After the Storm

by Margaret Graham

  The air was cold and she soaked a flannel in the water and laid it across her breasts. They were still firm despite feeding Tom and she stroked them and thought of the pleasure a man’s hand would bring. It was hard to imagine Archie beneath his well-behaved clothes she thought. Barney’s body had been broad and scarred blue from the pit but his skin had been smooth and smelt of sweat. She remembered the weight of his body and the gentleness until they had both wanted something stronger.

  The water was cooling and she felt nervous. The nightdress clung to her imperfectly dried body as she slipped it hastily over her head, holding the feeling of abandonment and joy tightly to present it to her husband. What did it matter that it arose from her dead lover?

  The fire hissed and flickered in the bedroom with urgent tongues and the room felt strange to her; she had only cleaned it in the daylight as Joe’s maid but now she belonged here and could sink into the mattress and open her mouth beneath his. She longed for it, for the grasp of a man’s arms after so long. The clinging together, the end of loneliness and shame. She was to be a wife at long last, half of a pair and she was grateful to be made complete.

  Archie lay quite still on his side as she edged into the bed. Betsy trailed her hand towards him beneath the sheet and it grew cold as it passed over the emptiness between them. He felt the rustle and then the hand. It lay in the slight hollow of his buttock and his body became rigid at its touch. His eyes moved rapidly in the dark and gently he took it and placed it alongside Betsy’s thigh, then rolled over on to his back, closer to her and she held her breath in anticipation.

  ‘My dear,’ Archie said quietly. ‘You and I have both had our difficulties during the past few years and I think we both have cause to be grateful to have found a partnership that fills both our needs. I feel however that there is one area in which I need not trouble you. After all, neither of us wants more children do we?’

  He patted her hand.

  ‘I think it is more important for us to concentrate on providing the right atmosphere within the family. I should prefer that you do not use the vernacular with the children since it won’t sit well when we move back to the good side.’

  Betsy lay in the dark, loose with shock, her tongue heavy and enormous with grief in her dry mouth. Yes, she wanted more children. Yes, she wanted to writhe and cling to a male body. And what the hell does the vernacular mean. She understood neither him nor his words but she said nothing and moved not a muscle and finally Archie turned towards her again.

  ‘I mean I would rather a standard of manners and language was maintained. Belly is really a word I would prefer not to hear in my own home.’

  The fullness in Betsy’s throat hurt and she had to breathe cold air through tightening nostrils until they were too full with the mucus of tears. Then, through barely opened lips, she spoke and did not recognise the sound of her own voice.

  ‘Yes, Archie, I understand.’

  ‘Goodnight Elisabeth.’

  She turned on her side away from him and, carefully, she cried silent tears for her 22 years and the countless more that were yet to come and there was a coldness in her now, a despair which soured her youth.

  CHAPTER 4

  Annie hung on the bar which divided the allotments from the wasteland at the back of the lanes, near to her father’s shop. The rust was gritty beneath her hands and smelt of old money. At last her balance was perfect. She released her hands and opened her eyes, lifting her head slowly, savouring her success, smiling though the bar pinched her breath up into her throat and her stomach was pushed into her back. The sky was dusty blue and everything shimmered in the heat.

  ‘All right Annie, we know you can do it, get yourself down here now. Eleven’s too old for that sort of thing,’ Don ordered.

  She flipped over the bar, the air rushing through her body so that her face screwed up with ecstasy. It was pleasure mixed with pain and she did it again.

  ‘Hey Annie,’ called Tom. ‘If you do that too often the blood will rush to your head and burst all over the ground, and I’m not clearing it up.’ She laughed and stayed where she was. ‘And you’re showing everyone your knickers. There’ll be a long queue soon.’

  ‘Don’t be daft Tom. Who wants to see these bloomers? But just think, if they did, we could charge a penny a look and save all this work.’ She pointed to the lead coins which she had finished in record time so that she could be free for the bar

  They laughed at her, Georgie, Tom and Don as she stood brushing red dust from her clothes, then bent again over the piping. Don and Georgie chiselling then banging, while Tom just hammered. He’d have to wait until he was 13 too, Don had told him, before he could use the proper tools. Nine was too young.

