Annie's Promise (10 page)

‘I love you, Annie, you little belter, and your ruddy knickers – we’ve done it, we’re on our way.’ His mouth and body were against hers and she could feel the heat of him through her dress. She had been too many nights away from him, and he from her.

The next day Annie ordered the rotary cutter and some new cloth. They needed more than end rolls for this though she would confirm in a few days, she told the supplier. Tom drove to Newcastle, arriving back at tea-time with a list of specification changes.

‘Bloody nit-picker, wants the bra strap moved half an inch, the flowers in blue and the thigh line higher on the pants.’ Tom handed her the sheets. ‘I’ll work on the new designs tonight, put them in the post tomorrow.’

She nodded. ‘If you could, Gracie and I have to finish and deliver the regular orders. If he approves the new designs – which he must since they’re his ideas – I’ll run up samples for him. I’ve sorted out a printer for cards and stationery. We’ll need a professional invoice, don’t you think?’

Tom put the kettle on, nodding, turning, leaning on the guard, his face alive with excitement and pleasure. ‘It’s happening, isn’t it, bonny lass? It’s happening at last. We’ve just been talking and hoping for so long and now we’re here. Give us one.’ He nodded to the cigarettes.

Annie shook he head, tapping the packet. ‘No, you’ve given up.’

‘Oh come on,’ he said, grabbing for the packet. ‘It’s a celebration and I need one after that Nigel Manners.’

Annie shook her head again, snatching the packet back, putting it down her cleavage. ‘Just try and get them out of there and it’ll be clipped ear time. We’re celebrating tomorrow anyway, it’s Saturday and we’re off to the beach.’

Tom turned as the kettle boiled, pouring the water into the pot, bringing it back to the table, pushing aside the invoices Annie had been writing up. ‘Brass monkey weather for the beach, isn’t it?’

Annie smiled wryly. ‘Bracing, the bomb man called it, the one who likes the edge.’

Tom grinned at her. ‘He’s coming out of the pit though, at last. We haven’t heard much about his famous edge recently, have we? I think he’s just about realising he’s put on a few years since he was sixteen.’ Tom held the pot over
her cup and she nodded. ‘Still, you were sensible to let him do it, Annie, he needed it.’

She reached for the milk, poured it, stirred it, heard the spoon click against the side, watched the spiral, thought of the three men who had been killed on Georgie’s shift a month ago, and the countless others who were the walking wounded. ‘I had no choice, Tom, you know that, no choice at all.’

The beach had been as cold as Tom had said it would be and now the children huddled in Annie’s kitchen, pressing against the guard as their parents sipped hot soup.

‘Come on, Rob, don’t take all day,’ Sarah said, rubbing her feet, brushing away sand. ‘You’re not the only one with chilblains, I’ve got some whoppers and Davy’s are blinking away at me.’

She watched Rob take his time, stroking in the ointment until she wanted to slap him. ‘You’re such a little snot,’ she said, hugging her knees, feeling her toes throbbing, smelling the salt on her skin, pinching it, making a bum out of her knee.

Rob grinned and threw her over the wintergreen. ‘Your turn, and don’t be vulgar.’

Sarah passed it to Davy. ‘You have it first.’

Davy’s chilblain’s were belters and she winced as she saw him rub the wintergreen in harder, knowing how they were itching, because hers were too, but bye it had been worth it. She looked over her shoulder at her da. He’d run like the wind to catch her mum, waving seaweed until she screamed and then he’d come for her and she’d run and run as though she’d never stop, until there’d been no breath left, aching with joy and terror as she heard him coming closer and closer.

‘That was a good tackle you did on me, Da,’ she said to Davy, taking the wintergreen, stroking it on at last.

‘Too good,’ Georgie called over, ‘I’ll have a bruise for the next three weeks and just where did you put the seaweed
you tried to shove down me neck?’ He was laughing as he passed back Tom’s new season designs.

‘Outside the door, it’ll tell the weather for us,’ Sarah called back but he wasn’t listening now, he was talking to Tom about the business and she was glad he was. She looked at her da’s blue ridged hands, his coal-stained skin. Yes, she was glad he was because soon he would be out of the pit and then she’d sleep at night.

She looked at his shoulders, his arms, his legs. Norma’s da had been a fast runner too, he’d won the fathers’ race. He’d died a month ago in the pit, with his two brothers. Norma sat next to her in class and had forgotten how to laugh.

