Liverpool Annie

by Maureen Lee

  'Hi, Mum,' he grunted when he reached her.

  'Hi, Daniel.' She chucked him playfully under the chin. It would have been more than her life was worth to kiss him in public.

  Sara followed more sedately. Annie watched lovingly as she paused to catch a falling leaf. A slim, serious girl with gold blonde hair and light blue eyes, at eight years old, her head already came up to her mother's shoulder. 'I've lots of homework,' she said importantly. 'I shall go straight up to my room and get started.' Annie would have to make sure that neither Kelly nor Tracy invaded her room to play.

  The Cunninghams gathered round. 'Have we got orange squash at home?' Gary demanded.

  'Yes,' said Annie drily. They regarded number seven as home until their mother put in an appearance.

  With the children settled in front of the television and Sara in her room, Annie began to make pastry for a steak and kidney pie. She used to feed her own two at four o'clock and she and Lauri would eat later, but since the advent of the Cunninghams, all four Menins ate late. Annie wasn't prepared to subsidise Valerie's wages by providing her children with a meal, and it didn't seem fair to feed just Sara and Daniel.

  It must have been the conversation with Sylvia about people changing, but her mind kept going back to the day she'd gone to the hospital with Lauri and Fred Quillen had said he must pull his socks up.

  The children had gone to bed and Lauri had still scarcely moved from the settee, when Annie said tentatively, 'Y'know, love, I could take a refresher course and get a job as a secretary. I wouldn't earn as much as you, but it would be enough to live on.'

  'I don't understand,' said Lauri.

  Annie could tell from the black look on his face that he understood only too well. She plunged deeper into

  the mire of his anger. It was important that she make the offer, then it was up to him. 'It's not a law that the man has to be the breadwinner. I'm perfectly willing . . .'

  He broke in coldly. 'Do you think I would allow my wife to keep me?'

  'I thought I'd mention it. It can be one of the options we discuss.'

  'I don't intend to consider such an option, let alone discuss it.'

  Annie was secretly relieved. The last thing she wanted was to return to secretarial work.

  She said no more and neither did Lauri. He went to bed early with a curt 'Goodnight'. He was usually asleep by the time she went up. She tried to forget they hadn't made love since she'd returned from the weekend with Marie in London.

  The ^9 Steps with Robert Donat started on television. She'd been mad on Robert Donat for quite a while until she discovered he was dead. But good though the picture was, she was unable to concentrate. The specialist had said the matter of Lauri's hand was -she searched for the word - psychosomatic, all in the mind, and she was struck with the horrific thought, ''Perhaps it's all my fault.^

  It was essential she talk to someone; not Sylvia, who'd say tell Lauri to get stuffed. Tomorrow, she'd go and see Auntie Dot.

  'I have never,' Dot scoffed, 'heard such a load of ould cobblers in me life. Lauri's hand's seized up just because you had your hair cut! Come off it, girl, talk sense.'

  'You're exaggerating. Auntie,' Annie said stiffly. She was rather put out when Dot's face turned more and more incredulous as she came out with her tortured

  explanation for Lauri's hand. 'It's not just me hair. It's everything. I'm no longer the girl he married.'

  'I should hope not,' Dot expostulated. 'You were only twenty-one. If Lauri didn't think you'd change, he needs his bumps feeling. People change all the time. It's only natural. What do you want me to say? Grow your hair long again like Samson and Lauri's hand will be all right?'

  'I wish you wouldn't concentrate on me hair. I told you, he didn't like me learning to drive, either. And I don't automatically assume everything he says is right. I argue with him all the time - he can't stand it when I talk about politics . . .' Annie's voice faltered at the sight of Dot's outraged expression.

  'In other words,' she said, 'he's not the lord of the manor any more! I've no time for these feminists who say men are crap, but women have a right to their own identity. Lauri doesn't own you. Be yourself, luv, and if he can't take it, that's his problem, not yours.'

  'I thought, if I acted differently . . .'

  'You're not to change a jot, Annie,' Dot said firmly. 'I think the whole thing's daft, but if it's true, your husband's not much of a man.'

