In June the inspector called again and this time insisted on redecoration and replacing of the external doors, which had been damaged by the comings and goings of the textile workers, or so he said. They had to overhaul the heating system because the flue was dangerous. It took too much from their profits and Tom said that the creche was a drain on the business. He showed them the books when Georgie and Sarah returned from a training race but as they sat back drinking tea they knew that they couldn’t close it.
‘This business is not just for us, it’s for Wassingham,’ Annie said and the others agreed.
‘It’s just that our overheads are so high we’re never in profit as we should be. Christ, I wish we had an alternative to Steadman’s.’
‘Perhaps we should build our own premises?’ Georgie said, as Sarah made herself cheese on toast.
Annie felt hungry just smelling it. ‘Would you put some on for me, darling. Anyone else?’ Everyone else. Sarah sighed and Annie grinned.
‘Tough being the cook, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Oh, Mum, I’ve got practice for the fête.’
‘Be quiet, Sarah, this is important.’ Georgie was leaning forward.
‘So’s my fête.’
‘I said be quiet.’
Annie intervened. ‘Leave the cheese, take yours and Davy’s, half an hour’s practice only and then homework, then clean the pigeons.’
‘Oh Mum.’
Annie stood up. ‘Go on, there’s been a compromise, don’t push it.’
Sarah paused, then smiled. ‘Thanks Mum.’ Annie grinned wryly, then grated the cheese, whipped the egg, mixed it, listening as Georgie and Tom thrashed out the possibility of building, but there was no possibility, they all knew that. They were trapped.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘In spite of everything we’re still in profit, we’re growing – we have domestic and export markets, and pretty soon we’ll have rebuilt that damn building so they can’t cream any more off us. Now eat this up.’
In August the children played at the fête and Annie heard them before she saw them, driving up to the grassed wasteland beneath the slag, laughing at Georgie’s face as he heard his daughter’s voice, his daughter’s guitar playing, heard her growling out from the tannoy, beating across the air.
‘Why aren’t there any proper tunes any more? Why do I feel so old?’ he said, heaving himself from the car, walking with Annie to the tombola, buying tickets.
‘They’re good you know.’
Georgie nodded, moving on to the coconut stall, throwing and missing, thank God, Annie thought. She hated coconut. ‘Yes,’ he said, tossing the last ball up. ‘But where’s it all going to end?’ He threw and hit one and Annie’s heart sank.
She carried the coconut towards the roped off area where the kids were playing. Teenagers were jiving all around them, their skirts whirling up, their arms flailing, their hair back combed and bouncing.
‘I mean, Annie, they ruin their hair. She was scrunching it all up this morning.’
‘Back combing.’
Georgie walked on. ‘They throw themselves around. Look at that.’
Annie looked at a girl being thrown over her partner’s shoulder, then back down again between his legs. She wanted to join in.
‘I mean, we didn’t have time for this,’ Georgie said. ‘I mean, what are they going to get up to? There’s this music, all these strange fashions. I liked those pretty skirts with lots of petticoats.’
‘Mm, but the children are deciding what they like, not following what we like and perhaps it’s not before time. It’s a different world, my love – careful.’ The grass was tufted, uneven and the smell of it was in the air. ‘They’ve more money, people are catering for them. We’ve got to forget what it was like for us, and try and understand what it’s like for them, much as it goes against the grain, and go on being patient.’
Annie said that again to Georgie in December when Miss Bates told them at the parents’ evening that Sarah was not working to her full potential, that she had too many interests in her life, that her guitar playing should stop, and that she should put the group to one side until her ‘O’ levels were over, and perhaps her ‘A’s.
Annie spoke to Sarah in her bedroom that night. She sat on the edge of her bed, feeling the ridges of the patchwork that Bet’s mother had sewn so many years ago, looking at the ivory paper knife that had been her father’s and wishing she felt old enough to be this child’s mother.
‘Now look, Miss Bates feels you have too much to do now that you are starting to work for your ‘O’ levels. Something has got to give. She would like it to be your music.’
