Annie's Promise (28 page)

On 1 August Sarah showed Annie details of a talent competition in Newcastle in three weeks’ time. ‘We want to enter. We want to get as far as we can while we’re here. It’ll improve us so much, hold us in good stead for London.
They’re more sophisticated there, sharper. We’ll need much more experience.’

That night in bed, Annie and Georgie lay and worried and the next day as she cooked breakfast Annie said, ‘Where is this music taking you – will it push aside your art? Do think carefully, you need qualifications to fall back on, and we hear such stories of the music world.’

She turned the bacon, hearing it spit, watching the fat cook, the rind warp, waiting for her daughter to reply.

Sarah was reading the paper, turning the pages, speaking with toast in her mouth. ‘Oh, we’re only going to use it to earn a bit of extra money. It’s just a hobby, Mum, like Da’s birds, then we’d like to come back here and help in the business, if that’s all right, because the north’s our home and besides you’ll need us when you start the retail outlets and the wallpaper.’

The bacon was burning. Annie flicked it on to the plates. ‘That’s all right then,’ she said quite calmly, though she wanted to leap in the air and cheer.

The kids practised in Annie’s front room because Tom’s neighbours had complained about the noise coming from the stable. Mrs Anders complained about the noise coming from the front room, but no more loudly than Georgie did, stamping into the kitchen on Friday night, storming out into the yard, talking to his pigeons, complaining to Annie that the whole thing was ridiculous.

Annie laughed gently. ‘It would be ridiculous if it was serious, just remember that, but they’re being sensible, so count your blessings.’

Georgie slumped down on the step. ‘I’m tired, you’re tired. We can do without this bloody racket. There’s so much to do at work, there’s the pigeons to race …’

‘There are the children to nurture,’ Annie interrupted. ‘And that’s the most important thing of all, Georgie Armstrong.’

She joined him on the step, putting her hand on his false leg as he leant back against the door frame. ‘And what about
that dress she’s made for the show, Annie? It’s above the knee, for goodness’ sake. It’s a disgrace. She’ll get herself into all sorts of trouble, and imagine that in London. I suppose you made it for her.’ He was leaning forward now, holding her arm.

‘No, I didn’t make it for her, I just showed
her
how to do it, so stop being so stuffy. All the girls are dressing like that now.’

‘But she’s only –’

‘Sixteen,’ Annie interrupted again. ‘Not a child, so stop panicking and treating her like one. Give her some freedom and she’ll … oh, come back and perch, just like your youngsters do. Lock her up and she’ll break out. They might not want to come back to Wassingham if you start all this, just think on that.’

Georgie rubbed his forehead, then rested his back against the frame again, looking up at the sky. It was so clear, the stars so close.

‘What can we do then? I can’t stand this noise, and neither can the Anders.’

Annie stood up, brushing the back of her jeans. ‘I know and I’ve been thinking about it for a while. We’ve got space in the packaging area. Let them use that. There’s no one there.’

Georgie moved his head slightly, looking at her, and she bent down and kissed his mouth. ‘Give them a hand, we’ve only got them for two more years,’ she said.

He nodded, putting his hand behind her neck, holding her mouth against his. ‘You look very lovely in those jeans, very, very lovely, and I adore you.’

‘Then get up, go in there, give them the good news and then we can have some peace.’

She handed him his stick and went to the pigeons, put her fingers in the wire. ‘Poor little birds, I’m surprised you came back to this mad-house each day,’ she crooned, laughing as she heard the whoop of joy from Davy and then, ‘Oh, Dad,
you’re brilliant,’ from Sarah and wished that she had been able to say that just once to her father.

After work that day Annie waited in the office, looking out across the car park, seeing them struggling along with their guitars, their amplifiers. She showed them the packaging room, reminded them of the no smoking rule, gave them the keys and drove Georgie mad at home, until Sarah came in and said everything was as Annie had left it. In the morning, she found that it was.

They practised there each evening for the next two weeks and sometimes Annie would stay late at work to listen to them. They were good. Sarah explained that they were practising the descending introduction to
Move It
, a Cliff Richard song.

‘We’re trying to get the question and answer lead breaks right at the end of each line.’

