Liverpool Annie

by Maureen Lee

  'Is it now!' Vera leant her brown, sunburnt arms on the fence. 'Finding things difficult, are you, Annie? And if you say "well" again, I'll fetch another orange and chuck it at you!'

  It was awfully difficult not to cry with Vera regarding her so understandingly. Annie nodded without speaking.

  'Look, luv, I've another load of washing to hang out, and there's dinner to cook, but I'll pop round to see you this awy, about three. I think what you need is a shoulder to cry on.'

  'I would have come before,' Vera said, 'but folks are dead snooty round here, and I didn't want to appear as if I was intruding. Back where we used to live in Smithdown Road, I wouldn't have hesitated. That's what I miss most since we left, me neighbours. Have you got an ashtray, luv?'

  Annie shoved an ashtray in her direction, and described the pickle she was in, holding nothing back. Vera said she thought she'd be mad to sell the house. 'It's going back when you want to go forward.'

  'But what else can I do?' Annie said desperately. 'I'm down to eighty pounds.'

  Vera puffed furiously on her cigarette and thought hard. 'What about dressmaking?' she suggested. 'I could hardly believe it when you told me you made your own clothes. They look dead professional.'

  Annie glanced at the sewing machine on the small table in the bay window. 'I don't know,' she said doubtfully. 'I've never had a lesson and I'm hopeless at turning collars.' She remembered the awful time she'd had with typing, but supposed dressmaking was different as you could give a firm quotation beforehand.

  'Women are always on the look-out for a good dressmaker,' Vera said encouragingly. 'You could take a course, finish yourself off, as it were. I'd be only too happy to recommend you to me mates.' She tapped her teeth with a tobacco-stained fingernail. 'In the meantime, you need to get a few bob together, don't you?'

  'The electricity bill's due any minute, and the mortgage has to be paid at the beginning of June.'

  Vera snapped her fingers as if she'd had a brainwave.

  Look, why not have a good clear-out? Get rid of the cids' old toys, the odd dishes and cutlery you never use, ools, knick-knacks like ornaments you hate which lave got shoved to the back of a cupboard, and I bet rouT wardrobe's stuffed with clothes you'll never wear igain.'

  'And what do I do with them?' asked Annie, ny stifled.

  'You sell 'em,' Vera grinned.

  'Who to?'

  'Have you never been to Great Homer Street market, uv?' When Annie shook her head. Vera went on. Traders are always on the look-out for good stuff to tell; bric-a-brac and secondhand clothes, mainly. Once I'ou've got the stuff ready, I'll take it and see what I can ;et.'

  'There's no need for you to go to so much trouble. I'll :ake it meself.' There was still tax and insurance left on :he Anglia.

  'Lord Almighty, luv, when they see an innocent like f'ou, they'll offer peanuts. No,' Vera said firmly, '/'// :ake it, and make sure you get a good price. There'll be mough for the electricity bill or my name's not Vera Barclay.'

  After Vera had gone, Annie thought, 'Dressmaking!'

  She'd do it. She'd do anything to keep the house and ^et herself out of the hole she was in, but she wasn't keen on making clothes for other people. Customers would want things made to a pattern, but she rarely used a pattern. She made things up out of her head, adding little imaginative touches, like a pleated bodice, an embroidered flower on a pocket. She actually got a little thrill when the garment was finished, though nothing had given her such pleasure as the costumes she'd made for the pantomime at Grenville Lucas. It

  wouldn't be possible to use your imagination on other women's clothes.

  The children joined in the great sort-out, as if it was a game, delving in cupboards and drawers. Annie was pleased. Daniel loved going in the loft, though he wasn't willing to part with a single item of his own. He glared at her mutinously when she opened the cupboard in his room in search of baby toys.

  'But you haven't played with it in years,' Annie cried, when he refused to give up the plastic telephone he'd got on his first birthday.

  'Want to keep it,' he mumbled. 'It's mine.'

  'All right, sweetheart. I wouldn't dream of taking anything you want to keep. Where did all these come from?' She pointed to the neat row of Matchbox cars at the back of the shelf.

  'Dad gave them to me.' He burst into tears. 'Don't take the cars that Daddy bought.'

