‘Does it hurt?’
He said, ‘No.’
‘Are you very tired?’ He said yes and there were dark circles beneath his eyes and that night she wanted to come down to his room, hold him, comfort him but he had said he wanted to be alone.
She sat and talked to him over the weekend, Sarah brought him tea, books, biscuits, love, and by Sunday Annie knew that in spite of what that stupid blonde Sister Barnes said there was too much love around him, too much care. Her husband was drowning and none of this was helping and so that evening she sat on his bed.
‘Darling, it’s time you got up. It’s time you helped me, became a father, a husband again. Please come into work with me in the morning. Eat with us this evening.’
‘I’m tired, Annie, can’t you see that? I’m bloody tired.’
He lay down, closed his eyes and she left him, closing the door quietly and he wanted to call to her. Annie, I need you, stay with me, hold me, love me, stroke me, but how could he ask that of anyone when he was as he was?
How could he go into work when all he had ever done was misjudge Manners? How could he go out into the street and fall again and see the pity in everyone’s eyes?
On Monday morning Annie looked into his room before she left for work.
‘I won’t be back for lunch, Georgie. You’ll have to make you own because Bet won’t be in today.’ She didn’t tell him she had instructed Bet not to come in and neither did she wait for a reply but sat in the office all morning, working, but not properly, wanting to smoke, but not doing so, wanting to run home but sitting, just sitting.
She returned at half past five. Sarah was not yet in, Georgie had gone without lunch. She stood in his bedroom looking at this man she loved and knew that she had fifteen minutes before Sarah arrived and that she must use those minutes to try and break through to Georgie and to do that she must speak words that must only ever be heard by the two of them.
‘Help me with the tea, please, Georgie.’
‘I can’t, I’m too tired.’
‘Yes, you bloody can, George Armstrong, you just won’t. There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re not ill, you’ve just lost a leg – now just get your bum out of that bed, perch it up on that leg and get going. I need help. I’m the one who’s tired, I’m the one who’s busting a gut trying to keep this business going. You’re the one who wanted an edge, you insisted on it. Well, you’ve got one for the rest of your life, so face it and get on with it.’
He looked at her now. ‘Yes, that’s right, you’re the one who’s keeping the business going and I’m the one who nearly ran us on to the rocks so I’m best out of the bloody way. Get off my back, woman.’ He was leaning forward, his lips thin, his eyes hopeless. There was no anger in his voice, no resentment, nothing and Annie turned away, not knowing what to say or do now only knowing that a great despair was pouring over her.
‘Mum!’ Sarah was standing in the doorway, her face white and there was enough anger there to make up for any lack in Georgie.
Annie stood still, Oh God, Sarah had heard. She grabbed her daughter’s arm, shut the door, and pulled her to the kitchen as the words spilled out of Sarah’s mouth, white hot, wounding as she had known they would be. ‘You bitch, you cruel bitch. You’re just mean. He’s me da, you can’t say anything like that to him. You don’t love him, you just want him working. He’s not well, he’s hurt, he needs …’
‘A bloody good kick up the pants,’ Annie shouted back, then said more quietly, ‘Listen to me, do you remember the nurse in hospital who said I was right not to spoil him, not to make it easy? She was right, Sister Barnes is wrong. I should have had more sense because if we don’t get him up off that bed I don’t know what’ll happen. You’ve just got to try and understand and if you can’t, then be quiet, because I can’t cope with any more.’
Annie sat down as Sarah spun away from her, rushing out of the room, running up stairs, screaming down, ‘I hate you, I hate you. You went off and left him today, all alone and then you shout at him. You don’t care about anything but that bloody business. I hate you and if you’d nursed none of this would have happened.’
Annie sat at the table, running her trembling fingers up and down the grain, feeling the headache worsen. How could that be when it was already such agony all the time? She held up her hands, trying to hold them steady. They were clammy. She ran them over her face. God, she was hot and she didn’t know what to do any more.
