Liverpool Annie Read online

  'I've never committed a mortal sin,' Annie said earnestly. 'Least I don't think so. I'm not sure how the church would regard helping Marie with the abortion -not that I confessed that. The priest can see you through the grille, that's if he hasn't already recognised your voice. I tell lies occasionally, but only white ones, and I'm a bit vain, though not nearly as vain as you. I just mumble I've had a few bad thoughts and get five Hail Marys and five Our Fathers as a penance.'

  'But you don't really have bad thoughts, do you?'

  They turned into Orlando Street. The long, red brick walls seemed to stretch for ever and ever. There wasn't a soul about. Annie shivered. Sometimes she wondered if her life might reflect the street: empty, dull, with every year exactly the same, like the houses.

  She stopped, and Sylvia looked at her questioningly. 'What's wrong?'

  'You asked if I had bad thoughts. I don't, but what worries me is that I don't have any thoughts at all,' she said tragically.

  'Don't be silly,' Sylvia said warmly. 'We discuss all sorts of things and you always have an opinion.'

  'It's hard to explain . . .' Annie paused as she struggled for words. 'I suppose I mean deep thoughts. The reason Marie went off the rails is because everything's so horrible at home. Why haven't I done

  something equally bad? Why am I always so calm and normal? Nothing seems to affect me. I never cry or make a scene or even lose my temper. It's as if I haven't any feelings underneath the surface.'

  'Oh, Annie!'

  'Most of the time I'm happy, least I think I am, but it doesn't seem right to be happy with things the way they are. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm completely dead inside because I'm always so bloody cheerful.'

  'It's your defence mechanism,' Sylvia said knowi-edgeably.

  'What's that?'

  'You don't allow yourself to feel things, otherwise you'd go mad, but deep down at heart it's affecting you all the same.'

  Annie managed to smile. 'Where did you get that from?'

  'Bruno, who else! You should talk to him some time, Annie. He admires you tremendously.'

  'Does he?' Annie gaped in astonishment.

  'He calls you a "little brick". Compared to you I am no more than a useless flibbertigibbet. Oh, look, we've walked right past your house.'

  'I usually do,' Annie said bitterly.

  'You've done a wonderful job with Cinderella's ballgown, Annie,' Mr Andrews said, impressed. 'Where did the material come from?'

  'Me and Sylvia . . .' Annie corrected herself; after all he was the English teacher. 'I mean, Sylvia and I went to a jumble sale in Southport. We bought heaps of stuff for just pennies. I made the gown out of an old frock and a curtain.'

  The jumble sale had been Cecy's idea. The church hall had been like an Aladdin's cave, full of clothes, many as good as new. Even Cecy had been delighted to

  find an old-fashioned Persian lamb coat, which she was going to have remodelled.

  Annie had removed the skirt from the blue-and-pink striped taffeta frock, and made another, full length, from one of the blue curtains, faded at the edges. She'd sewn little blue and pink rosettes around the hem, and turned the other curtain into a hooded cloak for Cinderella's entrance to the ball. There was enough material left over for a muff.

  Mr Andrews shook his head admiringly. 'You have quite a talent for this sort of thing.'

  'I used to love drawing dresses when I was little,' she said shyly.

  'The Ugly Sisters' costumes are just as remarkable.'

  'They're not quite finished. I brought them to see if they fitted.'

  Mr Andrews looked at her keenly. 'What do you intend to do when you leave school?'

  'I'm going to Machin & Harpers Commercial College next September.' Dot had had a serious talk with Dad, and it was all agreed.

  He wrinkled his rather stubby little nose. 'That seems a waste. You should go to Art College, take a dress designing course. What does your mother think about these outfits? They're quite outstanding.'

  'She liked them,' Annie lied. Only Marie had been interested enough to enquire why Annie was spending so much time in the parlour.

  'I should hope so! Perhaps one of your parents could pop in and have a word with me some time,' Mr Andrews suggested. 'A talent like yours shouldn't be squandered at Machin & Harpers.'

  'I'll ask them,' promised Annie. Two lies within as many minutes! At least she'd have something real to confess next time she went.

  That night, she thought about Mr Andrews' words.

  She'd loved making the dresses. It was Uke painting a picture or writing a story, because she kept having fresh ideas what to do next, where to put a bow, how to shape a neckHne, finish off a sleeve. As the material sped through the machine, she felt a thrill of excitement, because she couldn't wait to see what the finished garment would look like. When it was hanging on the picture rail in the parlour, she looked at it for ages, scarcely able to believe the beautiful gown had recently been odds and ends thrown out for jumble. Not only that, it was all her own work, a product of her industry and imagination.

