There had been banana custard for pudding and Annie had wanted to kiss Betsy when she’d sprinkled a sheen of sugar on Sarah’s to prevent the formation of skin.
They drank tea when the meal was finished and nodded when the children begged to go and play in the allotment again, though Maud would not allow Teresa to swing on the bar. ‘Let her wear a pair of Sarah’s dungarees,’ Annie had suggested and had thought Maud would faint at the mere thought.
Annie stood at the sink now, her arms covered in suds as she waited for Tom to bring the last of the dirty dishes from the table. She looked out across the yard where geraniums lolled in cut down rain-butts. The stable was empty now, Black Beauty was long gone.
‘Do you remember Beauty, darling?’ she called to Georgie who was putting the bowls in the dresser over against the wall. She heard him laugh, heard Tom and Grace laugh too.
‘Remember?’ Tom called. ‘Bye, she kept us in sweet money with her plops. “Does wonders for your rhubarb,” you’d say to people. “Better than custard.” Your da would have died if he’d known.’
‘She was a bonny pony,’ Betsy said, leaning across Annie, refilling the kettle. ‘Just one more cup, eh, lass?’ She smiled at Annie, who kissed her cheek.
‘I told you then and I’ll tell you now, that was a bloody silly name for a gelding. God knows what Da was thinking of, giving it to you. He should have sold it and put the cash into the shop. But then he didn’t know what he was thinking of most of the time – bloody dead loss he turned out to be.’ Don’s voice was loud, terse and Annie felt her shoulders tighten.
‘Don’t let them get you down, Don lad,’ Georgie laughed. ‘They’ve got an idea they can change the world, so what’s a pony’s sex? And they will change it, you know, or Wassingham anyway, just you wait and see. This business is really going to take off.’
Annie felt her shoulders relax. Only she and Tom would have recognised the anger in Georgie’s voice, but he had saved her from exploding. She looked out into the yard again. God damn you, Don Manon, you always were a miserable little tyke, never comfortable, never understanding, always pinching my wintergreen when we were kids, always spoiling things, always belly-aching. You’re still belly-aching, misunderstanding. But then she hadn’t understood either for a long while, had she? She watched a sparrow perch on the gutter of the stable.
Poor Da, how had he felt, coming back from the trenches, having to start all over again with his off-licence business destroyed, his fine house gone, the mother of his kids dead? He’d felt hopeless, that’s what he’d felt but she hadn’t understood that then. None of them had – or his suicide. She had realised though, after her own war. In fact she had very nearly followed him.
She looked back, round the kitchen they’d grown up in, smelling boiled tea towels, imagining the round shine-splashed boiler. Thank God they were all wiser now, tested somehow, more able to make the future work.
‘Where are those plates then, Tom Ryan?’ she called, turning round, seeing Maud still sitting at the table, polishing her long red nails, and she remembered that Don had been easier for a while but it hadn’t lasted. Perhaps Maud was the reason why. You’d never think she’d come from a back to back in Wassingham too.
‘Hang on, Gracie needs another tea towel and then I’ll be there. Work, work, work, but worth it. That was a canny lunch, Mam.’ Tom threw a tea cloth to his wife and then brought the plates to Annie who called to Maud. ‘We’ll bring gloves next time shall we, then you can help?’
Tom grinned at Annie and muttered, ‘You’ll be lucky, can’t be breaking a nail, can we?’
‘I’ll break something of hers soon and it won’t be a nail, bonny lad,’ she murmured back.
Betsy called from the stove. ‘Tea’s brewed, Annie. Leave those to drip, you as well, Gracie. Come and sit down and have a last cup. Those bairns will be glad of a bit more time.’
Betsy smoothed her apron with hands that were still gnarled from shifting Da’s kegs, but they were not as swollen as they had been.
‘Are you happy Bet?’ Annie asked quietly, sitting down beside her.
‘Aye lass, I was before, you know with my bairn living in the top of the house and his bairns rushing through my kitchen to get to the yard but now it’s even better – there’s your Sarah with them too, and you.’
