‘So eat your heart out Manners,’ she said to herself as she poured the tea.
Tom came in that afternoon, leaving the door, open, propping himself up on the drainer.
‘Planning Permission’s come through for the conversion of Briggs’ place, so come and go over these with me, Gracie’s just coming.’ He waved the balance sheets at her, hauled her into the yard, pushing an upturned tub towards her with his foot, shutting the door.
Annie sat there, relishing the peace of a sewing machineless world. ‘This is where I need to set up my office, on an upturned tub next to a downbeat pigeon loft. What more could I want, and if it rains, I shall just roost in the loft – perfect. I can even smoke.’ She pulled out her cigarettes, tapped one out, lit it, inhaled. God, she was tired. God, it was noisy in there. God, it was a mess and this evening she must take time to clear up, then just sit and talk to Sarah, and most of all listen to her day – there had been no time last night, or the night before.
‘Well, while you’re sitting there, puffing, have a read of these.’ Tom handed her the balanced sheets, smiling at Gracie as she came through into the yard. ‘Look at the profit so far.’
Annie looked. She couldn’t believe it. She’d been working so hard she hadn’t even thought of profit and loss, of money. She had just paid the bills that had to be paid, worked, visited the hospital, and slept when she could.
‘Tom this is wonderful, we’re in profit. It’s that Glasgow one that’s done it. It’s tipped us over, well over.’
‘Right, and we’ve already paid up for the next mail shot because we’re using Manners’ stock aren’t we?’
Annie smiled. ‘Yes, we’ll get away with that now. We’ll change the trim, it wouldn’t be worth his while to start rumours, the success of this will stifle anything like that. We can just get on and set up the next range, and the wholesale range. The traders are really picking up now and I’ve had three more Madam shops this afternoon. Big-mouth has done us proud.’
She passed the sheets to Gracie, drawing in on her cigarette, arcing it out over the garden.
‘You are so disgusting. That’ll have to stop.’ Tom groaned.
‘It’s for luck, bonny lad. It brings us luck, don’t you know anything?’ Annie said softly, leaning back, looking at him. ‘Because you’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you?’
Gracie looked up at Annie, then at Tom who was nodding, grinning. ‘What are you two up to?’
Tom raised an eyebrow. ‘Briggs’ place.’
‘We can afford it.’ Annie leaned forward, her arms on her knees. ‘We could move in over a weekend. We’d need lights, shelving, tables immediately, heating by the end of the month and we’ve just about enough money for it. We’ll get everyone under one roof, Gracie and I wouldn’t have to deliver cutouts, or pick up completes, or liaise between the two houses. We wouldn’t have to eat on our knees, our kids would have their homes to themselves – and we’ve got to get set up and out of here before Georgie comes home anyway.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s do it now – move in when the lease is finalised. Shouldn’t take long. Bill’s been in the picture about it and he’ll know about the planning permission being granted – or he will when we get round there.’
Tom stood up, walked to the cigarette butt, picked it up, dropped it in the dustbin. ‘The only thing is …’
‘I know. There’ll have to be a no smoking rule. It’s going to bleeding well kill me, lad.’
Annie and Tom called in on Bill the next morning and she had been right, he had heard that the planning permission had come through. He had also been informed late last night by his area manager that Briggs’ Warehouse was part of a parcel of properties taken over by a London-based consortium. The lease was still available but the price had tripled.
Annie looked at Bill, his face reddening, his eyes flicking from her to Tom. ‘I’m so sorry. There’s been no interest for months. I can’t understand it but it’s all part of a bigger deal that’s been handled in Newcastle. It’s been on offer there as well and they didn’t let me know this was going on. I’m sorry Annie, Tom.’
She looked at Tom who had gone pale and clenched her hands to keep them steady, hardly able to believe what she had heard, knowing that all their profits would be wiped out. They needed heaters by the end of the month, phones installed, electricians paid, carpenters for the work benches, the shelving, and there was the material Jack was keeping under the counter for the next mail shot. She looked at Tom.
