David smiled. ‘Our little sister is growing up and turning in to a wise person.’
Margaret nodded.
Annie smiled at them both. ‘I expect you’re right, I just don’t want to end up getting married and living on a farm.’
David threw back his head and laughed.
Annie frowned. ‘What?’
‘You make it sound like a death sentence, like there’s nothing worse.’
‘For me there isn’t, it’s so far away from what I want to do.’ Annie gave a little smile. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s great if you love it, but it’s just not for me.’
David wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her with the fresh air and the earthy aroma of the land he loved so much. ‘Just be patient with Pa, and everyone else, they’ll come round.’ He stood up. ‘I better get some sleep, I have an early start in the morning.’ He strolled over to the door. ‘Good night and I’ll see you both tomorrow.’
‘Night,’ both girls chorused at the same time.
Annie smiled at her brother. ‘Thank you.’ She blew him a kiss.
David smiled and the door shut with a thud.
Annie gazed around the bedroom she shared with her sister, before pushing back the bedcovers. She stepped on to the cold wooden floor and pulling back her shoulders she took a deep breath. It was time for her nightly ritual. She held her head high, placed two heavy books on top of it and, with her arms stretched out to her sides, she began practising her walk around the small room. Annie took a couple of steps, trying to glide in a ladylike manner. The books wobbled. She stood still for a moment, steadying her breathing before gingerly taking the next step. The wooden floorboards creaked under her feet. Slowly, Annie walked over to the dark oak chest of drawers that sat next to the matching wardrobe the two sisters shared. She reached out and picked up her hairbrush. The books wobbled, she held her breath and stood rigid for a few seconds, they didn’t fall. Annie slowly moved over to the window to close the dark green curtains, which were a stark contrast to the bare whitewashed walls. She stared out into the dark night, the stars twinkling clearly in the sky. A sigh escaped from her – this was the tricky bit and the books always fell off when she tugged at the curtains.
‘Why do you do that every night?’
Margaret’s voice startled Annie, but she tried to keep her balance. ‘Because, I want to be able to walk like a lady. It’s important, you should try it.’
‘No thanks, it doesn’t make any sense to me. You are a lady so you must walk like one.’
Annie kept her head held high, resisting the urge to turn around. ‘I must try and close these curtains.’ She reached out and gently took the edge of the thick material between her fingers. Annie gave it a slight tug but nothing happened. She pulled harder. The books wobbled as the curtain rings rattled along the pole. Tension gripped her. Annie slowly lowered her hand; she had never got this far before. ‘I’m nearly there, I’m going to do it this time.’ She kept her eyes forward, too frightened to move her head, as she reached out for the other curtain and tugged gently at first before pulling hard for it to move. Suddenly, the two pieces of material were touching. Annie took the books off her head and turned beaming to her sister. ‘I’ve done it, I’ve actually done it.’
Margaret smiled. ‘I’m pleased you have but I don’t understand why it was so important to you.’
Annie laughed as she walked over to the chest of drawers and placed the books next to a blue floral jug and bowl placed in the centre. The once white embroidered runner it stood on had seen better days, but their mother had made it years ago so no one wanted to use it for rags or throw it away. ‘When I went to the theatre with Ma all the ladies were dressed in their posh dresses and jewellery, they looked very elegant, almost regal, when they walked.’ She smiled at her memories. ‘I’ll never forget it. I’ll take you one day.’
Annie picked up her cup of hot chocolate and sat on the edge of her bed. She wrapped her hands around the cup, allowing the warmth to flow through her fingers. The smell of chocolate wafted around her, enticing her to not wait any longer. Annie sipped the sweet hot liquid, licking her lips before replacing it on the bedside table next to the soft, well-thumbed yellow programme of Major Barbara. She picked it up; it no longer had a sharpness about it, and there were creases in places where, much to Annie’s annoyance, the cat had sat on it. She stared down at it, remembering vividly the excitement of going to the theatre with her mother and watching open mouthed as the play unfolded. Miss Marjorie Smith, who as far as eleven-year-old Annie was concerned was a star, had spoken to her in the foyer after the performance and Annie had never forgotten it. That’s where all her hopes and dreams had begun.