She rubbed the wintergreen in deeper, digging her nails into the chilblain, wanting pain, not itching. She screwed on the top, tossed it back to Rob.

‘You’re bigger,’ she said, nodding to the shelf.

‘Anything more, your worship?’ he grunted, stretching, tucking it behind the clock.

‘A few jelly babies would be nice,’ said Sarah, her mouth rounded into posh, her little finger raised. ‘But only the red and green ones, so sort them out first. I like to save the head till last, so cut those off too.’

She ducked as he flicked a paper pellet at her. ‘Not nice,’ she minced. ‘Really, not very nice – common one might say.’ They were all giggling now.

Annie smiled as she listened to Sarah.

‘Did you hear me, Annie?’ Georgie’s voice was sharp.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

‘Well, get back here. We’re trying to sort out the plans for the year. Now, are we all agreed that we need to send out a letter requesting an appointment and then a follow up phone call? Did you catch that, Annie, d’you agree?’

Annie looked at Georgie, sitting there with his pencil poised, and said gently, ‘Of course I caught it, Georgie, I wrote it, remember?’

But he was already on the next point and didn’t hear and
as she watched this man’s confidence, his eagerness she knew it didn’t matter that he’d take her place as chairman – the sharpness in his voice was only excitement, it would pass and soon he’d be safe.

‘When’s Manners coming back on the amended designs?’ Georgie asked Tom.

‘Monday,’ he said. ‘Strange man though, thought not dealing with a woman went out with the ark.’

Annie lit a cigarette, playing with her lighter, wondering where she’d heard that name before, pushing it around her mind as she’d done the first time Nigel Manners had been mentioned.

‘Did you hear that, Annie?’

Annie looked at Georgie, ‘Sorry, miles away again.’

‘Who’s going to train up Meg and Irene?’ Georgie asked again, and Annie pointed to the notes she had written down for him. ‘Brenda and I are, there you are, point six.’

Her voice was gentle and now Georgie looked at her, his face reddening and he touched her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being an idiot, I just feel so impatient, I want it underway.’

She nodded at him, feeling the touch of his finger on her skin, seeing the softness of his eyes. ‘I know, we all feel the same.’

They drank beer then and discussed the new designs properly and Gracie said, ‘You’ve done dungarees here, Tom? I thought elastic wouldn’t work?’

Annie nodded. ‘By the autumn, we’ll have premises and enough cash to buy a button holer, but we can hold buying it until we see if there’s enough take-up on the design. Brenda said she’d do the button holes on the samples.’

They discussed the extra homeworkers they would need once the orders built up, and they would, once their stock came pouring out into Manners’ outlets and their name became known nationally.

They discussed Briggs’ warehouse. Bill the estate agent had told Annie they could relax, take their time because there was no interest at all, but soon they must think of planning
permission so that they were ready to convert when they centralised the business.

It was then that Tom lifted his glass, looked over the top at them all. ‘I reckon that day’s not far away so I think there’s a toast in order, to Georgie, who brought this whole thing off, and to Wassingham Textiles. We’ve finally made it.’

Annie drank, sitting back in the chair, looking at the children, the range where Sophie had baked, where she now baked. She ran her hand along the scrubbed wooden table and felt complete.

On Monday Manners required yet more changes but Isaacs had often had the same problem and so Annie and Tom worked late into the night adjusting the designs yet again, interrupted only by a phone call from Don, asking them all to the convent’s Open Day in three weeks’ time. ‘Teresa’s playing the piano at two. Perhaps you could be there in good time, Annie. Hats will be required, and gloves.’

‘You will, of course, be wearing chiffon?’ she asked, then wished she hadn’t. ‘I’m sorry Don, just a little tired.’

‘Yes, I’d heard you’d landed a big one. Tell me more when I see you. Bye.’

Tom looked up as she put the receiver down. ‘My what big ears he has,’ Annie said. ‘And my, how word gets around.’

‘What did he want?’

‘To tell us to be on parade in three weeks’ time for the Convent Open Day.’

‘Not bloody likely.’

‘Oh come on, Tom, we should go. Terry’s playing the piano and he’s trying to make amends. They gave us nice presents at Christmas and now this. He wants his family there, in hats and gloves.’ She was laughing now but Tom just groaned, then shook his head.

‘God in heaven, he’s such a pompous idiot. Come on, let’s get on with these.’

Annie spent the next week training up Meg and Irene with
Brenda who had to be paid a full salary, she explained to Georgie, because she was already doing a job, not just sitting waiting for Manners’ go ahead.

