Annie's Promise

by Margaret Graham

  No one had and now Bet said, ‘You and Tom looked tired and pale after your time in London, you know, Gracie.’

  Annie nodded. ‘I certainly felt it when I was nursing. I remember being so tired I couldn’t write, my hands shook so much.’

  Georgie came in through the door. ‘What’s happened?’

  Tom slung across the designs, telling Georgie what they’d been saying, looking at Annie. ‘We must go down. We have to see what’s going on – but they wouldn’t be so stupid, surely?’

  Georgie shrugged, his face anxious. ‘We mustn’t let them think we’re checking up though. We must think of a good reason for going down.’

  Tom was looking at the designs again, then he pushed them from him. ‘I’m disappointed in him either way. These are a load of rubbish.’

  Annie sat forward. ‘Tom, that’s completely unfair, nothing your son does is a load of rubbish. He’s so talented, why can’t you see that? Whatever else we do, you will not tell him you think of them in that way. You must not reject him. Anyway, I don’t know about anyone else but I’m worried sick about them and I want them back here where I can look after them and make sure they eat properly, sleep properly. I hate that bloody city and I want them back for good.’

  She walked to the sink, washing out her mug, wanting to rush down, bring them back, look after them, wipe the differences from them.

  Gracie said, ‘I want them back too.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Tom snapped. ‘It’s 1967, we can’t just go and bring them back here because some silly little sod’s drawn a mindless doodle.’

  ‘Tom,’ Gracie and Annie shouted together.

  Georgie spoke now, his voice measured, his hand beckoning to Annie, pulling her close to him, leaning his head against her body. ‘Now look, we can’t bring them back, it’s just not on. We were allowed to fly, weren’t we, make our own mistakes? This design is just a mistake. What is there here for them until they’re qualified, until they’ve got the excitement out of their systems? Let them finish their courses then let them decide what to do. Remember, it’s a different world down there, we’re so out of step, I can see it when they come up.’

  ‘But I just feel there’s something wrong,’ Annie said.

  Georgie squeezed her. ‘Women always feel there’s something wrong. It’s only a young man and woman putting their heads together and coming up with a modern design – exactly as we asked.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I still feel we need to go down, we just need a good excuse.’

  Annie suggested that they went down to discuss the design. ‘Because Tom, it really would be quite good if it was changed to black and white.’

  Gracie objected. ‘But there’s no need to go down to tell them that, we could do it over the phone and they’d know.’

  Bet spoke now, still patting her lips. ‘Well, why not take some stuff down there for their friends to try out? Tell them it’s a bit of market research – weren’t you thinking of running up some of those PVC blown-up armchairs, Annie, and some Indian cushions? They’d believe that.’

  There was silence and then Annie grinned, left Georgie’s side and hugged Bet. ‘You are a bloody marvel, woman. You’re wasted here, you should be Prime Minister.’

  Sarah brushed the carpet, wiped the paintwork, put the magazines into a neat pile, straightened the bed and checked that there was nothing of Carl’s still here. She checked Davy’s room too, piling up his records, standing the sitar and guitar in the corner, taking down the psychedelic swirls as she had done in her room.

  ‘You’ve got to shave, boil the kettle. Come on, they’ll be here soon.’

  She looked at him sitting on his bed smiling at her, his eyes sunken, his stubble as auburn as his hair, his shoulders sharp beneath his shirt and something caught in her chest. She went and sat with him. ‘Look, we’ve got to cut down on the stuff we’re taking. I know we hardly ever take coke but maybe we shouldn’t take any at all and cut down on the hash. I just don’t want to eat any more and we’ve got so thin. It’s so expensive as well, especially the tabs. We don’t need to trip so much, look where it’s got us. Anyway, I’ve been pulled up at college for non-attendance and poor effort. What about you?’

  ‘You could say that. OK, we’ll cut down.’ His voice was tired from too much hash. ‘What time are Auntie Annie and Da due?’

  Sarah looked at her watch. ‘In half an hour. Oh God, I hope I haven’t missed anything.’

