Annie's Promise (26 page)

That Christmas Gracie and Annie took Davy and Sarah into Newcastle, gave them tea at the department store, wafted into Lingerie and said ‘Good afternoon,’ to Mrs Wilver-combe, who preened and asked them to stay for more tea and told them how well their garments were selling. ‘Such a pleasure to do business with you.’

Annie wanted to say that she wished she could say the same, but didn’t.

They refused tea. ‘So sorry, no time. We have guitars to buy.’

She and Gracie smiled as they heard the children gasp and then took them out to the music shop that Roger, the Youth Leader, had suggested and stood while the kids looked, then fingered, then tried, watched them blush because no sound came from one. It was electric.

Annie shook her head, pointing down to the far end. ‘Oh no, a cheap one first, just to see if you really like it.’

They each left with an American six-string National with a metal body and groaned when their mothers took it from them, saying that they must wait until Father Christmas dropped it down the chimney.

All Christmas Day, while the parents and Bet drank champagne and wine to celebrate the success of their first textile mail shot they fingered the strings, moving up and down the frets, until they were banished to the upstairs sitting room, taking their
Learn the Guitar the Easy Way.
Georgie said, ‘Why aren’t there any good tunes any more, that’s what I’d like to know.’

In spring 1960 the consortium’s inspector insisted that they update the lavatories and it did them no good to insist that it came within the landlord’s province because the small print stated clearly that it didn’t.

In the summer Tiger won the Club cup and Buttons took second place and Frank’s grin was almost as wide as Georgie’s. Sarah told Miss Bates at school, and also told her that she had learnt to play the guitar, and would teach the others if she liked.

Miss Bates said no, but she could write her project on pigeon keeping if she liked. Sarah did like and worked hard, charting the daily routine, the trapping of the youngsters, the tossing, the destruction of those who didn’t ‘make up’, calm and analytical now, leaving out of the project her tears, her pleadings with Georgie to let them remain. But he was right, they’d never have thrived, she could see that now.

In the autumn the children were banished out to Black
Beauty’s stable to practise because they had been joined by Geoff on guitar and Paul on drums. ‘It’s too much for an old man’s eardrums,’ Tom said, though he drifted out from time to time because Annie had said that he should pay more attention to Davy. Sarah still sat in her room for half an hour before sleeping, picking out the tunes that were played on Radio Luxembourg, wanting an hour, but being refused.

In the early spring of 1961 Tom and Gracie toured the European Trade Fairs and brought back so many orders that they took on three more workers and there were now four children in the creche. Annie loved to walk in and hear the sound of their laughter, their singing, because these were the simple sounds of childhood and a relief from the minefield of the teenage world.

In June the inspector called again and this time insisted on redecoration and replacing of the external doors, which had been damaged by the comings and goings of the textile workers, or so he said. They had to overhaul the heating system because the flue was dangerous. It took too much from their profits and Tom said that the creche was a drain on the business. He showed them the books when Georgie and Sarah returned from a training race but as they sat back drinking tea they knew that they couldn’t close it.

‘This business is not just for us, it’s for Wassingham,’ Annie said and the others agreed.

‘It’s just that our overheads are so high we’re never in profit as we should be. Christ, I wish we had an alternative to Steadman’s.’

‘Perhaps we should build our own premises?’ Georgie said, as Sarah made herself cheese on toast.

Annie felt hungry just smelling it. ‘Would you put some on for me, darling. Anyone else?’ Everyone else. Sarah sighed and Annie grinned.

‘Tough being the cook, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘Oh, Mum, I’ve got practice for the fête.’

‘Be quiet, Sarah, this is important.’ Georgie was leaning forward.

‘So’s my fête.’

‘I said be quiet.’

Annie intervened. ‘Leave the cheese, take yours and Davy’s, half an hour’s practice only and then homework, then clean the pigeons.’

‘Oh Mum.’

Annie stood up. ‘Go on, there’s been a compromise, don’t push it.’

Sarah paused, then smiled. ‘Thanks Mum.’ Annie grinned wryly, then grated the cheese, whipped the egg, mixed it, listening as Georgie and Tom thrashed out the possibility of building, but there was no possibility, they all knew that. They were trapped.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘In spite of everything we’re still in profit, we’re growing – we have domestic and export markets, and pretty soon we’ll have rebuilt that damn building so they can’t cream any more off us. Now eat this up.’

