Liverpool Annie (28 page)

Annie rang the bell, which sounded like Big Ben. No-one answered, so she went through the left arch and tried the side door, which was open. She went inside and called, 'Sylvia.'' It's me, Annie.'

The kitchen was spacious, nearly three times as big as her own, with marble-topped units and every conceivable modern device. There were a few dishes on the stainless steel draining board waiting to be washed.

Annie went into the hall, which was vast and thickly carpeted in eau-di-nil. There were genuine oil paintings on the walls, but none were as attractive as the Impressionist prints in her own lounge.

'Sylvia,' she called again. Faced with an array of doors, eight altogether, she couldn't remember which led to the main bedroom. She opened one and found a study, opened another and a broom fell out. She jumped back, startled. 'Sylvia!' she yelled.

Music was coming from somewhere, the Beatles' 'We Can Work It Out'. Annie tried another door and peered inside. Sylvia, in a Victorian nightdress, all frills and lace and pleats, was leaning against a heap of pillows reading a magazine and on the point of popping a chocolate into her mouth. She looked up and said casually, 'Hi.' She appeared fit, healthy and entirely at ease.

'Why didn't you answer when I shouted?' Annie said indignantly.

'Because I knew the indefatigable Annie Harrison -sorry, Menin - was bound to track me down.'

Annie blinked, taken aback. Sylvia sounded cold, almost rude. 'I was worried about you,' she stammered. 'I thought I'd come and make sure you were all right.'

'I said I was a bit off-colour, that's all. Thank God I'm not ill, else you'd have hired a helicopter and landed on the lawn.'

'I'd have thought you'd be pleased someone cared enough to come all this way.'

Sylvia said haughtily. 'There's already several people who care, thanks; Cecy, Mrs Church and, of course, my husband.' She pointed to the chocolates. 'The bumpy one is ginger cream, your favourite.'

'No, ta. But I wouldn't mind a cup of tea.' 'You'll have to make it yourself - /'w a bit off-colour.' Annie's hands shook as she got together the tea things. Had she made a terrible mistake? No, not terrible, a welcome mistake, but if that was so, why was Sylvia so aggressive, as if she knew Annie had guessed and was resentful. Why was she wearing such a concealing nightdress? Was it to hide all her scars and bruises? Perhaps the best thing would be to have it out with Sylvia, face to face, and see what happened.

She took the tray into the bedroom. 'I want you to do something for me,' she said slowly.

'Anything, Mrs Menin. Name it and it shall be done.'

'I want you to take your nightdress off.'

Sylvia's jaw dropped in astonishment. 'Whoa, Annie!

You're showing tendencies I never suspected. Are you

going to rape me? The press will love it. You can get

Peter Church to defend you. It's his sort of case.'

'Oh, don't be stupid, Sylvia,' Annie said, blushing

furiously. 'I want to see if there's any bruises, that's all.'

'Bruises! And why should I have bruises, dear friend?'

Annie didn't answer. Sylvia undid the buttons down

the front of her nightgown and pulled it off. She slid the

whole thing down to her hips. Annie blushed again.

Although they'd Uved together for years, she'd never seen Sylvia naked before. She was surprised at how small her breasts were. Sylvia turned round to show her back. The nobbles of her spine were like large white pearls. There wasn't a mark anywhere.

'Are you satisfied? I think you could say my skin is flawless. At least, that's what Eric says, "Sylvia, darling, your skin is flawless."' Annie recoiled at the anger in her eyes. 'I saw the look on your face on Daniel's birthday when you saw my arm. I hurt it in the Grand, by the way, but you immediately thought Eric had done it. I sensed it again in your voice this morning and as soon as I heard you shout I knew why you'd come. What a terribly, terribly wicked thought to have! Incredibly wicked. You've got too much ghoulish imagination. I feel sorry for you, having such wicked thoughts about entirely innocent people. Eric is the dearest husband in the world. We're desperately in love and he would never lay a finger on me.' She was so angry she was almost in tears.

Annie poured the tea and put Sylvia's on the bedside table. 'I only had your best interests at heart,' she said inadequately.

'I'd sooner you didn't in future.'

They drank the tea in silence, Sylvia still smouldering.

'I suppose I'd better go,' said Annie.

'It wouldn't be a bad idea. I'm harbouring the notion of throwing this cup at you once I've finished the tea. I might have thrown the lot, except it would have stained the carpet.'