  ‘You’ve missed nothing, it’s as clean as a whistle. They’ll think nothing’s wrong.’ His voice was flat and she looked at him again and now she took his hand. ‘Davy, you’re not on anything else are you? You’re so thin.’

  Sarah gently pushed up his sleeve but there were no needle marks as there had been on Sam’s friend Lou before he overdosed at a party over Christmas, and she felt a flood of relief.

  ‘Yes, we’ll cut down,’ she said. ‘You can do more of your silk painting, think about the future.’

  Davy watched her as she walked to the door, seeing his dream of returning fading because she wanted to stay so much, and he would die for her.

  Sarah boiled the rice, then put it into an enamel dish, adding sardines and tomatoes, grating cheese on top. Carl liked her rice hash. She checked the table, tidied the napkins she had sewn to match the tablecloth, stood back and adjusted the mats. She looked at her watch again, glad that they were coming, that they cared enough to be worried and take the train to London to check on them, because that was why they were coming, there could be no other reason. They would meet Carl and see him as he truly was, not as they feared.

  Davy came in, washed, shaved, a sweater on that hid his thinness. ‘I’m just going to get some beer, can I borrow your scarf?’ He unhooked it from the back of the door.

  ‘But Carl’s bringing back wine from Sam’s.’

  Davy smiled gently. ‘Me da’s a pitman, he likes beer.’

  She heard him walking down the stairs, past the bikes. Oh God, the bikes.

  She rushed down, pushing them against the wall, standing back, seeing one wobble, adjusting it until they were all stable and there was more room to pass. She ran back up the stairs and opened a tin of peaches and another of pears. She tipped the cream into a jug, the milk too. She put on the kettle, then heard them ringing the bell, pushing open the door and she leaned over the banister, calling, ‘Come on up.’

  She saw them inching past the bike, lifting large cartons high above-the handlebars, knocking the phone and laughing as Annie propped hers on Tom’s back whilst she put back the receiver.

  They struggled up the stairs and into her room, dumping the cardboard boxes, hugging her, looking round. ‘It’s so lovely, so fresh,’ Annie said, taking off her gloves and coat, looking at her daughter keenly. ‘You look well but still tired.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘I am tired, there’s a lot to do, but what’re those?’ She pointed to the boxes.

  Tom laughed. ‘We’ll tell you later.’

  Sarah nodded, puzzled, but now she could hear Carl coming up the stairs, along the landing and she was nervous as he knocked before opening the door. Thank God, he’d remembered not just to barge in.

  He stood there so beautiful, so golden and she took his arm, leading him to her mother. ‘This is my mother, Annie Armstrong, and my uncle, Tom Ryan.’

  She watched as they shook hands, as Annie smiled and Tom too, though there was reserve in their voices, in the shortness of the handshake.

  ‘I brought wine,’ Carl said. ‘Where’s your opener Sarah?’

  Thank God he’d remembered that he shouldn’t know where it was.

  Tom started to shake his head at the glass Carl offered him, then smiled as Annie pressed his foot. He took the wine.

  Sarah felt tension tighten her shoulders because Davy had gone for beer for his pitman father. ‘I thought you liked beer, Uncle Tom?’

  Tom stood awkwardly sipping. ‘No, no, I like wine, just don’t have it much somehow. When in Rome, you know.’ He
laughed and Annie talked then of the crowds, how it seemed to have become so busy since her day. ‘But these bedsits are lovely. Is Davy all right? I thought he’d be here?’

  ‘He’s just slipped out,’ Sarah said, as she checked the rice, stepping back as the heat billowed up into her face, wishing she had stopped him, wishing Tom had refused. Oh God, it was all going wrong.

  Davy ran up the stairs as they sat talking of Carl’s skiing holiday and burst in, his scarf flying, his arms full of beer. His smile faded as he saw the wine in his father’s hand. Annie stood up, glancing at Sarah, concern in both their faces.

  ‘How lovely to see you Davy. The designs were very interesting. We were fascinated.’ Annie was taking the beer from him, kissing his cheek as Tom came across.

  ‘Yes, lad, we couldn’t wait to see you so that we could discuss them but we were wondering if they could be in black and white? Didn’t like to do it before we had spoken to you but it would give a greater feeling of perspective – what d’you think?’

