Liverpool Annie

by Maureen Lee

  The pair had been virtually living together in Upper Parliament Street since they met fifteen months ago, and were getting married at Easter, though how Sylvia had the nerve to wear white for virtue, Annie found hard to understand.

  'Hi, Annie,' Eric looked bored. He took the glass off Sylvia and she draped herself over him and nuzzled his neck. Annie felt embarrassed. The pair could scarcely keep their hands off each other, even in public. Eric looked slightly less bored and licked his loved one's ear.

  After a short conversation during which they had eyes for no-one but one another, Annie made her excuses, and was immediately captured by one of Lauri's colleagues from the co-op.

  'Lauri told us about the baby, Annie,' Fred Quillen said in the high-pitched voice that always sounded odd coming from someone with the build of a heavyweight wrestler. 'Congratulations. When's it due.'*'

  'The middle of July. Sara will be twenty-two months by then.'

  'So, they'll be nicely spaced apart.'

  'I would have liked them closer, but Lauri wanted to wait a while.'

  It was difficult to hear above the din of the music and the buzz of animated conversation. Annie noticed Lauri, a wine bottle in each hand, had forgotten he was supposed to be refilling glasses, and was deep in discussion with Dot and Bert and the couple from the Labour Party whose names she couldn't remember. She excused herself for a second time, saying she'd like to take a peek at Sara in case she'd been awoken by the noise. She'd already taken several peeks, but an earthquake wouldn't have disturbed Sara once she was asleep.

  'Smashing party, Annie.' Chris Andrews said as she pushed past. He was talking to her sister and Clive Hoskins and she briefly remembered his play, Goldilocks, had sparked off Marie's desire to be an actress.

  Valerie came out of the bathroom as Annie went upstairs. She looked very glamorous in a sleek blue satin dress with a halter neck, her hair newly set that afternoon. Annie felt very drab, particularly as Valerie now had two small children, and she only had one. Kelly Cunningham had been born in June, and was now six months old.

  'False alarm,' Valerie said.

  'Sorry?'

  'I told you I was a week late, didn't I? Well, I could have sworn I'd just started, but it was a false alarm. Looks like you and me will be going to the clinic together. By the way, have you seen Kevin?'

  'No, but there could be a dozen Kevins down there and I wouldn't have noticed. I'm off to have a bit of peace and quiet with Sara.'

  'Feeling rough, are you?' Valerie said sympathetically. 'I was like that with Gary. It makes you wonder why women keep on having babies, doesn't it?' With that, she ran downstairs.

  Sara was in her own little room at the front of the house. The wallpaper was creamy yellow patterned with white lace. She was lying on her side, so still that Annie quickly checked she was still breathing, something she must have done a million times before. She stroked the pale curls which had just a touch of ginger. Sara didn't stir, despite the fact the floor throbbed in time to the music.

  Annie felt her heart quicken. Did all mothers have this sense of overwhelming love, mixed with anxiety and all sorts of other emotions, when they looked at their small children? She wondered if it would stop when they grew older. Did Dot still feel the same about her lads? Tommy and Alan had families and mortgages and were anxious for their jobs. Mike had given up his perfectly good job at the English Electric to start a pop group which had failed, and now worked for an engineering firm that was little short of a sweatshop; the younger lads were only just starting out in the big wide world.

  With a sigh, Annie went to the window and lifted the curtain to see if it was still snowing. It was, and the close looked like a Christmas card with its covering of white. Brightly decorated trees glittered in most windows. Some houses, including their own, had coach lamps outside.

  She was about to drop the curtain, when two people came out of the Andrews' house and began to run towards her own. As they got closer, Annie felt herself grow cold. Kevin Cunningham and Lottie Andrews! Laughing, they hurried down the side path and went in the back way.

  Perhaps there was an entirely innocent explanation. Annie hoped they could think of one if someone noticed the footprints going from one house to the other in the otherwise smooth snow. She let the curtain fall, took a final glance at Sara and opened the door to return to the party.