‘But what’s the hold-up?’ Georgie said, shovelling down his breakfast, throwing on his coat and stepping out into the cold morning air.

‘This is what’s called business, my love.’

‘Christ, it’s worse than waiting for the coal to creak and the roof to come down.’

‘Just call it the edge then, Georgie.’ She pulled him back, kissed him. ‘It will be all right, my darling. He’s just fussy, he wants exactly the right thing, we’ll have to go with it, it’s no problem.’

She watched him leave, then hurried into the dining-room. She still had the regular orders to pack, the first of Tom’s samples to make up, the invoices to draw up, Gracie’s work to check, her own to complete and still a ruddy hat to buy.

In the middle of March Manners finally approved the samples and increased his order to sixteen thousand. It would take up all their capital, plus a loan to increase the order with the supplier, Annie told Georgie, who nodded. ‘Just have to. I’ll fix it.’

Annie alerted the suppliers, the homeworkers, Brenda.

‘We’ll be starting any moment,’ she said. ‘Just waiting delivery of the machines, the cloth and the trimmings.’

But Tom phoned from his pit office at eleven a.m. as she was sewing the last of the aprons for Gosforn Market.

‘Annie, he wants exclusive use of the designs. He’s just called. What the hell do we do?’

Annie said nothing, just held the phone. Exclusive use? Exclusive use, for God’s sake. ‘How dare he,’ she finally said. ‘How bloody dare he? He’s messed us around and now this. Tom, we’ve used those designs for all the new market stock, the Madam shops, but put on different trim. He said that was fine. What’s he playing at? Go back to him. Tell him they’re out on the stalls but with different trim, just as he agreed. Just tell him.’ She was shouting.

She hung up, leaning her head on the banister, then paced the hall, running her fingers along the wallpaper, twisting the door knob, dusting the mirror with her handkerchief, running her fingers through her hair. This was outrageous, dangerous, they mustn’t agree. She pounced on the phone when it rang. ‘Manners says the copies are to be off the stalls by tomorrow at the latest or the order’s off,’ Tom said.

Annie breathed deeply, who the hell did Manners think he was? The man was nothing more than a bully and she’d had enough of them to last a lifetime. Good God, it meant ruining their existing markets, it made the business too vulnerable, there’d be no fall-back if anything went wrong. And these traders were her friends, they were loyal, they’d been with her from the start.

Her knuckles were white on the phone, her arm was trembling, her head was aching. What the hell was going on? Did he really expect them to go along with this?

‘No Tom, you’ll have to tell him no. If I pull back the traders’ stock it leaves them with nothing. We’re their sole suppliers. We can’t do that to them. Just tell him no. Call his bluff, we can’t just be restricted to him, it’s bad business, it’s dangerous – we’re out on a limb with debts to pay.’ Her hands were shaking, her legs too. He’d gone too far.

There was a silence. ‘I’ll tell him we’ll ring him back tonight, let’s think about it – it’s the big one, Annie. I know, see how many you can run up of the old stuff for the stalls.’ Tom’s voice was taut. ‘I’ll say I can’t get a decision, catch Georgie as he comes off shift, discuss it with him. He’ll know what to do, we don’t want to blow it.’

There was a click as he put the phone down and Annie held the empty receiver. I know what to do, her mind shouted. I know what to do too – we wait until the new tour, do it sensibly. It was all she could think as she sewed up the oven gloves, one after another until her fingers were sore. Then she dragged out all the boxes she could find and counted through the stock. There was very little left. She checked through next season’s designs, perhaps she could bring those
forward but she’d never get enough done in time for tomorrow’s delivery and the traders hadn’t approved them anyway.

She threw the sketches across the table. Why the hell should the stall holders suffer because of that man?

She stoked up the range, dragged on an apron, mixed flour and margarine, slammed the oven door, not caring that there was flour on the floor, waiting, because she knew that Georgie and Tom would come.

She watched them open the door, stand and look at her. ‘We’ve rung Manners and agreed,’ Georgie said.

She checked the scones, took them out, tipped them on to the rack. She had known they would, but they were wrong, they were being panicked, they hadn’t thought it through, not properly, couldn’t they see that? She washed the baking tray, trying to contain her anger as she spoke. ‘If we agree to Manners we’ll be putting all our eggs in one basket. We did it with Sarah’s money, we’ll be doing it again. We must just wait for the new tour.’ Her voice was quite calm, quite quiet.