Annie nodded, though she didn’t understand a word.

‘We’re trying to broaden our appeal, Aunt Annie,’ Davy said. ‘We’re covering
Living Doll
as well as rock ’n’ roll. We don’t know what we really want you see, which way we want to go.’

‘One doesn’t,’ Annie murmured, ‘but you seem to be doing better than most.’

As she walked away she recognised
Blue Suede Shoes
and felt very proud of these children – only they weren’t children were they, not any more, but neither were they quite grown up. Was anyone every really grown up? Annie wondered, as she sat at her desk, drawing doodles, filling them in. Did anyone ever feel fully wise and in control, because she didn’t, not when she looked at her daughter and knew that one day she would leave.

Three days before the talent show Georgie came into her office with Brenda. He held slips, pants and bras. ‘We’ve got a problem,’ he said, passing them to her. ‘And I’ve got a meeting in Newcastle in two hours. We can’t have this, darling. I think you should sack her, whoever she is.’

Annie looked at the burn marks on the garments, touched them with her fingers, looked up at Brenda. ‘For God’s sake, what’s been happening?’

Brenda shook her head. ‘I can’t understand it. There’s your check mark on those …’

There was a knock at the door and Tom came in, with tea towels in his hands, showing her the holes, sticking his finger through them, shouting at her, ‘What the hell are we going to do? I’ve had Jones on the phone. These are his returns. He’s furious – says can’t we run a proper business.’

Annie stood up, taking the tea cloths. ‘Keep your voice down, Tom, for goodness’ sake. I’ll sort it out, go and soft talk Jones, tell him it won’t happen again.’

She hurried out into the machine shop with Brenda, walking round slowly now, calmly, both of them looking for cigarette ends, trying to smell smoke. It couldn’t have happened here, they were sure, the workroom was under constant supervision. Annie reached the end of the room. No, nothing. It had to have happened where people worked alone, which only left the packing room.

Annie felt sweat start on her hands. That was where the children practised but they wouldn’t, they didn’t smoke. Surely they didn’t. She’d told them, again and again. She’d told them. She walked ahead of Brenda, down the machine shop, down the corridor into the room. What would she say to Georgie? What would he do? What would she do?

They were at the door now, opening it. Pat was in there, packing clothes, her forefinger nicotine-stained against the white of the cotton. Her clothes smelt of smoke. Brenda touched Annie’s arm and Annie nodded, feeling relief swamp her, walking round, checking the boxes, moving to the corners of the room, seeing Brenda doing the same and Pat packing all the time with those fingers.

Brenda stooped, picked up a cigarette butt and brought it to Annie. It was still warm.

‘When did you come on packing duty, Pat?’ Annie asked,
standing with the cigarette butt in her hand, hating the smell of it, glad that she’d given up.

‘Few minutes ago,’ Pat replied, not looking up, just packing.

Brenda checked the duty roster on the wall. ‘Half an hour ago, according to this.’

‘So, it might have been.’

‘Pat, what do you know about these?’ Annie said, standing quietly in front of the woman, whose roots were dark against her bleached hair.

Annie held out the damaged goods, showing the holes, the burn marks. ‘You do know don’t you that there is a no smoking rule? We explained – I can remember both Brenda and I telling you.’

‘Course I know. That’s not me, and I don’t know whose that is either. All I know is that it isn’t me.’

‘Feel it, Pat.’

She watched the fingers touch it. ‘It’s cold.’

Brenda touched it and nodded. ‘Yes, it’s cold now, but it wasn’t.’

‘I can’t have smoking. It’s not just the damage to the goods, it’s the fire hazard. There’s so much cloth in here and chemicals that it would be a disaster if anything happened.’

Pat turned from her.

Annie put the butt in her pocket, watching as Brenda brought over other butt ends from beneath the shelves. They were a different brand, Kensitas.

‘See, it’s not just me. I smoke Players, not those. Those are someone else’s, probably your kids. I didn’t burn anything, anything at all. OK, so I had one but that’s all. You know yourself they’re all stacked up when you’ve checked them. It’s them who’ve done the damage.’

