‘You’re absolutely right,’ Annie said and rang the supplier, ordering them for immediate delivery, explaining to Tom and Georgie, vetoing another worker at this stage in favour of better machinery, showing them the outgoings against the incomings. ‘It’ll be cheaper and the girls are coping. They’re interested, busy, and the new machines will be a better investment right now. Brenda is doing a training session when they arrive to get maximum efficiency, though it might be an idea to do that on a regular basis anyway, just to keep them up to the mark. I’ll talk to her, but not tonight, it’s five-thirty, time we were home.’
She drove them, taking the accounts and designs with her. She and Georgie would discuss these later, but only when Sarah was in bed. The beach had shown them that Sarah needed to make her own adjustments and that they must be there for her.
‘Sarah’s been very good and done half Miss Simpson’s work,’ Bet said as she put supper on the table. ‘But only half mind.’
Sarah pulled a face. ‘I don’t have to get it in until Friday and it’s only for this eleven plus and I might not want to pass, even if I do.’
‘I think perhaps you need to finish that work, judging from the muddle you got yourself into there,’ Annie said, easing herself on to the chair next to Bet.
‘Frank brought round those three youngsters for you Georgie,’ Bet said, shaking pepper on to her stew.
‘Sit down,’ Annie laughed as he started to get up again, nodding as Sarah pleaded to be able to see them before the next round of homework.
They ate, talked, laughed and then later they held the birds in their hands, pulling out their wings, fanning their tails, listening to Georgie’s plans for his Red Chequers, feeling the silkiness of their feathers as he told them that they would fly dry even in the wettest weather. ‘They’ll win, I know that, but they’ll not beat Tiger. He’s just a beaut.’
‘When are you going to teach them to trap, Da?’ Sarah said, holding the bird against her chest, stroking it gently.
‘Pretty soon.’
‘Can I help?’
‘Course, and Davy too, and your mam.’ Georgie put the youngsters back in the loft. ‘But finish Miss Simpson’s work first. It’s good of her to give it to you, she doesn’t have to, you know.’
‘Oh, can’t I stay? Go on, Mum.’
Annie smiled at her, ‘Homework, or you can clean the loft if you’d really rather.’
It was no contest and Sarah was in the kitchen faster than she’d ever been whilst Annie laughed softly, cleaning the loft with the scraper, hearing the fluttering, the cooing, the soft sound of Georgie’s voice. ‘Ambrosia,’ Annie said quietly, blessing Frank for all the months he had talked pigeons to Georgie in the darkness of the pit, because it had bred the same love in him for them and in Sarah too. It was holding them all together, it was pulling them forward because Georgie’s disability made no difference in this sport.
All through the early winter they gained new orders, working themselves hard, their staff hard, and in the early evening and weekends they trained the pigeons lightly. ‘But never when my washing’s out,’ Annie insisted.
They trained them to trap – taking them from the loft, keeping them in their basket overnight across the other side of the yard. Annie barely slept that night, glad that their neighbours had moved and taken their damn great cat with them and hoping that whoever bought the house kept goldfish instead.
Before work they released them, watching them flap and flutter. Would they go to the landing board or soar away, into the freedom of the skies? Sarah clung to her hand and they watched as they lifted.
‘Oh no,’ Sarah wailed.
‘Sh,’ Georgie said.
The pigeons were straining up, up, then they came back down, on to the landing board, then through the trap, heads deep into the food hoppers.
‘Greedy little pigs,’ Annie murmured.
The next week, before feeding time, they allowed them out of the loft on their own, having cut their morning feed in half. Again they stood and watched and Annie whispered between clenched teeth.
‘Your bloody pigeons are going to give me a nervous breakdown one day. It’s worse than Manners’ orders, all this. What if they fly away and cats get them? What about the hawks?’
Georgie laughed softly. ‘That’s why I’ve got Red Chequers. Hawks like white ones, they’re always picked off first.’
‘I’m glad I’m a brunette,’ Sarah said, holding her da’s hand, feeling his warmth, her eyes on her own bird, Buttons, as he flew higher and higher.
