Liverpool Annie (38 page)

'Selling the house!' The idea had never crossed her mind.

Kevin was becoming jowly. His throat wobbled when he spoke. 'It's just that we've got these friends, it's a chap I work with, actually, and when I told him there was a possibility next door might become vacant, he was immediately interested.'

'No-one told me there was a possibility my house might become vacant.' Annie's head felt very hot, as if the blood were rushing through at top speed and becoming over-heated. She told herself they were only being kind in attempting to solve her 'little' problem.

'I don't know if you realise how much these houses are worth, Annie,' Valerie said eagerly.

'My friend is prepared to pay five thousand - cash, that is.' Kevin's pale eyes blinked behind his glasses. 'So you wouldn't have to wait until he got a mortgage. He wouldn't want a survey. There's nothing wrong with our house, so yours is bound to be all right.'

'Five thousand!' Annie gasped. 'But Lauri only paid . . .' What was it? She'd only looked at the building society papers a few weeks ago.

'Two thousand, seven-fifty,' Valerie said promptly. 'Property is the best investment you can have.'

'My friend is even prepared to pay the solicitor's ;osts,' Kevin went on. 'It would be over and done with n a few weeks, and you'd have a few thousand to play A^ith once you've paid off the mortgage.'

'And where do me and the children live then, on the streets?'

Valerie laughed. 'You can get a nice little place for a :ouple of thou or less. Some of those terraced houses ook quite cosy done up.' She glanced around the room. 'You have an eye for decoration, Annie. I've always thought your house looked far smarter than Durs.'

A nice little place like Orlando Street, Annie thought bleakly, A place without a garden, so there'd be no willow tree, no shed with a verandah, no swing. If she'd stayed with Auntie Dot, that sort of house might hold no terror, but there was no way she'd return to somewhere like Orlando Street now.

'Heather Close is such a desirable place to live,' Valerie said.

'I know,' said Annie. 'Which is why I intend to stay.'

Next morning, Annie phoned an estate agent and said she was thinking of selling her house in Heather Close and how much was it worth.''

'Whereabouts in Heather Close?'

'The far end, number seven.' She hoped he wouldn't ask to put a board up, as she had no intention of parting with Lauri's house.

'The best part!' the man said warmly. 'I can see it in my mind's eye. We handled next door, the old couple who died. You've got an exceptionally big garden. Are you the one with the willow tree?'

'That's right.'

The estate agent hummed a little tune. 'Well, I'd need to look round, but I'd say, roughly, mind, six and a half

thou. You could ask a few hundred more, then wait and see how the cookie crumbles.'

'Thank you,' Annie said faintly. She assured him she'd be in touch immediately she'd made up her mind.

Six and a half thousand! She cast aside the suspicion that the Cunninghams had been trying to deceive her, because it scarcely bore thinking about. She supposed she could sell and buy somewhere cheaper and live on what was left, but although she didn't know much about this sort of thing, she had a feeling the building society would never give her, a widow without a job, another mortgage, which meant she'd have to buy the 'somewhere cheaper' for cash. By the time she'd repaid the two thousand pounds owing, the rest wouldn't last all that long. The cost of living was rising, despite the fact Edward Heath had promised to 'cut prices at a stroke', and the new Value Added Tax didn't help. Food prices were set to rise even further now the country had joined the European Community. Lauri had always said joining the EEC was a terrible mistake. Nearly everyone in the Labour Party was dead against it.

Annie touched the smooth cupola-shaped knob at the bottom of the stairs which Lauri had made specially. She couldn't stand the idea of another family living here. It was intolerable to imagine a strange woman using her kitchen, strange children playing inside the willow tree, an entirely strange family sitting in front of the fireplace that Lauri had built. It may only be a rather ordinary semi-detached in a suburb of Liverpool, but the house was part of Lauri, part of her. It was the only home the children had ever known. The time might come when she'd have no option but to sell, but until that time came, Annie vowed she would do all she could to cling on to the home she loved.

le wasn't sure where to turn next. She typed out a 3zen cards for shop windows offering typing at ten lillings an hour, and was thrilled when a girl, a edical student, brought a thesis to be typed. The riting was execrable and contained numerous Latin rms. Annie typed till past midnight for two nights in a >w. The girl looked startled when asked for three Dunds, although it should have been more.