Annie touched the elderly woman’s hand. ‘I know what you mean. There’s a continuity, isn’t there?’ She watched Georgie bring the teapot to the table, then looked round, seeing her brothers, their wives, Betsy pouring the tea, pushing the mugs out to each of them. Where had the years gone – did she really have as many lines as Gracie? She knew she had.
‘Could have given us more notice of course.’ Don’s voice was cold. ‘Had to get out of the house in a bit of a hurry didn’t we?’
Annie looked at him. Here it comes – wind him up, let him go. Not many lines on your visage my lad are there, but then you weren’t down the mine like Tom, in the jungles like Georgie, in the camps like me. Oh no, you were in the Supply Depot, building up your contacts, lining your pockets, not your face. She clamped her mind shut against these thoughts, put down her mug and answered calmly.
‘You’ve had my house for nine years, without charge Don. Please remember that I wrote to you telling you of Georgie’s discharge months ago. I think I made it clear that we would want to come home.’
Maud put down her tea which she had been drinking left-handed. Annie knew it was because their lips had used the other side. She caught Tom’s eye and grinned – they were back, what did all this matter?
‘That’s all very well, Annie,’ Maud said. ‘But we’ve put a lot of work into Sarah Beeston’s house. We’ve hung a chandelier and redecorated you know, got rid of all that dreadful bamboo.’
Annie breathed deeply as tension clenched every muscle of her face. She forced herself to look steadily at Betsy’s patchwork cushions.
Think of the stitches, the thread. Please God, let me be angry and not afraid – let the past be over. She felt Georgie’s hand on her thigh, she felt its warmth, his nearness and she waited and could now hardly breathe because she feared so much that she would smell the stench of the camp hospital, the pleading of the patients, the helplessness of the nurses. She feared she would see Lorna’s execution, feel the pain of the guard’s boot thudding into her own body, or the rope around her wrist which had tethered poor mindless Prue.
She waited, barely breathing, feeling the silence, the grip of Georgie’s hand but there was no pain, no darkness, there was just irritation, just the words ‘Stupid bitch’ in her mind, just a normal reaction to a silly woman. At last she relaxed, even as Tom leaned forward, slopping his tea, banging his mug down.
‘You did what, after all Annie went through with those bloody nips. For Christ’s sake, the thought of decorating Sarah’s house kept her going, you bloody knew that. It helped her to actually do it when she returned.’
Annie reached out to him, shaking her head, relishing her own response but not his. ‘Maud’s right you know, think about it. That design wouldn’t appeal to others, it was personal, it grew out of me, it was therapeutic. Business people have got to produce the goods the market wants, not just what we like, or what comes from our past.’
She looked from Tom to Georgie but their faces were set. She spoke again. ‘Look, please, all of you stop worrying about me. I’m much better – I keep telling you. Yes, the bamboos might have been a trigger – I was unprepared but I’m fine, Maud’s done us a favour. It’s proved to you that it’s all behind me, just as I’ve been saying all these months.’
Annie took her husband’s hand in hers and kissed it but though he smiled when she looked into his eyes she saw only anxiety.
She said softly, ‘I promise you, my darling, it’s over. This just helps to prove it. Please listen.’
She looked from one to another. Oh God, would they never understand that the past was gone, finished? Yes, she’d had a breakdown in India, where Georgie had taken her a
fter the war. Yes, she’d tried to kill herself there too, but they had come home and slowly she had recovered, couldn’t they accept this? What more proof did they need?
‘So, you’re still going ahead with this business idea then?’ Don asked.
Annie smiled, grateful for once that her brother had no heart. There was no concern in his eyes, or those of his wife. There was only a flicker of interest at the thought of the business they were embarking upon and she replied calmly, holding Georgie’s hand tightly as she did so, willing him to believe.
‘Absolutely, Don. It’s the textile business we’ve always talked about, even when we were kids. Tom’s designs, my practical knowledge, Georgie’s management expertise …’
‘Cosy, just the three of you, again.’ His voice was hard.
