Brian Jacques - The Ribbajack

this story you may know,

but if perchance you’ve guessed the end,

just smile, and wave, and go....

It was not as if Maggie liked the coat. One or two of her friends had remarked, when she first wore it to school, “Nice.” This was even worse than saying it was awful. Nice? Nobody had said it was cool, or awe-some. What can you do about a coat that your dad paid for and your mother chose? Maggie resolved to lose the offending garment, the sooner the better! So she did. Well, she hadn’t actually lost the coat, just conveniently forgotten it. Now she was hoping against hope that her mother would forget it, too.

There was not much to do on a dull November Saturday afternoon. Maggie slumped on her bed, doing furious battle with her PlayStation to reach level three. Covering both ears with headphones, she caught up with the current chart vibes.

The first realisation she had of her mother’s presence in the bedroom was the headphones being snatched from her ears. Mrs. Carroll stood with hands on hips. Maggie looked up at her. She knew from the body language that her mother was in her “I want a word with you, young lady” mood. Maggie’s mother was not one to mince words.

“I want a word with you, young lady. Didn’t you hear me calling from downstairs? Have you gone deaf?”

Maggie stared at her wall posters, explaining patiently, “I was wearing headphones. You’re always going on at me to turn the music down or put the headphones on. I put them on so the noise wouldn’t disturb you.”

Mrs. Carroll continued as if her daughter had not spoken. “Noise, that’s all it is, you couldn’t call that music! But that’s not what I’m here for. Where’s your new coat? It’s not on the hall rack.”

Maggie made a vague gesture. “Prob’ly in the wardrobe, how should I know?”

Closing her eyes, she listened to the wardrobe doors sliding open. There was an irate clatter of hangers, followed by her mother’s next demand.

“When did you last hang anything up properly in here? I’m left to do all the running and tidying around after you. Well, the coat’s not in here, so where is it? I want the truth!”

Opening her eyes, Maggie sat up slowly, turning the music and the PlayStation off as she played for time. But the issue was not about to be delayed. Her mother met her eye to eye.

“None of your stories now, where is that coat?”

Maggie knew exactly where the coat was. Avoiding her mother’s stare, she gnawed at the skin alongside her fingernail and tried muttering casually, “Must be somewhere, I suppose.”

That did it. Mrs. Carroll took off shrilly.

“Somewhere, you suppose! What, may I ask, is that supposed to mean, eh? I paid good money for that coat. Money your father had to work hard to earn. I’d have given anything for a coat like that when I was your age. It’s a lovely winter coat, and you’ll be needing it when the weather gets colder. Right, you’re grounded until I see that coat again, d’you understand, Margaret?”

Whenever Maggie got her full title, she knew it was pointless trying to argue with her mother. Still, she gave it a try. “But what about the ice rink? Everyone’ll be there tonight.”

Mrs. Carroll strode from her daughter’s bedroom. “Hah! I don’t care who’ll be at the ice rink, because you won’t if that coat doesn’t turn up, so make your mind up to that, Margaret Carroll!”

The final word had been spoken, so Maggie was forced to surrender or face imprisonment. Pursuing her mother downstairs, she acted for effect, slapping a hand to her forehead as if just recalling where the coat was. “Oh, that’s it! I left it in school yesterday. I remember now, I hung it over the back of my chair in the library at last period. Julie’s dad was picking us both up, and he was in a hurry. So I must’ve dashed out to the car without the coat. Sorry, I’ll get it first thing on Monday morning, honest I will.”

She recoiled from her mother’s prodding finger. “Sorry doesn’t get it done, miss, you’ll go right back to school now and get the coat, d’you hear me?”

Maggie could not credit the stupidity of her mother. “But it’s Saturday afternoon, the school will be locked up tight. There won’t be a soul anywhere about!”

The condescending tone in her daughter’s voice made Mrs. Carroll even more determined. “I said right now, Margaret, no arguments. There’s always somebody there, caretakers, workmen, cleaners, or whatever. And don’t you dare take that tone with me. Now go!”

Maggie stuck out her bottom lip and pouted. Picking up her old denim jacket, she tried one last attempt against her mother’s stubborn insistence. “I’ve been there before on a Saturday afternoon—the school’s locked up tight, it always is!”

Turning her back dismissively, Mrs. Carroll left the room, calling back to her daughter, “That’s your problem, miss. No coat, no ice rink tonight!”

It was less than fifteen minutes’ brisk walk to L.E.T. (Leah Edwina Tranter) School. Maggie hunched her shoulders as she slouched along. Feeling very badly done to, she ruminated on life’s injustices.

Only an idiot didn’t know school was closed on weekends, and she had an idiot for a mother! Late afternoon was starting to fade into November twilight. Maggie began imagining fictitious scenes. A young girl (herself) run down by a car whilst crossing the road. She pictured her grieving mother.

“I should’ve listened to dear Maggie and left it ’til Monday. But no, I made her go. Now I’ve lost my only daughter, and all because of a coat she didn’t even like. Oh, I’ll never forgive myself!”

Hah, that’d teach her a lesson. Maggie was not too keen on being killed by the car. Maybe it would just be an injury. She pictured both distraught parents waiting in a hospital corridor. Her father, grim and tight-lipped.

“Will she be alright, Doctor, will Maggie live?”

The doctor, shaking his head. “We’ll just have to pray, and wait for the results of the scan. There’s a fifty-fifty chance Maggie may recover. Mrs. Carroll, I hope you’ll think twice in the future before treating your daughter so harshly.”

Maggie crossed the road moodily. There was not a car in sight.

L.E.T. loomed large in the dwindling daylight. It was an old greystone school, built in the 1820s. She noticed for the first time how gloomy and hostile it appeared. Still, no need to worry—it was probably shut.

Maggie’s fertile imagination was working on another scheme. What if she caught a cold or a severe chill through being sent on a fool’s errand? She would willingly give up a visit to the ice rink just to get even with her mother. A week off school, wrapped snugly in bed, looking pale and interesting. Toying listlessly with her PlayStation and listening to a CD whilst picking at her food.

Mentally she could hear her dad speaking downstairs. “Good grief, Annie, what were you thinking of, sending the girl out with only an old denim jacket on?”

Maggie pushed the front gates of the school driveway. To her surprise, the heavy iron-barred structure creaked open. She paused. Maybe the caretaker had forgotten to lock them. There was no sign of activity from the building, and nobody in sight. Even before she reached the entrance door, Maggie could see it was ajar. She stopped on the steps, looking hopefully about. Behind her, the gravel path with its border of withered brown bushes stood silent and forlorn. Ahead of her she glimpsed the gloomy corridor through the partially open door. Maggie was left with a choice. Either she could return home and lie that the school was closed, or she could go inside and retrieve the coat, then go to the ice rink that evening. She blew a long sigh and shrugged. Might as well go and get the coat, now she had come this far.