Annie's Promise (40 page)

Davy watched her leave the room, still feeling her hands on him, her lovely warm hands and then he wept, because at last his father would come and take them back.

Annie took Tom’s phone call two days later and rushed straight round, in through the yard and into the kitchen, snatching the designs from Tom.

She looked at him and Gracie. ‘It could mean nothing.’

Tom nodded. ‘I know but then on the other hand …’

Annie let the designs fall on to the table. ‘I’ve left a message at the club for Georgie, he’ll be round any minute. Oh God, I just don’t know. They seemed so different, so thin, so difficult when they came up, or Sarah was.’

Gracie took the tea that Bet put on the table before easing herself into her carver chair. ‘Davy wasn’t difficult, he was just too quiet, so different.’

Bet took out her handkerchief and patted her top lip. ‘I don’t know what to think about the bairns. I don’t understand this world any more.’ Her lips were trembling and Annie patted her hand. ‘It’ll be all right. I mean, these designs are all the rage, it doesn’t mean they’re into drugs and things, we’d know, surely we’d know. Look at all the work they brought back, all the parties they go to, I mean the kids of today never rest, it’s no wonder they get frayed. I mean, I’ve never seen them with anything, well, any drugs, have you?’

No one had and now Bet said, ‘You and Tom looked tired and pale after your time in London, you know, Gracie.’

Annie nodded. ‘I certainly felt it when I was nursing. I remember being so tired I couldn’t write, my hands shook so much.’

Georgie came in through the door. ‘What’s happened?’

Tom slung across the designs, telling Georgie what they’d been saying, looking at Annie. ‘We must go down. We have to see what’s going on – but they wouldn’t be so stupid, surely?’

Georgie shrugged, his face anxious. ‘We mustn’t let them think we’re checking up though. We must think of a good reason for going down.’

Tom was looking at the designs again, then he pushed them from him. ‘I’m disappointed in him either way. These are a load of rubbish.’

Annie sat forward. ‘Tom, that’s completely unfair, nothing your son does is a load of rubbish. He’s so talented, why can’t you see that? Whatever else we do, you will not tell him you think of them in that way. You must not reject him. Anyway, I don’t know about anyone else but I’m worried sick about them and I want them back here where I can look after them and make sure they eat properly, sleep properly. I hate that bloody city and I want them back for good.’

She walked to the sink, washing out her mug, wanting to rush down, bring them back, look after them, wipe the differences from them.

Gracie said, ‘I want them back too.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Tom snapped. ‘It’s 1967, we can’t just go and bring them back here because some silly little sod’s drawn a mindless doodle.’

‘Tom,’ Gracie and Annie shouted together.

Georgie spoke now, his voice measured, his hand beckoning to Annie, pulling her close to him, leaning his head against her body. ‘Now look, we can’t bring them back, it’s just not on. We were allowed to fly, weren’t we, make our own mistakes? This design is just a mistake. What is there here for them until they’re qualified, until they’ve got the excitement out of their systems? Let them finish their courses then let them decide what to do. Remember, it’s a different world down there, we’re so out of step, I can see it when they come up.’

‘But I just feel there’s something wrong,’ Annie said.

Georgie squeezed her. ‘Women always feel there’s something wrong. It’s only a young man and woman putting their heads together and coming up with a modern design – exactly as we asked.’

Tom shook his head. ‘I still feel we need to go down, we just need a good excuse.’

Annie suggested that they went down to discuss the design. ‘Because Tom, it really would be quite good if it was changed to black and white.’

Gracie objected. ‘But there’s no need to go down to tell them that, we could do it over the phone and they’d know.’

Bet spoke now, still patting her lips. ‘Well, why not take some stuff down there for their friends to try out? Tell them it’s a bit of market research – weren’t you thinking of running up some of those PVC blown-up armchairs, Annie, and some Indian cushions? They’d believe that.’

There was silence and then Annie grinned, left Georgie’s side and hugged Bet. ‘You are a bloody marvel, woman. You’re wasted here, you should be Prime Minister.’

Sarah brushed the carpet, wiped the paintwork, put the magazines into a neat pile, straightened the bed and checked that there was nothing of Carl’s still here. She checked Davy’s room too, piling up his records, standing the sitar and guitar in the corner, taking down the psychedelic swirls as she had done in her room.

‘You’ve got to shave, boil the kettle. Come on, they’ll be here soon.’