  Sylvia and Eric were at the top of the stairs. They didn't notice Annie about to emerge from the bedroom. She took a step back and half closed the door, although she knew she shouldn't watch, but there was something odd about their posture, something still and wary, like animals about to pounce. They didn't touch, just stared at each other. There was a look on Sylvia's face Annie had never seen before. Her lovely eyes were half closed, her lips curved in a quivering smile. Then Eric clasped her face in his long white hands and kissed her, not an ordinary kiss, but savage. His jowls moved, his mouth was wide open, as if he was trying to devour her in front of Annie's startled eyes.

  His hands moved down her body, rested fleetingly on her breasts, ever so slowly, almost teasingly. Sylvia said, 'Oh, GodV in a strange hoarse voice, and Eric opened the bathroom door and they went inside. The bolt clicked into place.

  Annie remained transfixed, holding the half-open door. She had never looked at Lauri like that! Lauri didn't open his mouth when he kissed her - she would be horrified if he did. Making love with Lauri couldn't be nicer. He was gentle, always respectful. Even on the first night, he made sure it didn't hurt. She always felt content and satisfied, lying in his arms when it was over.

  Sylvia and Eric had looked disgusting. For some reason, Annie felt extraordinarily disturbed.

  She went downstairs, to find Kevin and Valerie dancing cheek to cheek. Lottie was in the kitchen

  making a sandwich. 'I hope you don't mind, Annie. I always feel hungry after , . .'

  'After what?'

  Lottie looked at her with wide, innocent blue eyes. 'After a few glasses of wine.' She giggled, as if at a private joke, but Annie understood only too well what she'd been about to say. After sex!

  'That chap's a card, isn't he?'

  'Which chap?' queried Annie. She hated this party and desperately wished it were over. Would anyone notice, she wondered, if she crawled underneath the coats on the bed and went to sleep?

  'That Clive chap with your sister. I mean, it's obvious. I've never met a queer before. I thought it was against the law.'

  Annie didn't answer. Lottie departed with a sandwich in each hand.

  Marie was sleeping with a homosexual.

  And if that wasn't enough, Sylvia and Eric were behaving like animals and Kevin Cunningham and Lottie Andrews were having an affair.

  It was too much!

  'I think that went very well, don't you?' said Lauri. 'Everybody seemed to have a good time.'

  Annie nodded numbly. It was nearly three o'clock, the last guests had left, and Marie and Clive had gone to bed. She began to collect the dirty glasses, but Lauri took them off her. 'You look exhausted, love. I'll clear up in the morning. Go on up and I'll bring you some cocoa.'

  She was sitting up in bed when he brought the drink. He put the mug on the bedside table and took both of her hands in his. He could read her like a book, and always knew when there was something wrong.

  'What's the matter with my little girl?' he asked tenderly,

  'I feel all peculiar, I don't know why,' she confessed.

  'I expect it's the baby. Do you feel queasy?'

  'A bit. But it's not just that . . .'

  He ruffled her hair. 'What is it then?'

  She told him what had happened over the evening, the things she'd seen and heard. Lauri smiled. 'And why should they make you feel peculiar?'

  'I've no idea,' Annie sniffed.

  'Do you think you're missing something?'

  Oh, he was so astute. He'd guessed before she had herself. She bit her lip and said nothing.

  'Does that mean you'd like an affair with Kevin C
unningham?'

  'Of course not!' Annie was shocked.

  Lauri wiggled his eyebrows. 'Do you want to sleep with a homosexual?'

  She giggled. 'No.'

  'Shall I bare my teeth and look at you like an animal then? What shall it be, an elephant maybe, or a squirrel?'

  'Oh, Lauri!' She flung her arms around his neck. 'I'm a terrible person.'

  'No you're not, my dearest Annie. It must be very boring stuck at home all day with Sara. Why don't you and Sylvia go to the Cavern one night? Or to the pictures?'

  'As if I'd leave you all on your own!'

  Lauri shrugged. 'But I leave you when I go to the Labour Party. I was out every night for weeks before the General Election.'

  'Perhaps I could go to the Labour Party with you some time? Dot would always look after Sara. I'd feel a bit peculiar at the Cavern. I'm sure they don't get very many pregnant women there.'

  To her surprise, because Lauri usually agreed to almost everything she asked, he shook his head. 'You'd find the meetings very dull, and anyway, you've never shown the least interest in politics.'