‘You didn’t let me finish. You’re a businessman, doing well from your property development, we’ll need a financial director. You could fit it in with your other work.’ She was glad to be back in the present, glad to be talking of the future and she wanted to grab the others out of the past too.
She looked at them all, smiling, listening as Don grunted then pulled out a cigar. Betsy rose, walked to the window and opened it, then pulled the door right back. Don knew Bet hated the smell soaking into her patchwork cushions, her curtains, her rag-rugs so why did he do it?
Annie watched her brother, and wanted to rip the cigar from his mouth and stub it out in Maud’s mug. That really would be something for her to turn her nose up at.
‘Tell me more about it,’ Don said, blowing smoke across the table, leaning back, putting his finger in his waistcoat pocket.
‘We’ll operate it, as Tom and I have always said, in Wassingham with facilities for those who are mothers. There’ll be a nursery, childbirth leave and so on. There will be a bonus twice a year, a sharing of the profits.’
‘That’s it then,’ Don said, his finger still hitched in his pocket, the smoke from his cigar spiralling up into the air.
He’ll blow a smoke ring in a minute Annie thought and then I’ll slap him and ruin all my good intentions.
‘What do you mean, that’s it?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice level as he blew a smoke ring and Tom caught her eye.
‘Crazy. It’s your old half-baked nonsense, isn’t it? It’s the “life must be fair” rubbish again,’ Don said, stabbing the air with his cigar. ‘It’s like Albert and I always said, the bottom line is profit – you need to drive your workers, not nursemaid them. What about your union work, Tom, are you coming out of the mine?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Not right away, we’ve got to get it up and running first. Gracie and Annie are getting the garments made up working from home, then Annie’s got some outlets set up to see which lines go best. Betsy’s helping with the sewing, just so long as her hands cope, isn’t that right, Mam?’
Betsy nodded. ‘I wasn’t much good to you in the early days pet, it was all so difficult with the shop and everything,’ she said quietly. ‘I want to be useful now.’
‘I’ve told you, you were wonderful to us, and yes, we couldn’t do without you but only for as long as it suits you.’ Annie turned back to Don. ‘Just listen. It’s founded on sound sense. Workers will respond to fair treatment. You see, Don, you don’t have to deal with workers in your line of business but because of Tom’s pit work, Georgie’s time with his men, and mine in the wards, we think we know how to treat people.’
‘Meaning I don’t.’ Don blew another smoke ring.
‘No, not meaning that at all, meaning that in property development you are not producing a product and so haven’t had that kind of experience but you do have financial knowhow.’
‘Sounds like amateur night to me,’ Don said.
Annie saw Maud produce a nail file. Good God, how do you improve on perfection?
Georgie said, ‘Tell him how experienced you are, Annie.’
‘Yes, Annie,’ Gracie called. ‘Tell him about Mr Isaacs in Camberley and the shocked wives.’
Annie laughed as Maud looked up, her nails forgotten.
‘Relax, Maudie, no scandal.’
‘Better not be either,’ Georgie grinned.
Don was scowling, looking at his watch, the gold plate glinting in the sunlight streaming through the open window.
‘Sorry, Don, I’ll get on with it. Right, I worked for Mr Isaacs in his rag trade business while Georgie was at Staff College at Sandhurst. The other wives were shocked, not the thing at all, though I probably made the bras they bought.’
‘Bras,’ Maud was shocked.
‘Oh yes, Maud, they are made, they do not just arrive under gooseberry bushes.’ Annie fingered her cigarettes but knew better than to smoke in Betsy’s kitchen. She’d probably have her ear clipped. ‘I learned to calculate how many rolls of cloth would be needed, how to use rotary cutters and sewing machines, how to pack and invoice. I learned business management really. Then I set up my market stall.’
‘Market stall,’ Maud murmured faintly. ‘Not with an apron and things, not shouting out.’
‘Oh yes, d’you want to hear me.’ Annie stood up while Tom and Georgie began to laugh.
‘No, I do not.’ Maud was tapping her nail file on the table.
‘So, how did it go, did you sell much?’ Don asked, stubbing his cigar out on one of the clean sideplates, ignoring the ashtray.
