After the Storm (6 page)

I was the only one who could have helped with that but I did not. I went ahead and gave the order. He flinched then and bunched a fist, bringing it down sharply on the desk, against the edge because he wanted it to hurt, wanted it to stop. He put his head on the desk, rolling it backwards and forwards waiting
for the trembling, which would have built up in his body by now, to explode into his hands and when it came he thrust them between his thighs to contain them. It was quite a little routine now he thought. I’m really becoming quite good at dealing with myself and my rather peculiar habits.

His breathing was becoming normal and his hands were still enough now to light the lamp on his desk. The wick burned blue then yellow and the smell of oil pervaded the room. Gas did not reach above the ground floor so at least he was spared that reminder.

Calmer now, he was able to think of the children and determined again that those four years which took everything else were not going to rob him of the people his children should have been. They were not going to be guttersnipes, they were going to climb out of this shop, back to the top with him and that would include Betsy’s bibelot, but my God, there were going to be some changes. God blast it – bellies!

Archie Manon was not going to have a wife behaving like a damn skivvy with buns all over the floor and hair all over her face and street-talk falling from her sloppy mouth. Next it would be the children if it wasn’t already. The work was going to be hard, why else did he marry her, but there was no way she was going to look as though it was. He lowered the wick now that it was burning steadily. Barney would no doubt have been happy with bairns, bellies and buns, but there was no way he would ever accept it. He flung himself back in the chair. Damn the hospital, damn their incompetence. How dare they take my Mary from me and he bit on his hand to save himself from calling aloud.

He finally heard the repeated knocking and, forming a tight smile, he rose and walked towards the door. His movements were deliberate and he paused momentarily before he opened it, preparing himself to face the present. It was Betsy.

‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ he murmured, his voice level, controlled. ‘I remembered I had to sign some papers.’

She nodded, not believing him.

‘Tom is tired now, Archie,’ she apologised. ‘Shall we eat without you?’ She no longer wore her apron and her hair was newly brushed and coiled.

‘Not at all, I’m on my way now but just one moment.’ He turned and doused the lamp, replacing the paper-knife at right
angles to the letter-rack before returning. He held out his hand to guide her down. ‘But perhaps we could be a little better organised in future.’ It was not a question but a command and one he gave without even looking at her.

Betsy had expected something of the sort but still the gall rose in her throat and she burned with anger. He had said nothing of her hours of effort and she turned to say as much but his face was closed to the subject and she lost her thoughts in a mesh of clumsiness. Perhaps, she thought as they entered the kitchen, perhaps she could draw nearer when they spent their first night as lovers.

Lying as far under the hot bath-water as possible Betsy felt tea had been better than she had feared. The children had eaten well though they’d been sent to bed early by Archie, and Betsy smiled, grateful for his eagerness.

The air was cold and she soaked a flannel in the water and laid it across her breasts. They were still firm despite feeding Tom and she stroked them and thought of the pleasure a man’s hand would bring. It was hard to imagine Archie beneath his well-behaved clothes she thought. Barney’s body had been broad and scarred blue from the pit but his skin had been smooth and smelt of sweat. She remembered the weight of his body and the gentleness until they had both wanted something stronger.

The water was cooling and she felt nervous. The nightdress clung to her imperfectly dried body as she slipped it hastily over her head, holding the feeling of abandonment and joy tightly to present it to her husband. What did it matter that it arose from her dead lover?

The fire hissed and flickered in the bedroom with urgent tongues and the room felt strange to her; she had only cleaned it in the daylight as Joe’s maid but now she belonged here and could sink into the mattress and open her mouth beneath his. She longed for it, for the grasp of a man’s arms after so long. The clinging together, the end of loneliness and shame. She was to be a wife at long last, half of a pair and she was grateful to be made complete.

Archie lay quite still on his side as she edged into the bed. Betsy trailed her hand towards him beneath the sheet and it grew cold as it passed over the emptiness between them. He felt
the rustle and then the hand. It lay in the slight hollow of his buttock and his body became rigid at its touch. His eyes moved rapidly in the dark and gently he took it and placed it alongside Betsy’s thigh, then rolled over on to his back, closer to her and she held her breath in anticipation.