Margaret fidgeted, sighing and muttering to herself before she finally sat up in bed, pulling the thin blankets up to her shoulders. The black cat lying at the foot of her bed glanced her way. It stood up and arched its back as it stretched its legs before stepping closer to Margaret. The cat nudged Margaret’s hand and began purring as she stroked it. ‘Are you going to stare at that all night?’
Annie chuckled. ‘No, I was just thinking about how grand the theatre had looked all those years ago. There were hundreds of rich red seats in there. It was wonderful, you should have seen it.’
A small sigh escaped Margaret. ‘You really want to go, don’t you?’
Annie glanced up at her sister, watching the cat snuggling down next to her. ‘Yes, I can’t just let it go.’ She paused. ‘I don’t expect you to understand, I’m not even sure I do, but if I don’t try, I’ll never know if I could have succeeded and that’s important to me.’
The air was still between them. The cat’s contented purring filled the room.
A tear rolled down Margaret’s cheek. ‘But… but that means I’ll probably never see you again.’ She sniffed as she stroked the top of the cat’s head. ‘I don’t understand why you want to leave us, aren’t we important to you? Why can’t you be happy living here?’
Guilt swamped Annie. ‘I’m not leaving you, and I am happy here. I just want something different. I don’t expect you to understand.’
Margaret shook her head. ‘No, I don’t, I can’t imagine living anywhere else, but it’s obviously important to you.’
Annie’s throat tightened. ‘I’ll come back and visit. We could go out together or you could visit me and I’ll show you around London and take you to all the best places.’
Margaret shook her head. ‘It won’t be the same.’ She sniffed. ‘I won’t be seeing you every day, or listening to you practise for the church choir, let alone sharing things with you, and having late-night chats like this.’
Annie jumped up, took the couple of steps to Margaret’s bed and wrapped her arms around her sister, taking in her soapy smell and the freshness of her nightdress. ‘I know, Margaret, but I have to go. Please don’t get upset, I can’t explain it, it’s just something I have to do and you must write to me every day and I will you.’
Margaret glanced up at her sister. ‘Did you promise to write to Joyce every day when she left?’
Annie’s stomach twisted with guilt. ‘I will write to you every day, I promise. We can pick the brightest star in the sky and we can say goodnight to each other.’
Margaret’s eyes were watery when she spoke. ‘All right but please know I am going to miss you.’
Annie’s throat tightened. ‘I shall miss you too.’
3
Joyce Taylor pulled at the front door, eager to shut out the noise of her uncle yelling at her. It slammed shut. Her eyes widened as horror coursed through her body. She hadn’t meant for it to close like that and she would pay the price later. There was a thud of footsteps; they grew louder as they got nearer the door. Fear held her for a moment.
‘Morning, luvvie, I fink it’s going to be a good day.’ The grey-haired lady gave Joyce a toothless grin before looking heavenward. ‘Look, the sun’s already trying to break frew this morning’s fog.’
‘Morning.’ Joyce followed the old lady�
�s instructions and nodded. Something crashed on to the tiles behind the front door, reminding her she had to get away quickly before he opened the door and dragged her back inside. ‘I’m sorry I’ve got to go, I’m going to be late.’ She almost ran up Great Earl Street towards Seven Dials and didn’t look back.
The shopkeepers had pulled out their window awnings, to protect their wares from the heat of the sun and were loading tables outside with goods. Sellers were out with their barrows and people were filling the street. Greetings were being shouted to their neighbours and to people passing by. The air was crowded with food and coffee aromas that were at odds with the fragrances of the flowers she walked past.
A boy’s voice called out, ‘Get yer daily paper ’ere.’
‘Morning, Joyce.’
The man’s voice made her look round. She smiled. ‘Morning, Peter. If all these people are anything to go by you could be in for a busy day.’
Peter grinned as he lifted a box of carrots onto his barrow. ‘Let’s ’ope so. It would be good to sell all this fruit and vegetables before it starts to go rotten.’ He glanced up at Joyce. ‘Do yer want to take a couple of apples for yer lunch?’