‘It’s the only place here and we’ve got to stay in Wassingham, we promised ourselves that. Talk to them, Bill, talk to them.’ Annie was standing now, turning to leave. ‘Ring me at home when you have. Come on Tom.’
She cut out, checked, packed, talked to Sarah as they drove to Georgie, asking how long she could bear to eat on her knee, laughing when she said, ‘I like it, Mam, you don’t nag about me keeping me elbows in, or putting me elbows on the table, or clattering the plate.’
They walked down the ward, nodding, waving, chatting to the men. She told Georgie of the packing, Big-mouth, the three Madam shops. She showed him the preliminary sketches Tom had done for the autumn tour and asked for his go-ahead.
‘There’ll be more for the next mail shot.’
She didn’t tell him that they would be using Manners’ stock because he had thought they were using that first. She would merely bring in the designs they had used on the first shot, the samples too. Neither did she tell him of the premises because he would ask to see the figures and would veto it because Annie knew that another loan would be needed and she knew that Georgie would not go into debt, not after Manners. And she knew that they must move, because Sister had told her that on Monday they would be trying him in a wheelchair, that soon he would be transferred to the special unit where he would learn to walk again, and soon he would be home.
Bill had spoken to his area manager who had asked for a revised price for the lease. It was refused. The bank agreed a loan, shared by Annie and Tom again because they had no choice but to accept the consortium’s terms – Georgie was coming home, there were no other suitable premises, there never would be in Wassingham. Their solicitor forced through the paperwork. The consortium co-operated because otherwise Annie threatened to withdraw and open up in the next village. ‘Eager to have their bloody money,’ Tom cursed.
‘Afraid that they’ll be left with a pup,’ said Annie.
It was agreed that they would move in over the weekend.
‘It’s as though some bugger is second guessing us, Tom,’ Annie said. ‘It’s as though every time we have enough to make it just that little bit easier the rug is pulled from under us.’
They moved in at nine a.m. Saturday morning, brushing, washing paintwork, until their hair was thick with dust and the air too. The children painted the woodwork when Annie had finished the whitewash.
She cleaned the lavatories, remembering Uncle Albert’s and how she had hoped that he had chilblains from the cold and an inky bum from the newspaper he used because he was too stingy to replace it with proper stuff. ‘Horrid old man,’ she murmured, then raised her voice and asked Tom to start the tables out in the yard. ‘We’ll cover them with tarpaulin if it looks like rain and no sawing and hammering when I’ve just painted or you’ll know what its like to be glossed from head to toe.’
They ate bread and cheese at lunchtime. The men drank beer but not too much for there was still the wiring to be done, the shelves to be erected, the tables to be finished.
Annie and Gracie pretended not to hear the curses as drills were broken or hammers dropped though Davy and Sarah kept a notebook and wrote all the new words down.
They ate fish and chips on the floor by the light of hurricane lamps and laughed at the sight of Tom’s back which was white from the gloss paint he had leaned against.
They laughed the next day too, as the tables were put together and Rob asked where the union man was to have his office.
‘Union woman you mean,’ Sarah s
aid. ‘Or hasn’t Uncle Tom told you all about the birds and the bees.’
‘No unions necessary here yet, lad,’ Tom said wagging his finger at Sarah.
‘No unions necessary at all,’ Annie said. ‘We’ve only got six workers and that includes Gracie and me.’
‘We’re all in it together – like a big family. There’ll be a bonus scheme with the profits. Some will be ploughed back, the rest shared,’ Tom added.
Sarah looked at Annie. ‘Well, we kids deserve a share too, look how hard we’ve worked.’
Annie looked at Tom and Gracie, then at Betsy. ‘We’ll see, when the weekend’s over.’
The electrics were finished at three, the tables too. Brenda’s husband had helped Tom without charge.
They moved in the machines, stacked the cloth, the trimmings, everything. Annie put up her stock-control charts and asked Tom about printing up some two shilling discount vouchers ‘off the next purchase’ to be put into each packaged order.
