After the Storm (10 page)

‘Can I come in, pet?’ She waited but, receiving no answer, went in regardless. The landing light shed a dull glow into the room but it was not enough to pick out the girl. Perhaps it was as well, Betsy thought. Problems were sometimes better spoken out loud to a faceless shape. She sat on the edge of the bed, the quilt soft beneath her; she could feel its seams with the fingers which supported her as she leant over to Annie. Her own mother had made it before she died of the flu in ’19 and she could picture the colours in her mind. Annie had it because she liked it so much and that had pleased Betsy.

‘Now, my bonny lass, my little Annie, what’s the matter?’ She lifted the crumpled body on to her lap and sat crooning and stroking the damp hair away from the hot wet face. The sobs gradually stilled but Annie said nothing; her eyes felt heavy and it was as though she was almost asleep and then the wracking sobs began again. They seemed to have a life of their own and she was a small voice inside this strange frantic body, apart from it but linked to the noise and leaping shudders. She wanted to escape from it, to leave all the distress here, in a little heap, while she walked free, back to the allotment and this morning, back to the time before the lady with the ugliness of the blue-veined legs and loud words. Back she would go and then come this way again, remembering nothing of what had happened.

Archie came to the door and looked helplessly at Betsy as he came across and sat on the bed.

He sighed and shook his head. ‘Annie, I’m sorry that you heard about your mother’s death in the way that you did. I should have told you long, long ago but I couldn’t bring myself to. There seemed no need, you never asked. But I should still have told you.’

His eyes met Betsy’s across the head of his daughter and hers were narrowed in deep distress. She held Annie closer, wanting to berate him for his selfishness. He should have heeded her and Sophie earlier instead of putting the world to right in that study of his. And he was filled with guilt for neglecting such a task.

He reached across and took his daughter’s hand, a gesture which seldom occurred. He had forgotten how soft and small
the hand of a child was. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, angry at himself.

‘Your mother went away to have her baby, Annie, but it was poorly as many babies are and it died. It was another daughter. Your mother became ill. It was septicaemia which affects not just the body but makes the mind rage when it’s in the throes of fever. One night, when the nurse was elsewhere, she found a cupboard and taking a bottle, drank it and died that night.’ His voice struggled to keep steady as he relived what had happened – was it only eight years ago – it seemed an eternity, one long day following another.

‘It could have been that she was thirsty and just wanted a drink. What is certain though, is that it was a mistake which was purely the staff’s fault. I’ve hated nurses ever since.’ He ended in a low voice.

He leant forward to stroke his daughter’s face. She seemed so small, so defenceless that he lifted her from Betsy and held her close to his body. She smelt of today’s sun. Don came to the door and Archie lifted his head and beckoned him, drawing his sturdy body to his side. There were tears on Don’s face.

‘I can remember her with her pretty face and her laugh; she was always laughing and singing. Then it ended, she went away and never came back.’

Tom had crept into the room and now stood by his mother, his eyes never leaving Annie.

‘I know lad. I came home when it happened but once I was back I found the longer I stayed away, the more difficult it was to return.’

Annie stirred. ‘But Fatlegs said she burned, Da, and if she didn’t burn then, she will be burning now, won’t she?’

Archie stiffened. ‘What are you saying Annie?’

‘Well, if she killed herself, she’ll go to hell, won’t she and if we want to see her again we’ll have to do it too. All that light that was in her face will be clouded behind the fires of hell. I want her but I don’t want hell.’

Annie was surprised at breakfast. The table was laid and Betsy and Tom were sitting quietly. The tea vapour was drifting lazily from the spout in the middle of the table and there was the humid richness of its flavour throughout the kitchen mingling with that of freshly baked bread. The loaf was on the table,
crumbs scattered beyond the breadboard and the knife glinted as it lay half-on and half-off the smooth but scarred wooden platter.

‘Sit down, pet,’ Betsy said, a smile on her face. ‘Your Da has slipped out for a moment, with Don. They’ll be back in a minute. How are you this morning?’

Annie sat down. ‘All right, Betsy.’

She didn’t want to talk about last night. She had pushed it into the black box she kept in her head for thoughts that should not be seen again. She would just turn her head away if they crept out, or push the lid hard down. The sky looked blue across the yard; it was going to be another good day and the school holidays had just begun.