In August the children played at the fête and Annie heard them before she saw them, driving up to the grassed wasteland beneath the slag, laughing at Georgie’s face as he heard his daughter’s voice, his daughter’s guitar playing, heard her growling out from the tannoy, beating across the air.

‘Why aren’t there any proper tunes any more? Why do I feel so old?’ he said, heaving himself from the car, walking with Annie to the tombola, buying tickets.

‘They’re good you know.’

Georgie nodded, moving on to the coconut stall, throwing and missing, thank God, Annie thought. She hated coconut. ‘Yes,’ he said, tossing the last ball up. ‘But where’s it all going to end?’ He threw and hit one and Annie’s heart sank.

She carried the coconut towards the roped off area where the kids were playing. Teenagers were jiving all around them, their skirts whirling up, their arms flailing, their hair back combed and bouncing.

‘I mean, Annie, they ruin their hair. She was scrunching it all up this morning.’

‘Back combing.’

Georgie walked on. ‘They throw themselves around. Look at that.’

Annie looked at a girl being thrown over her partner’s shoulder, then back down again between his legs. She wanted to join in.

‘I mean, we didn’t have time for this,’ Georgie said. ‘I mean, what are they going to get up to? There’s this music, all these strange fashions. I liked those pretty skirts with lots of petticoats.’

‘Mm, but the children are deciding what
they
like, not following what we like and perhaps it’s not before time. It’s a different world, my love – careful.’ The grass was tufted, uneven and the smell of it was in the air. ‘They’ve more money, people are catering for them. We’ve got to forget what it was like for us, and try and understand what it’s like for them, much as it goes against the grain, and go on being patient.’

Annie said that again to Georgie in December when Miss Bates told them at the parents’ evening that Sarah was not working to her full potential, that she had too many interests in her life, that her guitar playing should stop, and that she should put the group to one side until her ‘O’ levels were over, and perhaps her ‘A’s.

Annie spoke to Sarah in her bedroom that night. She sat on the edge of her bed, feeling the ridges of the patchwork that Bet’s mother had sewn so many years ago, looking at the ivory paper knife that had been her father’s and wishing she felt old enough to be this child’s mother.

‘Now look, Miss Bates feels you have too much to do now that you are starting to work for your ‘O’ levels. Something has got to give. She would like it to be your music.’

Sarah hugged her knees and nodded. ‘Yes, piano’s a waste of time.’

Annie knew she would say this. She spoke quietly but firmly. ‘No, not the piano, the group.’

Sarah straightened, flicking her hair back from her face. ‘That’s not fair. I won’t give it up. I just won’t.’

‘There’s no need to shout.’

‘Mum, I won’t.’

Annie took her hand and Sarah snatched it back. Annie said, ‘Listen, let’s leave that for now, let’s talk about what you want to do in life, we never seem to discuss this sort of thing, everyone’s too busy. It’s our fault as well, don’t worry, I’m not blaming you. Now, what do you want to do?’

Annie walked to the window, leaning against the frame, looking out across the town that she loved, hearing Mrs Anders’ cat, and the pigeons in the loft outside, wishing she’d done a degree in diplomacy.

‘I want to go to Newcastle to learn fashion design.’ Sarah’s voice was muffled.

Annie turned. Her daughter was leaning on her knees, her mouth against the quilt. ‘Are you sure? I remember you saying that years ago but I don’t want you to feel you have to do it just because of the business.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘No, it’s not because of the business. Anyway, you can’t call it fashion can you – a few dungarees, aprons, smocks and underwear – but I do want to work with you.’

Annie raised her eyebrows, well pardon me for living, she thought, but merely said, ‘So, if you want to do fashion design you will need your ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels. You will need to do more work.’

Sarah looked up at her. ‘Mum, it’s not the music I want to give up.’

Annie looked out again at the pigeon loft and nodded. She had thought as much.

‘I don’t know how to tell Da.’

Annie smiled gently at Sarah, walked back to the bed, straightened the quilt. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do a deal with you, I’ll tell him – you may keep your music going, but only if your homework is done. I’m not sure what Tom will say to
Davy, because he’s in trouble too. You might find yourself going solo.’