‘Good idea. They’ll come back to us. We can build it into the price to some extent.’
They moved in her rotary cutter, Tom’s design board. The carpenter erected a partition for Annie’s office. The phone would be installed on Monday. ‘I’ll ring round and tell everyone our new number then send a circular to all potential customers.’
They erected a partition for Tom’s design department. He placed his board beneath the skylight, and asked for just one more shelf.
Betsy brought them flasks of tea at nine o’clock. ‘Bloody ambrosia,’ Tom said, drinking his in great gulps.
‘I’ve brought in a kettle, and put in a box of provisions,’ Bet said. ‘We’ll not be able to run a business without a good cuppa.’
Annie sat back on a table, took out her cigarettes, put one in her mouth, then looked up as a silence grew. Bet, Gracie, Tom, Rob, the carpenter, Sarah and Davy, even Brenda’s husband were all shaking their heads and she took it from her mouth, put it back into the packet and joined in the laughter and the conversation which swelled and continued until late into the night.
In the morning Annie told the staff that they were forbidden to eat or drink and especially to smoke at their tables. They could make tea in the restroom and smoke there in their breaks.
She told them of the revised Glasgow order which she had taken this morning when she rang the store. She pointed to the coupons which Joe had brought to the premises.
‘We’re still inundated but it’s getting better so there’ll be a new mail shot soon. Don’t worry, we can cope with the existing Manners’ stock, we’ll just be altering the trim to fill the first orders, and only then making up new ones. We are paying a basic wage – I don’t believe in piecework, as you know. And there will be a bonus as and when we are operating at a profit. Sadly the leasehold has tripled. It has swallowed our profit and we now have debts to repay but the direct and indirect orders are pouring in and growing all the time. Things will improve,’
She worked throughout the day, walking to the restroom frequently to light up, sucking the smoke in deeply, wishing the trembling in her hands would stop, and the headaches too. Brenda said, ‘It’s not fair you know, Annie, Jean smokes and she can’t keep leaving her machine.’
Annie nodded, ‘You’re right,’ she said and walked back to her office, then to the cutting machine. She must keep her hands busy and her mouth shut. How had Tom stopped and not screamed at them all every minute of the day? Didn’t Brenda know what it was like to starve yourself?
Gracie took over in the afternoon and Annie visited Georgie with Sarah. As they walked up the stairs to the ward Sarah said, ‘When we were laughing yesterday I forgot Da, forgot he was in here.’
Annie nodded. ‘I did too, but that’s what he’d want. It means things are getting better. We’re not so worried. Soon he’ll be home.’
They walked down the ward, waving to the men, saying hello, waving to Georgie who was sitting up in his bed at the end of the row.
‘Cor, been riding up and down the ward in his throne today he has,’ Old Jed said.
Annie smiled, not understanding, then Andy called from the left. ‘Proper little Hitler. Telling staff to turn left, right and then fast forward. Come and have an apple, Annie, lovely they are, the Missus brought them.’
Annie moved across as Sarah ran down to Georgie. ‘Hello Mrs Ganby, how do you put up with this husband of yours?’ Annie took the apple, feeling Andy grip her fingers, pull her closer.
‘He’s been in the wheelchair today. He was faint, frightened. He’s not himself,’ Andy said quietly.
‘Thanks, Andy.’ Annie touched his hand, smiled at Mrs Ganby, took the apple across to Georgie, watched his empty smile as they talked, his shoulders which were straight and tense. She told him of the move, of the help that Sarah had been.
‘You can see from her hair,’ she laughed.
His laugh was strained.
‘The girls are busy. Everything’s set up, there’s a new order from Glasgow and there’s talk of another from Edinburgh.’
Georgie nodded, she waited, listening as Sarah told him of her new cart, the latest Elvis Presley, Bill Haley’s Rock around the Clocks, of Annie’s quick temper now that she wasn’t smoking, then there was silence.
‘So, how are you, darling?’ Annie said.
‘Fine, just fine.’
