Annie's Promise (12 page)

He nodded, smiling now. ‘Saw them but missed your mam
too much to notice them.’ Annie sat silently, watching his hands on the wheel.

‘Will this do?’ He swung the car into the car park and they all walked across the gravel to the front of the school where the yew hedges were still set in squares. ‘I love you, I’m sorry I shouted, I can’t bear it when you’re angry.’ He took her hand.

They stood close together seeing the spring flower beds within the hedges and Annie remembered her sense of loss when she had begun here, her sense of only being half a person because Georgie was not here. She looked at his face, the pit’s deep lines, the love in his eyes, the weariness, and knew that nothing could really hurt their love, nothing. They were together, that’s all that mattered. ‘I love you too,’ she said.

They strolled amongst the other parents, their hands tightly gripped, his thumb playing on her skin and she knew that he felt the same, that he always would, and now her smile came from deep within her.

They walked down the paths, and she showed them the runner beans the nuns had always grown, the cloakrooms where she had had her peg, the chapel which was still painted white with brown beams.

‘There was a lot of spectacles, testicles, collar and cuffs, was there?’ Sarah asked.

Georgie and Annie just stood and stared. ‘What did you say?’ Annie managed to say eventually.

‘Norma told me they did a lot of that at convents, you know, made the sign of the cross. That’s how they remember, she said.’ Sarah was looking at the lectern. Tom and Georgie were grinning, Gracie and Annie caught at Sarah’s coat and hurried the children out, hoping that no one had been close enough to hear.

‘Oh no, there they are,’ Sarah groaned in front of her and Annie poked her with her finger.

‘Smile,’ she hissed, walking towards her brother, kissing
Don, clashing hats with Maud, asking Terry when she was playing.

‘Time for a quick look round then,’ she said, looking at Don and he smiled, his starched white shirt digging into his neck.

‘Are you going to show us then, Terry?’

‘Teresa,’ said Maud.

‘Or course,’ Annie murmured not looking at Sarah, Davy, or any of the others.

They toured the hall where there had always been chrysanthemums in the late summer. That had been the smell she had remembered when the Japanese had come to the cathedral in Singapore to herd them to the camps. Annie shook her head free of the memory.

Terry led the way to the cloakroom again and Annie shook her head at Sarah. ‘Be quiet,’ she mouthed. ‘Just look interested, again.’ They passed the form rooms this time and Annie peered through the glass. Was ‘Sandy loves Sister Nicole’ still carved on the desk? Where was Sandy?

‘Is the conservatory still cold?’ she asked Teresa. ‘Detentions were such a misery there.’

‘Teresa has never had a detention,’ Maud said, her heels clipping on the wooden floor.

‘Of course,’ Annie replied.

There was tea set up in the hall and Annie sat at one of the tables, gesturing to the other chairs. ‘Time for a cuppa.’

Maud glanced around quickly.

‘Sorry, time for a cup of tea I think,’ Annie said, drawing out her cigarettes.

‘It’s no smoking in here, Annie,’ Don said.

‘Of course it is,’ Annie replied, trying not to smile, looking across at the children, ignoring the grins of Tom and Georgie, suggesting to Teresa that she took her cousins to see the gym, and perhaps the music room.

‘Miss Harding used to poke my hands with a pencil when I made a wrong note. She was a dreadful old witch.’

‘I won the Miss Harding Prize, this year, that’s why I’m playing.’ Teresa’s mouth was as prim as Maud’s and Don’s.

‘Of course you did,’ Annie said faintly. ‘Well done, Teresa.’

‘We’re not going to learn the piano,’ Sarah said, frowning at Annie who saw she had no intention of being shown anything by Teresa, who equally, had no intention of being the guide. ‘We’re going to play skiffle, aren’t we, Davy, then we’re getting guitars.’

Annie turned and looked at them, then at Georgie. ‘Well, we learn something new every day, don’t we? I thought the old washboard had disappeared.’ She raised her eyebrows and accepted the tea that the senior girls brought round. Georgie caught her eye and grimaced, he’d have killed for a beer, and she was so glad they’d come to Gosforn and left the anger behind.

They sat in the hall for the performance, it still smelt of chalk and polish and while Teresa played Annie thought of the languid days, Georgie’s first letters from the Army and she touched his hand, felt him hold hers, lift it to his lips and it didn’t matter that Maud tutted, that Don frowned.