‘OK,’ Georgie said. ‘Call them, Sarah. Use the feeding tin, rattle it and call as well.’
Sarah looked at him. She didn’t want to, what if they didn’t come? What if she wasn’t loud enough?
‘You do it, Da.’
Georgie didn’t want to. What if they ignored him, what if they kept on flying?
‘Go on, Sarah, pretend it’s Terry running off with your drum sticks.’ Annie’s voice was gentle. ‘They’ll come back, kids always do when they’re hungry, just think of yourself.’
Sarah called them, again and again, until they circled lower and lower and trapped.
‘Greedy little pigs,’ Annie murmured again, feeling her muscles relax.
On the weekend before Christmas they put them in their basket, hearing their scratching, their fluttering, driving out past the slag heaps towards the north. Only one mile, Frank had said, then turn left, down the track. They bumped and rocked and Sarah and Davy said the birds must wish they were flying already.
They stood in the whipping wind and Annie’s hands were numb as she fumbled with the leather straps because Georgie still found it difficult to reach to the ground.
‘God, worse than your harness, Georgie,’ she grimaced, smiling as he laughed, noticing that Sarah laughed too and she felt relief wash over her.
‘I hope they’re ready for this, Uncle Georgie,’ Davy said, squatting next to Annie.
‘So do I lad, but they had no supper last night and they’ve been flying round in a flock for a week or so now, so they should be fine. They’ll race against one another, just like you kids. If they’re on their own, they’ll mess about.’
‘Just like you kids,’ Annie laughed, looking up at Georgie. ‘Shall I let them go?’
He nodded, checked his watch and she lifted the lid, letting it drop back, standing up as the birds left, watching them soar, dip, rise again, keeping together. Just like Sarah’s gang. She looked at her daughter, at Davy. Yes, they’d all keep together but would they if some got through to the grammar? She still wished that Don had not pulled apart as he had.
The birds were at home, waiting for them and Frank’s grin was all they needed when they told him the exact time that they had been tossed.
‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ Georgie said.
‘They’ll do,’ Frank replied.
By Christmas, Jones had re-ordered because their exclusives had sold so well.
‘The wholesale division,’ Tom called out over the remains of the Christmas lunch at Bet’s, waving his cigarless hand, blowing imaginary smoke rings. ‘The wholesale division is thriving.’
‘Mail order could still do better,’ Georgie said patting his stomach.
‘Your stomach’s really fat, Da,’ Sarah said. ‘You’re gross.’
Georgie grinned and patted it. ‘There, sounds better than your drums.’
‘Urgh. It’s because you’ve only got one leg for all the food to go down. You’ll have to eat less, Da.’ Sarah was laughing, they were all laughing because there had only been humour in Sarah’s voice, and acceptance again.
Annie caught Georgie’s eye and they both knew what the other was feeling and, if they could, they’d have tangoed round the kitchen. She grinned, watched Tom lean forward, hand Georgie the wishbone, saw their little fingers pull, leaving Tom with the wish. It didn’t matter, they had all they wanted.
She looked round the kitchen at the red and green decorations, there was ti
nsel on the tree that they’d helped to hang last night and the smell of turkey all around. No cigars this year.
‘Don looked well, and Maud.’
‘They should have come today instead of last night, then they’d have seen the gramophone,’ Sarah said.
‘We could have taken Terry down to the club, let her have a go on the drums.’
‘Does she go to a Youth Club?’ Bet asked.
Sarah shook her head. ‘No, she says her mother wouldn’t like it, she might meet the wrong people. People like us, she meant.’ She and Davy were laughing, Rob too, but Annie, Tom and the others looked at one another, seeing the same anger until the children pulled them to their feet, dragging them out through the yard, down to the football field where Georgie refereed as they kicked a ball around on the frost stiffened grass until the breath jogged in their bodies.
Tom looked at his watch. ‘Time you kids were at the club,’ he called and Annie sank on to the cold ground, grateful that there was a halt, moving her toes inside her shoes, walking back slowly with Georgie, taking his arm in case he slipped on the frost.