  She thought she might if she went to a meeting and heard what people had to say, but didn't bother arguing. She felt much better. It was enough to know she could go out if she wanted. Maybe she and Valerie could go to the pictures. It was no good asking Sylvia because she went everywhere with Eric.

  'I suppose the best marriages are slightly dull,' Lauri was saying. 'And I dread Valerie finding out that Kevin is up to no good with Lottie Andrews - we'll have to get sandbags for the walls.'

  According to Dot, who joined the crowds outside St Edmund's church to watch, there had never been a more glorious, a more radiant bride than Sylvia Delgado. She didn't like to hurt anyone's feelings, but it was the God's honest truth.

  In her dress of paper-thin taffeta with several petticoats underneath, long fitted sleeves and a shawl collar thickly trimmed with lace, Sylvia looked almost unreal, out of this world, too beautiful to touch. Her filmy veil was waist length and a coronet of pearls encircled her gleaming blonde hair. Eric looked dazed as she came floating up the aisle towards him on Bruno's arm.

  No expense had been spared for the wedding of the Delgados' only child. The men wore top hats and grey morning suits and the women's outfits came from the most exclusive shops. The hired cars were long and sleek, the flowers in the church had been flown from the Channel Islands, the organist was a professional hired

  for the occasion. Bruno didn't give a damn, but Cecy wanted to impress the family her daughter was marrying into.

  There had been a Church & Son, SoHcitors, in Liverpool for over a hundred years. The firm had been established by Eric's great-great-grandfather, and was more highly regarded than Stickley & Plumm, if such a thing were possible. Specialising in litigation, the name of Peter Church, Eric's father, was frequently mentioned in the national media when he defended infamous criminals in long, attention-grabbing trials. Eric was his only son and reputed to be as brilliant as his father. The family lived in a palatial house in Southport, where they employed a cook and a gardener. Peter Church drove a Rolls Royce.

  They were an impressive couple, the Churches, Peter, with his prominent beak nose and piercing eyes, had the arrogant look of a man who wouldn't suffer fools gladly. His wife Mildred, in her oyster brocade suit and over-feathered hat, looked a pillar of the community, as indeed she was.

  Cecy felt it was essential to prove, by spending as much as possible, that the Churches had met their financial match by marrying into the Delgados - Sylvia was the daughter of a Count, and she had the family coat of arms printed in silver on the invitations. She'd gone to London to buy her lilac chiffon dress and matching hat from Harrods.

  The only thing to spoil what should have been a perfect wedding was the matron of honour. At least, so Annie thought.

  'But, Syl,' she reasoned. 'The trouble Cecy's going to, the expense. It seems dead stupid to muck things up with a matron of honour who's six months pregnant.'

  'I don't care if you're ten months pregnant,' Sylvia

  said flatly. 'You shall be my matron of honour, and that's that.'

  'I won't half feel silly. I'll look a sight.'

  'I don't care about that, either. We promised each other, we took a vow, that when we got married one of us would be bridesmaid and the other matron of honour.'

  Annie couldn't remember taking a vow, but perhaps she had.

  'If you refuse, I'll never forgive you!' Sylvia stared menacingly at her friend. 'I suppose I could delay it for six months until you've got your slim, svelte figure back?'

  'Syl! You know darn well I've never been slim or svelte. As for delaying it, you're joking, because Cecy would die of shock. Oh, all right, I'll do it, but I'll look like a bloody house!'

  In fact, she didn't look too bad. The blue lace frock with its long jacket discreetly disguised the bump in her stomach. She loaned Sylvia a handkerchief for something borrowed, and she wore a daring garter for something blue. The something old was the pearl coronet which had been Cecy's when she married Bruno all those years ago.

  It seemed an odd thing to wear, mused Annie, standing behind her friend as she was betrothed to Eric Church, because Cecy and Bruno's marriage had turned out to be a disaster. Her musings were forgotten when the baby gave her stomach a series of vicious kicks. She turned and caught Lauri's eye. He was sitting at the end of a pew with Sara, in her new white broderie anglaise frock, on his knee. He smiled and Annie felt a shiver of sheer happiness run through her.