Staff Nurse took his temperature, his pulse, straightened his sheets, caught Annie’s eye and gestured towards her office. Annie nodded, she would stop and talk when visiting ended.
‘You look better, you’ve some colour.’
‘So I should, I’ve been having my exercise. I’ve been having my constitutional. I’ve been pushing myself up the ward in a wheelchair, practising to be a cripple.’
Sarah’s face went blank with shock, she turned to Annie as the bell rang and the wives bent to kiss their husbands, squeeze their hands, tuck in their blankets. Annie did all these, then took Sarah’s hand and his, saying to both of them. ‘There will be days like these but it will improve. You’ll be frightened now, it’ll seem strange to be upright, to have to be helped. You’ll feel faint but just remember, you’ll come home and pick up your life again and that’s what we want more than anything else because we love you, we admire you.’
She held Sarah’s hand as they walked down the ward, turning to wave at Georgie, feeling her own tears but knowing he must never see them fall at the thought of him in a wheelchair.
Georgie watched them go. God, she looked so tired and Sarah so small – he must be crazy. ‘Annie, Annie,’ he called but she was gone and he hadn’t told her that he’d wanted to cling to the bed, stay where it was safe, that he hadn’t wanted to look down once he was in the chair and see the gap where his leg should have been. He hadn’t wanted to be pushed down the ward so that everyone could see it too. He couldn’t tell her that he loved her, wanted her to hold him, make him better, bring back his leg, take him to a time before any of this had happened.
He couldn’t tell her that they would be moving him to the special unit now that his stump had healed sufficiently for a leg to be fitted. He would practise walking again and then he could come home and pick up his life. He couldn’t tell her that that thought frightened him more than death, because what sort of a life would it be? They had all moved on without him.
CHAPTER 9
Georgie wheeled himself down the ramps on to the grass of the special unit. It was his first morning and the scent of roses hung in the August air. All around were other patients in chairs, wheelchairs and on crutches. It made him feel at home.
He sat and watched the breeze ripple the lake.
‘You’ll be able to walk down there soon,’ a passing nurse called. ‘I’m telling you, just you wait and see.’
He looked after her, watching her stride across the lawn towards the building. Could she also tell him how to join a firm which had not existed before this had happened, a firm which he had had no hand in, which had only thrived once he had gone?
&nb
sp; Could she tell him how to show his body to his wife, make love to her? Could she tell him how to break free of this great black bird of depression which hovered over him, day and night?
The next morning he wheeled himself down corridors which did not shine as they had in the hospital. ‘Don’t want you all slipping and sliding about do we?’ the nurse said, walking behind him.
He eased himself up on to the bed, hitched up his dressing gown and watched as a man in a white coat smiled at him and then slipped a thin sock over his stump.
‘Taking a cast for the pylon,’ he said. ‘I’m Bill by the way.’ Bill whistled through yellowed teeth as he slapped plaster on.
He needed his white coat Georgie thought, as the plaster splashed him, we all need a bloody white coat, as some landed on his own lapel.
In five minutes it had set.
‘OK. I’ve got a pair of your shoes, haven’t I? Come back in a week, same time, same place, I’ll be waiting.’ Bill grinned. ‘I’m not as tempting as Marilyn Monroe but who cares.’
It took a week to build up his strength – a week of physiotherapy and exercise, a week without Annie and he was glad because then there was nothing to remind him of the world outside.
On Sunday she came with Sarah and they walked across the lawn towards him, Annie so thin, so tired, Sarah so eager and it was at Sarah he looked, at Sarah he smiled because she wouldn’t see that behind the smile there was only uncertainty and fear.
They drank tea and watched the ripples on the lake and the glitter of the pale afternoon sun and talked of the following week, when he would begin to walk.
‘At last, darling,’ she said, ‘you’ll be up on your feet, and soon we’ll have you back terrorising the neighbourhood. Remember that waltz you promised me?’
They could only stay for one hour because the drive back was long and besides, Sister Barnes had said that he was tired, depressed, and needed his peace.
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