After the Storm (7 page)

‘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, watching 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.

‘It’s no good, you’ll have to wrap them in something. You sound like a load of brass monkeys, jingling about like that.’ She could barely talk for laughing.

Don glared. ‘Will you shut up with your daft remarks. Go on then, find us something.’ But there was nothing here or further down by the entrance to the street so they retraced their steps hoping that no one was watching from the houses which faced the plot. They searched for old sacking in the shed but there was only dried disintegrating newspaper that crumbled as they touched it. There wasn’t even a dock leaf with its moist expansiveness.

‘You’ll just have to keep your hands in your pockets and stifle the noise until you can belt up to your rooms. Will your ma be in, Georgie?’ Annie asked.

‘O aye, but she’ll not notice over the noise of the bairns.’ The grass stem was still in his mouth. ‘Go on Don, you’ll be late,’ he chivvied. ‘We’ll meet in the usual place.’

Annie ran on, turning to look at them following her. She held out her hand to Tom and clasped his free one. It was hot and sticky. She was laughing so hard her stomach banged against her ribs.

Betsy turned as they stumbled in the door, the laughter making her long to be out with them and ten years younger.

‘Just look at you,’ she scolded, turning Annie round. ‘Your skirt is filthy and screwed up in your knickers. You’ve dripping round your mouth. You’re worse than Tom and he’s no bleeding angel.’ She turned to Tom. ‘And you can wipe that smile off your face, that’s nothing to be proud of.’ Tom straightened his face and Annie saw Betsy smile as she turned away.

‘Come on now, all of you, clean up and then sit down, your da will be here in a minute. Come on, Don, don’t hang about outside, and leave that door open, it’s too hot as it is with the fire on. Get your hand under the tap and sort yourself out.’

Don caught at the door as it swung shut and pulled it open again. The water spluttered as Annie twisted the tap. She
waited for Tom to wash first then held her hands under the spurting water.

‘Go on with your pocketful,’ she mouthed under cover of her splashing. She was thirsty and her tongue ached with the thought of a cold clear drink but she knew she would have to wait until she was clean before Betsy would allow it.

Tom was on his way and Don moved with him.

‘I’ll just nip upstairs for a moment, Betsy.’ He was nearly at the door, having side-stepped round the laid table when he stopped dead-still as their father entered.

Tom sat down in his seat, he had been just behind it, gripping both pockets.

‘Come along, Don,’ their father said. ‘Sit down or I shall assume you don’t want to finish your meal in time for the fair.’

Annie’s eyes widened and she half turned, splashing water down the front of her dress. Don was stranded halfway to the door and had to return to the sink without rattling and giving everything away. She coughed, again and again and Don bolted over to the sink, gave himself a quick splash and moved, stiff-legged, to the table.

‘For goodness sake girl, have a drink. Don’t stand there looking helpless.’

‘Sorry, Da.’ She reached for the enamel mug and filled it. Avoiding the black chip she looked over the top to see if Don was safely seated. He was. ‘I should have had a drink earlier,’ she tossed at Betsy and scuttled to her seat as she caught the look in her step-mother’s eye. It would be a clip round the backside if she wasn’t careful. She pressed her leg against Tom’s as she sat down.

Betsy looked at Annie and then at Tom. His wide-eyed look betrayed him. Just like his da when he’s up to mischief, she thought. Ah well, let them have some fun, thinking all the time of the unpaid invoices she would have to deal with this evening and the partnership papers that Albert was coming to sign, though what good it would do to pool their meagre profits she could not understand. If there was no work, there was no money for traders. Even those in the pits knew they could be working today and not tomorrow so were being canny with the pennies, especially with wages going down, not up.

She shivered, looking at the rashers she had put before the family and worried about the future. For the moment they were
just about fed and clothed. But for how long? She sighed. It must be time for another of Ma Gillow’s readings. Maybe the tea leaves would be clearer this time. She lowered herself heavily on to the chair and played with her meal; the fat had congealed and a thick whiteness coated the bottom of her plate and she had little appetite.

‘Your knife is not a pen, my dear,’ remarked Archie.

Automatically Betsy shifted her grip, no longer stung to a retort. At least the bugger had been right about one thing she thought; she wouldn’t know what to do if she had a string of bairns hanging off her skirts as her mother would have said. At least she did not have to suffer a husband’s beer-breathed Saturday night demands and Archie’s pale hands on her body. Betsy wiped her forehead with her arm. The thought of her belly full with Archie’s child made her feel sick.

She stretched back in the chair. Her hands were swollen and aching again from the beer kegs and they would be worse tomorrow and the next day and for as long as she had to drag and hammer and cork hop-reeking barrels.

Again Archie broke into all their thoughts.

‘I’ll just get along to the study and make out Bert’s invoice. He’s coming along later to settle.’ He rose. ‘Now, be in by ten all of you and no mischief.’ He looked particularly at Annie before leaving and laughed at Don who said:

‘As if we would.’

They all watched as he reached the door. He seemed to hesitate, then passed through. Betsy pursed her mouth in frustration; wouldn’t we all like a study to hide in, she thought, but at least this time he’d given her lad the same as the others. Annie and Don nodded to Tom to follow as they slipped from the table and made for the door.

‘Before you go, please make sure you wrap those lead bits in cloth,’ Betsy had spoken softly, smiling as she caught the clink when they stopped abruptly.

Annie swung round, her mouth open.

‘And don’t think you were the first to work out that fiddle.’ Betsy laughed. ‘Just make sure you’re not the first to be caught.’

Don and Tom dodged out of the door. Annie remained, looking closely at Betsy who stood with her back to the light but there was enough from the fire for her to really see her and she
was shocked. Her step-mother was not really old, she realised. In fact she was young where the lines hadn’t dug in and spewed out wrinkles. She must once have been a child and laughed in the sun, and pity twisted inside her and drew her across the room, back to the bowed shoulders and cruelly worked hands.