After the Storm (22 page)

‘I don’t remember me ma or da ever talking to me about it. The pits are there, the slags are there, getting higher every year, slipping further down towards the houses in the wet. Each day me da went to the pit, me brothers went and so now I go and every evening so far we’ve come back. We’ve been lucky. It’s all just there, Annie.’

He reached over and stroked her arm and her softness amazed him yet again.

Annie persisted. ‘Well, do you like the pit then, Georgie?’

And he said all he could for the moment. ‘What’s liking got to do with anything, our Annie? The pit’s there, me da was a pitman, I’ll be a pitman, our kid’ll be a pitman. There’s nothing else round here.’

Annie felt the thudding shock in her stomach. Georgie looked at her with his smile hooked up at one side but his eyes anxious.

‘How’d you like to scrub me back in front of our own fire then, bonny lass?’ He ran his finger slowly round her lips.

She caught his hand and pressed it to her mouth.

‘When?’ she said, her voice muffled.

‘When you’re 16, if the old skinflint’ll let you go, but then I’ll just have to make him.’

His voice was soft, he was laughing, his brown hair was lifting in the slips of wind which dropped before being forced upward and through the pale dry green grasses on the encircling sand-solid slope and then his eyes became dark and the laughter left them. His mouth was still, his hands were gripping hers.

‘I love you, little Annie. Shall we be together, you and me?’

‘Yes,’ she said and sat within the curve of his arm.

The day sped by in thoughts and words and skin held close together and his hands were firm not rough as he stroked the length of her body and she was not cold without clothes and there was no mark of coal on his. But there were scars where jutting rock had torn and sliced into the hard muscle of his back or the rounded curve of his shoulder and she kissed the raised and shining wounds.

His scent was sweet and strong in the curve of neck and shoulder and grew stronger as beads of sweat pricked up through his skin and his breath grew short and rapid. She had never seen a naked man before and the sense of his power made her pull him closer, ever closer, feeling him against her, his heat, his strength, until he threw himself away. And Annie lay alone and cold, his weight pinioning her arm into the shifting sand while the other chilled without the warmth of his body. Her body, so unhidden, lay open to the sky. She wanted to moan because it was unfinished, incomplete. She curled up to watch his stillness.

‘Put your clothes on, hinny.’ His back was to her, his voice was strained.

She pulled her arm free and still with no words pulled on first her pants, then her stockings which were warm with the same hole in from this morning and her dress whose button-holes seemed clearer than before. The third one had frayed so that the stitching hung limp and useless from the bottom end and finally her cardigan which was smooth and wrapped her away into herself again.

She sat with her hands clasping her knees, her face pressed hard down against them and they tasted salty, not of herself as they should. Her mind would hold no thoughts and her mouth no words and all she could hear was the roaring and threshing of waves which followed no pattern.

He was beside her now, his arm around her shoulders, his head on hers and their tears came quickly as her face pressed into his neck.

‘We don’t want a bairn yet, you’re no more than one yourself, my little Annie. We must wait.’

The sun lowered itself enormously into the sea, red with effort, as they pushed the bikes on to the road and the uncertain dusk helped them to see each other’s presence but not their eyes or mouths which still trembled. The train was crowded with last-minute returners so still they had time to pause and fit each fragment of themselves into a whole that felt something like it had once done, only better.

‘Race you home, our Annie,’ Georgie called as they left the station and, closeted by the street lamps, they laughed again and sang again and then lapsed silent for the lights were on in Albert’s kitchen and they stood still, for he was always asleep when they returned.

‘I’ll come in with you,’ he said and took her arm but before they reached the door it opened.

‘And what time do you both call this for coming home?’ It was a woman’s voice. ‘Come in this minute, Annie, and I will see your friend here at ten o’clock sharp.’

Annie hung back. She could picture the grey umbrella in the hall-stand on that wet funeral day. Georgie looked at her, confusion in his eyes.

‘It’s Sarah Beeston,’ Annie said. ‘She gives me gloves.’

He reached past her and took the handlebars. ‘I’ll come in with you, pet.’ He spoke firmly.