  But it would be too much effort explaining this to her dad, she thought tiredly. Bruno would be different. He'd move heaven and earth to ensure Sylvia went to Art College, but Annie's father would never understand. Anyroad, the course might take years, and Machin & Harpers only took nine months.

  Annie woke up a few weeks later with butterflies in her stomach. Today was the dress rehearsal, and she was worried the costumes might clash on stage, or Cinderella would trip down the plywood steps into the ballroom and it would be her fault for making the dress too long.

  She met Sylvia in their usual place on the way to school. 'I've forgotten my costume,' she announced crossly when she arrived. 'It's Cecy's fault. She insisted on ironing it and left it in the kitchen.'

  'Honestly, Syl. You'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on!'

  'Only if someone left it in the kitchen instead of in my bedroom as they'd promised.'

  'You should have ironed it yourself,' Annie sniffed. 'Cecy waits on you hand and foot. If me mam ironed something for me I'd drop dead.'

  'Thanks for the lecture, Annie.' Sylvia grinned. 'Anyway, it means I'll have to rush home at dinner time.'

  'I'll come with you.'

  It was a glorious December day. The sun shone with almost startling intensity out of a luminous, clear blue sky.

  Sylvia took deep breaths as they walked swiftly to the Grand. 'Isn't it exhilarating! Bruno says Liverpool air makes him feel quite drunk.'

  'Sunny days in winter are much nicer than summer ones.' Annie pointed. 'Look at those people queueing outside the Odeon. Fancy going to the pictures on a lovely day like this!'

  'What's on? The King and I. We must go one night. Apparently, Yul Brynner is completely bald.'

  Cecy shrieked when they appeared. 'What are you doing here?' She made something to eat and offered to take them back in the car.

  'No, thanks,' Sylvia said with a martyred air. 'We'll walk, but we'd better hurry.'

  The queue outside the Odeon had begun to move. People were paying to go in at the glass cubicle in the foyer. A dark-haired woman with a bright scarf around her neck bought a ticket and disappeared into the darkness. Annie froze.

  'Come on!' Sylvia dragged her arm impatiently.

  Annie didn't move. She turned to her friend and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come.

  Sylvia left her hand on Annie's arm. 'What's the matter?'

  The power of speech had returned. 'I could have sworn that woman was me mam!' Her head swirled with the shock.

  Sylvia gasped. 'Are you sure?'

  'Yes. No. Not really.' Annie grimaced. 'I only saw her for a second, but it looked just like her.'

  'What was she wearing?'

  'All I noticed was her scarf. It had a swirly pattern, like that new blouse of Cecy's.'

  'Paisley?'

  'That's right. Paisley.'

  'Why not go home and see if she's there? Who cares if we'r
e late?'

  'But say she isn't?' Annie stared at her friend in horror.

  Sylvia rolled her eyes dramatically. 'Gosh, Annie, I don't know.'

  'I don't know, either.' Perhaps some things were best left undiscovered, she thought dazedly, otherwise the entire world would be turned upside down. 'Oh, come on,' she said with an attempt at indifference. 'If we run, we might get back to school in time.'

  'If that's what you want.'

  'It's what I want,' Annie said firmly, though she couldn't get the incident out of her mind all afternoon. Perhaps she should have gone home - and if Mam hadn't been there . . . ?

  Although Annie racked her brains and puzzled over the matter at the expense of the History and French lessons, she couldn't for the life of her visualise what would have happened then.

  The dress rehearsal was a complete disaster. Everyone forgot their Hues, the prompt couldn't be heard without shouting, and Cinderella fell headlong down the steps on top of Dandini and burst into tears.

  Mr Andrews remained serene throughout, 'A lousy dress rehearsal is a sign of a good show,' he assured the petrified cast. 'Thank goodness you didn't do well. I would have been really worried.'

  Annie arrived home, pleased to find Dot in the back kitchen where she'd already started on the tea. 'Have you been here long?' she asked.

  'Since about four o'clock, luv. Why?'

  'I just wondered.'

  'It's no use coming before you two get here, is it? I'd only end up talking to meself.' Dot jerked her head angrily in the direction of the living room, where Annie's mother was in exactly the same position she'd been in when the girls left for school that morning.

  'Oh, Dot!' Annie laid her cheek on her aunt's bony shoulder. If only she could tell Dot what she'd seen, or thought she'd seen, but it would only cause ructions. She smiled, imagining Dot pinning Mam down on the floor the way wrestlers did on television, and twisting her arm until she conceded she'd been to see The King and I.