  Grace had not been able to come today but would be at the fair this evening and in spite of Don’s protests they were doing enough coins for her too. Tom had flared at Don that it shouldn’t matter if Grace was there or not. They were a gang weren’t they and Annie had kissed his thin cheek. They loved Grace, her and Tom did, but she loved Tom more. He was a like a puzzle piece. He fitted her exactly.

  Bye, it was grand here in the sun she thought, but hot, very hot. When they had arrived, Don, of course, had grabbed the shaded area created by the corner of hawthorne hedge that ran round the whole of the allotment. The only other area of shade was along by her father’s shed where they had found the hammer and chisel but nettles grew three feet high in this spot and Georgie had not let them beat them down to make a cool work area. Might see a Camberwell Beauty he had said and besides, the butterflies need nettles more than we need shade.

  Georgie was now sitting by the rows of lettuce which were yellowing and limp from too much sun whilst Tom still sat where she had been, next to the young leeks which had wafted a strong smell as they worked.

  Her da would need to water them tonight, when the sun had gone down, but most likely it would be Tom or her again as usual. She looked along the rows. There wasn’t much in this year; the patch was mostly overgrown with weeds, though the runners had gone in as always. Her da liked runner beans but without the stringy bits. Shame really that it was so neglected. It was like everything else round here now and she reached down and pulled at some weeds; the ground was too hard and would not release the roots. Georgie looked up and smiled, his mouth turned up at one side as it always did. His brown hair was too long and it fell over his eyes. He flicked it back. His teeth were white against his tanned skin.

  ‘You’re always brown,’ she called. ‘Where do you get your tan from? Been taking the sun by the sea, like the royals?’ She thumbed her nose and strutted about doing a regal wave.

  Tom giggled and Georgie threw a handful of grass he had torn from the verge. It fluttered to the ground before it reached Annie, lying in a loose circle.

  ‘A cloak for me to walk on – how kind,’ minced Annie and the laughter continued. She felt a sense of delight.

  ‘Get on with the work,’ Don growled. Tom glanced across at him.

  ‘She’s only having a bit of fun,’ he protested. ‘And she doesn’t act like a lady that often.’ Annie shook her fist at him.

  ‘Well, she’s not doing it on my time,’ ground out Don, his head still down. He ran his fingers round the rim of the coin, making sure it would pass without comment tonight.

  Annie gazed at Tom. He raised his eyebrows, then they both mouthed, ‘Bloody Albert!’

  ‘Hope it’s not catching Tom,’ Annie called.

  ‘This Albertitis, you mean,’ he replied. They both turned to Don and stared. ‘No, we’d have to work in Albert’s shop every Saturday and the old man’s not going to have us over the doorstop. We have to help Betsy in ours for nothing. Good thing we like it, ain’t it, Annie.’

  Don looked up and glowered at them both.

  ‘Get on with your work.’

  ‘I’ve done my share,’ challenged Annie, ‘and Tom’s doing fine. Just keep your hair on, will you, or you’ll be polishing your head in the morning. Anyway, it’s just
because you’re the eldest you throw your weight around.’

  ‘Only by two days,’ chipped in Georgie and Don returned to his coins without a word, forgetting everything but the need to finish the job.

  Georgie sat back on his hunkers, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. His coins were perfect and Annie was intrigued that those broad hands could produce such precise work. He had worked quickly without seeming to, always calm, always accurate. She watched as he half closed his eyes against the sun and cocked his head to one side.

  ‘I’ll show you how to hang by your arms from that bar, turn inside out and dangle if you like.’ His voice was soft.

  She moved closer, blocking the sun and casting her shadow over him, her eyes alight with interest.

  ‘When?’ she asked.

  He half smiled. ‘Whenever you like,’ he replied, looking directly up into her face, able to do so now that she stood as a shield between him and the sun. She could see that his eyes were almost black with small yellow flecks, like a cat’s. Tom moved near to her, his small shadow cast over Georgie’s neatly stacked coins. Georgie pulled a long stem of grass from a nearby clump, eased it out of its shaft and chewed the moist white shoot. His smile grew into a grin and she responded but did not know why she felt so pleased.

