Liverpool Annie (24 page)

'Oh, luv!' Dot's face twisted in anguish. 'I want you to be happy.'

'I am happy, happy with Lauri. And he waited over two years before asking me to marry him. Why do you think he let me pick everything for his house? It was because he always hoped one day I'd live there, that the things would be mine, yet all the while he just sat back and let me enjoy meself. Oh, Auntie Dot,' Annie sat

beside her aunt and took her hand, 'I'm no longer an impressionable young girl. I'm a woman and I want to settle down with Lauri. Please be happy for me. You're the only person in the world whose opinion I care about.'

Dot looked mollified. 'I suppose you're old enough to know your own mind,' she sighed. 'But what about religion, luv? Lauri's an atheist,'

'Yes, but he's happy for our children to be brought up Catholic' Annie blushed when she thought about what happened before you had children.

'What's Sylvia got to say about it?'

'She thinks I'm nuts. According to her, Lauri's smug and boring.'

'The nerve of the girl! He's a lovely chap. I've always Hked him.'

Annie gaped at the sudden swing in Dot's position. Dot saw the look and grinned. 'I'm just an ould meddler, aren't I.'*' She gave Annie a warm hug and said tearfully, 'I hope you'll be very happy with Lauri. You have my blessing, girl.'

Heather Close

The lawn looked thick and smooth, shimmering like emerald velvet in the summer sunshine, although close up the grass was thin. The turfs took time to reach the earth beneath and flourish. Lauri cut the lawn at least once a week with the electric mower. He said the more it was cut, the quicker the grass would grow.

There was scarcely a breath of breeze, just enough to make the branches of the willow tree give off a whispery rustle. The leaves changed colour; light-dark, dark-light, when they moved.

From her deckchair on the patio, Annie could hear Gary Cunningham next door bawling his head off. He either had a dirty nappy, was hungry, or just plain fed up. Gary was three months old and a difficult baby. Valerie, his mother, found it hard to cope.

The Cunninghams had moved into number eight at the same time as Lauri had moved into number seven. Gary, their first child, had been born in April, Valerie Cunningham, an intense, wiry woman with dark fiery eyes behind heavy horn-rimmed glasses and short crisp hair, was in her mid-twenties. Her husband, Kevin, who worked in a bank, was just the opposite, with a round soft face, pale lips and pale eyes. His rimless spectacles seemed so much a part of him that Annie couldn't imagine him without them.

They fought a lot, the Cunninghams. It was rare that an evening passed when the Menins weren't forced to

listen to a row. They yelled at each other, sometimes for hours, whilst Gary cried in the background.

On the other side, Mr and Mrs Travers were talking in subdued voices as they worked in their showpiece garden, full of glorious flowers, rustic seats and arches. The Travers were an unfriendly couple, who'd lived all their lives in India. Perhaps they thought they'd come down in the world, coming to live in Heather Close, with a building worker on one side and a comprehensive schoolteacher on the other.

Annie had been thrilled to find Chris Andrews, the teacher she'd liked so much, living by the Travers'. Chris was just as pleased to discover his favourite pupil, or so he said, had become a near neighbour. He had married Lottie, the Alice-in-Wonderland fiancee who had come to the pantomime. They had no children, and no matter how hard she tried, Annie found it difficult to take to Lottie. Despite her wide-apart blue eyes and butter-wouldn't-melt-in-the-mouth expression, there was something sly about her.

Gary gave an unearthly scream and Valerie screamed back, 'Give us a minute, you little bugger.' Annie might go round soon and give a hand; change his nappy or make a bottle. It would be good practice.

Her own baby rolled gently in her stomach. He or she never kicked, just made little gentle movements. Annie imagined a tiny figure shifting position, stretching and yawning inside her womb.

She loved being pregnant, loved the feel of her swelling body under her hands. She hadn't had a moment of sickness. According to the clinic, everything was going perfectly, as if she'd been born to be a mother.

The baby was due in September. Two weeks ago, she'd left the English Electric, and been presented with a Moses basket, which made her feel guilty: it was only

six months since the wedding, when she'd been bought a set of saucepans.