Annie took the tray into the kitchen and returned to the bedroom. She had one last try. 'Are you sure everything's all right, Syl?'

'Everything is brilliant, Annie. I concede my social life is tedious compared to what it used to be, all the charity functions and dinner parties bore me shitless. I

can't help recalling the fun we used to have at dances and the Cavern . . .'

'The Cavern's closed.'

'I know,' Sylvia said sharply, 'and The Beatles went to Buckingham Palace to collect their MBEs. The Mersey Sound is no more. Everything comes to an end eventually, including friendships.'

'I'll be off then.' Annie shuffled her feet uncomfortably. 'If you ever need ... I mean, if there's ever any trouble, well, we've put Daniel in the spare bedroom, but there's an extra bed in Sara's room,'

'Why, thank you, Annie.' Sylvia's voice was gracious and edged with steel. 'And don't forget either, that there's always room for you and the children when Lauri threatens to bore you all to death.'

Annie gasped. 'That was a horrible thing to say!'

'Not quite as horrible as suggesting Eric is a wife-beater.'

'Tara, Sylvia.' Annie turned on her heel.

'Goodbye, Annie.'

Annie had opened the door, when Sylvia shouted, 'Don't call me, I'll call you.'

She waited on the path outside for a good ten minutes, half expecting Sylvia to come hurtling out, crying, 'Come back, Annie. Come back. You were right all the time.'

But she waited in vain. Her legs shook as she walked to the station. It was bad enough that a friendship of more than half a lifetime was over, but the thing v/as, she didn't believe a word Sylvia had said.

A few weeks later, Sylvia sent a card and a pretty dress on her god-daughter's birthday. Annie thought hard before replying. She wasn't sure if the dress was a peace offering and Sylvia wanted to make up. In the end, she wrote a polite letter of thanks, adding, 'If you're ever

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passing, do drop in. Sara often asks for Auntie Sylvia.' But Sylvia hadn't dropped in by Christmas, when more presents for the children arrived and an expensive card, signed just, 'Eric and Sylvia.'

The same thing happened next Christmas. The following year, Daniel started playgroup, and later Sara started school. Annie felt her heart contract at the sight of her daughter in her gymslip and too-big blazer.

Lauri, the most understanding husband in the world, took a rare day off on Sara's first day. He knew Annie would be upset, alone in the house for the first time in five years. 'Let's do something exciting,' he suggested. 'We have three hours before it's time to collect Daniel.'

'Such as?' Annie couldn't think of anything exciting you could do for three hours on a Tuesday morning.

Lauri put his hands on his hips and glanced thoughtfully around the room. 'I've been thinking, I'm fed up with pink walls. Let's buy some wallpaper! I fancy a geometric design, something ultra-fashionable that will drive the Cunninghams wild.'

'What a good idea,' said Annie. At that particular moment, nothing seemed less exciting than picking wallpaper.

Lauri went to get the car ready, and she glanced at the telephone. What she'd really like was a good laugh with Sylvia. It was two years to the day, to the minute, since she'd called and Sylvia said she felt a bit off-colour. She'd never told anyone, not even Lauri, how much she missed her friend.

Impulsively, she picked up the phone and dialled the Churches' number. She could still remember it by heart. No-one had answered by the time Lauri came back. She put the receiver down, feeling guilty for some reason.

'Who are you calling?' he asked.

'It rang,' she lied, 'but when I picked it up there was no-one there.' She supposed that was partially true.

They got in the car. Lauri was putting on weight. She was feeding him too well, he claimed when he couldn't fasten his trousers. 'I must adjust this seat one of these days.' He had trouble sliding behind the wheel. Annie leaned over and kissed him. 'What's that for?' he smiled.

'Because I love you,' she said. 'I love you with all my heart.'

Choosing wallpaper for the lounge was definitely not exciting, but the message, the reason, the meaning behind it, was. Loving someone, and that person loving you back, was the most exciting thing in the world.

Mike Gallagher got married on New Year's Day, 1969, but his poor mam was driven to despair beforehand. Dot wasn't sure which was worst: a register office ceremony which meant the union wouldn't be recognised in the eyes of God; the fact the bride, Glenda, was a widow, five years older than the groom, with two teenaged children; or the outfits the couple had planned.

