After the Storm (26 page)

‘Come along, my dear,’ Sarah beckoned to her. Once inside the room, it seemed slightly darker than the hall but not much because the windows were large and stepped out from the room. The air was heavy with beeswax and the dark red chairs were like train seats, but not quite so prickly. Annie sat upright, her skirt tucked under her knees to stop the irritation.

‘I remember using a dog’s brush once to do my hair, when I was in a strange house,’ Sarah said, removing her hat and putting it on the table next to her fireside chair.

Annie did not answer. She watched as Sarah smoothed stray hairs back into place. Her hair looked smooth enough now, she thought, and shining as though it was a copper that had been burnished. It was short with crisp waves. Sarah sighed and sat back.

‘It’s so nice to get home …’ And then she stopped and frowned. ‘I am sorry, Ann, that was tactless.’

Annie sat as she had been doing. She was not going to show this woman that she had felt a flush of longing, a loosening of tears; that she wanted to run back down this light street, down the miles of road and then over the hill that led back to the pits, to the streets, to the people she knew.

‘Me name’s Annie, not Ann,’ she said.

‘But I think Ann is more mature,’ Sarah replied and walked
to the window. ‘Tomorrow,’ she continued, ‘we have an interview at a school nearby. It is one of my choice since I know the Reverend Mother quite well, we play bridge together and, of course, it was my old school. She is prepared to accept you and coach you for your examination, old though you are. There is a bicycle in the shed for your journey to and from school and school uniform can be obtained from a shop in the centre of town. We will equip you there if there is a successful conclusion to the interview.’

There was an anger growing in Annie.

‘I’m not living with a gaggle of bloody left-footed penguins.’

The prints on the wall were of the sea. Grey and blue they were, not a drop of colour anywhere. Georgie would look for birds, Tom would check the perspective and Don would wonder how much they would fetch. There was a white marble clock on the mantelpiece with a gold slave hanging all over the top of it. Bet he had a shock everytime it chimed, thought Annie, and pictured their father’s clock which had made her jump but she was not going to think of Wassingham until tonight.

‘You are quite correct,’ Sarah was saying. ‘You are not. You will be living with me and leaving any excess of religious zeal that you may acquire within the walls of the convent when you depart at the end of the day.’ She paused as she looked at Annie who was watching the clock creep towards one o’clock; anger was mixed with helplessness now.

‘It’s a strange clock isn’t it, Ann?’ She did not wait for an answer but went straight on. ‘It’s one my father brought home one day, quite why my mother and I could never understand. It’s perfectly hideous, don’t you think, but it keeps excellent time.’

Annie looked at her, then back at the clock.

Sarah spoke again. ‘My father was a shopkeeper too, you know, so it runs in the family.’

Again Annie just looked at her and then back to the clock. She would wait for it to chime and then she would not be able to run out of the house, back to Georgie. Once it chimed she had to stay here, as long as it chimed before she could count to one hundred. As she finished fifty, the clock reached one and a chime rang out, and she sat back in her chair, on her hands to lift her clear of the bristles. She had to stay now, she thought.
She had to stay because the clock had chimed before one hundred and it was not her fault that she was still here, it was the clock’s; but was the clock enough? She felt herself begin to sweat.

She looked again at Sarah, who was watching her closely. Through her confusion Annie saw that it was a nice face, quite old though, she must be in her middle thirties.

‘These nuns, Ann,’ Sarah resumed, ‘are neither penguins nor left-footers but are a protestant order with an excellent academic record and reputation.’

‘I’ve not understood a word you’ve said.’ Annie moved only her lips as she spoke, her voice was terse.

‘That, my girl, is precisely why you are here,’ Sarah riposted and enjoyed Annie’s fleeting grin. ‘Any other points you wish to discuss?’

‘Can I have me dinner?’ Perhaps if she was rude enough, Sarah would send her back. If she did not, then she, together with the clock, had decided for her.

She felt the sandals on her lap, the cracked straps that had dug in at Sally’s party, that she had not worn since but that she would always keep because they brought every minute back sharply the moment she saw them.

‘You may have your lunch. If you insist on asking for dinner when I’m quite sure your father explained the difference to you, you will, presumably, be quite happy to wait until eight this evening.’