  ‘Will you show me too?’ asked Tom, his small face eager. He moved up against Annie and she put her arm round his shoulder and pulled him close.

  Georgie continued to chew for a moment while he studied Tom and through his eyes Annie saw Tom as he now was; very thin and pale, though without rickets yet, thank God. She hadn’t noticed how gaunt he had become, how gaunt they must all have become but it looked worse on Tom because he was younger. She took out the last of her bread and dripping from her pocket and made him eat it. Hunger seemed always to be with them these days.

  Georgie smiled. ‘I reckon you’re just too young Tom, but I tell you what; I’ll take you to the hives, shall I? Down by the beck. Show you the bees, you’d like that.’

  ‘You would and all Tom,’ agreed Annie shaking him slightly, aware of his disappointment, wanting to make it all right for him. ‘Bring your pencil and draw it. There’s the beck and that willow and the shape of the hive. Georgie’ll tell you all about bees, he’s good on insects. I know, we’ll make a day of it. I’ll do a picnic for you and Don. What do you think? We’ll ask Grace, she’ll like a picnic.’

  ‘Oh aye, Annie, that’d be …’

  ‘Oh God,’ Don broke in, ‘not old fatty.’

  Annie turned to him. Why could he never be easy? She felt anger growing. He knew she couldn’t stand to hear him start on Grace. She felt hotter as the anger took her over, made words spill out.

  ‘Why d’you have to be so mean?’ she hissed. ‘You know she can’t help being plump; she’s made that way and she’s nice with it an’ all.’

  She strode over the uneven ground in a hurry to reach him, in a hurry to fight him, to make him stop it once and for all. She stood above him, hands clenched, waiting. Georgie reached out and held Tom back as he moved to follow. He was squinting against the sun now that Annie had moved. ‘Stay here with me lad, it’s between them two, I reckon.’ Tom tugged against him but Georgie held firm so he stood and they both watched.

  ‘Look at me Don Manon and stop poring over your bloody money for a minute.’ Annie waited but he ignored her, banging with his hammer at the lead. ‘Don, look at me.’ She moved closer but still he ignored her and a great swamping rage cut out the banging, cut out the sun and she grabbed his hair.

  ‘I’m not bloody Betsy and you’re not me da so don’t start treating me as though you are.’ Her voice was low, her hand clenched his hair tighter.

  Don slapped her hand away, still without looking up. She grabbed his hair again and pulled. ‘Lift your head and look at me,’ she shouted.

  This time his slap caught her leg and she almost went down but did not. She still had his hair and at last his head was forced up as she pulled again. His eyes were watering with the pain, his face was red and sweating and full of anger.

  He lashed out at her leg again, the crack echoed across the allotment. Tom struggled in Georgie’s grasp.

  ‘She’s doing fine bonny lad, she’s all right for now.’ But though his voice was still soft, his eyes were narrowed and alert, and there was a set to his face. His legs were tensed to spring, though he still squatted like the miner he would become.

  ‘I’ll kill him if he hurts her,’ Tom cried, still tugging away.

  ‘You won’t need to Tom, because he won’t hurt her. I won’t let him. I won’t let anyone ever hurt her.’ His voice was still quiet but there was something in it that allowed Tom to relax, to stand and wait.

  Again Annie withstood the slap and tightened her grip. ‘Grace is not fat, she is clever. She is just big for her age – got it. And don’t ever let me hear you say that again, and don’t let her hear you either. You made her cry last time.’ She was speaking slowly, clearly, her face close to his. She could feel his breath on her cheek, see his eyes staring into hers.

  ‘You’re a cruel boy sometimes Don Manon and when you are I don’t like you.’

  She released him and still he said nothing, just glared. As she turned he tripped her. She sprawled on the ground and smiled, she had known he would and she had let him. It made him think he was even but she knew he would not call Grace fat again. She scrambled to her knees and looked at Tom. He would understand that she was all right. He always understood her but would Georgie? Would he think she had been defeated? She looked past Tom to him and he winked.