She looked at him sitting on his bed smiling at her, his eyes sunken, his stubble as auburn as his hair, his shoulders sharp beneath his shirt and something caught in her chest. She went and sat with him. ‘Look, we’ve got to cut down on the stuff we’re taking. I know we hardly ever take coke but maybe we shouldn’t take any at all and cut down on the hash. I just don’t want to eat any more and we’ve got so thin. It’s so expensive as well, especially the tabs. We don’t
need to trip so much, look where it’s got us. Anyway, I’ve been pulled up at college for non-attendance and poor effort. What about you?’

‘You could say that. OK, we’ll cut down.’ His voice was tired from too much hash. ‘What time are Auntie Annie and Da due?’

Sarah looked at her watch. ‘In half an hour. Oh God, I hope I haven’t missed anything.’

‘You’ve missed nothing, it’s as clean as a whistle. They’ll think nothing’s wrong.’ His voice was flat and she looked at him again and now she took his hand. ‘Davy, you’re not on anything else are you? You’re so thin.’

Sarah gently pushed up his sleeve but there were no needle marks as there had been on Sam’s friend Lou before he overdosed at a party over Christmas, and she felt a flood of relief.

‘Yes, we’ll cut down,’ she said. ‘You can do more of your silk painting, think about the future.’

Davy watched her as she walked to the door, seeing his dream of returning fading because she wanted to stay so much, and he would die for her.

Sarah boiled the rice, then put it into an enamel dish, adding sardines and tomatoes, grating cheese on top. Carl liked her rice hash. She checked the table, tidied the napkins she had sewn to match the tablecloth, stood back and adjusted the mats. She looked at her watch again, glad that they were coming, that they cared enough to be worried and take the train to London to check on them, because that was why they were coming, there could be no other reason. They would meet Carl and see him as he truly was, not as they feared.

Davy came in, washed, shaved, a sweater on that hid his thinness. ‘I’m just going to get some beer, can I borrow your scarf?’ He unhooked it from the back of the door.

‘But Carl’s bringing back wine from Sam’s.’

Davy smiled gently. ‘Me da’s a pitman, he likes beer.’

She heard him walking down the stairs, past the bikes. Oh God, the bikes.

She rushed down, pushing them against the wall, standing back, seeing one wobble, adjusting it until they were all stable and there was more room to pass. She ran back up the stairs and opened a tin of peaches and another of pears. She tipped the cream into a jug, the milk too. She put on the kettle, then heard them ringing the bell, pushing open the door and she leaned over the banister, calling, ‘Come on up.’

She saw them inching past the bike, lifting large cartons high above-the handlebars, knocking the phone and laughing as Annie propped hers on Tom’s back whilst she put back the receiver.

They struggled up the stairs and into her room, dumping the cardboard boxes, hugging her, looking round. ‘It’s so lovely, so fresh,’ Annie said, taking off her gloves and coat, looking at her daughter keenly. ‘You look well but still tired.’

Sarah laughed. ‘I am tired, there’s a lot to do, but what’re those?’ She pointed to the boxes.

Tom laughed. ‘We’ll tell you later.’

Sarah nodded, puzzled, but now she could hear Carl coming up the stairs, along the landing and she was nervous as he knocked before opening the door. Thank God, he’d remembered not just to barge in.

He stood there so beautiful, so golden and she took his arm, leading him to her mother. ‘This is my mother, Annie Armstrong, and my uncle, Tom Ryan.’

She watched as they shook hands, as Annie smiled and Tom too, though there was reserve in their voices, in the shortness of the handshake.

‘I brought wine,’ Carl said. ‘Where’s your opener Sarah?’

Thank God he’d remembered that he shouldn’t know where it was.

Tom started to shake his head at the glass Carl offered him, then smiled as Annie pressed his foot. He took the wine.

Sarah felt tension tighten her shoulders because Davy had
gone for beer for his pitman father. ‘I thought you liked beer, Uncle Tom?’

Tom stood awkwardly sipping. ‘No, no, I like wine, just don’t have it much somehow. When in Rome, you know.’ He laughed and Annie talked then of the crowds, how it seemed to have become so busy since her day. ‘But these bedsits are lovely. Is Davy all right? I thought he’d be here?’

