Liverpool Annie (29 page)

Lauri always talked the most astonishing common sense, which was probably one of the reasons they didn't have rows like the Cunninghams. In fact, they never rowed at all.

She decided to leave her hair alone.

Annie came hurrying home, having deposited Sara at school and Daniel at playgroup. Daniel was pleading to go five days a week instead of three. Perhaps next term . . .

She worked out her programme for the morning. The beds were already made, the breakfast dishes washed. Friday was the day she cleaned the fridge and vacuumed upstairs. After that, she'd make some gingerbread men and prepare a boiled fruitcake. One of the neighbours might pop in for coffee. She hoped it wouldn't be someone who'd stay long, as she wanted

to get on with Sara's dressing gown. Sara was shooting up; that blazer was unlikely to last till she was seven.

It was March and appropriately windy. Old dried leaves whipped against her legs and skipped across the Close to become entangled in the tall hedge which bordered the Travers' front garden. The old couple were gradually being buried within a cultivated jungle of towering trees and shrubs. Later on, Mr Travers would emerge, remove the leaves and glare accusingly down the Close, Last autumn, he had swept up every single one of his leaves for his compost heap and resented those from less conscientious gardeners encroaching on his property.

Inside, the house was beautifully warm, since they'd had central heating installed. Annie checked the boiler in the kitchen for no other reason than she liked seeing the pilot light flickering behind the glass door. Daniel was convinced a fairy lived inside who lit the flame each morning to cook her breakfast, and put it out when she went to bed.

The fridge cleaned, Annie wiped the draining board with a sigh of satisfaction, and was about to take the vacuum cleaner upstairs when the doorbell rang.

She tut-tutted to herself and straightened her pinny before opening the door. Sylvia, startling in a short white fluffy coat over a brief black frock and thigh-length patent leather boots, stood posing on the doorstep like a model in a magazine. She wore sunglasses and a big black floppy hat with a white feather. 'Hi, Annie,' she sang, as if it were only yesterday they'd last met, not two and a half years ago.

'Come in,' Annie stammered.

Sylvia sailed into the lounge and parked herself on the settee. Annie stood awkwardly in the doorway. 'Would you like a coffee?'

'Please. No milk, no sugar,' she added, as if Annie didn't know.

When Annie returned with two mugs of coffee, Sylvia had removed her hat and sunglasses and was staring around the room with interest. 'I see you've got new wallpaper,' she remarked.

The wallpaper was misty pearly beige with a pattern of shadowy poppies. Annie still couldn't get over how different the room looked after plain pink walls for so many years. 'Lauri wanted something more regular, like squares or triangles, but I preferred flowers.'

'I bet that was a serious topic of conversation in the Menin household for at least a month.'

Annie plonked the mugs on the coffee table with such force that the liquid spurted out onto the varnished surface. 'Is that why you've come after all this time,' she snapped, 'to make nasty comments?'

Sylvia looked unabashed. 'I just came to see how you were.'

'I was fine until you arrived.'

'How are Lauri and the children?' Sylvia took an embroidered hankie out of her pocket and wiped the coffee up.

'Very well, ta.' Annie had been considering telling Sylvia to get lost, but felt slightly mollified by the gesture of concern for her coffee table. 'Sara loves school, and Daniel's settled in playgroup. They've both had mumps and German measles, but got over it all right. Lauri's put on a bit of weight, but otherwise he's fine. How's Eric?'

'Eric!' Sylvia's blue eyes shone brilliantly. 'Eric's doing ever so well. He has cases on his own nowadays. People say that he'll turn out to be even more successful than his father.'

'Good,' said Annie. 'And yourself?'

Sylvia tossed her blonde head proudly. 'Tip-top.

Never felt better, but I can see it's a waste of time asking how you are, Annie. You look very much the contented hausfrau with your pinny and new wallpaper.'

'I think you'd better go,' said Annie.

'But I haven't finished my coffee!' Sylvia raised her perfect eyebrows and pretended to look outraged.

'Well, finish it, then go.'

'If you insist.' Sylvia sighed and began to sip the coffee slowly.

Annie ignored her own coffee. Her head was in a whirl. What had happened? Sylvia had been her greatest and closest friend. They had sworn to let nothing come between them. Perhaps it was she who'd pushed in the wedge by suggesting Eric . . . How would she have reacted if Sylvia had accused Lauri of doing something far worse than being merely boring?

