Liverpool Annie (11 page)

'You can't look after them for ever, or you'll end up with no life of your own,' Sylvia said warningly.

'Dot said that. She suggested I go to Machin & Harpers - that's a commercial college,' she explained in response to Sylvia's puzzled look.

Sylvia nodded her smooth blonde head. 'Good idea, but it doesn't solve the problem of your parents. What happens when you fall in love.^'

'In love?' Annie burst out laughing.

'All women fall in love,' Sylvia said wisely, 'even if all men don't. I can't wait. Bruno gets angry with me. He wants me to go to another school and get some qualifications, then go to university, when all I want to do is fall in love and get married.'

'You never told me that before!' Annie said in astonishment. Sylvia seemed too much in love with herself, her clothes, her hair, her figure. 'I thought you didn't like boys much. When we went on that double date, we decided afterwards it was more fun being with each other.'

They'd gone out in a foursome, their first dance and first date. The boys had them in stitches when they met

on the New Brighton ferry, pretending to be Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, but on the date, the spark had gone and everyone was stiff and formal. Annie and Sylvia kept going to the Ladies for a laugh.

'We won't always feel that way. One day we'll each meet a man who'll be far more important to us than anyone else in the world.'

Annie felt slightly hurt. 'Will we?'

'Yes, though we'll still meet. We can take our children for walks together and ask each other to dinner.'

But no matter how hard Annie tried, she couldn't visualise Sylvia's version of the future. It was impossible to imagine living anywhere other than Orlando Street, and leading a life different from the one she led now. She would merely go to work each day, instead of school.

'How's Marie?' Sylvia asked politely.

It was almost two months since Marie had had her 'termination', as the nursing home called it. 'Quiet. She stays in watching television.'

'She'll bounce back up again. She'll feel better at school.'

'As long as she doesn't bounce back up as high as she was before,' Annie said darkly.

There was a new teacher at Grenville Lucas when they returned. Mr Andrews didn't look much more than a schoolboy himself. The girls fell hopelessly in love, despite the fact he wore glasses and wasn't exactly good-looking. There was just something carefree and exhilarating about Mr Andrews that appealed to everyone, girls and boys alike. He had an enthusiasm for life that the other teachers lacked. Nor did he dress as they did, but wore corduroy trousers and a polo-necked sweater under his shabby tweed jacket.

'Good morning, class!' He'd burst into the room,

eyes shining and nibbing his hands as if he were genuinely pleased to see them.

'Good morning, Mr Andrews,' they'd chorus - they'd been ordered not to call him 'sir'. English lessons were turning out to be fun. Shakespeare wasn't rubbish any more, and The Mill on the Floss and A Tale of Two Cities suddenly seemed quite interesting.

'If only we could study something written by a twentieth-century writer,' Mr Andrews grumbled one day, 'but the bloody education authorities won't let us.'

The class gasped. A teacher, swearing!

Mr Andrews decided a drama group was needed. 'Who'd like to join?' he cried. 'It's both educational and enjoyable at the same time.'

The entire class raised their hands. Annie and Sylvia were always on the look-out for something interesting to do.

'Perhaps I should have mentioned, but the drama group will meet after school.' Mr Andrews' eyes twinkled mischievously.

Half the hands went down. He laughed. 'Thought you were in for a skive, did you? Well, you've got another think coming. All you budding Thespians meet me in the gym at four o'clock. What is it, Derek?'

'What's a budding Thespian, sir? It sounds rude.'

'I told you not to call me sir. A budding Thespian, Derek, is someone who wants to be an actor, which you quite obviously don't.'

Mr Andrews thought the new group should cut their teeth on something simple like a pantomime. After a majority vote for Cinderella, he said he'd write the script himself.

'Why turn down a part?' Sylvia linked Annie's arm on the way home.

'I couldn't bear to go on stage with everybody looking at me!' Annie shuddered. 'He made me

wardrobe mistress, though the men's costumes will be hired. Wardrobe mistress! Doesn't it sound grand? I'll borrow Dot's electric sewing machine. It can go in the parlour, no-one uses it. I'm dead excited! You'll make a marvellous principal boy, Syl.'

'I hope Bruno hasn't got some prejudice against them. He has some weird ideas sometimes. Shall we go for a coffee?'