Her hands sat in her lap and her face stayed still round her eyes and all Annie heard was the deep tick of the clock.

‘You’d better show me the kitchen then,’ she said, unable to think of a retort. ‘I’d better get on with it.’

Sarah looked at her more closely then and there was movement across the brow.

‘Come with me, Ann, there are some things I must show you and others I must explain to you.’

Annie followed her through the tiled hall to the door at the bottom which led into the kitchen. An elderly plump woman in a red apron was putting some cold meat and hard-boiled eggs on to plates. The white was blue next to the yolk and she could smell it as she entered. The meat safe was tightly shut, its cream paint was chipped and one piece was hanging. Annie pulled it off as she stood next to it.

‘Ann, this is Val who helps me to run the house. Val, this is Ann, my ward, who will be living here as I’ve already explained to you, from today. We have prepared the back bedroom for her, haven’t we? It gets so much sun we thought you’d prefer it, my dear.’ Sarah looked at Annie and smiled. She turned back again to Val. ‘Lunch in half an hour, I think.’

Val smiled at Annie and her eyes squeezed to slits above round cheeks. Her arms were pink and dimpled and there was no sign of any bones. Annie followed Sarah from the kitchen to the bedrooms, up a staircase with a turned banister and more prints on the walls. So, thought Annie, she hasn’t sent me home, and she didn’t know if she was relieved or not.

Sarah turned towards the back of the house and opened a dark panelled door on the left of the landing. She did not go in but stepped back and urged Annie forward. She was still clutching the sandals and her hands tightened as she walked into the room.

‘This is your room, Ann. You will hear the gong in just under half an hour. We will be ready to sit when we hear it the second time. The bathroom is next door to your room. You will find a few things in the drawers. I bought them for a fifteen-year-old but a few sizes smaller would have been more apt. A clean pair of knickers every day please and also a bath. There is a linen-basket in the bathroom. I know little about godliness but cleanliness is just plain commonsense.’ She pointed to the bathroom.

‘Incidentally, in this house there are no servants. I work as a legal secretary at Waring and James, Solicitors, in order to keep myself. Val works in order to keep herself. Ann Manon will work in order to one day provide for herself. In this house we are all members of a household which will only thrive if we all play our parts. We are all people in our own right, no one should have to suffer another.’

Sarah shut the door quietly and perhaps went downstairs but the carpet was so thick Annie could not hear.

She had not understood the last part of Sarah’s speech, for that was what it was, Annie decided. She talked as though she ate a book for breakfast every day.

The sun had filled the room with warm light, her suitcase was on the carpet by the bed. It was a carpet which ran to the walls and her feet sunk in with each step and when she removed
her boots she felt the softness beneath her soles and the tufts which rose up between her toes. She traced the swirling pale blue pattern with pointed foot and ran her hand along the smooth sleek quilt. She had not known such comfort existed.

There were no gas lights, just a switch on the wall. She flicked it and the light came on and she knew that this was electricity because it was so quiet.

She stroked the quilt again and wondered if this was what silk was like and sat on top of the bed which sank effortlessly beneath her weight. The curtains were pulled back and the polished window-sill held a vase with just one white rose.

Annie walked across and the rose smelt thick and rich, caught against the leaded window. She looked closer at the tight corners; they must be a pig to clean she thought.

The garden was grassed with rose-bushes edging a lawn that looked smooth enough to lie on and she stretched herself instead full length along the carpet, her hands running to meet one another, collecting carpet fluff which lifted before her passage. The bed was high and beneath was an enamel potty.

She felt a surge of excitement and then, as quickly, it was overtaken by a despairing panic, an encompassing sense of loss, of guilt. She wished she could cut it out of her mind and just enjoy all this but she could not, so sprang to her feet, anxious to move, to push back feelings with action and slipped on to the landing and into the bathroom.

The bath was encased in rich mahogany with a step in the side. The basin had a mahogany cupboard underneath and there were toilet rolls on the shelf. She touched the bath taps. They were brass and heavy and beautiful and the water gushed out steamy hot. The toilet flushed at the first pull. There was dried lavender in a bowl on the window-sill and she picked some out with her fingers and smelt the long-ago scent of Aunt Sophie.