She went into the yard. It was dark, her hands were wet and she leant back on the wall, looked up at the sky, closed her eyes and heard the sound of screaming, of shouting, of counting getting louder and louder. It was even louder than the pounding in her head and it was taking her away from this. Thank God it was all coming back and taking her with it, into the darkness again.
There were the smells, Dr Jones, her face smeared, kind, her hands coming out towards her, waving her on. Where was Prue? There at the end of the rope. ‘I’m coming,’ Annie called. ‘I’m coming back.’
But then she heard the small sound of crying. A tiny sound and it was coming between her and Prue, between Dr Jones, between the smells and the noises and the counting, between the pounding in her head and they were fading, growing weaker and she couldn’t hear the counting, she could only hear the crying.
Annie felt the wall behind her. It was cold, rough, she opened her eyes, the sky was dark, cool. There was a wind, the crispness of autumn all around her and from Sarah’s room there was the sound of crying.
She walked over to the pigeon loft, feeling the rotten wood at the ends, remembering the fluttering of Eric’s birds, the soft cooing and now her head was not even pounding any more, there was nothing but cool, clear thought and she knew that she would never again be visited by the past – it was over, her family had pushed it away, consigned it to its proper place.
She went to Sarah’s bedroom, kissed her damp hair, and held her while her daughter cried and then Annie told her that tomorrow her da would be up, but that she must help. She also told her that from now on she would be home from work earlier, that life was too short to be working when there were children to enjoy.
That night she slept and there were no dreams and no headache in the morning, there was only the same clear freshness. The next morning she phoned Gracie asking her to open the factory.
‘Sarah and I have a few things to do.’
She rang Tom at work and found that Frank was on the afternoon shift.
‘God, you’re not getting him sewing knickers too, are you?’ Tom asked. Then his voice became serious. ‘How’s Georgie, have you got anywhere?’
‘Let’s just say, we’re about to.’
Frank came round just after she called him. Sarah played the radio in the kitchen. It was Worker’s Playtime and she sang along loudly to it while Annie and Frank hammered in the yard, then piled their tools and the wood near the back door.
‘You can stop now, Sarah,’ Annie called.
They cycled round to Frank’s and came back with one of his wicker boxes which they carried into Georgie’s room.
‘Since you won’t feed yourself, perhaps you’ll make sure you feed this,’ Annie said nodding to Sarah.
Sarah lifted the squeaker out, then looked up at Annie.
‘Yes, please darling, put it on the bed.’
Sarah hesitated and Annie smiled gently. ‘Shall I do it?’
Sarah shook her head and put the squeaker on Georgie’s bed.
‘Now, we’re going. We shall be back at the end of the day. Frank says they’re like kids – only two things on their mind – food and a place to roost. He’s left food but you need to mix it. There are small pots out in the yard. It’s a late bred bird, too late for this year’s races but it’ll need exercise and training. There’s a note explaining everything.’
Georgie said nothing, just looked at the bird and then at Annie.
‘It’ll do plops if you leave it there, Da,’ Sarah said.
They left. Annie drop
ped Sarah into school with a note which said she had needed to be at home on a medical matter and then sat in the office, looking through the mail-order catalogue proof. They would enclose one with each order and get spin-off sales. She looked at the clock. It was midday.
She checked the invoices, then walked to the restroom, needing a cigarette, asking Brenda for one of hers. She refused.
‘Oh go on, I need one. It’s a special day.’
‘Georgie?’
‘Yes, I can’t go home for lunch. I have to stay until five and then I hope he’ll be in tomorrow. Go on, let me have one.’
Brenda shook her head. ‘No, you’ve done so well, I’d get fired if I let you.’
‘But I’m the boss.’
‘I know and you’d fire me tomorrow.’
Annie laughed, walked from the room, as Brenda said, ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed for him. You look so much better today, different somehow.’
Annie knew she did.