'We're awfully late and there isn't time,' Annie said regretfully, 'I've got to make the tea.'

'If only I could help! I've become quite good at cooking since we moved to the Grand. I can peel potatoes Uke a whirlwind.'

Annie felt uncomfortable. 'You don't mind not coming, do you, Syl? I mean, I'm forever in the Grand, yet you've never set foot in our house. It's just that me dad's dead funny about letting people in.'

'Of course I don't mind,' said Sylvia.

'Anyroad, if you came once, you'd never want to come again. Me mam never opens her mouth. It's like a grave compared to yours.'

Sylvia looked sympathetic. 'It must get you down.'

Annie said nothing for a while. 'It's funny, but it doesn't get me down a bit,' she said eventually. 'I scarcely think about it.' She looked worriedly at her friend. 'Dot's always on about how ill me dad looks. It sounds awful, but I don't notice. I just make the tea and can't wait to meet you so we can go to the pictures or the youth club.'

They stopped in front of a small haberdashery shop. The window was piled high with packets of cellophane-covered wool, and half a dozen cheap cotton frocks hung crookedly from the partition at the back.

'Who on earth wears such ghastly rubbish?' Sylvia said scathingly.

'Women who can't afford anything else, I suppose.'

'Oh, God!' Sylvia clapped a hand to her forehead. 'What a terrible snob I am! Why do you bother with me, Annie?'

Annie laughed. 'Because I like you!'

Sylvia looked forlorn. 'I must tell Father MacBride what a snob I've been at my next confession.'

'Is snobbery a sin?'

'I'll confess it just in case.' Sylvia took confession very seriously. 'What do you tell at confession, Annie? I can't imagine you doing anything wrong.'

'I've never committed a mortal sin,' Annie said earnestly. 'Least I don't think so. I'm not sure how the church would regard helping Marie with the abortion -not that I confessed that. The priest can see you through the grille, that's if he hasn't already recognised your voice. I tell lies occasionally, but only white ones, and I'm a bit vain, though not nearly as vain as you. I just mumble I've had a few bad thoughts and get five Hail Marys and five Our Fathers as a penance.'

'But you don't really have bad thoughts, do you?'

They turned into Orlando Street. The long, red brick walls seemed to stretch for ever and ever. There wasn't a soul about. Annie shivered. Sometimes she wondered if her life might reflect the street: empty, dull, with every year exactly the same, like the houses.

She stopped, and Sylvia looked at her questioningly. 'What's wrong?'

'You asked if I had bad thoughts. I don't, but what worries me is that I don't have any thoughts at all,' she said tragically.

'Don't be silly,' Sylvia said warmly. 'We discuss all sorts of things and you always have an opinion.'

'It's hard to explain . . .' Annie paused as she struggled for words. 'I suppose I mean deep thoughts. The reason Marie went off the rails is because everything's so horrible at home. Why haven't I done

something equally bad? Why am I always so calm and normal? Nothing seems to affect me. I never cry or make a scene or even lose my temper. It's as if I haven't any feelings underneath the surface.'

'Oh, Annie!'

'Most of the time I'm happy, least I think I am, but it doesn't seem right to be happy with things the way they are. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm completely dead inside because I'm always so bloody cheerful.'

'It's your defence mechanism,' Sylvia said knowi-edgeably.

'What's that?'

'You don't allow yourself to feel things, otherwise you'd go mad, but deep down at heart it's affecting you all the same.'

Annie managed to smile. 'Where did you get that from?'

'Bruno, who else! You should talk to him some time, Annie. He admires you tremendously.'

'Does he?' Annie gaped in astonishment.

'He calls you a "little brick". Compared to you I am no more than a useless flibbertigibbet. Oh, look, we've walked right past your house.'

'I usually do,' Annie said bitterly.

'You've done a wonderful job with Cinderella's ballgown, Annie,' Mr Andrews said, impressed. 'Where did the material come from?'

'Me and Sylvia . . .' Annie corrected herself; after all he was the English teacher. 'I mean, Sylvia and I went to a jumble sale in Southport. We bought heaps of stuff for just pennies. I made the gown out of an old frock and a curtain.'