Sarah hugged her knees and nodded. ‘Yes, piano’s a waste of time.’
Annie knew she would say this. She spoke quietly but firmly. ‘No, not the piano, the group.’
Sarah straightened, flicking her hair back from her face. ‘That’s not fair. I won’t give it up. I just won’t.’
‘There’s no need to shout.’
‘Mum, I won’t.’
Annie took her hand and Sarah snatched it back. Annie said, ‘Listen, let’s leave that for now, let’s talk about what you want to do in life, we never seem to discuss this sort of thing, everyone’s too busy. It’s our fault as well, don’t worry, I’m not blaming you. Now, what do you want to do?’
Annie walked to the window, leaning against the frame, looking out across the town that she loved, hearing Mrs Anders’ cat, and the pigeons in the loft outside, wishing she’d done a degree in diplomacy.
‘I want to go to Newcastle to learn fashion design.’ Sarah’s voice was muffled.
Annie turned. Her daughter was leaning on her knees, her mouth against the quilt. ‘Are you sure? I remember you saying that years ago but I don’t want you to feel you have to do it just because of the business.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No, it’s not because of the business. Anyway, you can’t call it fashion can you – a few dungarees, aprons, smocks and underwear – but I do want to work with you.’
Annie raised her eyebrows, well pardon me for living, she thought, but merely said, ‘So, if you want to do fashion design you will need your ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels. You will need to do more work.’
Sarah looked up at her. ‘Mum, it’s not the music I want to give up.’
Annie looked out again at the pigeon loft and nodded. She had thought as much.
‘I don’t know how to tell Da.’
Annie smiled gently at Sarah, walked back to the bed, straightened the quilt. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do a deal with you, I’ll tell him – you may keep your music going, but only if your homework is done. I’m not sure what Tom will say to Davy, because he’s in trouble too. You might find yourself going solo.’
She bent and kissed her daughter.
‘I’ll never go solo, it’d be no fun without Davy, no fun at all.’
Annie was quiet for a moment then left the room, thinking as she walked down the stairs that her daughter’s love for Davy was very deep, but was it the love of a sister for a brother as her love for Tom was, or was it something quite different? Only time would tell. That night Annie barely slept because all she could think of was how Sarah would cope with the loneliness of college without her friend, whichever love it was. But thank God it was only as far as Newcastle.
CHAPTER 13
On the Saturday after she had spoken to Sarah Annie and Georgie drove ten miles north of Wassingham, through wind-flattened moors and huddled villages. She could hear the wind screaming in from the north and soon she’d feel it. She drew her scarf round her neck, turned up her collar. Would it be a white Christmas?
‘You shouldn’t have come, pet, it’s too cold for you. Sarah’ll be here next week. I could have come by myself.’
Annie looked at his strong hands on the steering wheel. Oh no, he couldn’t come by himself because what if he fell, damaged his false leg, damaged his stump? He could die in this cold, but to tell him that was to admit his limitations and
that she must never do.
‘The thing is, my darling, she can’t bear to give up music and she has to give up something.’
They were turning into Rowen’s Track and she felt Georgie turn to her, then to the front again, wrestling with the wheel as the car lurched on the rutted ice-cracked tracks.
‘Oh I see.’
She could tell from his voice that he did.
‘These few years have given her so much Georgie, not just success with Buttons but time with you. She’ll have shared memories.’
They were approaching the farm gate, Georgie stopped the car whilst she leapt out, the force of the wind stopping her, taking her breath. She bent her head into it, her nose already numb, her lips too. She slipped the wire, pushed back the gate, stumbling over the frozen hummocks, but the sun was already coming out as Georgie drove in past her. She shoved the gate shut and ran for the shelter of the car, pushing her hands between her thighs as they lurched and bounced across the field.
‘I’ll miss her, she’s sliding through our fingers isn’t she?’ Georgie said quietly.
Annie nodded. ‘Just as we did. Everyone does.’
Georgie steered the car towards the north-east corner, to the lee of the hawthorn hedge and already the air was warmer.
