After the Storm (17 page)

She laughed inside, grinning up at Don, winking at Tom. It was so wonderful to be actually going to the city, going to the
Empire to see Peter Pan just when she had thought that nothing bright would ever break the long grey winter.

She dug her hands deep into her pockets, regretting that Don’s Christmas present of pear-drops had split their bag and seemed fluffy to the touch, but then who would see in the dark of the theatre?

Don was quiet, she thought. He had changed since he had left home. It wasn’t just that his hair was short or his voice deep. He seemed further from them than ever now that he was away so much, even when he was this close, and she felt she hardly knew him. She had noticed Betsy and Da sitting either side of the basket so as not to squash themselves buttock to buttock. She bit her lip; her father was so neat today and small beside Betsy who was doughlike and spreading. Jack Sprat had nothing on this little lot she thought.

She looked past Don to Tom.

‘Stop picking your nose, Tom,’ she whispered, reaching across to slap his hand. ‘Don’t think you’re too far away for me to get at you.’

‘Weren’t picking,’ he mouthed as he leaned forwards. Just itching it, that’s all.’ He tucked his hand beneath his legs and hunched his shoulders. ‘It’s good, isn’t it, Annie, altogether like this.’ His eyes were alight and his grin was broad.

Annie wanted to put her arm across and toss his hair and press him to her. He was such a bonny lad with his smile that always seemed to be waiting to plaster itself all over his face, if it wasn’t already there.

She nodded. ‘Yes, lad, that it is.’

He looked so much better for having wrapped himself round Aunt May’s Christmas pud and had brought her back a bit an’ all. It had hardened as the suet set but had been rich and sticky.

The tram windows were steamed behind their heads but she could sense the darkness of the station terminal as they arrived. It had blotted out the midday sun. The bustle and noise of the station, as they stepped down, confused her; it seemed to be all around, swirling in a senseless pattern, opening and closing around them as they stood while their father decided which way to go.

‘Come along,’ he called, sweeping foward into the mêlée, and she reached for Tom’s sleeve, tugging at him and running along behind her father’s hurrying back. If they missed the train, oh,
she couldn’t bear to think of it. Instead of swanking in the new school term, there would be nothing to tell.

‘I’m not going to disappear in a puff of smoke,’ he panted. ‘Let go of me arm, Annie, I’m all at an angle.’

But she wouldn’t, she was too excited to hear him.

Archie turned, still walking, his face red. He looked again at the chalked boards. ‘Come on, Annie,’ he called and took her hand. ‘You must keep up with us, we haven’t time to wait for you both.’

They all broke into a run as a train steamed and roared to a spark-spitting halt and the steps were a blur as they raced up over the bridge, then down the other side. The hoarse smell was everywhere. As they approached, the train doors lurched open and swung, slapping against the sides. Annie saw her father and Betsy climb aboard. She sucked more breath into her lungs.

‘Come on, Tom,’ she shrieked. Don was urging them on. He stood with one foot on the platform, one on the train.

‘For God’s sake, get a move on,’ he bawled and, as they arrived, he heaved at her elbow. ‘Bloody girls,’ he hissed. She shut her eyes over the yawning gap between platform and train.

‘Get Tom, too,’ she cried, her voice high and seeming to come from the top of her head. Doors were being slammed the length of the train and finally they were all in.

Their carriage was empty but for them and Annie threw herself on to the seat, heaving a sigh of relief. She pulled Tom down beside her and they laughed and couldn’t stop. The seats were prickly and dark red and the paintings of the seaside which were screwed to the wall above them looked dull and uninviting. She tucked her coat beneath her, gasping at the lurch and stagger as the train set out for the city.

There were arms with ashtrays between each place and Annie screwed her nose up against the smell. Black-tipped matches were piled up in the dead ash. A lipstick-tinged cigarette-end had been ground out on the floor. She had heard Georgie telling Don about women like that, it was a sure sign, he had said. If one of them girls up the market is standing smoking in broad daylight with thick red lips, you can lay a penny to a pound she’s on the game. Common as muck they are, he’d said. She’d asked what ‘game’ was and they told her to wait until she was grown up, then they’d tell her. They never had.