She checked the design table and approved the smock Tom had sketched. He had one more week to do at the mine and then he was coming in full-time. Their turnover was high enough now to support the two families, and there would be a bonus at Christmas for the girls.
She looked at the clock. One o’clock. Was he up? Would he ring?
By two there had been no call. She walked round the machine room, checking the garments. She had two girls on mail order and two on wholesalers and traders. It worked well but was too much work for her – she desperately needed Georgie to carry the mail order. More could be done if they could spread the workload.
She rang the hotels, confirming the bookings for Tom’s tour next week, they were going later than they should be, but the buyers had said they would see him anyway.
It was three o’clock.
What would she do if Georgie didn’t make it – if her husband, and Sarah’s father, gave up?
She rang the reporter that she’d met at Terry’s sports day and talked him into doing a feature on Wassingham Textiles using the angle of a local employer employing only local people and growing fast. Maud would be annoyed that she had dared approach a fellow parent but then Maud was always annoyed.
It was four o’clock.
The phone rang at five past four and it wasn’t Georgie, but the Central Buyer of T. Jones and Son, the Midlands department store chain and he was interested in the look of the mail order shot and wanted to discuss a pants, bra and slip set.
‘It must be exclusive and our own label.’
So what’s new, she thought. ‘I think we can help, Mr Harborne. Can we arrange a meeting between you and our Chief Designer. He’s tied up for the next two weeks but will be in your area on … let me see,’ Annie reached for her diary, flipping through until she found Tom’s tour dates. ‘How about lunch in the week of tenth October? I’ll get him to call you tomorrow to finalise.’
She put down the phone. Twenty past four. She beckoned to Brenda and told her the news. It was what they’d longed for and an exclusive to a Central Buyer was safe as long as the quality was good. This wouldn’t be another Manners.
It was twenty-five past four, and he still hadn’t rung so even this good news meant nothing.
She couldn’t stand it any longer. She picked up her coat. ‘I’m going …’
‘Yes, I think you’re right, I can’t stand the waiting either. I’ll lock up.’
Annie kissed Brenda, then ran out to the car, throwing her briefcase into the back, starting the engine, roaring into the street, rattling over the cobbles, pulling up at the kerb, turning the key in the lock, passing his door. It was open, the bed was gone, the cupboards too and the table was back.
The kettle was on the range, steaming quietly. The back door was open and there was the sound of hammering and then a curse. ‘Bloody woman, bloody finger.’
She walked to the door and stood there watching him. He had wedged himself for balance between three tubs. His leg was on, his stick was leaning against the loft, the squeaker was fluttering in the basket.
‘That’s a grand loft, bonny lad. Eric would be proud of you. I’m proud of you.’ Annie was surprised that she could speak through the tightness of her throat.
He turned and put his arms out to her and she went to him, holding him gently, feeling him find his balance, kissing her.
‘No point in having any plops on the bed. Our Sarah couldn’t sell them for rhubarb, could she?’ he said.
Annie felt his lips on hers, so soft, so gentle, so full of love. ‘Frank and Bernie moved everything back upstairs – it’s where I belong.’ He kissed her again. ‘I lost my way for a moment, Annie.’
Annie stroked his hair, his cheek. ‘Tonight I’ll race you up the stairs,’ she said and now she cried because at last there was time.
CHAPTER 10
After a week it was as though Georgie had never been away but it was so much better – the worst had happened and they had survived, he told her when he first made love to her again, tentatively, differently, but completely.
He said it again at the end of the week, as they lay in the moonlight.
‘Now all I have to worry about is you getting jammed in an interlocker,’ Annie said.
Georgie laughed. ‘Never mind the interlocker, it’s the pigeon loft we need to worry about.’
Annie shook her head. ‘Tell you what, let’s not worry about either now.’ She turned, kissed his eyes, cheeks, lips. ‘More physio I think, my darling?’ She was laughing and so was he and then the laughter faded as passion came, and Annie relaxed into his arms knowing that there would still be adjustments, tears, and for him there would always be bouts of pain, but that they were now going forward.