Annie looked at Brenda. There was doubt in her eyes, and in Annie’s too, she knew. She took the butts, looked at them, then at Pat. ‘OK then, Pat. You’ll have a warning. If I ever find you smoking, you’ll go. I shall speak to the children tonight.’

Annie said nothing when Sarah arrived home, and would not allow Georgie to either. She said nothing as they washed the dishes and Sarah did her homework, just smiled and said she’d be spending the evening at home tonight, they’d have to practise on their own, without the benefit of her wisdom and experience.

Sarah laughed and left them.

One hour later with Tom and Georgie, she entered the machine shop quietly, stood outside the door of the packing room, listening to the chords, to the singing, the coughing, and Annie felt her shoulders tighten with tension as Georgie opened the door.

The kids were moving, right foot forward, backwards, sideways, trying to keep their steps in time with the music and with one another. Davy’s hair was too long, she thought. But then Geoff’s and Paul’s was also and she was smiling because there was no smoke, no thickening of the atmosphere, their throats were just dry from too much singing.

‘Just thought we’d drop in, see how you’re getting on.’

Tom took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. ‘I found these, anyone want one?’

No one did.

‘We don’t smoke thanks, Mr Ryan,’ Geoff said, straining to get his fingers on the right strings, frowning with concentration.

They left, closing the door, checking the machine room again, then the cloakroom where the overalls were hung. And it was there that they found the Kensitas in Pat’s overall pocket.

Annie showed the packet to Brenda in the morning and then called Pat into her office and dismissed her on the spot. At the end of the next day she saw her again, stopping the machinists at the entrance to the car park, stopping the printers, even Bernie and Brenda, showing them the papers she had in her hands.

Tom said it was probably a petition which no one would sign and besides she was gone when they left, hurrying to
get home, packing both cars with speakers, guitars and people driving to Newcastle, telling the kids to do their homework while they were waiting to go on – it was school in the morning as usual.

They sat round the tables which were wedged into the club with Geoff’s and Paul’s parents and thought that no one was as good as The Founders, who kept in step and in tune and who played their question and answer breaks perfectly at the end of each line.

Annie applauded along with everyone else, while Rob and Tom whistled with approval. She looked round and people were smiling and laughing but some youngsters were just sitting, smoking sweet-smelling cigarettes and from their glazed eyes she knew that it was pot and hoped that Georgie hadn’t seen.

He had and was quiet all the way home whilst the others talked of the thrill of coming second and how next time they would be first. He said nothing to Sarah but held Annie when they finally fell into bed. ‘If it’s like this here, what’s it like in London?’ he said quietly.

‘They’ll be together and just think, the vast majority of the kids there were just smoking cigarettes and ours don’t even do that.’

But even so, she wished that Sarah had chosen the pigeons over music and she knew that Georgie felt the same. She knew though that they must trust their children, it was all they could do, but it didn’t stop them worrying.

It was a relief to arrive at the office in the morning at eight, to sit behind her desk, sorting through her schedule, drinking coffee, calling across the partition to Georgie, calling along the shop to Tom. She would talk to Brenda about Pat’s severance pay when she arrived, she’d laugh with Bernie about his racing tips, check on the children in the creche when they came.

But by eight forty-five no one had arrived, there was just a note from Brenda, telling Annie that they were out on strike
and perhaps would never return to work, because employers who were so basically unfair and dishonest didn’t deserve loyalty. Annie held the paper, saw the words, but understood none of it.

Annie heard the phones ringing, Tom and Georgie answering them. She would never have heard their voices usually, there would have been too much noise – why hadn’t she noticed the silence earlier?

She walked into Georgie’s office, showed him the letter while he was still on the phone.

‘I’ll ring you back,’ he said, putting the phone down, looking up at her, his jaw slackening with shock.

She took it from him, called Tom, heard him come, his heels ringing on the floor. Hadn’t he realised that there was no one here either? What was the matter with them all for God’s sake?

She handed it to him as he walked in, saying, ‘Christ, is that the time? Where is everyone?’

She told them then, word for word, what had happened with Pat and they agreed that there had been nothing else she could have done.

‘But they must all think it’s the kids, that we’re protecting them, making Pat take the blame,’ Georgie said. There were phones ringing in all the offices now, insistent, noisy. She’d never noticed before.