  ‘For God’s sake sit down and stop causing a draught,’ he said and suddenly laughter played around the group again. The atmosphere was broken and Tom and Don began to bang again.

  Annie sat down shaking inside, upset by the sudden fight. She raised her face, eyes closed towards the beating sun and felt the heaviness of her hair as it dropped on her back. She shook it until it brushed against her shoulder. Forget it she told herself and made the last few moments squeeze into a black box she kept at the back of her mind. She was sheltered from the slight breeze by the blackberry bushes and the allotment shed and the heat drew the creosote out to hang heavy about her face, stinging her nose with its sharpness. Her breathing was slower now, the trembling in her hands was less. She made herself look out over her da’s patch to help push back the last few moments. The beans were setting bright red flowers and she could hear the murmur of bees. Yes, it would be nice to go to the hives. She lifted heavy lids and could see, or almost see, minute insects which flickered full of lightness and then were gone. The soil was baking drier with each day and she rubbed warm dust into the cracks which ran everywhere at her feet and would probably stretch down to Australia soon. Was it as hot with Aunt Sophie she wondered, but her last letter had said their winter took place during our summer. She sighed but was not unhappy with her life. It had settled into a pattern, though there was no money any more and men out of work all around.

  She stretched her arms and felt loose again. The winter seemed long ago and she was right glad to be free of the liberty bodices and rough wool stockings. She squirmed at the thought; it was like living in a cinema seat for half of your life. She rose and sauntered beyond the bushes, flicking at the straying brambles with a split birch twig. They’d soon be picking the berries which were now only green and hard to the touch.

  The pain from Don’s slaps was receding. Her heartbeat had slowed again. The clicking of a cricket and rustle of unknown life was close and loud. Beyond that were the distant sounds which reminded her of the world beyond the allotment but nothing was real today except them and their work because he, the Lord and Master, their father, had allowed them to stay out late at the fair tonight and had actually given them each tuppence, even Tom, which was a bit like the second coming. He was tight with Tom though she made sure the lad had half of everything of hers.

  She reached down and eased a ladybird off a blackberry stem on to her hand, watc
hing it until it opened its wings and flew to its burning home. She would go straight for the boats tonight, she decided. They thrust you higher the harder you pulled at the rope thronged with ribbon rags. It hauled your arms as though they would come straight from their sockets and lifted you half out of your seat, or at least they did last year but she was bigger now.

  Annie hugged herself and grinned. They must have been minding their manners or something to go again this year with things as they were, but Don was right, tuppence wasn’t near enough, not if you wanted to win a coconut and skewer out the sweet milk or stay on the painted horses for another go. Mind you, they could make you sick if they went on too long dipping and rising, round and round.

  Yes, Don’s idea of the lead coins was a good one but she felt again the sense of unease at the gap which had begun with his year spent at Albert’s and had become even greater as the years passed and she did not know why. He was her brother but she could not get close any more. It was as though he was slapping her away all the time.

  She watched as they worked and gradually the thrill of passing the coins pushed everything else to one side. She was half excited, half terrified and wondered if they would get caught and that was what was so much fun. Bye, just think of the row if that happened. Da would go even paler.

  The shadows were lengthening across the allotment now and she called. ‘Come on, you lot. That’s enough. If we’re late for tea we’ve had it.’

  ‘Dinner you great daft dollop,’ Don hissed, looking tired now and she wanted to put her arm round him and hold him to her but she daren’t. ‘Right, we’re coming. Make sure it’s all clear. Go and look and wait by the corner, Annie. Now listen, Tom, not a word to your mam about this or you don’t come tonight and for God’s sake be quiet. Make sure you’re the same Georgie.’

  Georgie threw a lazy salute and ambled along watching the ants as they scurried in and out of the cracked soil.

  At the corner with the street in sight, Annie heard them coming and would have done a mile away, she thought. She stood, arms akimbo, a breeze lifting her hair and dropping it as quickly; it was refreshing. She watched as they came in single file round the edge of the last three vegetable plots, dry earth puffing up with each step, covering their boots so that they had no shine left as they reached her.