  Sarah smiled at Carl, whispering, ‘You see, they do care, they don’t use us, they’ve come all this way to check, using the design discussion as an excuse. I knew you were wrong, my darling.’

  She watched as she saw Davy’s slow smile, his brief nod as he unscrewed the beer bottle, pouring it for himself, lifting it towards his father, who looked at Annie, then grinned and said, ‘Well, I’m not a Roman, am I?’

  Sarah laughed with her mother, though Carl stood there silent. She squeezed his arm, knowing that the warmth of her family had taken him by surprise, that there was regret in him at all he had said, at all he had not experienced with his own mother.

  They sat down at the table, listened as Davy talked to his father about the salt method he was using to obtain different effects with his silk painting.

  ‘You see, Da, the salt absorbs water which has paint dissolved in it, and this leaves traces behind on the fabric. They can form all sorts of different outlines, some clumsy, some delicate. I’ve some in my room.’

  Tom laughed, his hand restraining Davy, his elbow nudging Annie who sensed his delight in the enthusiasm, the lack of any signs of drug abuse. She toyed with her rice, putting small amounts in her mouth, forcing herself to swallow because Sarah wasn’t to know that after the camps she had never been able to face it again.

  Davy went to his room when he had finished eating. Annie forced down more rice, but with it half eaten she put her fork down. ‘It’s the excitement of London getting to me. I can’t eat but it was lovely, my darling.’

  Sarah cleared away, bringing the tinned fruit and the cream as Davy showed Tom and Annie the salt effects on twill, satin taffeta and chiffon, and Sarah was pleased that his hands trembled only a little.

  Annie held them up, comparing them. ‘I wonder if this could be used for evening dresses – it’s so beautiful, each one’s different.’

  ‘That’s it exactly, Auntie Annie – it is unique and the punters like that.’

  Tom finished his beer. ‘Mm, but it would still need to be run as a department on its own. Let’s think about it some more when you next come home.’

  Annie washed the dishes, understanding now how they had become so thin in London – there was so much to do, so much self-exploration. Just look at Davy’s salt effects, his enthusiasm. Of course the nights were a waste of time when there was all this to discover.

  Sarah called her for coffee and they laughed at Davy’s story of the art lecturer who was so vague he not only forgot which lecture he should be taking, but at which college. Carl passed Annie the sugar. ‘What are those boxes?’ he asked quietly, nodding to the cartons.

  Tom looked at Annie. ‘Well, it’s the reason we’re here really. You see we thought we’d try out this new fad for PVC and we’ve run up some inflatable chairs that we thought we’d bring down for you to try for us, and ask your friends. It’s a bit of market research. There are some cushions too, which we gather people like to sit on – like that one over there.’ Tom nodded towards the one Sarah had bought from the market.

  Sarah felt something die in her. ‘Fine, I’ll ask.’ Somehow she didn’t cry. Somehow she laughed and talked until they’d gone, somehow she kissed her mother and nodded when Annie said, ‘If you ever need me, ring me.’

  Now, as the door closed she looked at Davy and knew that they were both feeling the same. She put her arm through her cousin’s and leant her head on his shoulder but then Carl called her back into the room. He stood by the boxes, pushing at one with his foot. ‘So, they came because they were concerned, did they?’ he said, his voice tight with anger. ‘Did they hell. They came so that they could use you again, and me this time. When’s it going to bloody stop?’

  They heard Davy slam the front door and she ran to the window, shouting ‘Davy, come back, let’s talk about it, all of us.’ But he didn’t turn, just waved his hand and kept on walking.

  Carl pulled her back. ‘Leave him, he’s the one who nearly blew it, he’s the one who always nearly blows it while you pick up the pieces.’

  ‘That’s not – ’ but his mouth was on hers, hard, savage, his arms about her, holding her. ‘They’re all a dead loss,’ he said at last, heating up hash for them both which she drew in deeply, wanting to ease the pain because at last she saw he had been speaking truth for all these months.

  That evening she and Carl blew up one of the armchairs, taking turns, feeling their sides aching, their heads bursting as they did so, and then they shared a joint, and kissed, hard, deep but all the time she listened for Davy.

