Liverpool Annie (37 page)

'What was she like, this Glenda?'

'Very nice. Much nicer than you'll ever be.'

Daniel came into the room looking very grim and :lutching the Teddy he'd discarded years ago. Annie jatted the bed. 'Come on, luv.'

'I'd sooner sit the side Daddy used to sleep,' he said ;ruffly.

Sara obligingly climbed over her mother. Daniel got nto bed and sat stiffly in Lauri's place. When Annie put ler arm around him, he shrugged her off. 'I'm fed up Oaddy's gone to heaven. Why couldn't he stay here.^'

'Because heaven is a much nicer place than Heather Close, silly,' Sara admonished him.

Sylvia frowned and said, 'I think you should be a bit more honest with the children, don't you?'

Annie was about to explain she didn't want them hurt, when the doorbell rang and Sylvia went to answer it. She supposed she'd better get up. She glanced at Daniel. His brow was furrowed and his bottom lip trembled as if he were about to cry. She nudged him. 'Cheer up.'

'Don't want to,' he muttered.

'You've got a visitor, Annie,' Sylvia shouted.

It must be someone like Auntie Dot or Valerie, or Sylvia wouldn't have let the visitor come upstairs. Annie wasn't prepared for her sister to come into the bedroom. 'Marie!' she gasped.

'Dot rang yesterday wanting to know why I wasn't coming to the funeral. I told her I knew nothing about it. I'm terribly sorry to hear about Lauri.' Marie looked stricken. 'Oh, sis, why didn't you tell me?'

Annie's voice was very slow and deliberate when she answered. 'Because if I had, and you'd ignored it like you ignore everything, then I would never have forgiven you. I thought it best to say nothing.'

Marie looked deeply hurt. 'What sort of person do you take me for? I may not turn up for parties and stuff, but do you honestly think I'd turn a blind eye to the death of my sister's husband?'

Annie glanced sharply at the children, but the word 'death' didn't seem to have penetrated. Instead, they were staring, fascinated, at the strange young woman in the curly fur coat that Marie mustn't have realised was just like the one Mam used to have. 'This is your Auntie Marie,' she said. 'She was in Dr Who, remember?'

*You look different' Sara remarked.

'I should hope so!' Marie made a funny face and the lildren giggled. 'I looked ghastly in that make-up.' 'Did you meet the Daleks?' Daniel asked eagerly. 'Every single one.'

'Would you like a cup of tea, Marie?' Sylvia called. 'Thanks.' Marie jerked her head. 'What's she doing ;re?'

'Keeping me company.'

'I'm your sister. I would have been prepared to do at.'

'Really!' Annie smiled sarcastically. 'What about airr

Marie shrugged uncomfortably. 'Who told you?' 'Sylvia saw it a few weeks ago.' 'I'm only in the chorus. I'll easily be replaced.' 'Would you still be here if you were the star?' 'For goodness' sake, Annie,' Marie said wearily. 'You ways expect things to be perfect. You have this rose-nted picture in your mind of what sisters should be ce, for ever in each other's pockets. Why can't you xept me for what I am? I'm an actress, a hopeless )mmunicator, but I'll always be here for you when you ally need me.'

Sara had slipped out of bed and was stroking the fur )at. Marie smiled. 'Try it on, darling.' Sylvia came in with the tea. 'How long are you aying?' she asked. 'Till Boxing Day.'

'In that case, I'll take my stuff away and you can have le bed.'

'There's no need, Syl,' Annie put in. 'Marie can sleep ith me.'

'I'd sooner go. Bruno will welcome the extra help ver Christmas.'

Marie made a face at Sylvia's departing back, 'She ill hates me.'

Downstairs, the doorbell went and the telephone rang, both at the same time. Annie threw back the duvet. 'I'd better get up. It's going to be one hell of a day and I'm not looking forward to it a bit.'

Daniel crawled across the bed and grabbed Marie's skirt. 'Will you tell us about the Daleks?'

Marie leant and clasped his face in both hands. 'Of course. You know, you remind me very much of someone I knew a long, long time ago.'

'Has he gone to heaven?'

'It was a lady and I've no idea if she went to heaven.' She glanced wryly at her sister. 'What do you think.-*'

Annie supposed it was no different from any other funeral. Sylvia loaned her a black coat to save buying one and she bought a black beret, because it seemed silly to spend a lot of money on a hat she'd never wear again. She looked a bit like a refugee, but what did it matter?