She winked at Tom. ‘What shall we do then, Tom? How about finding some jars and catching the minnows down Bell’s beck, or slinging a rope to the lamp-post and having a swing?’ Her throat felt sore when she talked and she didn’t feel quite the same as usual but it would get better. She would make it get better.

Tom’s face lit up. ‘Eeh, that’d be a grand idea, Annie, but you’ve got a …’

‘That’ll do now, Tom,’ broke in Betsy sharply.

Annie looked from one to the other as she sank her teeth into the spongy whiteness of the bread. She had peeled off the crust, eaten that first and kept the best bit until last. Good thing her da wasn’t here to see it or else there’d be a do. She sat back in her chair, feeling tired. There was no sound, not even the hissing of the range since Betsy had allowed the fire to die down. She used the gas cooker a lot now, did Betsy, but not for bread and that pleased her.

Don lifted the latch and called to her. She looked at Betsy who was grinning and Tom who was wriggling.

What’s the matter with the daft great things she thought; the silly beggars are up to something. Warily she followed Don out into the shady cobbled yard where despite the cast shadows it was still much brighter than inside. She stood bemused just outside the door and her father led the pony to her.

‘This is for you Annie, just for you. It can go in the stable when we’ve cleared the rubbish out. Bit smaller than a dray, I know, but come on,’ he beckoned her, ‘come and take him.’

Annie stretched out her hand and she felt the hot air from the
pony’s black, dry nostrils gust in short spurts into her palm and the softness of his lips as he nibbled sideways then backwards and forwards across her stretched fingers.

She looked at Don. ‘But what about you?’ she asked.

He held out the leather football and grinned.

She turned to Da, then to Betsy with a question clear in her eyes.

‘Your da took it as payment for a debt,’ she offered. ‘He wanted you to have something special. It’s a Shetland, that’s why he’s so small and he never was a pit pony so he’s still got good eyes.’

‘He’s lovely,’ Annie said burying her head in the hollow between his neck and shoulders, drinking in his musk.

Betsy and Archie nodded as they turned. The shop should be open by now. The pony’s mane was long and coarse and Annie pulled Tom over and lifted him onto the felt saddle.

‘I expect I’ll look a right nellie with me legs dangling to the ground,’ she muttered. ‘But I’m right pleased with you, lass. Black Beauty, that’s what I’ll call you.’

Don stopped bouncing his ball. ‘Don’t be so daft, she’s a he and it’s black and white.’

‘I’ll do what I like,’ she retorted. ‘And what’s more, I’ll sell his doing’s at the allotment for a penny a bucket. You and me’ll go into business together, Tom, how’d you like that. Will you come in too, Don?’ She looked at him.

‘Not bloody likely, kid’s stuff, that is.’

But Tom grinned, ‘I’d like it right enough, Annie.’ He was glad she was with them again, but he could still see the hurt at the back of her eyes and it made him want to hug her.

Don looked across at them and laughed, loving the seamed leather in his hands. He tossed it into the air, letting it bounce on the cobbles before he kicked it against the stable wall. Thank God the hysterics were over, he thought. She was like his ball, tough and always bouncing back.

Annie thought, maybe it won’t matter one day, any of it and the hurt will go and let me forget.

‘You and me will share her, Tom,’ she whispered, leading the pony forward. It wasn’t right that Tom should have nothing – again. After all, he had lost one of his parents too, but no one ever thought of that.

The broom handle felt sweaty as Annie swept the corner of the kitchen, six weeks later.

‘You’ll knock up more dirt than you sweep away at that rate,’ complained Betsy. ‘Do it proper, girl, for God’s sake.’

She pushed Annie to one side and took the broom.

‘Here, like this, see.’ She used long slow strokes. ‘Don’t slap it about.’

The trouble is, thought Annie, you’ve got great big arms with muscles like Christmas puddings and I can hardly raise a bump. She stood behind Betsy and jacked up her arm, prodding the raised muscle. It was hard but small. The best things come in little parcels, she consoled herself.

Betsy stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘There you are, now try and do it like that. I know your da wants to make a lady of you, but I reckon he’ll never do it with things as they are. It’s best you learn how to clean; there’s always a living there.’