  Carl undid her buttons, and she his. Their naked bodies were against one another. She clutched at him, holding him close and still there was no Davy and anger rose in her from the dead coldness there had been since her mother left. She gripped Carl’s head between her hands, kissing him. He pulled back and kissed her breasts her belly, her thighs, her mouth again, then pulled her down on top of him, on top of the chair.

  She pressed her body against him, then she was easing him inside her, moving with him, cursing the bloody chair. Then she eased herself away from him, pulling him to the bed, and lighting a joint. They smoked, and as her head began to float she crawled to the chair and pressed the butt into it, watching it shrivel and deflate beside her and now she laughed again until the laughter turned to tears.

  That night she didn’t sleep but lay with Carl and thought of her mother who hadn’t eaten the meal she had cooked, who hadn’t come because she cared but because she’d wanted to use them. She thought of her shouting at her da, forcing him into the mine, who lived for her life for the factory and had been too busy to come pigeon-racing with her daughter and husband. Carl had been right all along and it was time she grew up and let them go.

  Tom and Annie sat on the train, their feet throbbing, their heads aching.

  ‘What did you think, bonny lass?’ Tom asked.

  Annie rubbed her eyes, pressing her fingers into her forehead. ‘If I lived in London I’d look pale and interesting too – I think they’re all right. They say you can smell pot. I didn’t smell anything.’

  ‘You didn’t eat much either, but you did well to get through as much as you did. Yes, I think they’re fine too. It was great, Annie, seeing that enthusiasm in their eyes. I mean, that salt technique is very interesting and I’d forgotten. I’d also forgotten how hard I worked when Gracie and I were down. I painted murals to make extra money, d’you remember?’

  She did. She remembered the Mickey Mouse gasmasks too, when Tom told her of his journey back up. ‘One little horror kept blowing raspberries with his, blimey I pity the family that got him.’

  ‘Did you like Carl?’ Annie asked Tom, looking at her hands, at the broken Ruby Red.

  ‘No, he reminded me of Don.’

  Annie nodded, rubbing her finger. ‘I thought so too – so why does she love him, because she does you know?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Because he’s handsome, blond and she hasn’t been through everything we have. We mig
ht be wrong. We were wrong to panic over those designs – Georgie was right. Anyway, didn’t you ever make mistakes with your men?’

  Annie blushed and looked at him. Oh no, Tom Ryan, you’re not going to hear about my mistakes. She laughed and shook her finger at him. ‘Just you make sure that you keep in touch with young Davy, not just Rob. You didn’t tell him you were going away to the conference with Rob, did you?’

  Tom blushed. ‘I had to, he asked me to come down for an exhibition he was interested in seeing. I had to tell the truth.’

  Sarah and Davy didn’t go home for Easter, but pleaded pressure of work, telling Tom and Annie that the cushions had a market but there were too many down here doing it already and the armchairs hadn’t taken off at all. She and Davy still sent samples because they were smoking as much pot and hash, taking LSD, and needed the money. But no coke, they promised one another.

  Sarah had started driving lessons in February, and never smoked before them, though she often smoked afterwards as she made the others laugh about her kangaroo jumps, her back to front hand signals, her terror, but she did well and loved the freedom of it all. Davy wouldn’t learn. ‘It’s too much hassle,’ he groaned. ‘And one lunatic on the road is enough.’

  Sarah’s letters home were short, but she did write or they would be down again, taking them back, hauling them from this life they loved. There was no anger in her, just nothing and she didn’t bother to answer her mother’s query about the turmoil at the LSE. What did they understand about students up in Wassingham?

  In May she took her test and passed and they celebrated with champagne and LSD. In June they played at even more gigs and she and Davy bought a Mini to share which they painted purple and decorated with sunflowers. Increasingly Davy could barely stand, let alone play at the gigs.

  ‘I’m fine, bonny lass,’ he said when they played at the club behind their digs as heat beat down on the city at the end of June. His arms hung limp on stage, his eyes were glazed, the smell of beer was on his breath, the smell of pot on his clothes.