  She went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Annie sat in the same place from where she used to watch her aunt when the Harrisons had lived there, though the kitchen was very different now. Five years ago, the Gallaghers had bought the house off the landlord, and bamboo-patterned units lined the walls. Beside the freezer, a new door led to the former washhouse, now a bathroom and toilet.

  Annie transferred her gaze to Dot's current pride and joy, the fireplace fitted last Christmas, along with a gas fire which glowed with imitation coals. Her aunt's taste was very different from her own, and she thought the wooden surround truly ghastly, with its two-tier

  mantelpiece, the top supported by brass pillars. She had to concede that the warm wood went well with the hessian wallpaper on the breastwork, which in turn toned beautifully with the coral painted walls.

  Dot came in with the tea. 'This business with Lauri's job, now that's something worth worrying about.' Her sharp nose twitched with pride. 'I wonder if our Mike's got a vacancy that would suit him.'

  'Lauri's a carpenter. Auntie Dot. It's engineers and electricians that your Mike needs.'

  Within the space of two and a half years, Mike's business had taken off and now employed eight people. The firm was still expanding and had recently taken over larger premises in Kirkby. They no longer dealt with vintage cars after getting several important long-term contracts from much larger firms. But Mike and Ray weren't satisfied. In the even longer term, the contracts offered no security; the firms, however big, might fold, cut back, take on staff of their own to do the work.

  'It's a bit like singing someone else's songs, compared to singing your own,' Mike declared in reference to the group he and Ray had once belonged to. 'I always preferred our own.'

  So they'd developed, of all things, a burglar alarm, much to Dot's dismay as she couldn't imagine anyone in their right mind sticking a burglar alarm outside their house. So far, only Mike and Ray worked on the prototype, but it would be ready for production and marketing soon when Michael Ray Security would be born. Glenda, Mike's wife, had prepared a brochure for the printers.

  Dot was forced to concede her judgement of Glenda had been totally wrong. Glenda had turned out to be a wife in a million, working overtime to help get the business off the ground. Then she taught herself to type and did all the office work.

  'Mike was talking the other day about taking on a salesman to go round with these alarm things,' Dot said. Her chest expanded with the magnitude of the fact she had a son who was an employer. 'Of course, he wouldn't be able to pay as much as Lauri's used to.'

  'Mike'll want someone younger than Lauri.' Her husband was the opposite of her idea of a pushy salesman.

  'I'll ring him later. I was going to, anyroad. Glenda, poor lamb, has been feeling a bit rough lately. I'd like to know how she is.'

  It was Annie who answered the phone when Mike rang that night. 'How's Glenda?' she enquired.

  Mike sounded worried. 'Not so well, Annie. She's tired all the time, which isn't a bit like her. I'm having a heck of a job persuading her to see the doctor.' He asked if he could speak to Lauri.

  'What have you been saying to Dot?' Lauri demanded when the call finished. Annie had shut herself in the lounge so she wouldn't overhear.

  'I'm not sure what you mean,' she said innocently.

  'Did you tell her about me, about the co-op?'

  'I think I did mention it this morning. Why?'

  Lauri looked irritated. 'Mike's just offered me a job, that's why.'

  'Doing what?'

  'As a salesman.' He
shook his head. 'I'd be no good at that sort of thing. What's more, I don't want charity.'

  'Is that what you told him?' Annie asked sharply.

  'I told him I'd think about it.'

  'Honestly, Lauri,' she said, exasperated. 'Mike wouldn't offer a job out of charity. Anyroad, what's dole money if it's not charity?'

  'He did say he'd interviewed a couple of chaps but they were too young, too brash,' Lauri conceded. 'He'd thought someone older might give a better impression.'

  'Mike's an astute businessman. He must know best.' The basic wage isn't so hot, but I'll get commission on each sale, and there's a car, a secondhand Capri.'

  'You're very lucky,' Annie said. 'Unemployment's going up, and last night you said you'd never get another job at your age. You've just been offered a soft job on a plate. If I were you, I'd be jumping for joy, but you look as if you'd just lost a pound and found a sixpence.' Personally, she couldn't have been persuaded to buy a baby's rattle, let alone a burglar alarm, off someone with such a miserable face.