The jumble sale had been Cecy's idea. The church hall had been like an Aladdin's cave, full of clothes, many as good as new. Even Cecy had been delighted to

find an old-fashioned Persian lamb coat, which she was going to have remodelled.

Annie had removed the skirt from the blue-and-pink striped taffeta frock, and made another, full length, from one of the blue curtains, faded at the edges. She'd sewn little blue and pink rosettes around the hem, and turned the other curtain into a hooded cloak for Cinderella's entrance to the ball. There was enough material left over for a muff.

Mr Andrews shook his head admiringly. 'You have quite a talent for this sort of thing.'

'I used to love drawing dresses when I was little,' she said shyly.

'The Ugly Sisters' costumes are just as remarkable.'

'They're not quite finished. I brought them to see if they fitted.'

Mr Andrews looked at her keenly. 'What do you intend to do when you leave school?'

'I'm going to Machin & Harpers Commercial College next September.' Dot had had a serious talk with Dad, and it was all agreed.

He wrinkled his rather stubby little nose. 'That seems a waste. You should go to Art College, take a dress designing course. What does your mother think about these outfits? They're quite outstanding.'

'She liked them,' Annie lied. Only Marie had been interested enough to enquire why Annie was spending so much time in the parlour.

'I should hope so! Perhaps one of your parents could pop in and have a word with me some time,' Mr Andrews suggested. 'A talent like yours shouldn't be squandered at Machin & Harpers.'

'I'll ask them,' promised Annie. Two lies within as many minutes! At least she'd have something real to confess next time she went.

That night, she thought about Mr Andrews' words.

She'd loved making the dresses. It was Uke painting a picture or writing a story, because she kept having fresh ideas what to do next, where to put a bow, how to shape a neckHne, finish off a sleeve. As the material sped through the machine, she felt a thrill of excitement, because she couldn't wait to see what the finished garment would look like. When it was hanging on the picture rail in the parlour, she looked at it for ages, scarcely able to believe the beautiful gown had recently been odds and ends thrown out for jumble. Not only that, it was all her own work, a product of her industry and imagination.

But it would be too much effort explaining this to her dad, she thought tiredly. Bruno would be different. He'd move heaven and earth to ensure Sylvia went to Art College, but Annie's father would never understand. Anyroad, the course might take years, and Machin & Harpers only took nine months.

Annie woke up a few weeks later with butterflies in her stomach. Today was the dress rehearsal, and she was worried the costumes might clash on stage, or Cinderella would trip down the plywood steps into the ballroom and it would be her fault for making the dress too long.

She met Sylvia in their usual place on the way to school. 'I've forgotten my costume,' she announced crossly when she arrived. 'It's Cecy's fault. She insisted on ironing it and left it in the kitchen.'

'Honestly, Syl. You'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on!'

'Only if someone left it in the kitchen instead of in my bedroom as they'd promised.'

'You should have ironed it yourself,' Annie sniffed. 'Cecy waits on you hand and foot. If me mam ironed something for me I'd drop dead.'

'Thanks for the lecture, Annie.' Sylvia grinned. 'Anyway, it means I'll have to rush home at dinner time.'

'I'll come with you.'

It was a glorious December day. The sun shone with almost startling intensity out of a luminous, clear blue sky.

Sylvia took deep breaths as they walked swiftly to the Grand. 'Isn't it exhilarating! Bruno says Liverpool air makes him feel quite drunk.'

'Sunny days in winter are much nicer than summer ones.' Annie pointed. 'Look at those people queueing outside the Odeon. Fancy going to the pictures on a lovely day like this!'

'What's on? The King and I. We must go one night. Apparently, Yul Brynner is completely bald.'

Cecy shrieked when they appeared. 'What are you doing here?' She made something to eat and offered to take them back in the car.

'No, thanks,' Sylvia said with a martyred air. 'We'll walk, but we'd better hurry.'

The queue outside the Odeon had begun to move. People were paying to go in at the glass cubicle in the foyer. A dark-haired woman with a bright scarf around her neck bought a ticket and disappeared into the darkness. Annie froze.

'Come on!' Sylvia dragged her arm impatiently.

Annie didn't move. She turned to her friend and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come.

Sylvia left her hand on Annie's arm. 'What's the matter?'

The power of speech had returned. 'I could have sworn that woman was me mam!' Her head swirled with the shock.