Large circles of sweat were spreading underneath her armpits and it was not just her apron but her clothes that were grubby, Annie noticed. She looked down at her old flowered dress, cut down from one that Betsy had been given, and was grateful that at least Betsy made sure she was clean. She touched her arm lightly.

‘It looks right good, Betsy,’ she said and took the broom from her. It was heavy and she was tired but then she was still having dreams of fat blue-veined legs and flames that leapt higher than their house in a place of awful darkness. She shook herself and brought the broom towards her slowly. She didn’t hear the knock at the door but felt the push as Don shoved past to reach the door.

‘You two’ve got cloth ears, I reckon,’ he said, and, as she
turned, Annie saw Betsy put the beer that she had been drinking behind her back and glare at him.

The door had been closed to stop the dust from swirling and, as it opened, the dirt lifted and caught in her throat. She coughed but needed water to clear her throat. Betsy poured it for her and passed it across before she could reach the sink. She doesn’t want me to see her booze, she thought. They must be daft if the pair of them don’t know I can see how much they tipple, and all day at that.

Georgie was at the door. She smiled at him.

‘It’s a right good day for mating,’ Georgie said as he stood in the doorway. ‘Let’s go up the beck.’

Annie gawped, then spilt her water. It splashed on to her dress and she brushed at it with her hand, Betsy’s jaw had dropped.

‘What the bloody hell are you talking about?’ Don gasped, looking back over his shoulder to see if the others had heard.

Annie smirked at him. We did and all, she thought.

Georgie laughed. ‘Get the kids, Don. I promised Tom I’d take him to the hives and it’s a real scorcher today. The queen might just take it into her head to be mated.’ He called in, over Don’s shoulder, to Betsy, ‘I’ve never seen that, Mrs Manon, you know, and it might just happen today. It’s bright enough.’ He was swinging his da’s bait-bag backwards and forwards in his hand.

Betsy nodded, suppressing a smile. ‘Well, I can think of worse ways for a load of bairns to spend a summer day.’ She looked at Annie and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Worth a picnic anyway, lass.’

Annie looked from her to the sun which streamed in through the door. It was warmer out than in on a day like this and yes, to be out, away from the smell of boiling dishcloths and dust that puffed up into your mouth and nostrils, yes, that would be a belter. She looked at Don who was pulling Georgie towards him, speaking quietly in his ear. She knew he was about to get his ball and pile down to the end of the street with Georgie for a game. She held her breath but Georgie shook his head.

‘Just call the bairns, Don. I promised Tom and we’re meeting Grace at the end by Monkton’s.’ he turned as Don shrugged and slouched into the passage to call Tom.

‘You’ve got some butties then, have you?’ called Betsy after Georgie.

‘Aye, Mrs Manon,’ he called and settled himself on the edge of Beauty’s water-trough to wait. He always looks comfortable thought Annie, even on that.

Annie held Beauty’s reins loosely as they strolled along the street behind Georgie and Don. Chairs were set up outside front doors for the women to sit on later, whilst they did their mending and gossiping. The leather of the reins was hot and she wanted the air to get between it and her, to stop it going soggy. Tom rode and held their bread and dripping tied up in an old tea-towel and it didn’t look that clean, thought Annie, but who cares. She looked up over her shoulder at Tom who beamed down at her.

‘Ain’t she grand, Annie. It’s only taken her a few weeks to settle down, hasn’t it?’ He patted the pony’s neck.

Grace looked over Beauty’s head at Annie. She had been late and had run to catch them up. She was still panting slightly in the heat and her freckled cheeks were tinged with red, her auburn curls were damp.

‘It’s not as though she was a bundle of fire when she came though, is it, Annie? If she settled down any more I reckon she’d be asleep.’

Annie chuckled and ran her hand down Beauty’s face to her nostrils which puffed and snuffled in her palm. ‘Later you can have your apple because you’re a right little cracker.’ She crooned into her ear which twitched in response. ‘Don’t you take any notice of your nasty Aunty Grace. Just wants a ride, she does and it’s too hot for us big ’uns on you little ’uns.’ She heard the giggles of the other two. ‘We’ll just get one of Georgie Porgie’s little bees to sting her backside, shall we, darling, then she really won’t be able to sit on you.’