  Then Sylvia lifted her veil. Annie caught her breath because she was so beautiful. Her eyes had never looked so huge and the irises were the dusky blue of an evening

  sky. They shone with unshed tears as Eric kissed her on the hps. Annie distinctly recalled the day Sylvia Delgado had come into the classroom at Grenville Lucas. She'd known straight away that they were going to become friends. They'd had some wonderful times together, but now both were married women.

  An era had ended. A new one had begun.

  Daniel Menin decided to arrive late, very late. Nine uncomfortable months elapsed, but still he showed no sign of being born. Annie was huge, absolutely massive, as she lumbered round. It was impossible to turn over in bed; she had to get out and in again. She virtually lived in the clinic. The baby's head wasn't in the right place.

  'It's too busy kicking to know it should turn upside down,' she moaned. 'If it doesn't come soon, I'll have to have it induced.'

  It was in the butcher's one sunny afternoon in late July that the baby gave the first hint of his arrival, a painful hint. She never went far these days in case this very thing happened. The shop was only a few minutes away from Heather Close. She screamed and bent double when a searing pain scorched through her stomach. There'd been no previous warning, nothing to indicate that today was to be the day.

  The butcher looked scared. 'Jaysus, luv! What's wrong?'

  A woman in the shop said cuttingly, 'The girl's about to have a baby. Don't stand there like a pill garlic, man, ring for an ambulance. Come on, luv,' she said kindly. 'Hang on to me. If you have another pain, squeeze as hard as you like.' The woman began to tell Annie in bloodthirsty detail about her own deliveries. 'With the first, I was torn to shreds. Twelve stitches I needed. Twelve! The second saw me two days in labour and in

  222.

  I

  agony the whole time. The third, you wouldn't believe what happened with the third . . .'

  Fortunately, Annie never found out what happened with the third. She was seized by an even worse pain, just as the butcher returned with a glass of water and announced an ambulance was on its way.

  'But me little girl,' Annie gasped. 'I left her with a neighbour . . .'

  The bloodthirsty woman said, 'Where d'you live, luv, and I'll go round and tell her.'

  'Seven Heather Close, and if you could ask me neighbour to contact me husband? She knows where he's working.'

  'All right, luv. Don't worry, everything's
going to be all right,' which Annie thought an odd remark considering all she'd said before.

  The ambulance arrived and with it more pains, terrible contractions that made her feel she was being ripped in two. The next eight hours were a nightmare, a tortured daze of piercing contractions and anguished screams. Lauri arrived, his face grave.

  'Is there something wrong with the baby?' Annie yelled.

  'Of course there's nothing wrong with the baby,' a nurse said. 'He's just an awkward little bugger, that's all.'

  It was midnight when Daniel kicked and fought his way out of his mother's womb. Those last few minutes brought agony so fierce that Annie felt convinced she was going to die.

  'You've got a lovely little boy, Mrs Menin.' There was a slap and Daniel Menin sent up a great howl. 'He's a whopper, too. Not far off nine pounds, I reckon. What are you going to call him?'

  Annie, totally exhausted, could think of a dozen names to call her new son, none of them favourable. 'Daniel,' she said.

  'He's a fine little chap,' Lauri said when he was allowed to see her. His eyes looked all puffy, as if he'd been crying. He stroked her damp brow. 'That was a terrible experience, my love. I felt every contraction with you.'

  'Lauri?'

  'Yes, my dear Annie?'

  'Promise we'll never have another baby.' She couldn't go through that again.

  'I promise. Frankly, I couldn't stand it, either. Two children are quite enough, and now we have a boy and a girl, the ideal family.'

  There were two deckchairs on the Menins' patio. In one, Valerie Cunningham was suckling month-old Zachary. Valerie had given birth to four children in just over three years, a fact she never ceased to boast about. Eleven-month-old Tracy was crawling purposefully across the Menins' lawn, a dummy in her mouth.

  'Just look at the birthday boy,' Valerie chuckled.

  Annie watched as Daniel tried to drag a doll away from two-year-old Kelly. The chuckle was a warning to tell him to stop.

  'Daniel,' she called. 'Leave Kelly's doll alone.'

  Daniel ignored her. A wilful scowl appeared on his handsome little face. He tugged even harder, the doll's head came off and Kelly burst into tears.