A cold wind blew across the cemetery and it was impossible to accept that Lauri lay inside the coffin when it was lowered into the grave. A lump came to her throat when she thought she would never see him again.

A small crowd came back to Heather Close, to the refreshments that Cecy had prepared. Most didn't stay long. Perhaps Sylvia felt in the way, because she left early, and by one o'clock only Marie, Dot and Bert remained. As Mike Gallagher was leaving he handed Annie an envelope. 'We'd just started a pension fund. That's due for Lauri.'

Annie knew nothing about a pension fund. She opened the envelope later and found a cheque for five hundred pounds. Like Lauri, she didn't want charity. Next time she saw Mike she'd give him the cheque back.

iristmas came and Christmas went. Marie got on well ith the children. She seemed able to come down to eir level without being patronising. Annie thought istfully she would have made a wonderful mother, aniel wanted to know everything about Dr Who and e promised to send a photo signed by Dr Who mself, Patrick Troughton.

On Boxing Day morning, it was Marie who came to the room and got into bed with Annie. They sat up, igging the duvet around them.

'You won't forget that picture, will you?' Annie eaded. 'Otherwise Daniel will be bitterly disap-)inted.'

Marie promised to post it as soon as she got home. 'I on't leave it so long before I come again,' she vowed. 'I've a feeling you said something like that before.' 'I'm sorry, sis, but everything's so frenetic down ere.'

'You said that, too.' Annie smiled. 'It doesn't matter, V. You came when I really needed you. That's all I ire. How's the acting going, anyroad? We've scarcely id time to talk since you came.' Marie paused before answering. 'Lousy, sis,' she ^hed. 'I think I'm the oldest female in Hair. I'm lirty, and the others are at least ten years younger. I as surprised they took me on at my age.' Her face I'isted bitterly. 'I'm old, Annie, and I've got no-here.'

'I don't suppose you've thought of giving up?' Annie rayed the answer would be 'yes', but Marie shook her :ad.

'If I give up now, I'll have wasted thirteen years. No,

s, I'm keeping on. I'll be a success if it kills me.'

Chris Andrews came over later to see Marie. He

lushed when she told him he looked adorable with his

igtail. 'I've written a play,' he said nervously. 'It's the

first I've done since Goldilocks. I wondered if you'd read it and let me have your opinion.'

'Of course,' Marie said grandly, as if budding playwrights regularly pressed their work on her. She left that afternoon to return to the chorus of Hair and her dream of becoming a famous actress.

Marie had gone, Christmas was over. Tomorrow, things would be back to normal. People would get on with their lives, including Annie, though it wouldn't be normal for her. She had to learn to live without Lauri.

She'd never looked in the drawer containing Lauri's papers before. He'd taken care of everything; written cheques for the bills which he left on the windowsill beside the front door for her to post.

'Crikey!' she muttered when she sorted through the bank and building society statements, the bills for gas, electricity, rates, telephone, insurance. 'I never realised the central heating cost so much.' She'd never realised anything cost so much, and felt resentment that he'd kept her so much in the dark, not shared things the way other couples did. The resentment was immediately replaced by guilt, as it seemed awful to feel even mildly angry with someone who'd so recently died.

She immediately turned the central heating down. It was New Year's Day and snowing heavily, but Sara and Daniel were next door.

The papers were spread on the table and she saw that, according to the last statement from the building society, two thousand pounds was owed on the house, yet the initial loan hadn't been for much more. The monthly payments had been taken up in interest charges.

'Bloody hell!' She multiplied the quarterly bills by four, the mortgage payments by twelve, added the yearly bills, and divided the total by fifty-two.

'Bloody hell!' she said again. It came to nearly twice hat she would get in widow's pension coupled with amily Allowance for Daniel. She might be allowed cher benefit from the State, but it would never be lOugh to meet the bills - and there were food and othes to buy on top. She searched for the latest bank atement. It was irritating that she had no idea how luch money was in the bank.

'Well, that won't last long,' she thought when she mnd it was four hundred and eighty-two pounds, but le statement was dated the first of December and ould be taken up by funeral costs. 'I think I'll keep lat cheque from Mike, after all. It will last until I get a >b. We should have taken out one of those insurance lings me dad used to sell.' People paid coppers a week )wards a lump sum when someone died. 'But it never rossed me mind one of us would die.' She screwed up er face, determined not to cry. 'Anyroad, funerals cost

fortune nowadays, it would have taken more than ennies to save four hundred pounds.'