Teresa was very good and only stumbled once and Annie felt for the child as Don’s lips tightened and he tapped his programme on his lap. She clapped all the harder because of this, and congratulated Don and Maud on Teresa’s playing. ‘It’s so clever to be able to recover, says a great deal for her skill.’ She was having to shout over the noise of scraping chairs as people rose and filtered out of the building. Georgie took her arm as they followed, calling to Don who led the way. ‘Really must go, we’ve got a lot to do but it’s been a great afternoon, Don.’ She squeezed his arm because he was trying to be pleasant and she knew it was for her sake.

Don walked on, keeping up with the flow but stopping on the drive in front of the school, brushing at dust on his sleeve, smiling at them as he shook Georgie’s hand. ‘By the way, how’s it going?’ he asked. ‘I heard about the Manners order on the grapevine, this is the breakthrough for you, isn’t it,
it’ll give you the credibility you need – word gets round quickly, whether it’s good or bad.’

Annie nodded, watching Sarah and Davy walking up to Teresa, pleased to see them smiling, knowing that Sarah had seen Don’s irritation at his daughter’s mistake.

She heard Georgie’s voice harden as he said, ‘Not likely to be bad at this stage so yes, it’s what we’ve been needing. It’ll set us up and we’re already drawing up plans for Briggs’ place.’

His shoulders were tense again but then Don said, ‘I’ve heard that Manners is straight, shouldn’t have any trouble. I should go for it.’

She felt Georgie relax, felt herself relax too at those words. Please God, let it be true. Don took out a cigar. ‘Mm, taken out the lease have you?’ He was rolling it under his nose.

‘No smoking, dear,’ Maud said and Annie was glad that she’d bitten back the very same words.

‘Good luck to you both anyway. Thanks for coming. Hope it goes well – business is a tricky game.’

He was putting the cigar back into his pocket, shaking their hands, kissing Annie and she hugged him because it was the first time her brother had done that for more years than she cared to remember.

They worked day and night until the end of May but there were no more headaches because Georgie held her when she did finally fall into bed and touched her when she passed him. He sewed on the roses sitting next to her, and kissed her when the final set of underwear was completed, then handed them to Sarah and Davy to box.

‘Brilliant, wonderful, you’ve been so good,’ Annie told the children and Sarah said, ‘Now he’ll come out of the pit, won’t he?’

‘Yes, he’ll come out, my love.’

‘That’s all that matters then.’

This time they didn’t go to the beach, they bought
champagne and drank it in Bet’s kitchen with the homeworkers and Brenda while the kids played their washboards in the yard and sang
Hound Dog
though Georgie called for
Mona Lisa
, or
Red Sails in the Sunset
.

‘You’re so square,’ Sarah groaned. ‘And we really need guitars for rock, not washboards.’

Annie looked at Tom. ‘Maybe when the cheque comes in?’

He grinned. ‘Maybe, after all, they could end up making us a fortune.’

They drank a toast to Manners and Annie downed hers in one because even Don had vouched for Manners and both he and Georgie could not be wrong.

During the next week they continued to provide stock for the stalls but there was no longer the need to work into the small hours and Annie put Brenda, Meg and Irene back on to the retainer but there were no complaints because they all knew it was temporary.

They submitted the plans to the planning office and Annie went over their figures and offered discounts to all traders to try to make amends and draw back those who had left them. But it was too late, they would not reconsider, and they were no more friendly than they had been last time.

Georgie shrugged. ‘Who cares,’ he said but Annie cared very much, and worried about it, but she wouldn’t allow it to come between them again.

She looked at second-hand guitars but they seemed so large and she decided that there would be time enough for guitars when the children were older. But a gramophone at Christmas would soften the blow and maybe the adults’ ears.

In the second week she hoovered the house free of threads, wielded the rotary cutter and sewed in the afternoon, helping Betsy with the supper, helping Sarah write up her project comparing the yearly pattern of an oak and a horse chestnut.

She slept eight hours again that night as she had done for the last ten days. ‘I’d forgotten what it was like to be lazy,’ she murmured to Georgie who was on late shift and could sleep in for much longer.

She packed Sarah’s lunch, and checked her project, her collar and her nails. ‘Good, sparkling clean, though I’m surprised you’ve any left after all that washboard work.’

‘If I had a guitar I wouldn’t have to suffer like this.’ Sarah put her hand to her forehead.

