Liverpool Annie

by Maureen Lee

Stickley & Plumm, solicitors, were situated in North John Street, in the business centre of Liverpool, where they occupied three floors above an exclusive gentlemen's outfitters and a travel agent. An old-established, highly reputable firm, Mr Stickley and Mr Plumm were old bones, and of the four partners, Jeremy Rupert was

  the most junior. There were nine other solicitors, ranging from very young to very old.

  Annie had started in the typing pool two and a half years ago. She was sixteen and had just left Machin & Harpers with the next to highest speeds in her class; 120 words per minute shorthand, 60 typing.

  Just as she had been a good pupil, Annie was an equally good worker. She was neat, both in her dress and in her work, conscientious and punctual. Only Annie herself was surprised when, despite her youth, she was offered the job of Jeremy Rupert's secretary when the current occupant retired. The other secretaries were more than twice her age.

  Not only did it mean an increase in wages, but Mr Rupert was head of the Litigation Department, where the work was vastly more interesting than conveyancing or probate, involving simple but fascinating disputes from litigants squabbling over the situation of boundary walls and fences, to violent criminal activities including the occasional murder.

  Annie loved the work. Lately, though, Mr Rupert's roving hands had become a problem.

  Sylvia linked her arm. 'Let's have lunch in the New Court.'

  'But it'll be nearly all men,' Annie protested.

  Sylvia flung the corner of her shawl over her shoulder with a flourish. 'Why do you think I want to go?'

  'You know what you are?' said Annie as they strolled along. The streets were packed with office workers. It was a crisp, sunny December day and the small shops were tastefully decorated for Christmas. 'You're a prickteaser. You enjoy flaunting yourself in front of men,'

  Sylvia raised her fine eyebrows. 'That's a rather vulgar expression coming from the prim and proper Miss Annie Harrison!'

  'That's how Mike described his new girlfriend. Mind you, Dot still gave him a clip round the ear, even though he's twenty-three.'

  'Mike! Is he still so depressingly boring?'

  'Mike isn't the least bit boring.' Annie sprang to the defence of her cousin. 'Anyroad, he considers you incredibly conceited.'

  'That's because I've got plenty to be conceited about.' Sylvia glanced at her reflection in a shop window as if to confirm the truth of this remark: not that there was any need for confirmation, the admiring looks from passers-by, particularly the men, were enough to convince any girl she was outstanding.

  The looks weren't just for Sylvia. The two girls were in stark contrast to each other: Sylvia in her flamboyant outfit, her straight creamy hair spread fanlike over her woollen shawl, and Annie, quietly dressed in a sensible coat, the frill of her white blouse spurting from under the collar, yet, in her own way, equally flamboyant with her russet curls, cheeks pinker than usual from the cold, and gold-lashed blue-grey eyes. Both were tall, though Sylvia was as slender as a model and two sizes smaller than her more voluptuous companion.

  The men in the New Court were suitably impressed when the girls went in. Sylvia swept haughtily up to the bar and ordered shandy and cheese sandwiches, apparently oblivious to the stir they had created. She winked at Annie. 'If you ignore them, it drives them wild.'

  'Do you like my shawl?' she asked when they were seated.

  'It's very nice,' Annie said dutifully.

  'Cecy had it made. She'll order one for you, if you hke.'

  'I don't want to hurt her feelings, but tell her no ta. I can't see meself in a shawl.'

  'She misses you terribly, Annie,' Sylvia said, serious for once.

  'I miss her, too - and Bruno.'

  'You didn't have to leave. You can come back any time you want.'

  'I know, Syl,' Annie said patiently. They had the same discussion at least once a week. 'But it was time me and Marie lived together.'

  'But Marie will be moving to London once she finishes her drama course. You can't live in that horrible little flat all on your own!'

  'It's not little and it's not horrible. I really like it there.'

  'Better than the Grand?' Sylvia looked hurt.

  'Of course not!'

  The girls finished their meal and left the pub. Outside, they made arrangements to meet when Annie finished work at Saturday lunchtime. 'We'll go shopping, catch a movie, and finish off at the Cavern,' Sylvia announced.

  Annie couldn't help but smile at the 'catch a movie'. Her friend had become very Americanised since she started College. She referred to men as 'guys' and said 'kinda' instead of 'kind of.