By the end of October they had taken on another worker because Tom had brought back two large orders from the tour, and several smaller ones. ‘We were as professional as the next man,’ he told them as they sat on the beach in the mildness of the Indian summer. ‘I was flashing me cards about all over the place.’
‘As long at that’s all you were flashing,’ Gracie snapped, then shrugged and laughed. ‘Daft really, but I don’t like the idea of you sitting there having lunch with all these smart women, then holding up knickers and bras for them.’
Annie nodded, hearing the shrieks of the children as they ran in and out of the foam, seeing Gracie’s face and the hurt in her eyes.
‘You go with him in February,’ she said firmly, squeezing Gracie’s shoulder. ‘We should have thought of that, I’d have been upset if it had been Georgie. It needs two anyway. We can manage.’
‘Does it matter that Jones wants exclusives?’ Georgie asked and Annie felt Tom’s eyes on her, because they had wondered when Georgie would say this.
Annie chose her words carefully. ‘Jones is dealing with an established company. If he messes us up, it will do him more harm that it will us. From the business point of view, you know, it was a blessing that Manners happened when it did. It shook us up, it made us very careful with our quality, taught us a few lessons.’
She looked at Georgie, then at Tom.
Georgie said, ‘Set you up with the mail order anyway, didn’t it?’
The children were running up the beach now, trailing wet seaweed behind them.
‘Not exactly,’ Tom said and Annie looked at Georgie, at Gracie who was sitting quite still, as she was now, because she knew Tom was going to tell Georgie the truth about the loan. ‘We’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you about this but you see, we had to put the houses against a loan to get mail order underway and we saved the exclusives for the second shot. We couldn’t risk Manners putting the word about that we were selling rejects. It all worked out, Georgie, and we paid off the loan, but had to put up the houses again for the premises.’
They told him then about the consortium, about the need to keep their salaries right down in order to repay their debts and build up their capital reserves again in order to update the machines, increase bonuses, and then go on into textiles.
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br /> Georgie’s face was set. The children were close now, Sarah was panting, laughing and then suddenly Georgie was too. ‘I thought, way back in hospital, that you’d both lost your touch when you said you’d used the rejects for the first shot. Seemed crazy to me but I was too busy trying to live at the time and then I forgot. Sounds about right, all of it. Sounds pretty bloody wonderful. Now let’s have this picnic.’
They ate chicken with sand in it, bread and butter with sand in it and laughed as it grated between their teeth because there were no lies between them any more, the last hurdle had gone. ‘Ambrosia,’ said Tom. ‘Bloody ambrosia. Now all we need is Jones’ order.’
‘Come into the sea now, Uncle Georgie,’ Davy said, throwing his crusts to the gulls.
Sarah looked at her father, at the trousers he wore, at the other children on the beach, some from Wassingham.
Georgie watched the gulls calling, swooping, soaring, then the fathers wading into the surf with their children, jumping the waves. He felt Annie’s hand on his, the softness of her grasp, her love. ‘No, not this year, lad. Me leg would go rusty.’ He smiled but cutting through the laughter of the afternoon came the pain as they had both known it would, on some days.
Sarah looked away, at the men who were lifting their children and dipping them into the sea and felt anger so sharp that it took her breath away and when her mother brought strawberry ice cream out from the bag, unwrapped sheet after sheet of newspaper, and passed one to her, she pushed it back.
‘I hate strawberries. I hate them,’ she shouted and ran down to the sea, away from them all, away from the memory of her mother feeding her father strawberry ice cream and shouting at him in the hospital. Glad that he hadn’t paddled, glad that her friends hadn’t seen him hopping with his stick because you couldn’t go into the sea with a false leg, didn’t Davy know anything? And she wondered where all the anger had come from.
The Central Buyer of T. Jones and Son confirmed his order in early November and Brenda insisted that the machines needed updating immediately.
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