  The children were squabbling over the television. Daniel was almost certainly the cause. He probably wanted it changed to another station. Annie cursed Valerie Cunningham. She never offered a word of thanks for looking after her kids for two hours every day, yet seemed to consider herself superior because she had a full-time job and Annie hadn't. 'I'm getting as bad as Lauri,' she thought. 'Nothing but moans.'

  It was strange, but over the last fifteen months Lauri had turned out to be a good salesman and Mike was very pleased. Perhaps potential customers felt sorry for him and bought an alarm to cheer him up. Far more likely, Lauri was his old self once outside the house and away from the wife who no longer hung onto his every word.

  The steak and kidney pie smelt delicious. She felt her taste buds stir and looked at the calendar to remind herself where Lauri was today; Rochdale, which meant he might be late and she could eat with the children as soon as Valerie honked her horn to signal she was home.

  The horn went when she was making the gravy and the Cunninghams came hurtling through the kitchen without a 'thank you' for Annie's pains. Valerie made no attempt to teach her brood good manners.

  She was reading to the children when Lauri arrived.

  There was quite a gale blowing. The garden fence groaned and the willow tree swished wildly. She worried about him negotiating strange towns and unfamiliar roads in the dark, but he seemed to enjoy driving long distances and was adept at manoeuvring the gears with his numb hand.

  To her astonishment, his face was beaming when he came in. He looked ten years younger. 'I sold eighteen alarms today,' he said immediately. 'Eighteen!' The usual total was two or three and some days he sold none.

  She did a quick calculation. 'That's ninety pounds in commission!'

  'I know, marvellous, isn't it!' The words tumbled over each other in his excitement as he tried to explain. A few weeks before he was due to arrive in a town, Michael Ray Security would advertise in the local press for leaflet distributors. Only business premises and wealthy homes were targeted. That morning, Lauri had arrived at an estate of mock-Tudor properties and discovered there'd been a spate of burglaries and the leaflet had sparked off a residents' meeting. 'Nearly every house wanted an alarm, fifteen in all. I nearly came home at that point, but decided to press on and sold another three. I'll give Mike a ring later. He'll have his work cut out fitting that lot.' His enthusiasm was catching. Annie couldn't possibly have been more pleased. He looked rejuvenated, like the Lauri of old. The children had been listening, wide-eyed. He pulled them down, one on each knee.

  'Next year, you might earn that much every day when the business goes national,' she said. He would be selling in bulk to stores, not just to individual customers.'

  'Listen to us!' he said, aghast. 'We sound like capitalists.'

  'What's a capitalist. Dad?' Daniel enquired.

  'A person who makes a lot of money off the backs of others,' his father explained. 'But Mike's okay, he pays fair wages, and the alarm is good value for money. It's not as if it's something essential that people have to buy to live. I don't mind exploiting the rich.'

  'Can we have an alarm. Dad?' Daniel piped up. 'A yellow one to go with our front door?'

  'No, son. We don't need protecting from burglars in Heather Close. But I tell you what you can have, a nice day out in town on Saturday. I'll buy you both a present. What would you like?'

  ''Robinson Crusoe,' Sara said instantly.

  'The person or the book?' Lauri asked jovially. It was ages since he'd been heard to crack a joke.

  'The book, of course. Daddy.'

  'I'd like a toy burglar alarm for my room.'

  'There's no such thing, son, but we'll find something else.'

  'It's terrible to admit,' Lauri said later, 'but I got a real buzz today at the thought of making all that money.'

  'Just because you're a socialist, it doesn't mean you're not human. Socialists still have to pay mortages and feed their families.'

  'I suppose so. On reflection, it wasn't just the money. It was the feeling of achievement, excitement almost, at the idea of belonging to a company that might become a great success. I realised how much I enjoyed being on the road. I'll be going further afield from January. I'll have to stay away overnight, perhaps several days. Will you mind, love?' He looked at her anxiously.

  'No, Lauri. I'll miss you, but I won't mind as long as you're happy.' Annie felt as if they'd turned a corner.

  He took her hand. 'I'm sorry, love. I've not been easy to live with over the last few years. I kept thinking of you on the way home, how pleased you'd be, and how

  ucky I was, having you and two lovely kids.' He sighed vith satisfaction. 'I'll ring Mike now.'