Days later, an elderly man turned up with a novel i'd written in a neat, crabbed, though legible hand, jt when she began to type, there were lines and circles /^erywhere, moving words, sentences or entire iragraphs from one place to another, and she'd be alfway down a page, only to discover she hadn't icluded something from the page before. It took two eeks of solid work to complete the nearly five hundred ages. Annie totalled up the hours; it came to over a Lindred. She couldn't possibly ask for fifty pounds! She ;ked for thirty, and the man looked even more startled lan the student.

'I hope I get it published after all this expense,' he rumbled.

She doubted it. It was the worst novel she'd ever read.

Although a very nice man from a garage brought ;veral invoices and insisted on giving her a pound hen she only asked for ten shillings, she realised she 'asn't going to make a fortune as a typist. A few weeks Iter she gave Chris Andrews his typewriter back.

She economised on everything, kept the central eating turned down during the day, cancelled some f the insurances, bought the cheapest mincemeat tid made pies and stews. The children remarked on ow often they seemed to have jelly and custard for fters.

They had no idea how hard up she was. She still gave lem dinner money for school, although they could

have had free meals, because she didn't want them thinking they were different. No-one knew the difficulties she was having, except the Cunninghams. She would have had the telephone disconnected, but people might guess why. When Dot or Bert asked how she was coping, she assured them, 'Fine.' They had a few pounds put away, and would insist on helping if they knew she was in trouble. But it would be degrading to take money off two old people who enjoyed splashing their tiny amount of wealth on their grandchildren.

In May, the balance in the bank had shrunk to double figures, and the electricity bill was due any minute. 'I should have stayed at the Grand, there would have been a few pounds coming in.' But Bruno had hired someone else months ago. 'If only I had someone to talk to,' Annie fretted. 'If only our Marie would get in touch!' Marie was impossible to get hold of, never there when she phoned. Chris Andrews, though, had received a letter. Marie thought his play 'wonderful', and promised to show it to a director she knew.

One Sunday after Mass, she was in the garden, digging at the weeds in a desultory fashion, conscious of the sun warm on her back, when she heard Vera Barclay come into her garden. Vera helped on the fruit and veg stall all week and could only do her washing on Sundays. Annie straightened up, relieved to give the weeds a rest for the moment.

'Morning, Vera,' she shouted over the Travers' old shiplap fence.

Vera was hidden behind a sheet she was pegging on the line. Her rosy, weatherbeaten face appeared, the inevitable cigarette hanging from her mouth. She bade Annie a cheerful 'Morning, luv.' She was a small, outgoing woman with short curly brown hair. 'How's things?'

'Fine,' Annie said automatically.

After Vera had pegged out another sheet, she came over to the fence and looked at Annie searchingly with her bright blue eyes. 'You're always "fine",' she said.

'Well . . .' Annie shrugged.

'I wouldn't be fine if my Sid had passed away and I was left with two young kids to bring up on me own.'

'Well,' Annie said again. She'd always known that Vera and Sid were kindness itself. They were good neighbours, and had sent a lovely wreath for Lauri's funeral, but the two women had never become close. They talked mainly, as now, over the fence. Annie was more friendly with Valerie, whom she'd never particularly cared for, than with Vera.

Sara and Daniel came wandering into the garden, looking rather lost. 'Why don't you go and play next door?' Annie suggested. Shouts and screams could be heard from the Cunninghams.

Sara shook her head. Daniel took no notice and headed for the swing. They sat on it together, Sara pushing slightly with her foot.

'I've got something that'll cheer you two up.' Vera disappeared into the house and came back with two big Jaffa oranges. 'They're lovely and sweet and juicy - and there's no pips!'

To Annie's embarrassment, Daniel made no move to get the orange, but Sara came across and took them both. 'Thank you very much,' she said politely. 'It's ages since we had an orange.'

'Is it now!' Vera leant her brown, sunburnt arms on the fence. 'Finding things difficult, are you, Annie? And if you say "well" again, I'll fetch another orange and chuck it at you!'

It was awfully difficult not to cry with Vera regarding her so understandingly. Annie nodded without speaking.

'Look, luv, I've another load of washing to hang out, and there's dinner to cook, but I'll pop round to see you this awy, about three. I think what you need is a shoulder to cry on.'