‘The wind should drop,’ Georgie said, making no effort to leave the car, just sitting back. ‘Let’s wait and see, don’t want them battling too much, it makes me stump ache and God knows what it does to their wings.’ He paused. ‘I love her, I worry about her, I’m glad I had all those days with her. You’re a generous woman, Annie.’
He kissed her now, held her close and she remembered Bet saying to her as they stood and watched Georgie and Sarah leave one day. ‘Aren’t you jealous?’
Yes, she had been jealous – of Georgie’s time with Sarah, of Sarah’s time with Georgie but it had been necessary for them both. His lips were on hers now, kissing softly, gently and then with passion. ‘I shall just have to do put up with you now,’ he said at last, drawing back from her, pushing her hair off her face. ‘Cold nose and all.’
They carried the basket across to the usual place and now the sun was warm as she dropped the lid back and watched Button’s and Tiger’s youngsters wheel, dip, then fly for home.
They drank coffee out of the thermos, cupping their hands around the mugs, moving their feet. ‘I can still feel my toes, after all this time,’ Georgie said. ‘Come over here and let me feel your nose.’
She laughed and leant against him as he pressed his cheek to her face. She kissed him, heard him tip his coffee away, felt him take hers and toss the mug to the ground, felt his arms around her, his lips on her eyes, her nose, her lips, his hands undoing the buttons of her coat, stroking her breasts, her body, then holding her tightly to him, so tight she could hardly breathe.
‘There’s a time for them to grow up, isn’t there, if only to give us time together,’ Georgie said, his mouth on hers. ‘I’m glad you’re back, I’ve missed you.’
Both domestic and export sales rose steadily in the spring of 1962 and Annie redeemed her walnut table. Throughout the Easter holidays they agreed to take on Sarah, Davy, Geoff and Paul as temporary packers and cleaners. The tennis courts were finished – they had managed to build two – and now they wanted decent tennis rackets, shoes, and the group needed amplifiers.
‘We’re screwing on pick-ups beneath the strings, Mum,’ Sarah said, ‘and wiring them into amplifiers. All groups need them.’
Annie shuddered. ‘Not in our house they don’t – your father would flip and I’d die.’
‘Oh Mum, it’s not for the house, it’s for our gigs.’
‘Your what?’
Sarah flicked her hair back from her face. ‘Our gigs, we’re going to try and earn some money, get around, let people hear us, it’s the only way to improve you know, to work for something, otherwise we just mess about – just like Da said the birds did if they didn’t have competition.’
Annie looked at Davy, shaking her head, that child would take the ground right from under Georgie’s feet with that particular argument as she well knew. ‘So, whose idea was this?’
Davy grinned. ‘Guess.’
Annie shook her head. ‘You should stand up to her Davy, don’t let her push you around – and there’s the small matter of your work.’
Davy laughed. ‘She’s all right, she just knows what she wants and it’s a good idea isn’t it, Aunt Annie? It’ll get us out of earshot of you and me parents and that way we can buy ourselves better guitars.’
That evening Annie talked Georgie into employing the kids, telling him that he was always going on about being in the pit at their ages, so they could do a bit of slave labour ‘at mill’ instead.
‘But homework must be done. You’re fifteen and working towards those exams,’ she warned.
As summer came the sales were still increasing and the inspector found only that the outside needed redecorating and they felt like sticking out their tongues and blowing raspberries as he left.
In May the graph in Annie’s office showed just a steady rise since December, no dips as there had been the year before. They were selling to France now and had stabilised the size ratios at last, accommodating slimmer French figures, whilst judging Holland and Germany on the British shape. Georgie’s mail order division was expanding, bringing in further orders for the wholesalers.
‘You were right, it’s a good shop window, my love,’ Georgie said as they worked out the bonus for the workers, the increase in salary for them which this year would be larger, though their overheads were rising along with their sales.