  'Oh, Daniel!' Annie knelt and took him in her arms. He felt hot. He'd been very sullen since Lauri died, but she was at a loss what to do. All she could think of was to make as much fuss of him as possible. 'I didn't realise Dad had bought so many, that's all.' Lauri brought a Matchbox car for Daniel and a book for Sara each time he went away.

  It was nice to have a good clear-out, she thought later, when the table was full of old cups and saucers she'd never use again and several Pyrex bowls that she'd never used at all. How on earth had she managed to acquire three tin-openers and so many pairs of scissors? She was glad to see the back of that hideous set of three monkeys which was a wedding present from she couldn't remember whom, and where on earth had the bronze lion which Daniel had found in the loft come from?

  Uncle Bert had taken Lauri's clothes for a seamen's

  larity in town, though there was no way she would ave sent them to a market. Annie found herself :opping from time to time, remembering, as she jthlessly cleared her wardrobe. The ivory polka-otted dress she'd made for her twenty-first, the night auri proposed. The brown coat she wore to Stickley & lumm. Her wedding dress, which wasn't a proper '^edding dress at all. In fact, it was a miserable garment '^hich she'd never worn again. She paused over a green ress with a pleated skirt which she'd forgotten she had. he first time she'd worn it was when she'd gone to see sycho with Sylvia. God, what an awful night! Psycho ad been on television months ago, but she still couldn't ear to watch.

  The bed was heaped with clothes when she finished, lost in very good condition. She and Sylvia had been lad on clothes, and Annie had thrown little away. It ,^as always in her mind to re-model things, though she arely did. She recalled meaning to turn the green dress ito a suit, and the ivory taffeta would look lovely as a kirt with a black top.

  But there was no chance of that happening now. In a sw days, the things would be gone, and what would he get? Enough to pay the electricity bill, along with he stuff downstairs. It wasn't that she cared about 3sing a few old clothes, but the manner of their going ipset her.

  'Damn you, Lauri!' she swore. It was terrible, but ^ith the non-stop worry over money since he'd gone, he main emotion she felt for him was anger; anger that hey'd never had a joint bank account, that he resented ler having any responsibility so she didn't know how nuch electricity and gas cost, that they'd never talked bout death. Valerie Cunningham boasted that Kevin lad a massive insurance policy. 'Me and the kids will be >etter off with Kevin dead than alive.'

  Annie burrowed under the clothes and began to cry. She cried until she felt as if her heart would break; for Lauri, for Sara and Daniel, a little for herself. She emerged what seemed like hours later, but a glance at the alarm clock showed it was only ten minutes. The telephone was ringing, but she ignored it and began to fold the clothes neatly.

  She wasn't sure where the idea came from; it arrived quite out of the blue. If someone was prepared to pay for all these things, they must be planning to sell them at a profit.

  In which case, she would start a secondhand clothes stall herself

  Great Homer Street

  ^era Barclay said Great Homer Street market only iperated on Saturdays which was a relief, as there /ould be no problem with the children.

  However, Vera went on, getting a stall wasn't easy, ^here was a list of people waiting for a place. She apped her nose and winked. 'Leave it to Sid. He'll put a a word on your behalf. His ould ma had a stall in *addy's Market all her life, so he's quids in with the (owers that be.'

  All Annie could do was wait. She put her clothes >ack in the wardrobe, and Vera got just over seven >oun
ds for the bric-a-brac.

  Of course, she couldn't just sit and do nothing in the neantime. Money was needed to live on. Yet again, she eturned to the jobs section of the Echo, but this time he didn't bother with office vacancies. With relative ase, she found employment as a cleaner-cum-kitchen vorker in a residential hotel in Blundellsands, a short listance away. From Monday to Friday, she stripped ind re-made beds, cleaned bathrooms, and vacuumed ill one-thirty. Then she went down to the kitchen to vash dishes and mop floors. At half past three she went lome, just in time to meet the children coming out of chool.

  She told no-one what she was doing, not because she vas ashamed, but because she didn't want their :omments. When anyone asked, she told them she was

  in Reception. 'It's only temporary. Soon, I'm going into business on me own.' On Saturdays, she left the children with Valerie and took herself in the Anglia to jumble sales in Southport to acquire stock. The garage was full of stuff which she had yet to wash and iron.