‘It’s OK for you,’ she murmured against his sleeve. ‘You only get chilblains on one foot, we get them on both.’
Georgie laughed, ‘But I’ve got a fat stomach, your daughter said.’
‘She’s always my daughter when she’s in trouble.’
Georgie squeezed her arm, then called to Tom. ‘You know mail order needs perking up – what about an outsize department? I know we wouldn’t get enough response to make it worth a special mail shot but what about a special catalogue mailed out to all those who’ve ordered outsize before, plus including it in all the orders sent out.’ He turned to Annie. ‘What d’you think?’
‘Good idea and we could extend the ordinary offers to include outsizes, not just respond to specific queries.’ They were nearing Bet’s, walking through the yard, into the house, stripping off their coats, drinking the tea Bet brought over, working out figures on the paper she brought to them when she heard their conversation. They decided on a thirty per cent ratio to hold ready. Tom would run up catalogues. Not glossy, they decided. Keep that expense for the tour. Just run off some copies.
‘And what about a special kitchen mail shot next year, using red and green fabric and special Christmas motif. I haven’t seen any but maybe we could find some?’
‘Or maybe we’ll be able to set up the printing sooner than we thought, make our own?’ Georgie said, grinning at Tom.
They drank more tea, smiling, talking, feeling the same excitement, loving it.
Outsize went well. By the end of January 1958 the turnover was higher but Brenda said that the girls were bored with underwear and aprons. What about fashions – would that be a good idea?
Annie put it to them all at one of the monthly meetings which had been held since the firm began but explaining that there was no falling off in underwear demand, no reason to take a risk just at the moment. They needed to consolidate, because their profit margins were still tight. ‘Remember how small the bonuses have been?’
The workers nodded.
‘Have a look at the balance sheets, but we won’t forget fashions. Tom has a smock he’s playing around with.’
‘He hasn’t got the legs for it,’ Jean called out.
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ Annie said, passing round the balance sheets. ‘We’ll go into fashions one day, girls, don’t worry, but we must be patient, think how far we’ve come and very quickly. We must just be careful.’
Georgie felt his birds were not just bored with their loft, but cold because the wood was so rotten it was crumbling, letting in draughts. Annie told him that he must be patient because there was no way she was going out and building a loft when they were in the middle of a mail shot.
At the end of February, once another mail shot was up and running and the tour over, he said he’d have to start rubbing wintergreen on Tiger’s legs if this went on. So Annie spent her evenings with him, mapping out a new loft tight against the left-hand fence, its front facing the house, leaving space at the side for later extensions.
Annie groaned. ‘Why don’t we just move in there and let Tiger and his mates have the run of the house?’
They sawed, screwed, hammered, banged their thumbs and cursed but not seriously because there was the same excitement inside them for the pigeons too. It was all part of their lives, which were going forward.
It was fifteen feet long and seven feet deep, divided into three compartments. They made it seven feet high, covered the roof with corrugated asbestos and Annie said they needed to make their underwear out of it to keep out the wind.
‘Must keep the air moving,’ Georgie said, covering the window frame with fine-mesh wire netting.
‘Rather them than me,’ Annie said, pulling her woollen hat down over her ears.
They could only work a few hours each night and then only by the light from the kitchen and it wasn’t until the middle of March that it was finished, just as they were starting to send out summer samples to the traders who had promised that their orders would be up on last year.
‘We’ll be increasing too,’ Georgie said as they transferred the birds into the new loft. ‘Should be some eggs in a couple of weeks but Frank says we’ve got to breed lightly as they’re late-breds. Says not to start their yearling training until July. They’re OK on the youngsters’ schedule.’
They made nesting bowls in the evening and Annie laughed as she wrote to Prue, saying that she wondered quite what she’d done with her life until pigeons came into it.
‘Sat back and eaten peeled grapes,’ Prue wrote back a few weeks later. ‘I’m glad Sarah liked the sari and the ring. Did she know that all saris should be able to go through a ring, or did she think I’d gone bonkers and sent her a large napkin?’