‘My dear,’ Archie said quietly. ‘You and I have both had our difficulties during the past few years and I think we both have cause to be grateful to have found a partnership that fills both our needs. I feel however that there is one area in which I need not trouble you. After all, neither of us wants more children do we?’

He patted her hand.

‘I think it is more important for us to concentrate on providing the right atmosphere within the family. I should prefer that you do not use the vernacular with the children since it won’t sit well when we move back to the good side.’

Betsy lay in the dark, loose with shock, her tongue heavy and enormous with grief in her dry mouth. Yes, she wanted more children. Yes, she wanted to writhe and cling to a male body. And what the hell does the vernacular mean. She understood neither him nor his words but she said nothing and moved not a muscle and finally Archie turned towards her again.

‘I mean I would rather a standard of manners and language was maintained. Belly is really a word I would prefer not to hear in my own home.’

The fullness in Betsy’s throat hurt and she had to breathe cold air through tightening nostrils until they were too full with the mucus of tears. Then, through barely opened lips, she spoke and did not recognise the sound of her own voice.

‘Yes, Archie, I understand.’

‘Goodnight Elisabeth.’

She turned on her side away from him and, carefully, she cried silent tears for her 22 years and the countless more that were yet to come and there was a coldness in her now, a despair which soured her youth.

Annie hung on the bar which divided the allotments from the wasteland at the back of the lanes, near to her father’s shop. The rust was gritty beneath her hands and smelt of old money. At last her balance was perfect. She released her hands and opened her eyes, lifting her head slowly, savouring her success, smiling though the bar pinched her breath up into her throat and her stomach was pushed into her back. The sky was dusty blue and everything shimmered in the heat.

‘All right Annie, we know you can do it, get yourself down here now. Eleven’s too old for that sort of thing,’ Don ordered.

She flipped over the bar, the air rushing through her body so that her face screwed up with ecstasy. It was pleasure mixed with pain and she did it again.

‘Hey Annie,’ called Tom. ‘If you do that too often the blood will rush to your head and burst all over the ground, and I’m not clearing it up.’ She laughed and stayed where she was. ‘And you’re showing everyone your knickers. There’ll be a long queue soon.’

‘Don’t be daft Tom. Who wants to see these bloomers? But just think, if they did, we could charge a penny a look and save all this work.’ She pointed to the lead coins which she had finished in record time so that she could be free for the bar

They laughed at her, Georgie, Tom and Don as she stood brushing red dust from her clothes, then bent again over the piping. Don and Georgie chiselling then banging, while Tom just hammered. He’d have to wait until he was 13 too, Don had told him, before he could use the proper tools. Nine was too young.

Grace had not been able to come today but would be at the fair this evening and in spite of Don’s protests they were doing enough coins for her too. Tom had flared at Don that it
shouldn’t matter if Grace was there or not. They were a gang weren’t they and Annie had kissed his thin cheek. They loved Grace, her and Tom did, but she loved Tom more. He was a like a puzzle piece. He fitted her exactly.

Bye, it was grand here in the sun she thought, but hot, very hot. When they had arrived, Don, of course, had grabbed the shaded area created by the corner of hawthorne hedge that ran round the whole of the allotment. The only other area of shade was along by her father’s shed where they had found the hammer and chisel but nettles grew three feet high in this spot and Georgie had not let them beat them down to make a cool work area. Might see a Camberwell Beauty he had said and besides, the butterflies need nettles more than we need shade.

Georgie was now sitting by the rows of lettuce which were yellowing and limp from too much sun whilst Tom still sat where she had been, next to the young leeks which had wafted a strong smell as they worked.

Her da would need to water them tonight, when the sun had gone down, but most likely it would be Tom or her again as usual. She looked along the rows. There wasn’t much in this year; the patch was mostly overgrown with weeds, though the runners had gone in as always. Her da liked runner beans but without the stringy bits. Shame really that it was so neglected. It was like everything else round here now and she reached down and pulled at some weeds; the ground was too hard and would not release the roots. Georgie looked up and smiled, his mouth turned up at one side as it always did. His brown hair was too long and it fell over his eyes. He flicked it back. His teeth were white against his tanned skin.