Joyce shook her head. ‘Peter Lewis, you’ll never fulfil your dream if you keep giving away your stock.’
Peter picked up a couple of red apples and wiped them with a clean cloth. ‘It’s only a couple of apples, and anyway you ’ave a sadness about you this morning so the fruit might cheer you up.’ Peter placed them in a paper bag and passed them over his overloaded barrow.
Joyce didn’t say a word as she stared at the present being offered.
Peter frowned. ‘You’re all right, ain’t you?’
‘Of course, you’re a good friend but…’
Peter lowered his bag onto the barrow. ‘But what?’
Joyce could feel the heat rising in her face and wished she hadn’t started the conversation.
Peter reached over and touched her arm. ‘You know we’ve been friends for a few years now and there’s nothing you can’t tell me.’
Joyce licked her dry lips. ‘I… I know, it’s just embarrassing and I don’t want you to get the wrong end of the stick.’
Peter chuckled, pushing his fingers through his dark hair. ‘Are you worried the apples might imply more than friendship?’
He was a good-looking man, his angular features and slim tall frame would attract anyone but apparently not her. Not for the first time, Joyce, wondered if there was something wrong with her. She lowered her eyes as colour seeped into her cheeks, thankful he couldn’t read her mind.
Peter grabbed her hand and gave it a slight shake. ‘Look, I don’t know ’ow many times I ’ave to say this but we’re friends and, ’opefully, always will be.’ He chuckled as he picked up the paper bag again. ‘Besides, I’m too busy building my empire to worry about ’aving a girlfriend.’
Joyce giggled. ‘Well you won’t get very far if you keep giving fruit away.’
Peter beamed at her. ‘I will, it’ll just take two apples longer.’
Joyce laughed and took the bag. ‘Thank you, for everything.’
‘Get on wiv yer now, and ’ave a good day.’ Peter waved his hand at her. ‘I’ll see yer on yer way back later.’
Joyce nodded, clutching the bag tight. ‘I hope you have a good day.’ She waved and moved aside so Peter could serve someone else.
‘Right, what can I do for you on this fine morning.’ Peter’s voice followed Joyce as she walked away.
Joyce no longer had time to saunter; she raced along, weaving her way through the barrows, tables and shoppers.
The fog was lifting and the London traffic was building, cars spluttered and coughed as they drove down the cobbled street. The doors to the Mission Hall were ajar, mumbled voices could be heard inside. A tabby cat tentatively ventured through the open door, stretching its stiff legs as though it had been a hard night. Joyce fleetingly wondered if the cat should be in there, after all she would hate for it to get locked in. She shook her head; didn’t she have enough problems without creating more? Joyce crossed the road to Shorts Gardens and The Crown Public House.
An older lady came out of the public house carrying a bucket of water; a dog followed her and flopped down onto the pavement. The lady began washing the light brown tiles with a cloth. ‘Morning, luvvie.’ Her high-pitched voice screeched out. ‘Yer look frazzled, are yer running late this morning?’
Joyce forced a smile. ‘Morning, I made an early start but then I got chatting.’ She bent down and stroked the wiry fur of the black dog, whose face was smattered with grey hair. He wagged his tail with excitement but his position didn’t change.
The old lady glanced at the dog as she began rinsing her cloth in the bucket. ‘I don’t fink he’s long for this world, bless him.’
Joyce stroked the top of the dog’s head before pulling herself upright. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, you’ll miss him I’m sure.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I should get on, have a good day.’
‘And you, luvvie.’
Joyce stepped off the pavement to cross Great St Andrew Street before walking down Great White Lion Street, towards Shaftesbury Avenue. Shop doors were opening and signs were being turned round to show they were opening for business.
The bicycle repair shopkeeper began wheeling his bicycles out onto the pavement. ‘Morning, Joyce.’
‘Morning, Mr Young.’
‘Please call me Charlie, everybody does.’ Mr Young gave her a wide smile. ‘I can’t interest you in a bicycle this morning, can I?’
