Liverpool Annie (31 page)

On such a glorious day, no-one was prepared for the hearse, followed by a single black car, which drove slowly into the cul-de-sac and stopped at number six, the Travers'.

In Bootle, a crowd would have gathered. Here, there was an agitated twitch of net curtains. The Travers' had always kept very much to themselves. There was no coffin in the hearse, yet no-one was aware a coffin had

been delivered, that death had visited Heather Close for the first time.

Annie made the Sign of the Cross when she saw a coffin carried by four pall-bearers emerge from behind the tall hedge that hid the old couple from the world. Then Mrs Travers followed, alone. She was dressed entirely in black and her face was hidden behind a heavy veil. The coffin with its single wreath was carefully stowed into the back of the hearse, and the miniature procession drove away.

'Did you see that, Annie?' Valerie Cunningham shouted.

Annie hurried into the back garden, relieved to have someone to talk to. There had been something inherently depressing about the scene: not so much the death of a very old person, but the fact it had occurred without anyone knowing. Mrs Travers must have been alone with the dead body of her husband for several days.

Valerie was leaning on the fence. She looked upset. 'They mustn't have any children.'

'Or relatives.'

'Or friends.'

'They didn't want friends,' Annie said. 'I tried talking to them over the years, but they always snubbed me.'

'I mean, I would have sent a wreath if I'd known.'

They stayed talking, anxious for company on a morning when death had cast its shadow over their comfortable and more or less contented lives.

'Just think, Annie,' Valerie said soberly. 'One of these days, we'll be as old as the Travers'. Either that, or we'll be dead.'

Annie shivered. 'I'm not sure which I'd prefer.'

They decided to call on Mrs Travers that night and offer their condolences. After a while, Valerie went indoors. She'd bought a new cookery book and wanted to make something nice for Kevin's tea.

Z59

The Cunninghams rarely rowed these days. They had sown their wild oats early and emerged unscathed, so Valerie claimed. Years ago, Kevin had confessed to an affair, 'It was when I was pregnant with Tracy,' she confided. 'He felt weighed down by the responsibility. It made him feel young again.' He refused to name the woman, said it was someone Valerie didn't know. 'I was so hopping mad, I had an affair myself with this nauseating chap from the TV rental shop. Kevin blew his top when he found out. But everything's all right now,' she added complacently. 'In fact, our marriage is stronger after all the ups and downs.'

When Valerie had gone, Annie sat on the patio and watched the children play. Sara was idly pushing herself to and fro on the swing Lauri had recently made, and Daniel was sitting in the plastic paddling pool playing with a blow-up boat, a bit half-heartedly, she thought. She hoped it was the heat and he wasn't coming down with something.

There'd been no ups and downs in the Menins' marriage, nothing to make it stronger. There was no way she could bring herself to be unfaithful to Lauri. It would show on her face, and she'd give the game away if she had to tell lies. She was no good at lies, apart from little white ones. Anyroad, not a single man had made anything remotely like a pass since she got married, so who would she have an affair with?

How could it be, she wondered, that you could love someone as thoroughly as she loved Lauri, yet be so . . . Annie searched in her mind for how she felt; not exactly fed up, not exactly bored, not really unhappy, maybe a bit of all these things. Last year, the Cunninghams had dumped their progeny on Valerie's mother and gone on holiday to Paris. Next month, they were off to Spain, this time taking the children with them. Other families in the close took holidays.

But when the children broke up last month and she suggested the Menins went away, Lauri protested they couldn't afford it. 'It could cost hundreds, love, and you know work's been dropping off.'

This was true. Inflation was soaring upwards in a dizzy spiral. With prices rising, people were reluctant to buy a new house and building firms were closing. Lauri had been working shorter and shorter hours.

'We could hire a tent and go camping,' she suggested hopefully. 'The Shepherds in number two go camping every year to this lovely site in North Wales. It wouldn't cost much more than staying at home.'

According to Connie Shepherd, it was really back to nature. The site was on a farm with only half a dozen tents. First thing each morning, they would cross the wet fields to buy fresh milk and eggs from the farmhouse. On fine days, they ate outdoors. The children loved exploring the Welsh woods and valleys, playing in streams and catching tadpoles.