She bent and kissed her daughter.

‘I’ll never go solo, it’d be no fun without Davy, no fun at all.’

Annie was quiet for a moment then left the room, thinking as she walked down the stairs that her daughter’s love for Davy was very deep, but was it the love of a sister for a brother as her love for Tom was, or was it something quite different? Only time would tell. That night Annie barely slept because all she could think of was how Sarah would cope with the loneliness of college without her friend, whichever love it was. But thank God it was only as far as Newcastle.

On the Saturday after she had spoken to Sarah Annie and Georgie drove ten miles north of Wassingham, through wind-flattened moors and huddled villages. She could hear the wind screaming in from the north and soon she’d feel it. She drew her scarf round her neck, turned up her collar. Would it be a white Christmas?

‘You shouldn’t have come, pet, it’s too cold for you. Sarah’ll be here next week. I could have come by myself.’

Annie looked at his strong hands on the steering wheel. Oh no, he couldn’t come by himself because what if he fell, damaged his false leg, damaged his stump? He could die in this cold, but to tell him that was to admit his limitations and that she must never do.

‘The thing is, my darling, she can’t bear to give up music and she has to give up something.’

They were turning into Rowen’s Track and she felt Georgie turn to her, then to the front again, wrestling with the wheel as the car lurched on the rutted ice-cracked tracks.

‘Oh I see.’

She could tell from his voice that he did.

‘These few years have given her so much Georgie, not just success with Buttons but time with you. She’ll have shared memories.’

They were approaching the farm gate, Georgie stopped the car whilst she leapt out, the force of the wind stopping her, taking her breath. She bent her head into it, her nose already numb, her lips too. She slipped the wire, pushed
back the gate, stumbling over the frozen hummocks, but the sun was already coming out as Georgie drove in past her. She shoved the gate shut and ran for the shelter of the car, pushing her hands between her thighs as they lurched and bounced across the field.

‘I’ll miss her, she’s sliding through our fingers isn’t she?’ Georgie said quietly.

Annie nodded. ‘Just as we did. Everyone does.’

Georgie steered the car towards the north-east corner, to the lee of the hawthorn hedge and already the air was warmer.

‘The wind should drop,’ Georgie said, making no effort to leave the car, just sitting back. ‘Let’s wait and see, don’t want them battling too much, it makes me stump ache and God knows what it does to their wings.’ He paused. ‘I love her, I worry about her, I’m glad I had all those days with her. You’re a generous woman, Annie.’

He kissed her now, held her close and she remembered Bet saying to her as they stood and watched Georgie and Sarah leave one day. ‘Aren’t you jealous?’

Yes, she had been jealous – of Georgie’s time with Sarah, of Sarah’s time with Georgie but it had been necessary for them both. His lips were on hers now, kissing softly, gently and then with passion. ‘I shall just have to do put up with you now,’ he said at last, drawing back from her, pushing her hair off her face. ‘Cold nose and all.’

They carried the basket across to the usual place and now the sun was warm as she dropped the lid back and watched Button’s and Tiger’s youngsters wheel, dip, then fly for home.

They drank coffee out of the thermos, cupping their hands around the mugs, moving their feet. ‘I can still feel my toes, after all this time,’ Georgie said. ‘Come over here and let me feel your nose.’

She laughed and leant against him as he pressed his cheek to her face. She kissed him, heard him tip his coffee away, felt him take hers and toss the mug to the ground, felt his arms around her, his lips on her eyes, her nose, her lips, his
hands undoing the buttons of her coat, stroking her breasts, her body, then holding her tightly to him, so tight she could hardly breathe.

‘There’s a time for them to grow up, isn’t there, if only to give us time together,’ Georgie said, his mouth on hers. ‘I’m glad you’re back, I’ve missed you.’

Both domestic and export sales rose steadily in the spring of 1962 and Annie redeemed her walnut table. Throughout the Easter holidays they agreed to take on Sarah, Davy, Geoff and Paul as temporary packers and cleaners. The tennis courts were finished – they had managed to build two – and now they wanted decent tennis rackets, shoes, and the group needed amplifiers.