The countryside had a smattering of snow but most of it had thawed yesterday. There had been so little anyway and she was rather glad because Tom would have wanted to go sledging and she couldn’t bear the cold. It seemed to be racing past; the cattle in the fields looked unreal. In the distance she could see a farmer as he laid down straw by a water-trough. He seemed from another world and she wondered if people in the train had felt the same when, or if, they had seen a group of children in the meadow by the beck that day so long ago.

The picnic buns were still warm from this morning’s baking and, long before they drew into the yawning Newcastle station, Betsy passed round chicken which oozed and hung out of tangy rolls. Even Don looked wide-eyed at such luxury and Annie thought the world had gone mad.

‘Thought black pudding would be the height of it,’ Tom murmured as he held his and just looked.

She looked at her da who smiled and Betsy who nodded and then she sank her teeth into the soft white meat and lifted up her shoulders and hugged her elbows to her sides. She could hardly breathe through the pleasure.

The taxi her da pushed them into, when they came out through Newcastle Station, was so tall they could almost walk into it. There were three small seats which flipped down behind the driver and she and Tom sat on those while Don tried to choose between sitting high up between Betsy and Da or low down with them. Annie knew it was no contest and was not surprised when he squashed in next to Betsy and smiled down on them as though he was Lord Muck.

The Empire was bright and like Christmas had always seemed as though it should be. They stood across the road and watched the crowds as they spilled into the foyer. Annie could not believe that she was actually going through the front and could look the red-uniformed commissionaire in the eye. She nudged Tom and he winked, his shoulder bracing back as he moved closer in the noise of the traffic, the smell of exhaust and the clatter of horse-drawn carts. There was not one pony as small as Beauty, he thought.

‘It’ll be great to go in the front way, bonny lass,’ he whispered and Annie laughed, glad that his thoughts had found their way through to hers. She could feel in her mind the weight of the exit bar at the flea-pit which she had so often
heaved up to let the others in. Six for the price of one was good going. Georgie, Grace, Tom and Don and whoever had tagged along that day. Today though, there was to be no ducking as the usherette came down the aisle. Maisie had known who had passed her torch as she stood in the doorway into the cinema and who had just appeared but she had only found them once. Today they could forget it all and just be there, maybe even have some chocolates.

Inside the shell-shaped lamps were pink, the curtains were a vivid red that soaked up the light in patches and was dark and bright in turn. Excitement hummed and was echoed deep within Annie and her hands felt limp with satisfaction. She turned to her father and smiled.

‘Thank you, Da,’ she said.

He nodded, handing her the binoculars, but with these she could only see parts of the whole and she preferred to be without detail and soak in the buzz and laughter. The chocolate was passed. It was already soft and stuck to the roof of her mouth. She sat perfectly still to let it last. There was its stickiness around her mouth and on her hands until Betsy licked her handkerchief and wiped around her lips and it smelt of her breath until Annie dragged her sleeve harshly across her face. She grimaced at Tom who tried to jerk his head back but Betsy scrunched his hair in her hand until she was done. He shuddered at Annie and leaned nearer.

‘We need one of those, then she won’t do it.’ He pointed to Don’s straggly moustache. ‘That means they’ve dropped, you know.’

‘Shut up you little –’ Don growled, not daring to call him names so close to his da.

‘I’d rather have me mouth wiped,’ answered Annie. ‘They’d stick me in the circus if I had one of those.’

Archie ignored these exchanges. He was training his glasses on the boxes which held calm ordered well-dressed families. All the excitement seemed to come from the well of the theatre and the cheap seats where they were sitting. The orchestra were in the pit, tuning their instruments. It wouldn’t be long now.

The heat beat against Betsy and she ignored the bickering between Don and the others. Her dress was too faded and stained to remove her coat so she had to endure the next few hours in it. She opened the collar and let her hands hang as far
from her body as the seating would allow. It was good to be away from the shop and Wassingham and Archie looked young again and eager. That was it, she thought, he looked eager as though he knew of a secret joy. He was still such a strange man, so stiff and alone. Her head felt heavy as the lights dimmed and her thoughts trailed away. Her hands were eased by the warmth and she was comforted by the lack of pain. Her chin dropped to her chest.

