Rosie Thomas 4-Book Collection

by Rosie Thomas

  Steve watched her face and she knew that he was reading it, and her thoughts flickering behind it. He lifted and smoothed back a fine strand of hair that had caught up at the corner of her mouth, and then his fingers slid under the thickness of hair at the nape of her neck.

  ‘You know, Annie,’ he said, ‘that we started at the end, you and me. The two of us, stripped down in the darkness, nowhere further to go. It’s hard to go back and fill in the steps.’

  She saw his crooked, amused smile as he ticked the steps off. ‘How do you do? What do you do? How, and where, and what for? I wonder. Another drink? You feel the same? We must be kindred spirits. Let’s talk some more, your husband isn’t looking. Am I boring you? Monopolizing you? No? I’m glad we met. Very glad. Yes, another drink. More talk. Is it so late already? Could we perhaps meet again? Lunch. Yes, lunch some time very soon.’

  ‘You must be very practised,’ Annie said. Steve shook his head to answer her, and she saw his truthfulness too.

  ‘At that. Not at this. This hasn’t happened, never. I don’t know, any more than you do, how to explain the strangers we were and what we are now. I can’t deny it, Annie, and now that I’m holding you like this I know that you can’t deny it either. Nor can I justify it, because of what it means to your family. Wait.’

  She had tried to move backwards then, to disengage herself, but he held her too tightly.

  ‘There hasn’t been any neat social two-step between you and me, my love. We came together without anything except ourselves, the parts of ourselves that were real in that bloody wreckage. It was real then, and it is still real now.’

  He turned her chin with his fingertips to make her look up at him, and at last she returned his clear gaze.

  ‘I’ve never taken you to dinner. We’ve never met for a clandestine drink, and so I don’t know whether you prefer white wine spritzers or vodka martinis. We haven’t taken those particular steps together and we won’t do, now. I’m glad, because I don’t believe you tread that path in any case. And we haven’t made love, although I want you now more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in all my life.’

  Annie knew that that was the truth. She felt the colour hot in her cheeks, but her eyes held his.

  ‘I’d lie down with you here, now, this minute, if only we could,’ she whispered.

  Steve leant forward and for a second his lips were hard against hers.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. He was smiling, but the pulse was still beating at the base of his throat. ‘I will remind you of that. For now, I just want to tell you something.’ He stopped, looking for the words, and Annie understood that Steve was as vulnerable as she was herself. He shrugged then, almost like a boy, and said in a voice so low that she had to strain to catch what he said, ‘You know that I love you, Annie, don’t you?’

  In the silence that followed she heard the echoes in her head, I love you, Annie, and happiness fluttered against her ribs again. She lifted Steve’s hands and looked down at his knuckles, touching them gently, wonderingly, with her thumb.

  From outside in the corridor came the squeak of hurrying feet and a door swung open and shut with a hiss and a bang. In the distance a trolley rattled at the big doors of the lift.

  It was so quiet in the room, and the noise outside sharpened her awareness of the difference between there and here. She was hidden with Steve in this little square box. Martin told her, I love you, and that was the truth too.

  ‘I did know,’ Annie said at last, thinking that the words fell gracelessly, like stones. She tried to cover them, saying too quickly, ‘Steve, I didn’t …’ but he stopped her from going any further.

  ‘That’s all,’ he said. ‘I wanted you to know, before you go. Will you think about it, Annie?’

  Very carefully, keeping her mouth steady, Annie said, ‘I won’t be able to think about anything else.’ That was her admission. Her face crumpled then and she blinked to keep back the tears. ‘I don’t want to go, Steve. I …’

  Not even Annie knew what she might have said, because he stopped her with his hands to her lips.

  ‘Think about it,’ he repeated. Steve moved his weight awkwardly against the edge of the bed, and Annie knew that he was thinking, Bandages, crutches.

  ‘It won’t be long,’ she said. ‘They’ll let you go soon.’