'He's getting married in cowboy boots, Annie!' Dot fanned herself frantically with a newspaper. 'Cowboy boots and a leather jacket covered in fringes. I said, "At least you could get your hair cut, luv. You look like Diana Dors", but he told me, his own mother, to get stuffed.'

Mike had a glorious head of ginger hair which fell on his shoulders in lovely little ringlets and waves. Annie thought it very attractive, particularly with his gold earrings. Most young men had long hair, but Mike's was particularly outstanding. 'Lots of the girls at the English Electric had a crush on your Mike,' she said.

Dot patted her own hair self-consciously. It was more silver than ginger nowadays. 'Folks always said our Mike took after me. Mind you, I'm not sorry he's settling down. After all, he's nearly thirty-two. An unmarried man with earrings and hair like that might set tongues wagging, but not to that Glenda woman with two grown kids.'

'I quite like her.' Glenda had been a widow for ten years. She was small and plain, but had a lovely warm smile that made her look quite beautiful and you quickly realised why Mike had fallen in love. Her children, Kathy and Paul, were a credit to her.

'What are they going to live on, I'd like to know -fresh air?' Dot demanded aggressively, as if Annie could provide the answer. 'The kids are still at school, Glenda earns peanuts in that factory, and our Mike's job wasn't up to much, but at least there was a wage coming in.'

For the second time, Mike had thrown in his job to tread into the unknown. Along with a member of his failed pop group, Ray Walters, he had started Michael Ray Engineering & Electrical Services, with the intention of repairing vintage cars from a rundown shed on Kirkby Trading Estate. 'Never,' Dot said, in a flutter, 'did I envisage having a son with headed notepaper.'

She was in a worse flutter now. 'You should see Glenda's wedding dress. It's one of those mini things that hardly covers her arse. Oh,' she groaned tragically, 'I hope none of the neighbours come to that heathen register office. They'll think they're watching a circus, not a bloody wedding.'

'Actually, Auntie Dot, I'm making myself a mini dress for the wedding.'

'Where does it end?' Dot asked suspiciously.

Annie touched halfway down her thigh. 'There.'

'I hope it covers your suspenders.'

'Oh, Dot, I'll be wearing tights, won't I?' Tights were probably the greatest invention known to man - to woman. It was great to be able to do away with suspender belts and not have big red indentations on your legs when you got undressed.

'You'll never catch me in a pair of them tights,' Dot said, tight-lipped. 'I think they're disgusting.'

Lauri thought the red mini dress looked very nice when it was finished and Annie twirled around for his approval. The children were in bed and it was okay to use the sewing machine. Daniel watched, fascinated, as the needle flashed up and down, and it wasn't safe to use it when he was around.

'I'm not showing too much leg, am I?' she asked anxiously.

He regarded her thoughtfully. 'I reckon that's just enough. One inch higher and it would look indecent, an inch lower would be dowdy.'

'Are you making fun of me?'

'As if I would! I know hemlines are a very serious matter.'

'You don't think me legs are too fat?' She was fishing for compliments and he knew it. He grinned. 'You've got perfect legs, Annie.'

'You don't mind other men looking at them?'

'As long as they just look, why should I mind?'

Annie smiled with satisfaction. It was just the right answer. She looked in the mirror and said. 'I wouldn't mind having me hair cut very short.' She still wore it in the same style as she'd done all her life, which wasn't really a style at all.

Lauri murmured, 'You know I prefer it long.'

'It's my hair!' she pouted.

He looked at her, amused. 'No-one's arguing over the ownership of your hair, love. It's just that you asked my

opinion on your frock, so I thought you'd like it on your hair.'

She threw herself onto his knee. 'Am I getting on your nerves?' Perhaps it was the frock, but at the moment, she felt more like a teenager than a woman of twenty-seven with two children.

He stroked her cheek. 'I like it when you act like a little girl.'

Annie fingered his moustache. 'Why don't you let it grow, Zapata style?' He'd already refused to grow his hair, saying he would look ridiculous at his age.

'I like my moustache the way it is.'

'Why is it I leave my hair long for you, but you won't grow your moustache for me?' She pretended to look hurt.

'For the same reason we have flowered wallpaper instead of geometric which I preferred. The wallpaper wasn't important, my moustache is. If it's important that you have your hair short, Annie, then get it cut.'