wasn’t a problem for her. She’d have brought him up on her own if she had to, but they wouldn’t have it at Black Bank. Her father was a tough man. Fen farmer. She brought the bruises to school sometimes. He wanted her to bring the father home. Any father.’
‘But Maggie didn’t want him?’
‘God knows why. There were worse; most of ‘em were worse. He turned out bad, but it didn’t have to be that way.’
There was a break in the racing. Kiosks were selling hot-dogs. Dryden bought two and they ate in silence. He tried to imagine the scene that night: the smoking ruin out of which Maggie had walked. ‘So she saw her chance, and gave the boy away. And she never said why? Even to you?’
She stood, smoothing down the cheap blue uniform with the sprinting greyhound on the shoulder. ‘She never visited him in hospital afterwards. She was out in a few days but Johnnie was in and out of hospital for weeks. Skin grafts, stuff like that. They didn’t get it right first time, made a hell of a mess of his hands. She wouldn’t go near him. So I visited him. I guess I knew what I was doing, but life isn’t fair, is it? And if she didn’t want him, why not? He was a charmer was Johnnie.
‘Anyway, she married the following year. A Breckland farmer. At Black Bank she was lonely, haunted. So she found herself a husband and a new home. He was in his fifties… a bachelor, I think. Don? Yes, Don. They moved away and got a manager in at Black Bank. Bit of a surprise when she came back with the baby – Estelle, wasn’t it? Don died young, so she sold up and returned home. I never understood why. I think she liked being haunted. Perhaps the ghosts were all she had.’
Dryden nodded. She stood, clipping on her sales tray with its race cards.
‘But they weren’t all ghosts. She knew Matty was still alive. Perhaps she thought he’d come back one day. Why do you think she gave him away?’ asked Dryden, rising. It was the only question without an answer. ‘Did you ever hate Johnnie?’
‘Constantly, and with a passion at the end. The only passion by then. But that was because of what he was. And he was what he was because of Matty.’
‘He got into trouble – the police.’
She laughed. ‘You could say that. After Maggie his life fell apart, really. I was there, and I think that helped, otherwise it would have been worse. But he was into anything that would make money fast – petty theft, porn, all sorts. He went inside a couple of times… but I was long gone by then, although I guess I got a cut – he never missed on the divorce payments. Odd sense of duty, he never showed it when we were married.’
Dryden scanned the crowd, looking at faces, looking for answers. ‘Did anyone else live or work at Black Bank who might know why she gave Matty away?’
She lit up a fresh cigarette. ‘Yeah. Early on. There was an aunt at Black Bank. The father’s sister. Spinster – that’s what we called them then. Constance. OK, really. In her forties then, I think. She’d be seventy-odd now. She came to help on the farm, in the house. But she was gone by the time the crash happened. I guess it didn’t work out… she was a lot smarter than Maggie’s parents. She didn’t fit in. She left for a job – librarian? Possibly… I’ve got it in my mind she got married in the end and emigrated.’
‘What was her new surname?’
She shrugged. ‘Tompkins I think. Thompson? They had family in Canada, the north.’ Dryden imagined the snow again, falling in ice cold flakes on to his upturned face.
‘Canada?’ he said, opening his eyes. She was ready to go, so he tried a last question. ‘Did you ever see Maggie again?’
‘Once. I was out in Ely, shopping. It must have been five years after the crash, more. She was with the daughter and I remember thinking how lucky she was. That kid was beautiful. Maggie wasn’t ugly, you know, but she was a Fen farmer’s daughter. Heavy bones, and the skin – potato white we used to call it at school. But the little girl was perfect, like kids can be. Cute, that olive skin, and the butter-yellow hair.