'What happens when it's raining?' Lauri asked.

'You can still go walking in the rain.' Annie lifted her head and could almost feel the clean, invigorating rain falling on her face. 'Oh, it would be lovely! Sara and Daniel would have the time of their lives.'

'Quite honestly, love, it's not my cup of tea. When I'm off, we can go to New Brighton or Southport for the day, as we've always done.'

She couldn't very well put her foot down. You couldn't force someone to take a holiday they didn't want. She said, 'When Daniel starts school a year from now, I'll look for a part-time job. Then we can have a proper holiday.'

He shook his head emphatically. 'I don't want you working, Annie. You've enough to do, what with the house and the children.'

'/'m the one to judge what I can and can't do, Lauri,'

she said sharply. 'I'm quite capable of doing a part-time job and looking after things. It won't inconvenience you at all.'

'I wasn't thinking of myself, love. I just don't want you taking on too much.' His voice was pleasant. He never lost his temper.

But Annie knew he was thinking solely of himself. There was nothing vindictive about it, not like with Eric. Without realising it, he wanted his wife to be dependent on him. Maybe it was why he'd refused to let her learn to drive, though when she threatened to use the housekeeping for lessons, he'd agreed. She was down to take the test in December.

She said no more, though was inwardly simmering, when Lauri redeemed himself completely. 'I've been thinking, why don't you go to London for a weekend with Marie?' he said. 'You haven't been since we got married and it's ages since you've seen her.'

'You mean, by meself?' Annie gasped.

'Well, it wouldn't be much good with the children! I can manage them on my own for a few days. Dot will lend a hand if necessary.'

'Oh, Lauri!' She didn't throw herself into his arms as she would have done once, because of the invisible barrier that had been erected. 'Oh, Lauri,' she said again, 'that would be the gear.'

From the Travers' garden, the sound of clippers could be heard.

She's back! God, she must feel terrible!

But Mrs Travers was dry-eyed when the women called that night to express their sympathy. She didn't even ask them in.

'Thank you,' she said coldly. Her parchment-coloured face was a cobweb of deeply etched wrinkles. Through the door, an umbrella stand made from an

Z62

elephant's foot could be seen, and there were ugly wooden masks on the wall. She closed the door in their faces.

'Well, what do you make of that!' Valerie remarked indignantly.

'I don't know,' Annie said slowly, 'I really don't know.'

A week later, Chris Andrews called. He still taught at Grenville Lucas, and Annie found it incredible that she'd once regarded him as old. At thirty-four, he was only a few years older than herself. Lottie had left him the previous year, and for a while he was devastated, but pulled himself together with a vengeance. He lost weight, had contact lenses fitted and grew a pigtail -Annie showed him how to plait it. He wore flared trousers, embroidered waistcoats and Indian shirts. The current fashion of platform soles added to his height. The transformation was amply rewarded when a procession of glamorous young women started to descend upon his house, some quite brazenly staying the night.

'If Lottie could see you now, she'd be back like a shot,' Annie told him admiringly, but Chris said he didn't want her.

He hadn't come on a social visit. His house adjoined the Travers' and there'd been no sound, nothing, for the past two days. He'd knocked and there'd been no reply, but even when the old man was alive, the Travers' had not always answered. He wanted to know if Annie had seen Mrs Travers in the garden.

'You can't see much for the trees, but now I think about it, I haven't heard her, either.' Annie panicked. 'I hope she's all right.'

'Why don't you call the police?' Lauri suggested.

'I'll take a look around first.'

Lauri went with him. He told Annie afterwards that

they looked through the windows and the letterbox, but could see nothing, so went round the back. Mrs Travers was sitting upright on a rustic bench in the garden. She had a pruner in one hand and a single red rose in the other. According to the doctor, she had been dead for two days.

An ambulance came and the body was removed. Nothing was heard about a funeral. Later, a van arrived and removed the foreign-looking furniture and a 'For Sale' sign went up. Rumour had it the Travers' had left their money to an orphanage in India.