  ‘Until they do, will you come and visit me?’

  ‘Like all the others?’ Annie smiled suddenly as she copied old Frank’s descriptive outline in the air, but Steve caught her hands and kissed them.

  ‘Not like that at all. Will you?’

  Annie knew that she would come. The prospect of it seemed now the only way that she could bear to leave him.

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘As often as I can. I promise I will.’

  ‘It won’t be long,’ he echoed, and they looked at one another soberly.

  ‘What will you say to Martin?’ he asked, because he couldn’t help it.

  Annie let go of his hands. She turned her head to look at the window, and then walked slowly across the room. Dozens of other windows faced into the dark well. She saw the edges of curtains, cupboards, and through one window opposite the crimped edge of a sister’s cap as she sat at a desk.

  Painfully, she said, ‘I won’t tell Martin anything. There isn’t anything to tell, yet, is there? I don’t want to hurt him.’ Annie realized that she was rationalizing aloud. She didn’t understand herself what was happening, not yet. ‘I have to think,’ she said softly. Steve nodded, accepting. Annie went back to him and rested her head against his shoulder. Out of the tangle of feelings, suddenly happiness was dominant again. They had come through all of it, and they had held on to one another.

  With his mouth against her hair he whispered, ‘We should go now.’

  Annie wanted to leave this, too, at the point that they had reached. She let herself hold on to him for a moment longer, and then she slipped out of his reach. She stooped to pick up his hated crutches and fitted them gently under his arms so that he could walk again.

  Watching her, Steve thought that he had never seen anyone as clearly, with such intimacy, as he saw Annie now. With her hand at his elbow he lumbered towards the door. A cramp gnawed at his good leg so that he swayed, leaning against Annie for support, and she almost fell under his weight. They struggled for a moment before they were steady, and then they stood upright. Laughter washed over them until Annie had to hold on to the door jamb for support. She found herself thinking, How can this have happened, out of pain and fear, this laughter, and the happiness of loving a stranger?

  But it had happened. There was no going back now.

  ‘It isn’t funny,’ Steve protested as their laughter died down. ‘I’m incapable.’ He saw the brightness of Annie’s eyes.

  ‘That’s just as well. Think what might have happened otherwise.’ She dodged past him, and went to smooth the hospital bedcover back into its rigid folds. ‘There. Now Sister will never guess.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. She’s probably got a spyhole somewhere.’

  ‘Now you tell me.’

  Annie peered through the glass porthole. Her face was serious again as she turned back to him, and then leant forward to touch her mouth to his.

  Neither of them spoke, because in that long moment there was no need to.

  It was Annie who moved first. Slowly she opened the door. She saw that the corridor was deserted and so she went quickly away, without looking back, afraid that if she didn’t leave him then she never would.

  Martin came to collect her the next morning.

  Annie had packed her bag, and she was waiting for him, sitting in the chair beside her empty bed, when Sylvia saw him through the open doors and called across to her, ‘Here he comes, love.’

  She stood up to meet him and he kissed her cheek, both of them aware of all the others watching them. Annie felt the familiarity of him beside her, and at the same time her fear of leaving the safe, small hospital world.

  Martin picked up her bag.
‘Ready?’

  ‘I just want to say goodbye.’

  The nurses and the other patients were already waiting, lined up in dressing gowns and uniforms at the ward doors. Annie saw the sister slip out through the doors. With Martin at her side Annie said goodbye to each one of the others. Their good wishes and congratulations made a lump in her throat, and she was afraid that she was going to cry.

  She was reaching the end of the row when the ward door opened again. The sister was back and there were others with her, all the men from the adjoining ward who were well enough to walk. Frankie the news vendor was at the head of them, with a big bunch of cellophane-wrapped roses in his arms. He held them out to her, beaming. ‘Here you are, my duck. You’re a brave girl. Good luck, from all of us.’