  'What sort of business?' Dot demanded. Annie said she'd explain when she was ready.

  She earned enough to keep her head above water until she started the market stall. Although she didn't expect to become rich, she hoped and prayed she'd earn enough to pay the mortgage and the bills and keep the children, if not in the manner to which they were accustomed, at least so they didn't go short of the things other children had.

  Annie was almost asleep when the phone went. She glanced at the clock, just gone midnight. She threw back the bedclothes and ran downstairs, praying it wasn't bad news.

  'Sylvia's had the baby.' Cecy was exultant. 'I'm a grandmother!'

  'But it's two weeks early!' Annie gasped.

  'I know, but the first contraction came at ten o'clock tonight. Bruno got her to hospital just in time. It's a little girl, Annie, a beautiful little girl with jet black hair.'

  'Has she decided on a name yet?' Sylvia had thought of a hundred names over the last few months.

  'Yasmin.'

  'Yasmin!' Annie had never heard that mentioned before.

  'Actually, Annie,' Cecy's voice sank to a whisper, 'I wouldn't say this to another soul, but I've a strong suspicion the baby is coloured. Has Sylvia ever discussed the father with you?'

  'No, she hasn't,' Annie lied.

  When she went to see her friend in hospital the next day, Sylvia was sitting up in bed wearing a frilly blue bedjacket over a matching nightie, her face made up and her blonde hair perfectly groomed. She looked unreasonably glowing and unbearably smug.

  'Have you seen Yasmin?' she crowed the minute Annie appeared.

  'Yes. Cecy pointed her out in the nursery. She's gorgeous.' Apart from Sara, Annie had never seen such a pretty baby. Yasmin's skin was a creamy coffee colour, and she had thick glossy hair.

  'You know,' Sylvia hissed, glancing surreptitiously around the ward, 'some of the babies are actually baldV

  'They don't stay bald.'

  'And some are hideously ugly.'

  Annie made an impatient face. 'They don't stay ugly, either.'

  'You know something else? I can't understand all the fuss you made over Daniel. Having a baby is as easy as pie.'

  'It would be wise not to say that to the other women, Sylvia,' Annie snapped, 'else you won't be very popular in the ward. Daniel was three and a half pounds heavier than Yasmin.' Sylvia's air of self-satisfaction was irritating. 'I hope your next affair is with a man built like Mr Universe and the baby weighs at least twelve pounds.'

  Annie could have a market stall in August, three weeks off. 'But if anyone asks,' Sid Barclay said, 'you've been waiting six months.'

  'Oh, Sid. What can I do to thank you?'

  He winked. Sid was a small man with unnaturally broad shoulders and muscled arms from hoisting thousands of boxes of fruit and veg over the years. 'If I wasn't married, luv, I could think of a hundred things.'

  Annie blushed. The message had come just in time. She'd given her notice in at the hotel as the children were about to break up for the summer. If the stall failed, she'd look for another job in September. 'But it won't fail,' she vowed. 'I'll make it work if it kills me!'

  That night, she washed the remainder of the clothes which had been stored in the garage. She wondered if Valerie was ever curious about the never-ending assortment of strange garments hanging on her neighbour's line, but Valerie was probably too busy to notice.

  It was amazing what people threw out. Some things were virtually new. Perhaps they didn't fit, or the owner decided she didn't like the frock or blouse or skirt when she got home, and couldn't be bothered returning it. There were items that seemed to have been thrown away merely because a seam was undone or the hem was coming down, which were easily repaired. There might be a button missing and, occasionally, there was actually a spare button inside. Otherwise, she sorted through her button box and could always find one that matched reasonably well.

  The washing finished, she did some ironing. Fancy chucking out a white silk Marks & Spencer's shirt blouse that looked as if it had never been worn! It was the sort of thing that would never go out of fashion.

  She hung everything in the garage when she'd finished. She'd made two clothes-racks out of broom-handles. They were rough and ready, but would do until she could afford the professional sort. The wire hangers she'd got a shilling a dozen in a shop in Bootle which was closing down.

  The children were as thrilled as she was when she told them what she had planned. They'd come to the last few jumble sales. Sara had bought loads of books, and Daniel acquired the oddest things; an old toaster, a

  zlock with no hands, and last week an ancient wireless chat he was carefully taking to pieces in his room.