  Sylvia kissed her cheek and said, 'See ya, Annie', and waltzed off into the crowd. Annie submitted to the kiss, embarrassed. It was something else Sylvia had started to do. They must be a pretentious lot at Art College.

  As she climbed the stairs to her office on the second floor, she passed Reception, where Miss Hunt, secretary to Mr Granger, the senior partner, was on the telephone. She put the receiver down and glanced pointedly at her watch.

  Annie stuck her head inside. 'Mr Rupert said I could have an extra fifteen minutes. I was late leaving.'

  Miss Hunt was the longest-serving female employee

  in the firm. A tall, painfully thin woman with a penchant for pastel twinsets and tight perms, she was the butt of cruel office jokes of which Annie hoped she was ignorant, or her permanent anguished frown might have grown deeper. Miss Hunt had spent most of her adult life attending to Arnold Grayson's every whim. She shopped for him, to the extent, it was rumoured, of buying his underwear. On his behalf, she sent birthday presents to his wife and children, arranged his holidays, paid his bills. More than once, she had been seen kneeling on the floor tying Arnold Grayson's shoelaces.

  Outside his office. Miss Hunt was a different person. She was nominally in charge of female employees, who often felt the lash of her acerbic tongue if they were late or their work didn't come up to scratch, and woe betide them if they spent too much time gossiping in the Ladies.

  Her narrow yellow face twisted into what might possibly be a smile when Annie spoke. 'I thought it wasn't like you to be late. Miss Harrison. Was that your friend who came for you earlier?'

  'Yes, Sylvia. It's all right for her to come in, isn't it?'

  'Of course. She looks rather Bohemian,' Miss Hunt said wistfully, as if she wouldn't have minded being a bit Bohemian herself.

  'She's at Art College,' said Annie, as if that explained everything. She was never sure if Sylvia was a Bohemian, an Existentialist or a Beatnik. 'We only lunch on Thursdays, when she has a free period.'

  Back at her desk, Annie flicked through her shorthand notebook and found only two more letters, both short. She typed them quickly, put them in the blotting folder on Mr Rupert's desk ready for him to sign along with those done that morning, and swept the leather top clear of cigarette ash. She then caught up with the filing. It wasn't yet half two and she had nothing else to do. In

  practice, she was supposed to collect work from the typing pool to fill in time before her boss appeared, but Annie wasn't in the mood to be a model secretary that afternoon.

  She sank her chin onto her hands, laid palm downwards on the typewriter. She'd hated leaving the Grand and upsetting Cecy, but there'd been Marie to consider. Marie was living next door to Auntie Dot with an increasingly ailing old lady, and Annie was left with the old, familiar sensation of guilt, of feeling responsible for her sister.

  The telephone rang in Mr Rupert's office. Annie picked up her extension, which usually made her feel very important, and made an appointment for a client to see him the following week.

  Downstairs, someone called, 'Rose, Ro-ose. Mr Bunyon and his client would like a cup of tea straight away.'

  'I've only got one bloody pair of hands. I'll be as quick as I can,' a hoarse voice replied. Rose, the tealady, could be heard angrily banging dishes in the kitchen. Almost eighty. Rose was a breath of fresh air in the dull and stultifying atmosph
ere that prevailed in the offices of Stickley & Plumm. She never hesitated to speak her mind. If anyone didn't like it, all they had to do was sack her, she said challengingly.

  Annie returned to her reverie. Rose!

  'How are you getting on with the girls, Rosef Don't forget, I'd be happy to have them if they're too much for you.'

  'Don't put on your little act with me. Rose.'

  'It's time to forgive and forget. Rose.'

  Dot's voice. Then another, throbbing with excitement. 'It's the Harrisons, they've done themselves in. Gas, I think it was.'

  Although she was sitting down, Annie's legs felt

  weak, as if she'd been running too fast and too far. Perspiration trickled down her armpits, despite the deodorant she'd rubbed on that morning, as she began to relive that terrible night. She'd relived it a thousand times already. Lately the memory returned less and less, but it took the smallest thing, like someone calling 'Rose', for it all to come flooding back.

  She left the sands and ran towards the Grand, trying to keep a look-out for Bruno, but the cars that whizzed by all looked the same. Suppose he just dropped Marie off at the end of Orlando Street!

  Bruno was about to leave when Annie came stumbling up. She threw herself onto the bonnet, and the Mercedes stopped with a screech of brakes. 'For goodness' sake, Annie!' came Bruno's irritable voice. 'Are you trying to commit suicide?'