She opened her mouth to speak, to say she was sorry for what she'd said about Eric, and dammit, Sylvia, we're friends. We promised to be friends for ever. I've missed you more than I can say over the last few years. There's no-one I can talk to the way I talked to you. You're the only person I can tell really intimate things, like I'd love to go to bed with Warren Beatty. Remember when we used to disappear into the Ladies for a laugh because we were the only ones who found a situation funny when everyone else thought it deadly serious?

Sylvia swallowed the coffee and reached for her hat and sunglasses. 'Thanks for the refreshments, Mrs Menin.'

The moment was lost. They went into the hallway. Sylvia put her hand on the latch and gave Annie a dazzling smile. 'It's cheerio, then, or "tara" as you would say.'

Annie nodded. 'Tara.'

But she couldn't let Sylvia walk out of her life,

because this time she knew it would be final. She took a step forward, 'Syl!'

Sylvia didn't hear. She turned the latch, then suddenly her body seemed to crumple and she leant her forehead against the door and twisted her lovely face towards her friend. 'Jaysus, Annie,' she whispered, 'I'm so bloody miserable, I could easily die.'

Eric hated her because she hadn't given him a child. He wouldn't mind if it was a girl, because girls can become lawyers and everybody knew it was the father who influenced the sex of their children. By now, the whole family hated her because she'd let them down. And the more they hated her, the more ridiculously she behaved because it was the only way she knew to fight back, otherwise she would become cowed.

'I wear the most ludicrous outfits, Annie. Mrs Church winced when I turned up to Mass last Sunday in this hat. I get pissed and tell dirty jokes in a very loud voice at dinner parties and generally make a show of myself.' Sylvia gave a terse laugh. 'Actually, shocking people can be fun, but it only makes Eric hate me even more.'

'Oh, Syl!' Annie said sadly.

They had returned to the lounge and were sitting on the settee. Annie was holding her friend's hand. Sylvia hadn't cried, but her eyes were unnaturally bright, and there were tense lines around her jaw. Her grip on Annie's hand was so tight it hurt.

'Have you seen a doctor about why you can't conceive?'

'I've seen a specialist, no less, but he could find nothing wrong. He said I should relax, stop thinking about it all the time.' She gripped Annie's hand even harder. 'As if I could! Every time I start a period I feel physically sick.'

'It might be Eric's fault,' Annie suggested.

Sylvia pretented to look astonished. 'I hope you're not insinuating that a Church is not totally perfect!'

'Sorry, I didn't realise it was a crime.'

'Well, it is,' Sylvia said matter-of-factly. 'I once suggested that Eric see a doctor same as me. He was pouring tea out at the time and decided to pour it on my legs - it was the morning you came to see me. You didn't ask to see my legs, did you?' Sylvia released her hand. She got up and began to walk to and fro in front of the fireplace. 'You were right, Annie. Eric was responsible for the bruise on my arm. He doesn't hit me often and I give back as good as I get, but oh, God, if you knew how much I loathed you for guessing.' She glanced at Annie curiously. 'You never liked him, did you?'

'I thought he looked cruel.'

'The thing is, Annie, the terrible thing is, I love him.' She went over to the French windows and stared out. The fence between the Menins' and the Cunninghams' creaked in the wind and the willow tree shivered delicately. 'You'll never believe this, but Eric loves me back. He hates me and he loves me. Making love is heaven, but that's all that's left, making love. Everything else is shit.'

Annie found it all beyond her comprehension. 'If Lauri laid a finger on me, I'd walk out and never come back.'

'Perhaps you don't love him enough.'

'I think it's just a different sort of love.' She had no intention of getting cross. 'I understand why you were so angry when I came storming over to Birkdale. With me and Lauri getting on so famously, it must have made you feel lousy . . .'

'Oh, for Chrissakes, Annie!' Sylvia said savagely. 'I'd sooner be married to Eric any day than Lauri. I wouldn't marry Lauri Menin for a million pounds.'

Annie felt as if a fist had curled up in her stomach. 'That's stupid!' she said weakly. Rising from the settee,

she went to the window at the front of the room. She noticed a gold mini parked outside.

'Jaysus, these boots are kiUing me.' Sylvia undid the long zips and kicked the boots off, 'Is there anything to drink?'