  Behind him, taller than the others, she saw Steve’s dark head.

  Not brave, Annie thought. For an instant she thought that the terrible pull, one way and then the other, would tear her in half. She took the flowers blindly and kissed Frankie’s cheek. There were other kisses too, but in all the press of people she felt a light touch on her shoulder and she knew that it was Steve’s. She nodded, not trusting herself to look at him, and stumbled forward with her flowers. She felt rather than saw that Martin held out his hand to Steve.

  They were calling out to her, ‘Good luck, Annie. Think of us, still in here.’

  Martin’s hand was at her elbow now, guiding her. Steeling herself she turned to look back, seeing the cluster of faces as pale blobs, except for Steve’s. Every detail of Steve’s face was clear.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said as steadily as she could, ‘for the flowers, everything. Take care of yourselves.’

  As her husband led her away she felt Steve immobile on his crutches behind them, watching her go.

  Outside, the world seemed to teem with people and reverberate with traffic. Annie sat in the passenger seat of the car as they threaded precariously through it. Martin was whistling softly as he drove, and then at a red traffic light he leaned across and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘How does it feel?’ he grinned at her.

  ‘Strange,’ she answered, and feeling the coolness of that she added quickly, ‘Wonderful.’

  Martin glanced at her and then as the car slid forward again he said, ‘You’ll have to take it easy, even though you’re well enough to be at home. Everything’s organized for you.’

  Annie put her hand out to touch the knee of his corduroy trousers. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  They began the familiar climb up the hill towards home, in the grinding stream of lorries and buses, under the span of the wrought-iron bridge that Annie often crossed with the boys, on their way to the park. She looked up at it, curiously, as if she were seeing it for the first time. At the top of the hill they turned, out of the traffic, into quiet streets. The corner shops were familiar here, and then they passed the tube station that Annie had hurried into on her way to do the Christmas shopping, six weeks ago.

  A minute later they reached the end of their road.

  She looked down the length of it and saw their house, red bricks faced with yellow, bay windows under a little pointed roof. The car stopped outside and Annie saw the boys’ faces bob up at the bedroom window.

  Martin took her hand. ‘I didn’t tell the whole world that you would be home today. Everyone wanted to be here, to welcome you, but I thought you might not like a big reception committee.’

  Annie smiled at him, touched by his care. But Martin was always kind, in just that way.

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘They can all come another day.’

  Martin helped her out of the car and they went up the path hand in hand.

  ‘Thomas and Ben have arranged their own welcome party. Ready?’

  She nodded, wondering, and Martin opened the front door.

  The hallway was hung everywhere with hand-painted streamers, and huge, cut-out letters dangling from the ceiling spelt out the message WELCOME HOME MUMMY. There was a second’s silence as Annie looked at it and different tears burned in her eyes. And then the children, unable to hide any longer, burst out and tumbled down the stairs into her arms.

  ‘Did you like it? Were you surprised?’ Tom demanded.

  ‘I coloured the ribbons,’ Benjy shouted. ‘All these. They go right up the stairs. Look, Mummy.’

  Annie looked, and saw Barbara coming out of the kitchen, smiling at her. Through the open doors beside her she saw a fire burning in the polished grate. The house was warm, lived-in and comfortable and happy. Her tears blurred the welcome sight of it and ran down her cheeks.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ Benjy asked and she held him so that his face was warm against hers.

  ‘Because I’m glad to be home.’

  Barbara hugged her, and then the boys took Annie’s hands and she let them lead her upstairs. She found that the bedroom was bright with flowers, and the covers were turned down ready for her on the wide bed. Propped against the pillows was a small, threadbare teddy.

  ‘I put my ted in, see, to keep you company,’ Benjy announced.

  ‘I told him that you probably wouldn’t want his smelly teddy,’ Thomas added.

  ‘I do. Of course I do.’

  She sat down on the bed, feeling the familiar sag under her weight, and the boys crowded anxiously against her.

