parent, it’s disgusting,” Sybil agreed with relish. “It can’t be the eldest, Michael, he’s just been ordained. The middle one, Catherine, is a missionary somewhere. So it must be the youngest, Sarah. I always knew she’d get up to no good, going off to that Oxford University in England. What’s wrong with our universities here? Not good enough for the Murphy family, I suppose.”
Maggie was barely listening to her closest crony; her mind was dwelling on the joy ahead of her. When she went to arrange the flowers at St Mathilda’s this afternoon, she’d find a way of telling Father Donahue if it killed her. Putting down the phone, she finally removed her coat, and then settled down to some determined spreading of the word. Maggie told Jean and Mary, she knew they’d love it and would pass it on. Sybil also spent the morning on the phone. In fact, within an hour of the bus ride, the news had spread as far as it could go.
Father Donahue looked up and sighed as Maggie entered the church. He tried very hard to love all his parishioners, but God, in His infinite wisdom, had sent Maggie Cartwright to test him. He’d spent more hours on his knees trying to think good thoughts about this one parishioner, than all the others put together. If only she’d use that incredible energy of hers to do some good, instead of spreading malicious gossip.
Maggie was thrilled to find Father Donahue already in the church. It would make it easier to raise the subject that was burning through her brain. At last she’d be in a position to put a black mark against his favourite parishioner. She greeted him, and forced herself to start arranging the flowers. She managed to wait a full ten minutes before she manoeuvred the conversation to children in general, and then deftly introduced the topic of neglected children.
“It’s a disgrace the way some people treat their children,” she said. “I believe that some young people are so addicted to drugs that their children suffer.”
Her heart was pounding with anticipation, any second now, she’d be able to tell the Father. She’d rehearsed the words on her walk to the church. She could feel them hovering on her tongue, but before she could get them out, the priest interrupted her.
“It’s funny you should bring that subject up,” Father Donahue said, relieved that Maggie wanted to talk about something positive for a change, instead of her usual sly remarks at the expense of others. “Only this morning Sheila Murphy said she has decided to do something about it.”
Maggie was about to point out that as Sheila’s family was involved, she had little option but to take the child in, but the priest continued. Maggie listened with a sinking heart. Whatever she’d heard this morning, it seemed she might have been too hasty in spreading the word.
“After their last child left the nest, Sheila and John felt the house was too big and empty for them. She’s always wanted to help those less fortunate than herself. As you know, she’s a very fit and active woman, with lots of love to spare. She’s decided to become a foster mother.” He smiled at Maggie, who was standing as if turned to stone. “I believe that she’ll be taking in her first child next week, a poor infant that has been terribly neglected. She says that it will be good to have a youngster in the house again, almost like their own grandchild.”
Maggie barely heard the priest. She was thinking of all the calls that she and her friends had made, asking herself – what have I done?
Lorraine Mace 2003