By the end of March the pigeons were settled and had laid eggs and an overseas buyer had written, saying that he would be arriving in Britain in the near future and would like to see them with a view to placing an order.
They drank a bottle of beer on the yard step to celebrate. Sarah and Davy had lemonade and told Annie that the Youth Club Committee were trying to win the table tennis league, but that they all really wanted a tennis court.
‘Raise funds and build it yourself,’ she said watching Georgie checking the birds, knowing that he wanted to lift them off their nests. ‘Leave them alone, poor little things. You’ve already taken one egg away and now you’re poking about.’
The yard gate opened and Don came in. ‘What’s he poking?’
Annie stopped with the glass midway to her lips. ‘Good heavens, where did you drop from?’
‘Just passing and thought I’d see how you were, didn’t know you’d built a new one. Bit grand, isn’t it?’
‘Only the best for his pigeons,’ Sarah said, getting up, sidling out, grabbing Davy, taking him with her. ‘See you later, Mum.’
Annie poured Don beer, sat with him in the weak sun and listened to tales of Teresa’s success at school, of Maud’s ambitions for her, her piano, her ballet, and it felt strange to be here, standing in a Wassingham yard, just talking with her brother. It felt good.
‘What does Teresa want to do?’ Annie asked gently, watching as Georgie weighed out the food for the birds.
‘I don’t know. What her mother wants of course.’ Don sipped his beer, took out a cigar. ‘May I?’
Annie was surprised, he didn’t usually ask. ‘Of course.’ She wanted one herself. She would have smoked old socks, anything because she still missed her cigarettes, still dreamt about them.
They sat and she breathed in his smoke, laughing at Georgie’s face as he saw her do it. They talked about his business, about cigarettes and how difficult it was to stop.
‘Try cigars,’ Don joked and Annie smiled, wanting to hug him, to keep him as he was at this moment because she hadn’t seen this Don for a very long time.
They talked about Wassingham Textiles and the Central Buyer’s o
rder, the success of the tour, the overseas buyer.
‘He’ll be coming here, will he?’ Don asked, blowing smoke rings as she had known he would.
Annie shook her head. ‘No, we’ll have to go to him. I’ll get Tom to meet him wherever he is. Take our samples. It’ll be so good if we break into that market without having to plod round the European Trade Fairs – it just saves so much money. We hadn’t even thought of expanding abroad just yet, though we can handle it.’
She offered tea as the beer was finished but he had to go, he had people to see, cocktails to drink. Of course, Annie thought, as they waved him away, glad that he’d been, warmed by his interest, eased by his chatter – perhaps Georgie’s accident had done what nothing else could.
‘Come again,’ she called as his Jaguar purred away. ‘He was nicer than he’s been for ages,’ she called to Georgie.
‘Makes you wonder what he’s up to.’
‘For goodness sake, can’t he be nice without that sort of remark?’ Annie stood with her hands on her hips. ‘It’s her, she gets him on edge. He was perfectly pleasant then, so maybe he’s trying to reach out again.’
‘Are you going to give us a hand?’ Georgie asked, cleaning the loft. ‘And I hope you’re right, pet.’
‘I’m sure I am. He’s not a bad lad, not really. He was nice once and no way am I helping with that loft, I’m making the picnic for tomorrow.’
‘Will it work do you think, taking her?’
‘It’s got to, but I’m wearing three vests.’
The sun is as warm as it ever is in March, Annie thought, and for that they must be grateful. They’d certainly be the only fools out on the beach at this time of year but that was the idea wasn’t it, to beard the beach alone, just the three of them, so that Sarah would not say any more that she wouldn’t go to the sea because it was too childish. Annie saw Sarah’s face in the mirror, so tense, so angry and knew that it had nothing to do with childishness, but with embarrassment and the fear of seeing her father without his leg, and of others seeing it too.
‘One step at a time,’ she thought, hoping that Bernie and his family would not be late.
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