  She tried to explain, but the words refused to come. There seemed no words in the dictionary to describe what she'd just seen. 'Me mam, me dad' she croaked, but that was all. She stood, ice-cold and trembling. Even when Bruno shook her by the shoulders, she still couldn't speak.

  Then Cecy and Sylvia came and took her inside. Bruno said crisply, 'Stay here, Marie.' He got into the car and drove away.

  Cecy made a cup of tea and Annie drank it gratefully. 'Perhaps a drop of whisky?' Cecy suggested, but Sylvia said in a scared voice, 'She had whisky earlier and it made her sick.'

  Marie looked terrified. 'What's happened, sis?'

  Annie opened her arms and her sister fell into them. Words came at last. 'They're dead, Marie. Our mam and dad are dead.'

  Cecy gasped. 'God rest their souls.' She crossed herself.

  'The thing is,' Annie sobbed, 'it's ail my fault. I killed them. They wouldn't come to see the play and I said the most terrible things.'

  'You can't kill people with words, Annie,' Cecy said, puzzled.

  '/ did!'

  'I don't understand, dear.'

  But no matter how Annie tried, she couldn't even begin to describe the horrific sight she'd so recently witnessed.

  After a while, Bruno returned with a weeping Auntie Dot. A neighbour had known she was a relative and the police arrived with the tragic news. Bruno found her and Bert in Orlando Street. Bert stayed behind to deal with all the questions that had to be answered.

  'Oh, my poor Uttle lambs!' Dot embraced Annie and Marie in her scrawny arms. 'Trust our Ken! Even at the very end. Rose is the only one he gives a toss for. Didn't care, did he, that one of you girls was bound to find them? Poor Annie!' She stroked Annie's curls. 'What a thing to happen, eh? I could strangle the bugger with me bare hands,' she added.

  Bruno had been talking quietly to his wife and daughter, and Cecy began to cry. Sylvia stared at Annie unbelievingly.

  'But Dot, none of it would have happened if it wasn't for me,' Annie cried hoarsely. 'It was my fault. I drove them to it. Oh, if only I'd kept me big mouth shut, they'd still be alive.'

  'What are you talking about, luv?'

  'I'm the wickedest person in the world.' Annie felt as if her head would burst. How was she going to live with this for the rest of her life? 'The things I said!'

  'Hold on a minute.' Bruno grabbed Annie's arm. 'Your father killed your mother, then himself. It was nothing to do with you.'

  'It was, it was,' Annie wept.

  'He left a note,' Bruno said harshly. 'He was dying of cancer. There were only a few weeks left. He took your mother with him.'

  Annie shook her head. 'That was just an excuse. He didn't want me to think I was responsible.'

  'No, luv,' Dot broke in. 'The note was typed. Your dad must have done it in the office before he came home. Nothing you said would have made any difference. He had it all planned.'

  It was long past midnight by the time Bruno took Dot home. Marie went with them. Cecy had offered to keep both girls, but Marie preferred to be with her aunt. 'She can sleep with me. Bert won't mind dossing down in the parlour for a night or two,' said Dot.

  Annie went to bed in the spare room feeling lightheaded with relief, but when she woke next morning she could smell gas and, every time she closed her eyes, she saw the bodies of Mam and Dad lying in the kitchen. I pushed his legs all crooked, she remembered.

  When Cecy came in, she found Annie almost hysterical with guilt and grief. 'They were still terrible things to say when he felt so ill, when he was dying,' she said in a cracked voice.

  Cecy stroked her forehead. 'He probably wasn't listening, dear. He almost certainly didn't take in a word you said.'

  'But what if he did? And another thing, if I'd looked after them better, he wouldn't have felt the need to take Mam with him.'

  'Annie, dear, you're only fifteen,' Cecy said softly. 'You've had far too much responsibility in your young life. Soon, you can put this all behind you and start having a nice time, like other young girls do.'

  'I was already having a nice time. I neglected them. I

  should have stayed in more often. I should have stayed in all the time.' Annie began to cry. 'I'd never have gone out if I'd known me dad was dying.'

  'Of course you wouldn't,' Cecy said gently. 'You know, your forehead's awfully hot, I think I'll call the doctor.'