‘No need for that,’ Sarah’s strong voice answered. ‘I’ve never been known to eat people and I doubt whether I shall start now. It would probably give me fearful indigestion at this time of night.’ She had appeared full in the doorway now, standing quite still. They could not make out her face because she was standing with her back to the light.

Georgie touched Annie’s hair with his fingers, then cradled her head against his hand. She leant into the caress. ‘Will I see
you tomorrow?’ she asked, not wanting him to move from her side. This he sensed and turned back to the figure in the doorway.

‘I’ll be coming in with her, if that’s all right with you.’ He was already taking the bikes and propping them against the side wall.

‘Very well,’ Sarah said. ‘Come in both of you.’

She spun back into the house and light fell out into the yard. Annie took Georgie’s hand, lifting her eyebrows and shrugging at his silent question.

The fire was banked up in the kitchen and Sarah Beeston pointed to the chairs around the table and sat in one at the head. Georgie took his cap off and stuffed it in his pocket, steered Annie to a chair and took one himself.

‘Now,’ said Sarah. ‘Here’s tea. I was just pouring one for myself. Your uncle, Annie, I am pleased to say, is now in bed, though there will be more to discuss in the morning, I am quite sure.’

She sat back, her calm eyes watching them as they watched her. Her suit was black with a straight skirt and she had a white blouse on that had no frills but she was not pretty, neither was she ugly. She was strong, decided Annie and her apprehension grew. The mug was hot between her hands. She took a sip.

‘It won’t do, you know, Annie, all this running riot until the early hours. In fact none of this will do.’ She swept her hand round the kitchen.

It looked clean enough to Annie. She had a clout if it wasn’t. The fender was shiny, the sink was clean with no trace of slime. The table was scrubbed. There was mould on the walls at the bottom but that was because Albert would not pay for any whitewash.

‘It won’t have to for long,’ Annie answered, adding to herself – and what business is it of yours anyway? The steam wafted into her face as she sipped. She looked over her mug at Georgie and smiled.

Sarah’s eyes were steady as she looked at them both. They seemed painfully young, as of course they were. Annie was just 15 and Georgie, for that was the name her informant had given her, could not be more than 17. Well, she thought, I wonder what our Annie has decided she’s going to do with her life,
because she was very sure it was not what she, Sarah, intended and so she asked her.

‘And why is that, might I ask?’

‘Because we shall marry when I am 16 and leave anyway.’

Sarah watched her sit back, pleasure at her statement evident on every line of her face and body. She knew it was not unusual for early marriages up here and in the mining communities of Wales, just as the areas bred young militants, but this girl was not going to be one of those young brides. She, Sarah Beeston, who had watched from a distance her childhood turn into youth and her youth into blossoming womanhood was not going to be held back from putting this girl into an arena where she could choose what sort of a life she wanted rather than one which seemed the better of two evils. Thank God for Bob Wheeler who had written to her, as she had asked him to, at the funeral. Tell me if there seems to be a problem she had said, when she was baulked yet again of taking custody of her cousin’s child. Don, she had decided, was well able to look after himself. He had seemed to know precisely where his future lay when she had spoken to him at Archie’s funeral. With himself in the main, she thought, and everybody else could go hang. She shook her head again at the suspicion that he and Albert were pretty much alike.

She had always thought that Albert was as he was because of the favouritism shown to Archie but Don had had two parents who doted on him and it appeared that still his God was himself and damn the rest. Perhaps therefore it was after all a family trait that reared its head whatever the circumstances. She wondered if it was inherent in Annie. It would be interesting to find out because, if it was, she felt sure it was in a form that would encourage survival of the spirit, but not at the expense of others.

She had called in on Betsy before she came here. She had been sitting by the fire sewing whilst Joe had been doing the books at the kitchen table. It had seemed that at last that poor unfortunate woman had a modicum of contentment, but was the loss of a son too high a price she wondered? Betsy had made her a cup of tea. Sarah looked down at the one which was in her hand; she felt full with the liquid and longed for the Earl Grey which Val made at home in Gosforn.