‘He’s just slipped out,’ Sarah said, as she checked the rice, stepping back as the heat billowed up into her face, wishing she had stopped him, wishing Tom had refused. Oh God, it was all going wrong.

Davy ran up the stairs as they sat talking of Carl’s skiing holiday and burst in, his scarf flying, his arms full of beer. His smile faded as he saw the wine in his father’s hand. Annie stood up, glancing at Sarah, concern in both their faces.

‘How lovely to see you Davy. The designs were very interesting. We were fascinated.’ Annie was taking the beer from him, kissing his cheek as Tom came across.

‘Yes, lad, we couldn’t wait to see you so that we could discuss them but we were wondering if they could be in black and white? Didn’t like to do it before we had spoken to you but it would give a greater feeling of perspective – what d’you think?’

Sarah smiled at Carl, whispering, ‘You see, they do care, they don’t use us, they’ve come all this way to check, using the design discussion as an excuse. I knew you were wrong, my darling.’

She watched as she saw Davy’s slow smile, his brief nod as he unscrewed the beer bottle, pouring it for himself, lifting it towards his father, who looked at Annie, then grinned and said, ‘Well, I’m not a Roman, am I?’

Sarah laughed with her mother, though Carl stood there silent. She squeezed his arm, knowing that the warmth of her family had taken him by surprise, that there was regret in him at all he had said, at all he had not experienced with his own mother.

They sat down at the table, listened as Davy talked to his father about the salt method he was using to obtain different effects with his silk painting.

‘You see, Da, the salt absorbs water which has paint dissolved in it, and this leaves traces behind on the fabric. They can form all sorts of different outlines, some clumsy, some delicate. I’ve some in my room.’

Tom laughed, his hand restraining Davy, his elbow nudging Annie who sensed his delight in the enthusiasm, the lack of any signs of drug abuse. She toyed with her rice, putting small amounts in her mouth, forcing herself to swallow because Sarah wasn’t to know that after the camps she had never been able to face it again.

Davy went to his room when he had finished eating. Annie forced down more rice, but with it half eaten she put her fork down. ‘It’s the excitement of London getting to me. I can’t eat but it was lovely, my darling.’

Sarah cleared away, bringing the tinned fruit and the cream as Davy showed Tom and Annie the salt effects on twill, satin taffeta and chiffon, and Sarah was pleased that his hands trembled only a little.

Annie held them up, comparing them. ‘I wonder if this could be used for evening dresses – it’s so beautiful, each one’s different.’

‘That’s it exactly, Auntie Annie – it is unique and the punters like that.’

Tom finished his beer. ‘Mm, but it would still need to be run as a department on its own. Let’s think about it some more when you next come home.’

Annie washed the dishes, understanding now how they had become so thin in London – there was so much to do, so much self-exploration. Just look at Davy’s salt effects, his enthusiasm. Of course the nights were a waste of time when there was all this to discover.

Sarah called her for coffee and they laughed at Davy’s story of the art lecturer who was so vague he not only forgot which lecture he should be taking, but at which college. Carl
passed Annie the sugar. ‘What are those boxes?’ he asked quietly, nodding to the cartons.

Tom looked at Annie. ‘Well, it’s the reason we’re here really. You see we thought we’d try out this new fad for PVC and we’ve run up some inflatable chairs that we thought we’d bring down for you to try for us, and ask your friends. It’s a bit of market research. There are some cushions too, which we gather people like to sit on – like that one over there.’ Tom nodded towards the one Sarah had bought from the market.

Sarah felt something die in her. ‘Fine, I’ll ask.’ Somehow she didn’t cry. Somehow she laughed and talked until they’d gone, somehow she kissed her mother and nodded when Annie said, ‘If you ever need me, ring me.’

Now, as the door closed she looked at Davy and knew that they were both feeling the same. She put her arm through her cousin’s and leant her head on his shoulder but then Carl called her back into the room. He stood by the boxes, pushing at one with his foot. ‘So, they came because they were concerned, did they?’ he said, his voice tight with anger. ‘Did they hell. They came so that they could use you again, and me this time. When’s it going to bloody stop?’

They heard Davy slam the front door and she ran to the window, shouting ‘Davy, come back, let’s talk about it, all of us.’ But he didn’t turn, just waved his hand and kept on walking.

Carl pulled her back. ‘Leave him, he’s the one who nearly blew it, he’s the one who always nearly blows it while you pick up the pieces.’