The house was sold almost immediately to a middle-aged couple, the Barclays, from Smithdown Road. They had three teenage children, and the whole family spoke with a pronounced Liverpool accent and weren't the sort of people usually found in Heather Close. Sid Barclay ran a fruit and veg stall in various markets; Great Homer Street, Ormskirk and Birkenhead. His wife. Vera, was never seen without a cigarette hanging from her mouth. Their car, the latest Ford Granada, went in the garage, and a big shabby van was left on the drive for the whole world to see.

The first thing the Barclays did was to remove the hedge, lop the trees, and clear most of the plants out of the back garden so they could lay a lawn. Soon, there was no indication the Travers' had ever lived there. Indeed, as far as anyone knew, there was no indication that the Travers' had ever lived at all.

'I don't know why you find it depressing,' said Sylvia. 'They probably led a gloriously exotic life in India. Think of the clothes they used to wear in those days; the women in pure silk, dripping lace and precious stones, the men in military uniforms, and everywhere smelling of spices and musky perfume. I bet she had an affair with an army colonel who drank champagne from her

slipper and Mr Travers shot him to redeem his honour. Imagine white-clad servants with dark handsome faces oozing sex appeal, fanning them with bamboo leaves as they lay naked and perspiring sensuously in their net-covered beds.'

'Wow!' said Annie. 'And here's me thinking they were just a lonely old couple who died within a few days of each other.'

'They'll have lived on their memories, Annie. I'd like to think my husband would die quickly because he couldn't live without me. Eric's more likely to laugh uproariously and get married again within a week.'

'Are things no better.^'

'Things will never get better. We had our nastiest row ever last night. I think he might have killed me if his mother hadn't turned up. It was my fault. He told me I wasn't a whole woman because I couldn't become a mother, so I said he wasn't man enough to father a child.'

'Why is that your fault.' It sounds childish, but he started it.'

It was Monday, and Sylvia was following Annie around upstairs as she stripped the beds; dirty sheets and pillowcases were heaped on the landing ready for the wash. The children had returned to school and playgroup the week before.

'I know, but men can't stand slights on their sexual prowess. Tell them they've got BO, squinty eyes or warts on their bottom, and they don't give a damn, but insult their manhood, and they're likely to explode. Wouldn't Lauri?'

'I've no idea, Syl. I wouldn't dream of insulting his manhood.'

Annie went into the main bedroom and pulled the clothes off the double bed where, apart from when she had been in the maternity hospital, she'd spent every

z6$

night with Lauri for the last eight - nearly nine - years. 'I wouldn't mind getting those duvet things,' she said. 'They're so much more convenient - you could make the bed in a jiffy.'

Sylvia said, 'You never talk about sex, do you, Annie?'

'I suppose it seems rather private.'

'I tell you everything that happens between Eric and me.'

'That's your choice,' Annie said primly. 'You tell me because you want to, not because I've asked.'

'You can be a proper Miss Goody Two-Shoes sometimes, Annie Menin.' Sylvia sat down at the dressing table, opened Annie's jewellery box and began to try on earrings.

'Our Marie used to call me that.' One occasion came back in a sharp memory; their dark bedroom on Christmas Eve after seeing her sister in the Grand pretending to be grown up when she was only thirteen.

She forgot the beds and opened the wardrobe door. 'What shall I take to wear in London? I'm going on Friday.' One of the women Marie shared a house with would be away and Annie could have her room.

'Don't ask me. I wouldn't be seen dead in anything you own.'

'Thanks very much,' Annie said tartly. She sorted through her frocks. They did seem rather drab.

'Hey, here's that orchid pendant I bought you in George Henry Lee's all those years ago. Poor little thing, it's all tarnished.'

'It was only nine and eleven.'

'What happened to the rose you bought your mother?'

'I've no idea. Perhaps it was left on when she was buried. She always wore it.' Annie abruptly sat down on the bed.

z66

'I'm sorry, Annie.' Sylvia was instantly contrite. 'That was tactless. As you've nearly finished, shall I make us a cup of coffee?'

'Please.' Annie shuddered away the picture of Mam lying in her coffin wearing the little pink rose.

Sylvia sang at the top of her voice as she ran downstairs. Her relationship with Eric was a mixture of tragedy, comedy and farce, but she was determined to keep her spirits up. 'I won't let him turn me into a victim. If I become a victim, I'm lost. Anyway, everything will be over soon. Either he'll murder me, or I'll murder him.'