Joyce chuckled. ‘You ask me every morning and it’s always a no.’
‘For two years, but one day I might get lucky, and anyway it gives me an excuse to talk to you every day.’
Colour began to rise up Joyce’s neck. She cleared her throat. ‘Well I must get on, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Keeping her eyes forward she rushed past the hairdressers and the wardrobe shop, not looking at their window displays. She turned left into Shaftesbury Avenue and headed towards Charing Cross Road. The barrows were out in force; the smell of hot food followed her along the road and she could almost taste the hot bread. It wasn’t long before she could see the bright yellow sign of The Meet And Feast café. She stopped and watched the owner carry out an A-frame message board.
‘Morning.’ Simon Hitchin squinted at her as he placed his board on the pavement trying to entice customers in with his offers.
‘Morning, Simon, I’m sorry I’m a little late.’ Joyce felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she watched his tall muscular body reach to straighten the awning to keep his window in the shade.
Simon brushed his hands together before running his fingers through his dark hair. ‘Don’t worry you haven’t missed anything.’ He looked down at the sign. ‘But you do need to know today we’re giving two free slices of bread and butter for every customer that orders a proper English breakfast. You know, the works, egg, bacon, sausage, beans, fried bread and a mug of tea.’
Joyce shook her head. ‘All right, but I don’t know what’s got into everyone today. None of you are going to make any money by giving your food away.’
Simon laughed as he stretched out his arm for her to walk through the open doorway first.
Joyce smiled. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’
‘Any time, and by the way the café’s not about becoming rich.’ Simon paused. ‘My father always wanted it to become part of the community, somewhere for people to meet and get to know each other.’
Joyce nodded and her smile faded. ‘Trust me when I say in my experience money doesn’t bring happiness, you have to find it in the small things that we have around us.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry your father isn’t here to see what a great job you’re doing trying to achieve his dream. I’m sure he would be proud of you.’
‘Are you open for breakfast yet?’
Simon turned and gave the old man a smile. ‘Of course, come on in.’
*
Margaret stared hard at the pi
ano keys as her fingers ran over them. The melodic sound filled the cottage, and was only marred by a wrong note being hit every now and then. She sighed. ‘It’s no good, I’m never going to learn to play the piano properly.’
William grunted as he sat back in his old black leather wingback chair, with his eyes closed. ‘You need to take your time and don’t hit the keys so hard.’
The thud of the piano lid closing made Annie peer over her shoulder, while spooning the tea leaves into the earthenware teapot. ‘You can’t give up, and you are getting better.’ Annie smiled. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget all those hours we spent picking fruit and vegetables on other farms to get the money together to buy that. I ached for weeks, but it makes it all worthwhile when I hear you play. You just have to keep practising. Why not try what Grandpa suggested?’
Margaret sat on the stool staring at the polished wooden lid. ‘Hmm, maybe I’m just not able to learn it.’
‘Nonsense, look how I walk around with my books every night, you can do anything if you practise enough, you just have to be patient.’
Grandpa snorted. ‘Don’t be a quitter, no one likes a quitter, it’s all about perseverance and how much you want something. If you want it badly enough, you’ll keep trying and not give up.’ He opened his steely grey eyes and stared at his granddaughters. ‘How do you think I got this farm? Your grandma, God rest her soul, and I worked hard and saved every penny we could, it wasn’t easy but anything worthwhile isn’t.’ He leant his head back against the chair and closed his eyes again.
The room was silent.
Annie turned in time to watch her sister lift the lid again. It wasn’t long before her fingers were gliding over the keys and the familiar tune of Greensleeves filled the kitchen. She turned back to the boiling kettle and filled the teapot. Her grandfather’s words were ringing in her head. He was right; it was all about perseverance and not giving up.
Margaret’s voice yelled out triumphantly as she stopped playing. ‘I did it.’
Grandpa opened his eyes and grinned as he enthusiastically began cheering and clapping. ‘See, I knew you could do it.’
a heartwarming WW1 saga about love and friendship (The West End Girls Book 1) Page 5