Annie looked at Betsy. As long as she doesn’t snore, she thought. Please God, don’t let her snore. She looked along the row beyond her father to Don and saw him unwrap the muffler she had knitted for his present. She had noticed how he had run his fingers between it and his skin a thousand times since he had wrapped it round his neck but hadn’t removed it until now and that was kind.

She knew the wool was rough because she had pulled out one of her sweaters to make them and they were all like wire wool. She had thought boys skin was hard and they wouldn’t feel the prickling as she did. After all, they were always going on about being so tough.

Tom still wore his but outside his coat. He said he liked to be able to swing it up over his nose and let it hang down his back to keep out the cold air. He had given her a bag of pink mice when he had returned from May’s late last night but he had painted her a Christmas card earlier and she had put it on the mantelpiece with the ones from Grace and Sophie on Christmas morning. Sarah Beeston’s had arrived the week before and Betsy had put it away for her to open on Christmas day. The package had been soft and it was gloves again, as she knew it would be and they fitted too, they always did. They were dangling on the end of her elastic and she stroked them. The wool was so soft. Bet had stayed in the shop all Christmas Day, empty of trade though it was, and her da had stayed in his study, unspeaking. Both had been drunk.

But now the music was heaving and barking as Mrs Darling settled the children into bed and Annie watched them in their warm bright bedroom being kissed by their parents, tucked in by the dog, Nana. She soared with them when they followed Peter out through the window to Never Never Land and clapped, clapped, clapped to save Tinkerbell’s light and life.
She booed the crocodile, screaming with laughter when Tom stood up and shouted his warnings.

At the end she hated the lost boys for returning to real life and called, ‘Don’t go, don’t go,’ when Peter asked her, for it was her he was asking, not really the whole audience. Asking whether he should return or stay with Tinkerbell and the treehouse and his freedom. She clutched Da’s arm. ‘Don’t let him go,’ she beseeched and he put his hand over hers and said, ‘I won’t my love. Everyone has a right to be free.’ And he had kept his promise.

The trip home was full with quiet and the smog held the pantomine close to Annie where she hugged tight the thought that Peter had stayed. She looked at her da through lids heavy with sleep as the train thundered away from the glowing clouds back to the shadows of home and was glad that he had saved Peter for her. Tom had fallen asleep against her and she moved him slightly to ease her arm.

Don had waved them goodbye at the station to catch the Yorkshire train and Annie had seen Archie grip his arm but had not heard him say, ‘Happy New Year, my boy. I have always loved you both, look after my little girl.’ She had seen him turn and then Don was gone but not before Annie caught his expression of contempt. Too much booze making the old fool maudlin, it had said.

Betsy woke, her legs stretched out across the bed. No Archie as usual, she thought. He’d be still asleep over his desk in the study. She stretched, her hands playing with the brass bedstead and thought how she loved this bed when it was hers alone. Her limbs could sprawl and her body lie loose on its back unlike the nights when Archie was here. Then she was rigid, careful not to cross the empty space between them, her head motionless on the hardening pillow, tense in case she should irritate her meticulous husband. It wasn’t so bad when she’d had a wee drink, then she slept and the more she drank the more she slept. Softened the edges it did, gave her a sort of pleasure. She felt good this morning, no headache, no sour taste from too many gills of beer. She had energy, she was new. Bye, they’d have to go into town more often.

She dressed briskly. In the bathroom, the water was crisp, too cold to wash. She tapped on the study door as she passed
but there was no reply. Up and off early on some business no doubt and she was relieved. She thought of the cleaning up she would do this morning, then later she could take the two bairns out for a change. Last night had made her feel excited and energetic and she smiled to see that Archie had laid the fire and the table was ready for breakfast. He must be feeling good too, she thought, and wondered if this could be a new beginning.

The hose that was attached to the gas cooker ran past her up the stairs and she looked at it, her hand still on the doorknob. Her feet felt heavy as she turned for the stairs noticing now how neatly it was laid against them. Up, up she went, seeing the fibres of the carpet clearly but not seeing them at all.