  She could hardly wait for August. Mike Gallagher bad said that the day would come when she would look Forward to the future, and Annie was astonished that it liad arrived so quickly.

  "A market stall! Jaysus, girl, have you no shame? Your mam and dad'U turn in their graves.' Dot Gallagher's face had turned white with shock. 'What will people think?'

  'Oh, you're a terrible snob. Auntie Dot,' Annie said crossly. 'I don't give a damn about what people think,'

  Dot looked quite faint. 'Me, a snobV

  'You're a working-class snob, which is the worst sort. Cecy thinks it's dead exciting, and she's got far more to be snobbish about than you.' After all, if Bruno was a Count, then Cecy was a Countess. 'She's given me loads of lovely things to sell.' She'd even offered to go to jumble sales on Saturdays when Annie was busy, or look after the stall if she preferred to go herself. Bruno too was full of admiration for Annie's entrepreneurial spirit.

  Dot muttered there was no need for Lady Muck to put on her airs and graces now there was an illegitimate baby in the family. She offered to turn out her wardrobe. 'I'll let you have all me old things.'

  'Thanks, Auntie Dot,' Annie said gratefully, though she couldn't imagine anyone wanting to buy the stiff, violently patterned Crimplene frocks her aunt usually wore.

  For some mysterious reason, Sylvia had bought a thatched cottage down an isolated country lane just outside Ormskirk, miles away from Waterloo. Perhaps she'd been influenced by the big, wild garden with its

  mature trees, that would be ideal for children to play in. It was awkward to get to and she complained bitterly that no-one came to see her.

  'I'm not surprised,' said Annie the second time she went. 'Why didn't you buy somewhere nearer? Anyroad, Cecy comes every day.'

  'I wish Cecy would stay away, she drives me mad!' Sylvia looked harassed. Yasmin had turned out to be a fractious child - Annie tried hard not to be glad. 'She keeps reminiscing about when I was a baby. If you must know, I find it distasteful to be reminded I was breastfed. She even had the nerve to suggest I give Yasmin a dummy!'

  'What's wrong with that! A dummy dipped in Virol might stop the poor child crying so much.'

  'And spoil the shape of her lips for ever, not likely!'

  Yasmin started to cry, and her anxious mother raced upstairs to fetch
her beautiful five-week-old daughter from the Victorian pine cradle draped with old Nottingham lace. Most of the furniture in the cottage was genuine antique pine. Even the lovely, floppy three-piece with its feather cushions was old, and had been re-upholstered in dusky pink velvet. Annie dreaded to think what would happen when Yasmin started walking and touched everything with her sticky fingers.

  The early morning sky was black, threatening rain. Annie made sure she had the tarpaulin before she set off at six o'clock for her first day as a market trader. The boot had been packed the night before, the clothes neatly laid on top of each other until it would barely close. There were smaller things on the passenger seat and Sara and Daniel were in the back with more stuff piled on their knees.

  'Ready for off!' she cried cheerfully, though she felt anything but cheerful. Now the moment had come, she

  v^as petrified. A market stall seemed a stupid idea. What >n earth had made her think of it?

  'Ready!' the children said gleefully.

  What if it rained? What if she didn't sell a thing? Were her prices too high? Too low? Vera said she hould mark each item with old and new currency )ecause some folk hadn't got the hang of the new lecimal currency yet.

  'Neither have I!' Annie confessed, but it turned out lara had. She'd written the labels attached to each ;arment.

  She had to drive slowly because her legs felt like jelly, ind the market site was crowded by the time she irrived. Scores of traders were already busy setting up heir stalls. She stopped the car on the pavement and vent in search of someone who knew which pitch was lers. After a long while, during which she began to feel luite frantic, she found a man who looked as if he night be in charge.

  'Menin?' he said, as if the name meant nothing to lim, ^Menin} Oh, yes, you're over there. Looks like ain, don't it, luv,' he added conversationally. The sky vas slightly brighter than when they had left, but the )rightness was a fearsome yellow more ominous than )lack.

  She managed to manoeuvre the car through the stalls. You're late,' grumbled the man who turned out to be ler neighbour. He had to remove his tables to let her in. ncredibly, there were already several people wandering iround with bags of vegetables and meat.