  ‘You won’t have to go back again, will you?’ Thomas’s casual voice tried to hide his anxiety.

  ‘No, darling, I won’t have to go away again.’ With her arms around her children Annie looked out of the window at the view, the unchanged composition of slate roofs and bay windows and bare tree branches, thinking.

  Nothing was different, and yet the whole world had changed.

  She rested her cheek wearily against Benjy’s smooth head.

  Martin brought in a glass vase with the hospital’s red roses arranged in it. Their colour reminded her of blood, and of Steve, motionless in the hospital corridor, watching her go.

  Martin crossed the room and touched his finger to her cheek.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Annie lied to him. ‘Of course I am.’

  Six

  Annie was cooking dinner. She moved slowly to and fro in the kitchen, opening doors and taking out pans, collecting ingredients from the larder. It seemed a long time since she had done anything of the kind. She had made suppers for the boys, and she had started cooking for herself and Martin within a few days of being home again. Barbara had done it to begin with, but after a few days Annie had taken control. It surprised her to recognize how much she minded the displacement from her own kitchen, and she thought, I must be more like Tibby than I’ve ever realized. But tonight was the first proper dinner. It had been Martin’s idea.

  ‘You haven’t had your welcome home party,’ he had announced one night. ‘Now you’re better, we should all go out to dinner somewhere. We could ask Gail and Ian.’

  Enthusiastically he had named three other couples, old friends and neighbours.

  ‘It’ll cost a fortune to take all of them out,’ Annie had said.

  ‘Oh, we can all pay for ourselves.’

  ‘You can’t ask them out to celebrate and then make them pay,’ Annie protested. It was so like a hundred other plans and discussions that they had had over the years that she smiled suddenly.

  ‘Ask them here. I’ll make chilli or something.’

  ‘Can you cope with that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she had said. ‘I’m sure I can.’

  ‘I’ll help.’

  Martin had put his warm hand out to cover hers, and then they had turned on the television to watch the news.

  And so it had been arranged. Three couples were coming to dinner, and because she wanted to make everything the same as it would have been before, Annie had decided that it must be a proper meal. She was a good cook, and her dinners had a reputation amongst their friends. So she had planned an elaborate menu, and done the shopping this morning while Benjy was at nursery. Now bot
h the boys were watching television in the sitting room. Annie put down the big casserole dish she had taken out of the cupboard and went to stand in the doorway to look at them.

  Tom was sitting on the sofa with his knees drawn up and his chin sunk into his jersey, his eyes fixed on the screen. Benjy was lying on the floor with strands of fine hair fanning out around his head. It was much too long, Annie noted automatically. She must take him for a haircut.

  ‘D’you want a peanut butter sandwich, either of you, before I start cooking?’ she asked. Neither of them spoke or took their eyes off the television and she asked again, hearing herself on the point of shouting at them.

  ‘Oh. Yes, okay,’ Tom said and Benjy declared, ‘I want the same as Thomas,’ just as he always did.

  Annie went back into the kitchen and made the sandwiches, took them through to the boys, and then started work.

  She made a stuffing of spinach and calves’ liver cooked pink and spread it in the boned shoulder of lamb she had stood over her butcher for this morning. She rolled the meat and trussed it neatly with string, then browned it in the frying pan. The smell of fatty meat made her feel slightly sick.

  Annie looked at the clock. It was almost six o’clock. She had intended to make her own puff pastry to wrap around the lamb, but she realized now that there wasn’t time for that. She opened the freezer and rummaged for a packet of ready-made, then left it to defrost while she began work on the starter. She had made the same mousselines of sole a dozen times before, but today the fish seemed full of tiny, hair-line bones and her fingers felt clumsy and stiff as she tried to pick them out with the slivers of grey skin that stuck everywhere.

  The buzz of the blender sounded unnaturally loud, sawing through her head.