  The doctor came and prescribed tablets. For the next few days, Annie swam in and out of nightmarish sleep and periods awake when everything in the room seemed to be moving silently. The furniture would loom up as if it were about to fall on top of her, then recede just in time. The pictures on the wall detached themselves and floated around like leaves in a breeze. Dot came, and Marie. Sylvia and Cecy seemed to be there all the time. Heads were unnaturally large, voices slow and deep like a broken record on a gramophone.

  'I'm a terrible nuisance,' Annie would say in moments of lucidity.

  One morning, she woke up feeling better. She sat up. The furniture stayed in place and the pictures remained on the walls. Annie looked around with interest. She hadn't noticed what an elegant room this was, with its silver and grey wallpaper and dove-grey satin curtains that hung in smooth folds over the narrow windows. The eiderdown and coverlet were the same material, and even the furniture was a pale bleached grey. By contrast, the carpet was deep rippled pink.

  Cecy came in. Her head was a normal size and she gave a delighted smile when she saw Annie sitting up. 'Ah, I think this is the old Annie. You're looking well, dear. The colour's already back in your cheeks.'

  She rushed away to make a cup of tea. A few minutes later, Sylvia appeared in a white quilted dressing gown, her blonde hair mussed. She gave a sigh of relief. 'Jaysus, Annie, you had us worried.'

  'You caught that from me Auntie Dot.'

  Sylvia sat crosslegged on the plump eiderdown. 'Caught what?'

  'The "Jaysus". She always says it.'

  '"Jaysus" is such a lovely word!'

  They grinned at each other. Sylvia reached for Annie's hand. 'Oh, it's good to see you your old self again.'

  Annie sighed. 'I doubt if I'll ever be me old self, Syl.' She had memories, terrible memories, that she'd never had before.

  Sylvia looked grave. 'In the long run, what happened was probably for the best. Your father was going to die, and Dot thinks your mother wouldn't have wanted to live without him.'

  'How did he do it?' She wasn't too sure if she wanted to know.

  'The police said he put sleeping tablets in her tea.'

  'Then he carried her into the kitchen and lay down beside her . . . Jaysu
s!' Annie bit her lip and tried not to cry, just as Cecy swept into the room with a tray of tea things. She took one look at Annie's distraught face and said sharply to Sylvia, 'Is this your doing?'

  'I was only telling her about the sleeping tablets.'

  'It was me that asked,' Annie put in.

  'Oh, well, I suppose you had to know some time.'

  'What day is it?' Annie asked suddenly.

  'Monday,' Sylvia replied.

  'The play. Goldilocks. It should have gone on last Friday!' She'd let Mr Andrews down.

  'Don't worry,' Sylvia assured her. 'Goldilocks went ahead as planned. Mr Andrews managed to get a red wig, and according to all reports, Marie played Goldilocks to perfection.'

  'Marie? Our Marie?'

  'Who else? She knew the part as well as you did.'

  Annie felt relieved. It was time her sister got some recognition.

  'Now, get dressed the pair of you,' Cecy said impatiently. 'I'll make breakfast, and if Annie feels well enough, we'll all go into town. I feel in the mood to spend lots of money today,'

  There was no question of the girls going back to Orlando Street. In fact, they never went back at all. Dot and Bert cleared the house of its contents, and brought Annie's few possessions to the Grand. To everyone's astonishment, it was discovered the house had been purchased, not rented, and the small mortgage had almost been paid off.

  'He was always a secretive bugger, our Ken,' Dot said, shaking her head. They were in the Grand, in the vast private lounge which was big enough to hold two suites. Cecy and Bruno were working, and Sylvia was upstairs supposedly doing her homework, but probably playing with the hulahoop she'd just bought, 'What do you want to do with the money, Annie? Bert said the house is worth eight or nine hundred pounds. I suggest you and Marie put it in the bank and when you're a bit older, you can buy a little house between you.'

  It was a month later. The Harrison girls were back at school. The news of their parents' deaths had been in the newspaper and everybody was treating them with a mixture of kid gloves and ghoulish curiosity.

  Annie had remained with the Delgados, who had assured her that she could stay in the silver and grey room permanently, whilst Marie had moved into the house next door to Dot's which was occupied by an old lady, though she had all her meals with the Gallaghers, and still came to work in the Grand several nights a week. Marie appeared entirely unaffected by recent events. She actually seemed slightly more cheerful, as if she'd been freed from a great burden.