Annie stretched comfortably. It was lovely being at home with nothing to do except make baby clothes and read and watch Wimbledon on television. She'd already had stacks of visitors. Bruno had bought Sylvia a car for her twenty-first and she'd got a job in something called 'public relations', which meant she was sent out on assignments and always managed a detour to Waterloo. Cecy was so thrilled you'd think Annie was bearing her first grandchild, and of course Dot came bearing stern advice nearly every day.

The patio, a suntrap, was becoming too hot. Annie struggled out of the deckchair and went through the French windows into the cool house.

There were pictures in the lounge, reproductions of Impressionist paintings; Monet, Degas, Pissarro, Van Gogh.

'Why didn't you buy them before.''' Annie asked Lauri. He'd had bare walls for more than two years.

'I wasn't sure if you'd like them. I wanted your approval.'

'They're beautiful!' Sunsets, rippling trees, Parisian streets, water lilies.

Brilliant sunshine flooded through the open windows and made the pictures look as if they were alight. The pink walls glowed softly, the dark red suite looked brighter than usual. Annie sighed with pleasure. It looked equally lovely when it was dark, the curtains drawn and the cream-shaded lamps on each side of the fireplace switched on. She would sit with Lauri on the settee, discussing names for the baby, what pattern wallpaper to put in the room which would be a nursery, or watching Steptoe & Son on television. Occasionally, Annie would compare their blissful situation with the Cunninghams', and Lauri would say something like,

202

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'They've got to learn to adjust to each other, else life will be one big fight.' There'd been no need for Annie and Lauri to adjust; they hadn't exchanged a cross word since the day they'd met.

Oh, she was so lucky \

There was a framed photo of their wedding on the mantelpiece. To most people's disappointment, Annie had decided she didn't want a big posh do, about twenty guests at the most: the Gallaghers, the Delgados, Marie, one or two friends from work.

'Is that your idea or Lauri's?' Dot snapped.

'Mine,' lied Annie. Cecy had offered to pay for the reception and Uncle Bert for the cars, but Lauri felt as if he would be accepting charity. The bride was supposed to pay for the wedding, but Annie hadn't got a penny saved. It seemed silly for Lauri to spend hundreds of pounds when there were still things to buy for the house: neither of the spare bedrooms were furnished, and he wanted a garage built on the side. Anyroad, Lauri said he would prefer a quiet affair. It made such sense that Annie gave up the idea of the wedding dress which she'd designed years ago - very regal, slightly Edwardian, with a tiny bustle - and made herself a simple calf-length frock in fine, off-white jersey, with a high neck and bishop sleeves. Cecy loaned her a white hat covered with frothy white roses.

Sylvia was the only bridesmaid, and considerably put out when told to wear something plain. She thought she was being awkward when she bought a scarlet costume, but it turned out just right for a December wedding.

Annie traced Lauri's features on the photo with her finger. He was smiling, the contented smile of someone entirely happy with his lot. He was always happy, Lauri. His only dour words were for the politicians on television. Otherwise, he exuded good humour all day

long. It was impossible not to be happy when Lauri was around.

A loud crash sounded through the separating wall, followed by a scream. Gary was still crying. Annie hurried next door.

Valerie was in the kitchen, almost in tears, a baby's bottle in her hand. The room, identical to Annie's own kitchen in reverse, was in chaos. Every surface was covered with dishes, clean and dirty - Valerie never bothered to put them away. The fronts of the white units were streaked with coffee and tea. On the floor were two buckets full of dirty nappies soaking, and a basket of clean ones waiting to be hung out. Also on the floor, the reason for the crash, an upturned drawer and a scattered assortment of cutlery in urgent need of polishing.

'The whole bloody drawer came out when I pulled,' Valerie groaned.

'Never mind,' Annie bent down, scooped the cutlery into the drawer and shoved it back in. 'What's the matter with Gary?'

'Bloody little sod wants his dinner, that's what, and I can't find the brush to clean his bottle.' Valerie had been a nervous wreck since Gary was born; her milk had dried up so she couldn't breastfeed.

'I think I saw the bottle brush in the drawer.' Annie took the bottle out of Valerie's hand, cleaned it thoroughly, stuck a funnel in the neck, discovered the milk powder amidst the mess and measured out three spoonsful. 'Is there any boiled water?'

'In the kettle, I'm not sure if it's too hot or too cold.'