Annie emptied the cigar in the bin, washed the plate and called back, ‘Oh yes, we used the money to buy a machine and supplied other stall holders, but it’s best to keep the middleman out really.’
‘What did you make?’
‘Knickers.’
‘How common,’ Maud said as Annie came back to the table. ‘I mean, Annie, you won’t be making those round here. Surely you could go into something, less, well less …’
‘Essential?’ Georgie asked, leaning forward, his hand on Annie’s thigh again, squeezing gently.
‘Or don’t you wear them?’ Tom leaned forward, his eyebrows raised.
Maud blushed, the nail file tapping even faster. ‘Don’t be absurd.’
Annie said quickly now, before the laughter got out of control and alienated these two completely, ‘We will make knickers Maud, because they are essential but also because I can make them out of offcuts. It’s much cheaper and while we’re trying to get a toe hold in the market we don’t want to invest too much capital in stock. We need to see which lines work well, then once we’ve realised our assets we can set up premises. Do it step by step.’
Don asked them about the forward planning of the business and Annie explained that to begin with they would produce only garments but as soon as possible they would go on to designing and printing their own fabrics, extending into home furnishings and wallpaper in due course.
‘We’ll need premises of at least two thousand square feet to begin with, and once we’re into the textile side we’ll need more space and must be near a sewage works.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Maud said.
‘Effluent,’ Annie explained. ‘You know the chemicals, the pongs.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Quite,’ Annie said.
‘All of this to take place in Wassingham?’ Don asked.
‘Oh yes, it must be for the women of this town. It must,’ Annie said, because it was a promise she had made to herself many years ago before she had left Wassingham. She reached across and grasped Don’s hand. It was thin and cold. ‘Join us, it would be the old gang again.’
Don looked at her. ‘No, it’s not my kind of business. It doesn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance. Just think about it all of you, it’s daft, the whole damn thing.’
Annie sat back and looked at him and wanted to pummel him, make him see that he was wrong, make him see that he was standing aside from the family, as he had always done.
‘We must go. Get your coat on Maud. We’ve cocktails at six and we’ll be late. We’ll pick up Teresa on the way.’
Georgie stood up. ‘Hang on, Don. We need to talk
to you about the money Sarah Beeston left Annie. Have you converted the investments you’ve been handling for her? We thought you’d have the figures for us today. Even if you don’t want to be involved you should realise we need to get the show on the road.’ Georgie’s voice was loud, angry and Annie pulled him down beside her.
Don shrugged himself into his jacket as he answered. ‘I’ll see you about it tonight. I’ll drop round to the Gosforn house. No time now.’ He waved to them and followed Maud out into the yard, calling back, ‘About nine tonight then, Annie.’
Annie didn’t reply, just looked at the others. ‘I thought he was going to join us after he showed so much interest in the premises and our plans. I just don’t understand the man.’
‘You tried,’ Georgie said. ‘He’s just so difficult. You’ve done all you can, more than you should.’
Tom said, ‘He’s just different to us. He always was.’
Sarah stayed at Gracie’s that night and Annie made scrambled eggs on toast back at the Gosforn house, which she and Georgie ate with champagne, toasting one another, toasting their future and Wassingham Textiles. They handed a glass to Don when he arrived, then sat at the dining table beneath the plastic chandelier which Maud had left. Don drew out a cigar. What the hell Annie thought, it’s a celebration.
She reached behind her for an ashtray from the sideboard, placing it in front of her elder brother, and held her hands tightly together, hardly able to sit still.
‘Come on then Don, stop shuffling through those papers, I can’t stand this waiting.’ She looked from Don to Georgie and winked. ‘He’s enjoying his moment of glory. He’s dying to show off about how much he’s increased Sarah’s legacy.’ She felt the pressure of Georgie’s feet as they squeezed hers, the love in the look he gave her, the pleasure he too was feeling.
Don cleared his throat, tapping his cigar gently on the side of the ashtray, put it to his mouth again, blew a smoke ring and then picked up the top piece of paper. He looked at it again and replaced it.
Annie's Promise Page 2