She had explained to Betsy what she intended for Annie and
Betsy had nodded. Annie deserves better than Albert, she had said, with a hard look at Joe who was oblivious as he reckoned up his day’s takings. Take her away she had said to Sarah. I couldn’t do anything for her, maybe you can.

So here she was now, she thought, and focussed again on Annie. Marry, indeed. Not yet, not while she still had breath in her body.

‘I think not, Annie. I would like you to come and live with me in Gosforn, go back to school and have the opportunity to make something of yourself.’

There was a stricken pause and Sarah saw shock in both their faces.

‘I’m bloody not coming with you.’

Georgie sat and waited.

‘Albert and I have decided that you are to come and live with me and somehow I shall produce something that your poor father would have been proud of.’ Sarah poured herself another cup of tea, not because she wanted one but because the scene she had had with Albert still made her want to castrate the man.

He had allowed her in, though he had recognised her immediately and no doubt remembered that she had been against him taking Annie after Archie’s death. She had bowed then to the fact that he was a closer relative and that it might be better for Annie to remain in an environment she was familiar with after such a bereavement. And indeed Annie did seem inordinately attached to her step-brother which Sarah could understand. She herself was no advocate of blood ties automatically ensuring compatibility and the fact that Tom and Annie had chosen to cement a close step-relationship through choice not expectation was altogether laudible. That relationship, Sarah had felt, would help her more than anything. The fact that she now had a boyfriend did not bode so well, especially as Albert was allowing the child to run riot as well as mistreating her.

Bob Wheeler, God bless his upright soul, had discovered all this for her. He had been attached to Archie and had always felt in some way responsible for his death, though why, Sarah could not imagine. He had taken it upon himself to write with regular reports of Annie’s well-being and had become concerned at gossip and rumour which seemed to indicate neglect and
perhaps violence. Sarah had received the last of these yesterday, had arranged leave from her job in the solicitor’s office where she worked and driven over.

Albert of course had blustered and created but Sarah had seen his type before. Out of my way, she had said, as he tried to prevent her coming further into the house, or I shall get the law on to you.

His mouth had fallen open, she recalled, and what a mouth it had been. Very few teeth and what there were would not invite closer examination.

This child that you have living with you, she had begun, stripping her gloves off and sitting by the fire, in his chair, she hoped. I shall take her with me tomorrow, you have done quite enough damage.

She remembered his mouth, opening and shutting and the abuse which had been hurled from it had been quite entertaining.

That’s quite enough of that, she had said. Annie is to come with me now.

She can’t, he had said, moving in towards her. She had learnt self-defence years ago and had been totally unperturbed. Albert was a bully and would not attempt any violence on a grown person she had been quite sure, and if he did, she would make short work of him. He had quite a beer paunch on him and looked flabby.

She had allowed the tirade to go on for quite some time; it so often defused a situation, she felt. It was amazing how many aggressive husbands, being sued for divorce, entered the office and then left, mild as lambs, after expelling a great deal of hot air.

Albert, of course, had not wanted Annie to leave. She’s mine, she remembered he had kept saying. But, Sarah Beeston had said, she is nobody’s but her own. She is old enough to leave you and if you make a fuss I shall call the police and explain to them that you initially employed Annie as an under-age servant, and what is more, subjected her to considerable abuse, is that clear? She had stood up at that point and he had actually stepped back.

In fact she was not too sure of her rights in the case but how was he to know that. She would check when she arrived back at the office.

He had told her to get out and she had said certainly not, not
until Annie was home, then they would both remove themselves in the morning. It would be an uncomfortable night on a chair for her, but she had known worse. But now, back to the matter in hand, she thought.

Annie had been looking at Georgie, drinking him in and he had kissed her hand and smiled.

‘Me da gave me nought to be proud of,’ she said. ‘He was a bloody fool who stuffed himself with gas to save getting on with it.’ Annie was fighting for her life now, her fists were clenched and she was standing, leaning forward, her chin tilted, spitting out the words at Sarah.