'There's sherry in the kitchen from Christmas.'

'That'll do. A large one, treble or quadruple or bigger.'

Annie poured herself half a tumbler of sherry at the same time. She was anxious for Sylvia to continue, even though she wouldn't like what she had to say. 'That's stupid,' she repeated, returning to the lounge.

Sylvia had settled crosslegged on the hearth. 'Oh, Annie, as if I'd resent you being happy just because I wasn't! What a trite person you must think I am! I love you, in the way I'd love a sister.' She swallowed half the sherry in one go. 'No, what got up my nose was you feeling sorry for me, and at the same time thinking you and Lauri were blissfully happy, when you're not. Well, Lauri may be, but not you.'

'You're talking nonsense,' Annie said doggedly. 'We couldn't possibly get on better. We never fight. He lets me do anything I want.'

'^Lets you!' Sylvia raised her eyebrows. 'Marriage is a partnership. One half doesn't give the other permission to do things.'

Annie frowned irritably. 'I didn't mean it to sound like that.'

'Why haven't you got four children, Annie? Four's what you planned.'

'Well, Lauri thought . . .'

Sylvia interrupted. 'And if I remember rightly, you wanted another baby straight after Sara, not to wait nearly two years.'

'Lauri . . .' Annie began, but Sylvia seemed determined not to let her finish a sentence.

'Remember when we used to plan our grand weddings?' she said reflectively. 'When I married Eric I wore the dress I'd always wanted, but I can't recall you wanting that ghastly thing you wore in front of about half a dozen guests. As for my red suit, I gave it away.'

'Grand weddings don't come cheap,' Annie said weakly.

'Cecy offered to do the reception. Uncle Bert wanted to help.'

'Lauri didn't want charity,' Annie muttered.

'It wouldn't have been charity. Cecy thinks of you as a daughter, but Lauri wanted a small wedding to his child-bride and Lauri got his way, just as he gets his way on all the really important things.'

Without realising, Annie had drunk all her sherry. She stumbled to the settee, feeling light headed. 'Why are we discussing my marriage, when it's yours that's failed?' she enquired.

Sylvia leaned forward, her face screwed up with the effort of trying to explain. 'Because you're suffocating, Annie. It's time you snapped out of this eager-to-please, obedient-little-wife shit and became the sparkling, witty, intelligent Annie I used to know. I find it incredible you and Lauri have never had a fight. You must never talk about anything remotely controversial if you don't row from time to time.'

'Lauri . . .' Annie paused. 'I suppose it's me own fault. I give in too easily.' She resented the admission there could be something wrong.

'It's about time your husband knew he was married to someone with firm opinions and a temper.'

'I'm not sure what you mean,' Annie said faintly.

'I'm not sure myself. All I know is, since you married Lauri you've become a zombie.'

Annie giggled. 'I think you're exaggerating, Syl.'

'Is there any more sherry?'

'It's in the cupboard next to the fridge.'

Sylvia came back with the bottle and refilled their glasses.

'Why did you come?' asked Annie.

'Because Eric was particularly vile this morning and I desperately wanted to talk to someone.' She returned to her place on the rug. 'There was only one person. I've missed you awfully these last few years.'

'I've missed you.'

Sylvia smiled. 'But I wasn't prepared to have you dripping sympathy all over me. I thought it was time you knew the truth about yourself.'

'That's kind of you, I must say,' Annie said caustically. 'Your own marriage is up the creek, so you're trying to convince me mine is too!'

'It's not that. I was fed up watching you kowtow to Lauri all the time. You'd think he was your father, not your husband.'

Annie's head was swimming too much to get annoyed. She lay down on the settee and mumbled, 'Oh, bugger off, Syl.'

'Jaysus, Annie,' Sylvia sighed pleasurably. 'I'm pissed out of my mind.' She put down her glass and fell back full length on the rug.

'Where do we go from here?' Annie said carefully.

'From here? Once I'm sober, I'm going to Liverpool to buy a frock I saw in a boutique for tonight's dinner party, a truly cute little purple number made entirely of fringes. It's the sort they used to do some dance in during the 1920s. I can't remember what it's called, the dance, I mean.'

'The Charleston.'

'That's right.'

'Mike Gallagher got married on New Year's Day in a leather jacket covered with fringes.'

Sylvia raised her head, dismayed. 'Mike's married?'