‘You’re always brown,’ she called. ‘Where do you get your tan from? Been taking the sun by the sea, like the royals?’ She thumbed her nose and strutted about doing a regal wave.

Tom giggled and Georgie threw a handful of grass he had torn from the verge. It fluttered to the ground before it reached Annie, lying in a loose circle.

‘A cloak for me to walk on – how kind,’ minced Annie and the laughter continued. She felt a sense of delight.

‘Get on with the work,’ Don growled. Tom glanced across at him.

‘She’s only having a bit of fun,’ he protested. ‘And she doesn’t act like a lady that often.’ Annie shook her fist at him.

‘Well, she’s not doing it on my time,’ ground out Don, his head still down. He ran his fingers round the rim of the coin, making sure it would pass without comment tonight.

Annie gazed at Tom. He raised his eyebrows, then they both mouthed, ‘Bloody Albert!’

‘Hope it’s not catching Tom,’ Annie called.

‘This Albertitis, you mean,’ he replied. They both turned to Don and stared. ‘No, we’d have to work in Albert’s shop every Saturday and the old man’s not going to have us over the doorstop. We have to help Betsy in ours for nothing. Good thing we like it, ain’t it, Annie.’

Don looked up and glowered at them both.

‘Get on with your work.’

‘I’ve done my share,’ challenged Annie, ‘and Tom’s doing fine. Just keep your hair on, will you, or you’ll be polishing your head in the morning. Anyway, it’s just because you’re the eldest you throw your weight around.’

‘Only by two days,’ chipped in Georgie and Don returned to his coins without a word, forgetting everything but the need to finish the job.

Georgie sat back on his hunkers, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. His coins were perfect and Annie was intrigued that those broad hands could produce such precise work. He had worked quickly without seeming to, always calm, always accurate. She watched as he half closed his eyes against the sun and cocked his head to one side.

‘I’ll show you how to hang by your arms from that bar, turn inside out and dangle if you like.’ His voice was soft.

She moved closer, blocking the sun and casting her shadow over him, her eyes alight with interest.

‘When?’ she asked.

He half smiled. ‘Whenever you like,’ he replied, looking directly up into her face, able to do so now that she stood as a shield between him and the sun. She could see that his eyes were almost black with small yellow flecks, like a cat’s. Tom moved near to her, his small shadow cast over Georgie’s neatly stacked coins. Georgie pulled a long stem of grass from a nearby clump, eased it out of its shaft and chewed the moist white shoot. His smile grew into a grin and she responded but did not know why she felt so pleased.

‘Will you show me too?’ asked Tom, his small face eager. He
moved up against Annie and she put her arm round his shoulder and pulled him close.

Georgie continued to chew for a moment while he studied Tom and through his eyes Annie saw Tom as he now was; very thin and pale, though without rickets yet, thank God. She hadn’t noticed how gaunt he had become, how gaunt they must all have become but it looked worse on Tom because he was younger. She took out the last of her bread and dripping from her pocket and made him eat it. Hunger seemed always to be with them these days.

Georgie smiled. ‘I reckon you’re just too young Tom, but I tell you what; I’ll take you to the hives, shall I? Down by the beck. Show you the bees, you’d like that.’

‘You would and all Tom,’ agreed Annie shaking him slightly, aware of his disappointment, wanting to make it all right for him. ‘Bring your pencil and draw it. There’s the beck and that willow and the shape of the hive. Georgie’ll tell you all about bees, he’s good on insects. I know, we’ll make a day of it. I’ll do a picnic for you and Don. What do you think? We’ll ask Grace, she’ll like a picnic.’

‘Oh aye, Annie, that’d be …’

‘Oh God,’ Don broke in, ‘not old fatty.’

Annie turned to him. Why could he never be easy? She felt anger growing. He knew she couldn’t stand to hear him start on Grace. She felt hotter as the anger took her over, made words spill out.