  He came back a few minutes later, his face grave. Wasn't Mike pleased?' said Annie.

  'He wasn't much interested. Glenda's gone into lospital again. She's in a coma. Mike thinks this is it.'

  'Oh, no!'

  Mike had taken Glenda to the doctors by force. She lad leukaemia, and it was too late to do anything about t. Glenda got sicker and sicker. As the company hrived, Mike's wife began to die.

  Lauri held up his left hand and stared at it with ;ontempt. 'Pathetic, isn't it? Getting worked up over a land, when a relatively young woman's about to die rom something a hundred times worse.'

  Annie didn't answer. That night, for the first time in ^ears, she fell asleep in her husband's arms.

  Glenda fought on until Christmas Eve, rarely coming )ut of her coma. She died with Mike and her children at ler side.

  Dot was inconsolable. She would never forgive lerself for the things she had said when Mike got narried, 'I'll never make judgements on people again. '. couldn't have been more wrong with Glenda.'

  rhe feeling in Lauri's hand gradually returned. 'It was iwful while it lasted, but it's been a blessing in disguise. I A^ouldn't have left the co-op and got the job with Mike.' Michael Ray Securities continued to expand. Lauri kvas provided with a new Cortina. Some weeks, with :ommission, he earned twice what he'd done as a :arpenter. Despite this, he never suggested Annie give Lip her job at the Grand. He seemed to accept she was entitled to make her own decisions. Annie enjoyed her Few hours with Bruno behind the bar; it broke up the day and gave her a few pounds of her own to spend as

  she liked. Now Valerie was at work and Sylvia had moved to London, she had fewer visitors and Lauri was sometimes away for an entire week.

  She was happy. Her marriage was not as perfect as she'd once thought, but she and Lauri jogged along contentedly and she knew she would never stop loving him. Sara and Daniel were her main joy; watching them develop and grow. It wasn't often nowadays that she thought about Joshua and Sophie, the children who'd never been born.

  'Tenth anniversary!' gasped Sylvia. 'Isn't the tenth special?'

  'It's tin or aluminium, take your pick. We're having a party. It's weeks off yet, but do you think you'll be home?'

  'Of course. I wouldn't miss it. I'll be hom
e for Christmas, anyway. I'll come early.'

  It was almost a year since Sylvia had gone to London, where she found herself a cushy job in an advertising agency. She telephoned Annie from work several times a week.

  'Will your boss let you off?' Annie enquired.

  'I've got him eating out of my hand. He's dying to get me to bed.'

  'What's he like?'

  'Hideous!' Sylvia giggled. 'I wouldn't sleep with him if my life depended on it. I'm happy with my handsome Arabian prince.'

  'I still can't believe he's a proper prince,' Annie said doubtfully.

  'He's as real as they come,' Sylvia assured her. 'We've fallen for each other like a ton of bricks, gold bricks! Ronnie's made of money.'

  'I thought you swore never to fall in love again?'

  'I don't expect anything to come of it. He's returning

  lome next year. We're having a mad, bad fling whilst

  ve have the chance.' 'Ronnie seems an odd name for an Arabian prince.' Sylvia clucked impatiently. 'I can't pronounce his real

  lame. He's happy with Ronnie. By the way, I saw your

  Aarie the other day.' 'Really!' She was becoming increasingly fed up with

  ler sister, who never answered a letter and only wrote

  o boast she'd got a part. 'Did she tell you she's in HairV *Hair Isn't that the show where they're all naked?' 'Yes! Poor Ronnie was terribly embarrassed.' 'She hadn't told me, no, but then I'm not surprised.'

  rhe guest list was pretty much the same as the one for heir second anniversary party, though she wouldn't be isking anyone from the co-op. They'd made new riends since then. The Barclays, who lived in the fravers' old house, were genuine salt-of-the-earth cousers. Some in the close still didn't like the idea of ubbing shoulders with market traders, but it would be lard to find a nicer couple than Sid and Vera Barclay, ■iaving scarcely any education themselves, they were naking sure things were different for their children, ien, their eldest, was hoping to go to university next ^ear, a fact that irritated Valerie Cunningham no end. )he thought universities should be reserved for the niddle and upper classes. The Cunninghams considered hemselves very much middle.