‘Out,’ laughed Annie. ‘Wait and see what Father Christmas pops into your little stocking, and no, it won’t be Elvis Presley, so you can wipe that smile off your face.’

Sarah slung her satchel over her shoulder. ‘Don’t want Elvis, only his guitar.’

‘Out.’

She washed the dishes, wiped the floor, heard the post. Picked up the letter. It had a Newcastle postmark and was addressed to Wassingham Textiles. She opened it. It was from Mr Manners telling them that their goods were of inadequate quality, that they had therefore defaulted on the contract and he would be returning the whole order later today. There would be no payment of course.

Georgie passed the canteen walking in the midst of the other men, though not with them, Jesus, not with them. He took his lamp, handed in his tag. He stood still for frisking. No cigarettes, no matches – no bloody nothing – not any more. He’d lost them the lot. It was his order, he was the big I am who’d thought he’d cracked it for them all, thought he’d pushed them up when all he’d done was shove them down.

‘Get on with it, man,’ Frank said, pushing him forward into the cage. ‘Left your brains back home, have you?’

Georgie nodded. ‘Something like that,’ but his throat hurt to speak, it felt swollen with rage, with anger, with hopelessness. The gates crashed into place, the surface disappeared, the cage dropped, dropped, thumped and they were out on to the paddy train.

‘We’re down the old workings today, setting the props.’ Frank was squashed against him and Georgie wanted to break free, to smash his fist into the brickwork they were churning past. It was he who had pushed his way into the chair, taken over the meetings, insisted on the exclusives. God, if only he’d listened.

They walked inbye, crouching down, beneath the roof, the bloody creaking roof which could come down at any minute, which had come down on Wassingham Textiles. They stripped, ducked under the roadhead, their lights playing against the side, their faces in darkness, thank God, because he could feel the tears on his cheeks, dropping down on to his chest. She’d just held the letter out to him – ‘it’s part of
the game’ she’d said. ‘Just part of the game. We’ll get back on our feet,’ and she’d smiled, held him. ‘He’s a bugger, we nearly made it, we very nearly made it, we couldn’t have known, just think of that, nothing else.’

Georgie crouched lower, lifting his feet above the dust, feeling for uneven surfaces. There were broken props here, the roof had been working overnight.

‘The old cow’s splintered the buggers,’ Frank said stopping, his lamp playing on the weakened props. ‘There’s another.’

Georgie turned away, wiped his face. No, she was wrong, she had feared it, had wanted to wait, had wanted to keep the markets but he’d pushed them – for Christ’s sake he’d pushed them because he’d given her no choice, he’d shown her how he felt about this hot, dirty great hole which
he
had insisted he worked in. They’d never get back now, their name was gone – how long would he be down here now? A lifetime is what he bloody well deserved.

‘Don’t just stand there, man, let’s get on with it.’ Frank was heaving at the prop which had been left by the early shift. Georgie nodded. Yes, let’s get on with it, there was nothing else to do.

He measured a prop, sawed it, erected it, tightening it into place, hammering it into position, feeling the judder up his arm, glad of it. He hit harder – harder – harder, feeling the coal dust falling on his face, in his mouth. Again and again …

‘For Christ’s sake, man.’ Frank grabbed his arm. ‘D’you want to bring the old sow down?’ Frank’s face was coal black, streaked with sweat, angry. Georgie dropped the hammer, heard it clang, coughing now, his mouth claggy with dust, his eyes sore, sweat and grime filled.

‘You do the bloody thing then,’ he snarled, snatching his arm away, wanting to smash his fist into the face of this pigeon man who held him, wanting to kick and pound the prop into nothingness.

Frank stood silently, watching him, then reached down for
the hammer, handing it back. ‘For Christ’s sake, Georgie, leave your rows with the missus at home and remember you’re in a bloody pit. It’s not just yourself you’ll kill, it’s your marrers.’ Frank turned his back, tightened in his own prop, stopping, listening to the roof, watching for the fall of dust, and Georgie felt the hammer cold in his hand, felt the sweat running down his forehead, his chest, back, legs and arms.

He swung the hammer again, more carefully now, tightening the prop into place, hammering in a wedge of wood at the top, making sure it was straight, making sure that the pressure came down true and he felt the heat not just of the mine, but of his shame because he was part of a team, or at least while he was down here. Up there … but what was the point of thinking about up there any more?