She had scattered lavender heads on the window-sill and picked them up in a fever of anxiety in case Sarah should come in, then smoothed the bowl over but could not remember whether it had been flat or heaped and felt her face flush and tears come to her eyes. Then the gong sounded. The better-get-going gong and she splashed water on her face and was glad that she had not let the tears really come and redden her eyes;
so that they would see. She dried herself on the white towel that was so full of pile she could have slept on it.

The table was not laid with a cloth but with table-mats backed by cork. She sat down where Val showed her and they waited for Sarah who, by rights, thought Annie should be frozen to the marrow since the second gong had gone and Val had brought the food to the table already.

‘Did you like the room, my love?’ asked Val as she unrolled her napkin from its ring and pointed to Annie to do the same.

‘It’s the most lovely room I have ever seen and the carpet is so thick and enormous. There’s no wood around the edge at all.’

She heard Sarah’s laugh as she entered and sat at the end of the table and knew that if she had known Sarah was there she would never have said what she had. Here was someone stronger than her, who had power over her like Albert and Annie found herself thinking that at Albert’s at least she had worked and received some small payment which was different to here. Here there was all this just given to her which took away her right to anger, to argue. She was beholden now and it felt all wrong. She couldn’t fight back and this would have to be changed if she was to stay. Her name was Annie, not Ann.

Sarah was dishing up the thinly sliced meat; pink ham and something else but she didn’t know what.

‘Ham and beef for you, Ann?’ Sarah asked and Annie nodded. She had no idea what beef tasted like but it had to be good for only the wealthy ate it.

‘You must be very rich,’ she said, as Sarah passed her the potatoes.

‘No, and one does not discuss financial matters at the table and I should leave the parsley on the potatoes, Ann; it’s rather nice. Potatoes, Val?’

Annie put back the spoon and looked at the green bits which were spread all over the waxy white of the vegetable.

‘Where do you sleep, Val? Up in the attic?’ she asked as she picked up her knife and fork.

‘Val does most certainly not sleep in the attic,’ Sarah broke in. ‘Her room is opposite yours and just the same, and your knife would really be more comfortable if you don’t use it like a pen.’

Annie altered her grip. Albert had eaten like that and she had forgotten what her father had always said.

‘I didn’t have a nice room at Albert’s.’

‘Look, Ann, you really must accept that we are all equal in this house, it is just that our tasks vary. One day you will be an adult earning money and you will find that equality is not usual for women but it should be. It’s something worth fighting for. Last year we were at last given the vote at 21, something to thank Baldwin for but it took far too long.’ She paused to wipe her mouth and Annie wondered whether she ate a book for lunch as well? Perhaps that’s where she had been when they were sitting waiting for her, stuffing herself with the latest book from the library. She grinned to herself. She must tell Grace that, she thought, when she comes to see me and she felt happier at the thought. Wassingham was not too far after all.

Sarah had put down her knife and fork, and was leaning forward on her elbows. ‘Just remember that you might need to stand up and say, this is not what I want, but you must know what it is that you wish to put in its place. It is not enough just to be dissatisfied. You have to have an aim. Can’t stand woolly thinking.’

After dinner Annie left the house through the kitchen door to check on the bicycle as Sarah had suggested. Down past the roses with their warm heavy scent to the shed which stood behind the green waxed laurel. The garden was bordered by a red brick wall which beat back the afternoon heat and sheltered the garden from the wind. The latch was stiff and it was dark inside. The smell was of dust and old sacking, of creosote. The bike leaned up against the wall, black with spokes that were slightly rusted.

She moved towards it over floorboards that were springy and creaked and touched the handlebars. The rubber grips were worn through to the metal either side. She felt safe in here, with the same smell that had been in her da’s shed, the same creosote thickness around it. It made her remember that she was still in the same world as Georgie and Tom, as her old life. That some things stayed the same; that she was still Annie, not Ann. She moved to the window which was sectioned into four panes. Val had said the shed was ash, like the greenhouse on the other side of the garden. Seasoned ash she had said and Annie had pictured the trees with their pale grey bark and late leaves and
remembered Georgie as he had pointed to the ashes past the hives and she saw again the purple flowers which came before the leaves.