The water felt just right. Annie poured some over the back of her hand the way it said to do in her baby book. Then she filled the bottle up to eight ounces, found a teat soaking in a bowl on the window sill, and gave the bottle a good shake. 'Would you like me to give it him?'

'You'd better. My hands are trembling.'

The carrycot was in the lounge, which was as untidy as the kitchen. Gary's little screwed-up face was bright red with rage. Annie picked him up and shoved the bottle in his mouth just as he was preparing for another mighty yell.

'Whew!' Instead of tidying up whilst she had a few minute's peace, Valerie threw herself onto the black velvet settee and lit a cigarette. She wore jeans and pumps and one of Kevin's old shirts, covered in stains. Her short dark hair was uncombed and her face bare of make-up. 'Look at me!' she groaned. 'I'm a sight. You'd never think this time last year I was a career woman who wore tailored suits and wouldn't have been seen dead without lipstick. Don't have children, Annie. They ruin your life.' Valerie had been manageress of a travel agency.

'It's a bit late to tell me that,' Annie said drily.

'Of course, I forgot. In a few months, your lovely house will be just like mine.'

Never! There was no way she would have a kitchen like Valerie's. Not only that, she would feed her baby regularly, breastieed, and take it for long walks if it cried - Gary always calmed down in his pram, but Valerie was too disorganised to take him.

Gary finished his milk, so Annie laid him on her shoulder and began to rub his back.

'You should have let him suck it longer,' Valerie complained. 'At least it keeps him quiet.'

'But he'll only get more wind, sucking at an empty bottle.' Which was something else she'd read in the baby book.

'Aren't you already the perfect mother!'

There was a sarcastic edge to Valerie's remark that Annie resented. After all, she'd only come to help. She didn't have to be in this rather smelly house trying to

raise a burp from an equally smelly baby. Hurt, she stared silently at the brick fireplace, almost identical to the one Lauri had built. The Cunninghams had taken the standard tile one out and had this installed as soon as they'd seen next door's.

'Sorry, Annie,' Valerie said stiffly. 'My nerves are at breaking point. I had a terrible row with my mother on the phone this morning, and last night Kevin and I had an even worse one.'

'I know, we heard.' It was something to do with Kevin wanting a clean shirt every day, which Valerie felt was unreasonable considering all the washing she had to do for their son.

'He seems to expect his life to go on exactly as it did before; his dinner on the table, shirts ironed and the house looking like something out of a magazine. He even had the nerve to suggest I weed the garden in my spare time. Spare time, I ask you!'

Annie and Lauri had listened to the subsequent row. Lauri smiled. 'If I'd known the Cunninghams were going to live next door, I would have asked for extra thick walls.'

Lauri was nothing like Kevin. He brought her a cup of tea in bed each morning, helped with the housework at weekends, and had no inhibitions about washing dishes just because he was a man. He laughed the time she burned the rice pudding, and didn't give two hoots when she made a terrible mess of her first omelette and they ended up with scrambled egg.

Gary burped and began to bawl. 'I'll change his nappy, if I can find a clean one, and take him for a walk,' Valerie said tiredly.

Annie offered to change the nappy whilst Valerie had another cigarette. It was difficult to get the terrycloth square around Gary's flailing legs and even harder to fasten the pin without piercing his tummy.

'One of these days I'll stab the little bugger, so help me,' his weary mother remarked.

Ten minutes later, she went marching off pushing the big expensive pram, her baby dressed only in his nappy and vest because she couldn't find clean clothes. Everywhere was still in a mess and there was no sign of a meal being prepared for Kevin.

Annie presumed there would be another row that night.

Sara Menin, weighing eight pounds, arrived without a single hitch on the last day of September.

'Isn't she beautiful!' Annie whispered the first night home. Sara was fast asleep in her cot beside their bed. She had pale fair hair with a touch of red and a tiny, almost grown-up face.

'Like her mother.' Lauri kissed Annie on the cheek. He stared at Sara as if he couldn't believe he was a father. 'It's like a dream come true,' he murmured softly. 'My wife, my child - my family.'

'Why didn't you get married again years ago?' Annie asked curiously, at the same time thinking how terrible it would have been if he had.

'What a strange question!' He looked amused. 'Because I was waiting for Annie Harrison to come along.' He kissed her other cheek.