'I would have come before,' Vera said, 'but folks are dead snooty round here, and I didn't want to appear as if I was intruding. Back where we used to live in Smithdown Road, I wouldn't have hesitated. That's what I miss most since we left, me neighbours. Have you got an ashtray, luv?'

Annie shoved an ashtray in her direction, and described the pickle she was in, holding nothing back. Vera said she thought she'd be mad to sell the house. 'It's going back when you want to go forward.'

'But what else can I do?' Annie said desperately. 'I'm down to eighty pounds.'

Vera puffed furiously on her cigarette and thought hard. 'What about dressmaking?' she suggested. 'I could hardly believe it when you told me you made your own clothes. They look dead professional.'

Annie glanced at the sewing machine on the small table in the bay window. 'I don't know,' she said doubtfully. 'I've never had a lesson and I'm hopeless at turning collars.' She remembered the awful time she'd had with typing, but supposed dressmaking was different as you could give a firm quotation beforehand.

'Women are always on the look-out for a good dressmaker,' Vera said encouragingly. 'You could take a course, finish yourself off, as it were. I'd be only too happy to recommend you to me mates.' She tapped her teeth with a tobacco-stained fingernail. 'In the meantime, you need to get a few bob together, don't you?'

'The electricity bill's due any minute, and the mortgage has to be paid at the beginning of June.'

Vera snapped her fingers as if she'd had a brainwave.

Look, why not have a good clear-out? Get rid of the cids' old toys, the odd dishes and cutlery you never use, ools, knick-knacks like ornaments you hate which lave got shoved to the back of a cupboard, and I bet rouT wardrobe's stuffed with clothes you'll never wear igain.'

'And what do I do with them?' asked Annie, ny stifled.

'You sell 'em,' Vera grinned.

'Who to?'

'Have you never been to Great Homer Street market, uv?' When Annie shook her head. Vera went on. Traders are always on the look-out for good stuff to tell; bric-a-brac and secondhand clothes, mainly. Once I'ou've got the stuff ready, I'll take it and see what I can ;et.'

'There's no need for you to go to so much trouble. I'll :ake it meself.' There was still tax and insurance left on :he Anglia.

'Lord Almighty, luv, when they see an innocent like f'ou, they'll offer peanuts. No,' Vera said firmly, '/'// :ake it, and make sure you get a good price. There'll be mough for the electricity bill or my name's not Vera Barclay.'

After Vera had gone, Annie thought, 'Dressmaking!'

She'd do it. She'd do anything to keep the house and ^et herself out of the hole she was in, but she wasn't keen on making clothes for other people. Customers would want things made to a pattern, but she rarely used a pattern. She made things up out of her head, adding little imaginative touches, like a pleated bodice, an embroidered flower on a pocket. She actually got a little thrill when the garment was finished, though nothing had given her such pleasure as the costumes she'd made for the pantomime at Grenville Lucas. It

wouldn't be possible to use your imagination on other women's clothes.

The children joined in the great sort-out, as if it was a game, delving in cupboards and drawers. Annie was pleased. Daniel loved going in the loft, though he wasn't willing to part with a single item of his own. He glared at her mutinously when she opened the cupboard in his room in search of baby toys.

'But you haven't played with it in years,' Annie cried, when he refused to give up the plastic telephone he'd got on his first birthday.

'Want to keep it,' he mumbled. 'It's mine.'

'All right, sweetheart. I wouldn't dream of taking anything you want to keep. Where did all these come from?' She pointed to the neat row of Matchbox cars at the back of the shelf.

'Dad gave them to me.' He burst into tears. 'Don't take the cars that Daddy bought.'

'Oh, Daniel!' Annie knelt and took him in her arms. He felt hot. He'd been very sullen since Lauri died, but she was at a loss what to do. All she could think of was to make as much fuss of him as possible. 'I didn't realise Dad had bought so many, that's all.' Lauri brought a Matchbox car for Daniel and a book for Sara each time he went away.

It was nice to have a good clear-out, she thought later, when the table was full of old cups and saucers she'd never use again and several Pyrex bowls that she'd never used at all. How on earth had she managed to acquire three tin-openers and so many pairs of scissors? She was glad to see the back of that hideous set of three monkeys which was a wedding present from she couldn't remember whom, and where on earth had the bronze lion which Daniel had found in the loft come from?