‘My name’s Johnny. Johnny Taylor.’
She pushed him away feeling like she’d been tricked. He was a Taylor. The scum of the earth, according to her father. Her family hated them. She hated them, though she wasn’t really sure why. However, she knew the name, and like she’d been brought up to hate the police, she’d been brought up to despise the Taylors. And here she was, in the middle of Soho, falling into his arms as if he was some kind of hero.
‘What did I say?’
He looked hurt. Maggie felt a flicker of shame come over her – nevertheless he was a Taylor, and that’s all that mattered.
‘It’s not what you said. It’s who you are.’
Johnny looked at her puzzled.
‘I know you ain’t some bird I’ve slept with and done a runner on. Frigging hell I would’ve remembered you, cos you’re too beautiful, not to mention too fiery, to forget.’
Maggie blushed, not wanting to find anything to like about him although she did allow herself to be a little flattered.
‘Sleep with you? You should be so lucky. I’ve got more class than that.’
Johnny laughed out an infectious laugh and Maggie struggled not to join in. Wanting to contain her serious composure to show him how she felt about a Taylor.
She turned away towards the cafe in Bateman Street. As the cafe came into sight Johnny ran up by the side of her.
‘I thought I told you to piss off.’
‘No, you never said that.’
‘Well I’m saying it now, piss off.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean but if you’re in any doubt let me repeat it again for you, Johnny. Piss off.’
‘Okay, fine. But before I go why don’t you tell me what I’m supposed to have done?’
‘I told you, it’s who you are. You’re a Taylor.’
Johnny shrugged his shoulders, still baffled from the sudden turnaround.
‘Do I have to spell it out to you? You’re a Taylor and I’m a Donaldson. Unless you’ve been wrapped up all your life in cotton wool then you and I hate each other.’
Johnny stayed silent for a moment. He thought he’d recognised the man back there but he hadn’t been able to put a name to the face. Many a time he’d had fights with the oldest Donaldson boy but he had no idea he had a sister. And certainly not such a beautiful one.
‘Hate each other. Do we?’
‘Yeah we do.’
‘Well I prefer to make up my own mind who I hate. You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who likes to be told what to do but perhaps I’m wrong.’
Maggie could tell Johnny was goading her but she couldn’t help falling for it. ‘Are you saying I don’t think for myself? Well I do.’
‘If that’s the case tell me why you hate us.’
‘Because …’
Johnny stood watching her and grinned. ‘Because?’
Maggie was perplexed. She’d never questioned why she had to hate them, she’d just accepted it. Now she was being hauled over the coals about it and she’d no idea. ‘Because … because you’re a Taylor.’
It sounded stupid and it was. Which was why Johnny laughed out loud, causing Maggie to become incensed. ‘This is all a joke to you. Well go and find someone else to make fun of.’
Maggie stormed off into Lola’s Cafe, plonking herself down in the tiny booth at the end of the steam-filled teashop. As she sat trying to calm herself down she looked around. It wasn’t busy. There was a couple holding hands sitting at the window table, another at the next table looking far removed from the early throes of love as they sat stony-faced and as usual, there was a small group of builders poring over the back page of the paper, analysing the football results.
‘What can I get you my sweet?’
Lola Harding, the cafe owner came over with a pad to write things down but without the pen, and sat down opposite Maggie.
‘I’ll have anything, Lo.’
‘How about a bit of TLC and advice? Do you want me to get some ice for your face?’
Maggie smiled and touched her face absentmindedly. She could talk to Lola about anything but at the moment she didn’t want to. She’d made a fool of herself in front of Johnny Taylor. As much as she knew she shouldn’t care what he thought she couldn’t help it.
‘I’m okay, Lola. You know how life is sometimes.’
‘I bleeding well do. I tell you girl, when I’m in front of those pearly gates, first question I’m going to ask the big fella is; what the fuck was that all about?’
Maggie beamed at Lola. She always managed to make her feel better about herself. There’d never been a time when Lola hadn’t got her to raise a smile.
‘I’ll have a tea please and whatever the young lady’s having.’
Both Lola and Maggie looked up and saw Johnny Taylor, but it was Lola who spoke.
‘Young lady! Bleeding hell, Johnny, I knew my face cream was good but never thought the day would come again when I was mistaken for a young lady.’
‘You still do it for me, Lola.’
Lola cackled.
‘You’ve got the charm of your old man. How is he?’
‘Good thanks, I’ll tell him you were asking after him.’
‘You do that but make sure you leave the bit out that you were with Maggie. Don’t think he’d much care for you two having a Rosie Lee together.’
Lola laughed again, winking at Maggie before leaving them to it. She watched Lola with affection as she walked away. Everyone in Soho knew who Lola was and everyone had something good to say about her. Johnny touched her hand lightly over the table.
‘Maggie, I’m sorry. I wasn’t making fun of you.’
‘I don’t know how you make that out, because there wasn’t anybody else about, so it must’ve been me.’
‘Bloody hell girl, you’ve got more fire in your belly than St. George’s dragon. I ain’t looking for an argument.’
‘No? Well what are you looking for then?’
‘I dunno, but I know I like you.’
‘You don’t know me and I don’t know you. I don’t want to either.’
‘Just give me a chance. Have a cup of tea with me and if at the end of it you don’t want to see me again, I’ll piss off and disappear.’
‘I dunno. It feels so wrong.’
‘What feels wrong, Maggie, is you listening to a person who’ll do this to you.’
Johnny touched her face again and looked into her piercing blue eyes.
‘Just a cup of tea, that’s all I ask.’
Maggie had a cup of tea and when she’d finished it, they ordered another one and another, staying to talk until closing time.
‘Let me take you to the fair in Leicester Square, Maggie.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why