‘It’s not enough just to divide the profits, we need to do something together this year, to celebrate, all of us – everyone in the firm. We’re so busy we never have time to talk, even at the meetings we just discuss business,’ Annie said one evening as she dished out new potatoes from Bet’s allotment since they had been too late with their own this year, again.
Sarah watched the butter melt on the potatoes, darkening the mint. She remembered how her mother used to scrape parsley off her food at Sarah Beeston’s, not knowing that it was to be eaten. Parents were embarrassing.
Georgie reached for the salad cream. ‘Good idea – how about a trip to the sea.’
‘No, not the sea – if it rains we’ll have Bernie grizzling and everyone sitting on the coach steaming up the windows wishing they hadn’t come.’ Annie cut into her tomato. ‘Bet’s had a really good year with these. I like the small ones.’ Sarah looked up. ‘How about Spanish City at Whitley Bay? There’s lots to do.’
Georgie nodded. ‘Not a bad idea. I haven’t been for years and they’re bringing their families aren’t they Annie? The kids would love a fair.’
Annie nodded. ‘Oh yes, I’ve been through the books, we can afford it and never mind the kids, we’d love it.’
Sarah smiled. ‘Can the Easter packers come too?’
‘If you want to but I’d have thought it was a bit square for you. We’ll probably be wearing Kiss Me Quick hats and eating candy floss – can The Founders’ image take it?’
Sarah just nodded and smiled. Some of the best American rock ’n’ roll music was played there, or so Geoff had said but there was no need to tell them about that.
In June Gracie, Bet and Annie took Friday off and cooked chickens, sausages and sausage rolls, wrapping them in greaseproof paper and stacking them in the fridge until the morning. When Sarah came in from school she sliced and buttered seven loaves of bread, then helped Annie boil eggs for fifteen minutes. They filled containers with squash but when they arrived at the coach the next day they saw Georgie and Tom loading bottles of beer into the luggage hold.
‘Too hot for squash, or tea,’ Georgie grinned, nodding as Bet handed him the thermos flasks which the women had brought.
‘Well, you just keep your eye on Bernie,’ Annie warned, laughing as Tom rolled his eyes. ‘And yourselves.’
They sang all the old favourites as they tr
avelled – Knees up Mother Brown, The White Cliffs of Dover. Davy and Sarah sat staring out of the window, mortified by their parents who were standing up at the front conducting.
The coach driver took them via the scenic route as he had promised and they stopped for half an hour on moorland where the heather was lush and the gorse spiked dark green and yellow. There were peewits, and hawks, and the sound of insects as Annie lay down and looked up at the sky, hearing the laughter, the voices of people she employed, children the creche looked after. She heard Sarah giggling as Geoff pounced on Davy, then her, rolling her over and over down the slope, her flared jeans picking up dirt but what did it matter, they were going to the fair, weren’t they?
She smiled up at Bet. ‘It’s a good day isn’t it, Bet?’
‘Aye, bonny lass, and you’ve done a good thing, all of you, for Wassingham. Your Sarah Beeston would be proud of you, and your da.’
When the coach finally pulled up at the fairground they could hear the music. Annie caught Sarah’s eye, grinning at her, then at Davy. ‘Well, well,’ she said. ‘Just as well your da’s had a few beers and the sun’s shone on me. This could lead to a severe sense of humour failure.’
The rock ’n’ roll was pounding as they all arranged to meet in an hour’s time for the picnic. Annie shrugged off thanks as she handed out spending money to each family.
‘It’s yours, it’s part of the profits and you deserve it,’ she said. ‘We’ve all worked hard, just don’t fall off, we want you coming back in one piece.’
She felt Georgie stiffen at her side and wondered why there were so many sayings that involved the body and why she was so stupid. She turned, touching his arm as he smiled at Meg and her husband Geoff, waiting until they had gone, then said, ‘I’m sorry.’
He looked at her. ‘Don’t be – it’s just that every so often it still gets to me. I still wish it had never happened. I wish I could grab you and run off as they’re doing.’ He nodded at Sarah, Davy and the other two boys, racing one another to the dodgems.
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