As soon as the children were back at school, she'd )ok for a job. Bruno said she could return to the irand, but the wages weren't nearly enough. Even so, le job would have to be part-time. There was no way le'd let Sara and Daniel become latchkey kids like alerie's.

: was strange how life seemed to repeat itself. Annie )und herself again searching through the Liverpool •cho for work. Chris Andrews let her borrow his ^pewriter to practise on, and after a few hesitant tarts, she found her fingers as nimble as ever. It was le same with shorthand. Machin & Harpers were ood teachers. If she were asked to take a test during n interview, she would pass with flying colours. If she ever went for an interview! Only a few of the

jobs advertised were part-time. Annie wrote after every single one, but by the time February arrived all she had received was letter after letter of rejection. In desperation, she discussed the matter with her neighbour. Valerie had found a job. What magic formula had she used?

'No-one will take you if you've got young children,' Valerie said flatly. 'They think you'll be off every five minutes if they've got a cold or something, that you'd always put the kids before the job.'

'I would,' said Annie.

Valerie shrugged, as if this proved her point.

'How did you manage it?' Annie asked curiously. 'You've got four.'

'I told them my mother lived with me.' Valerie had the grace to blush. Mrs Owen had been persuaded to stay in Heather Close during the holidays, but that was all. Tracy had suffered from a bad cold the whole of last term, but she'd still been sent to school.

School holidays were something Annie hadn't allowed herself to think about. She was concerned only with the immediate future. The money m the bank was shrinking alarmingly. If she wasn't fixed up by Easter, she had no idea what would happen.

That night, she walked round the house to see if there was anything to sell, but all she found was the children's old cot which might fetch enough to pay for half a week's groceries. Of course, she could sell the Anglia which was old, but it ran well and she wanted to keep it. It would save time hanging round for buses if she ever got a job, though that seemed more and more unlikely, and when Sara started at Grenville Lucas next year, she could give her a lift when it was raining.

'Oh, Lauri,' she whispered. She tried to imagine him, wherever he was; perhaps his spirit still existed, looking down on her, offering advice, telling her what she

lould do. They'd never talked about death, they'd 2ver really talked about anything serious. No doubt he lought he'd always be there to look after her and the lildren.

Annie sighed. It was story-time. The hour spent )gether in the chair had become very precious lately. 7hen she finished reading, Daniel always wanted to now about heaven, what was it like? Tonight, he visted his face earnestly. 'Will Dad get on well with lod?'

'Your dad got on well with everybody.' Except me, le thought.

She'd gone to see the headmistress, Mrs Dawson, and )ld her about Lauri the day the children returned to ;hool. 'We'll keep an eye on them,' Mrs Dawson romised. 'The loss of a parent affects different children 1 different ways, but in my experience, they always ull through.'

The children went to bed. Marie had sent the signed icture of Dr Who, and it was stuck with a drawing pin D Daniel's wall.

Sylvia was coming round later. She was happily ousehunting, looking for somewhere with a garden )r children to play in. 'I'm not stopping at one,' she aid cheerfully. 'Once this is born, I shall look round for suitably gorgeous man to sire the second. D'you think dike would be interested?' she added teasingly. 'I'd uite like a red-haired baby.'

Lucky old Sylvia, Annie thought moodily. She's never ad to worry about money.

She made tea ready for when Sylvia came, and was itting in the breakfast room, thinking tearfully about -auri, and wondering what the hell she was supposed to lo, when the back door opened.

'It's only us,' Valerie Cunningham shouted. She came a followed by Kevin. 'We'd like a little word.'

'Sit down. I'm expecting Sylvia any minute.' Annie felt a moment of hope. Perhaps Valerie had told Kevin about her unsuccessful search for work, and he'd come to offer her a job in his bank!

They looked at each other expectantly, then, when her husband made no attempt to speak, Valerie began in a rush, 'I've been talking to Kevin about your little problem.'

It didn't exactly seem a little problem, Annie thought, and her expectations of a job offer soared slightly higher.

'The thing is, we wondered if you'd thought of selling the house?'