  'What's the matter, luv?' Dot laid down the sausages she was unwrapping and took Annie in her arms.

  'Nothing.'

  'Feel like a cuddle, eh?' Dot said tenderly. 'Pity you're not little any more, or you could sit on me knee the way you used to.'

  Annie was now as tall as Dot, perhaps slightly taller. 'I wish we could have stayed with you and Uncle Bert in Bootle,' she sighed.

  'So do I, luv! Oh, so do I!' Dot patted her niece's back. 'It was all Father Whotsit's fault, walking in when I was in the middle of the dinner. If only I hadn't burnt the custard and got in such a temper!'

  'You threw a cup at the wall, remember?'

  'I remember. It was out me next-to-best tea service, too. I said things I didn't mean to say, and it got your dad all stubborn.'

  'Still, the house wasn't big enough - and you've had three more boys since.' Annie moved out of her auntie's arms to put the kettle on.

  'We could have asked the landlord for a bigger house. In fact, that's what Bert and me intended,' Dot said surprisingly. 'I was going to approach our Ken as tactfully as I could and suggest he found somewhere for him and Rose and we'd keep you and Marie. I think he might have agreed.' Her mouth curled in an expression of disgust. ' 'Stead, I go and lose me flaming rag, don't I?' she finished bitterly.

  Such a little thing, a few unguarded words, and the whole course of their lives had changed, Annie thought.

  'Never mind!' Dot patted her arm. 'Deep down at heart, our Ken thinks the world of his lovely girls. Christ knows what you'd have turned out like if you'd stayed with Bert and me.' She cut a sliver of lard for the frying pan and lit the gas underneath. 'I'll leave these sausages for you to finish, Annie. I'd better be off. And oh, there's a Blackledge's cream sandwich in the larder.'

  'Ta, Auntie Dot.'

  Marie came in, saw the sausages sizzling in the pan, and said, 'Dad hardly ever eats his tea lately. He puts it in the dustbin.'

  Annie glanced at her in surprise. 'I hadn't noticed!'

  'You're never here, are you?' Marie said, with a hint of accusation in her voice. 'You just plonk his dinner down, then you're out the door like a shot.'

  'Has he seen the doctor yet?' Dot demanded.

  'I don't know,' Annie said guiltily.

  Dot flushed angrily. 'It's not your job to mind your dad, Annie.' Her voice rose so it could have been heard out in the street, let alone the living room it was intended to reach. 'But we know whose job it is. Our Ken could die on his feet, but some people couldn't give a damn.'

  'I'm going to the lavatory,' Annie said abruptly. It was too much; what with Dad ill, Marie moping

  around looking dead miserable, and Mam, or someone who looked very much like Mam, going to the pictures.

  'Tara, Annie!' Dot shrieked after a while. 'I've left the spuds and sausages on a low light.'

  When Annie emerged, she found Marie sitting on her bed, looking sulky. 'Did Dot tell you?' she said.

  'Tell me what?'

  'We can't go to their house for Christmas dinner this year, they're going to their Tommy's, What are we going to do all day, Annie?'

  Annie's heart sank. The highlight of the festive season had always been the cheerful, chaotic meal at Dot's. Once Sylvia knew, she would be invited to the Grand, but she couldn't desert Marie on Christmas Day.

  'What can we do,' she said patiently, 'except make our own Christmas dinner? We've got decorations - in fact, it's time we put them up.'

  'That sounds fun!' Marie said scornfully. 'Like the most miserable Sunday you can think of with knobs on. I'd sooner stay in bed.'

  'What do you expect?' Annie demanded. 'I can't pluck another auntie out of the air for us to have Christmas dinner with. Anyroad, unless you go to Midnight Mass, you've got to get up for church.'

  'Sod church,' Marie pouted.

  'Marie!'

  Marie squirmed uncomfortably. 'I've felt really peculiar in church since . . . you know! I keep expecting the priest to point at me during his sermon and denounce me as a murderer.'

  'Don't be silly,' Annie chided gently.

  'I'm not being silly. Me baby would have been born in January if I hadn't had him murdered. It was a boy, they told me.'

  'You must stop brooding.' Annie felt very inadequate. 'Why don't you go out with some of the girls

  from school?' she said cautiously, half expecting to have her head bitten off. It was.

  'Because they're stupid!' Marie snapped. 'They watch Muffin the Mule on television, and some still play with dolls.'

  'I'd better get the tea,' Annie paused in the doorway. 'By the way, have you ever seen our mam with a Paisley scarf?'

  'No,' Marie said abruptly. She seemed too preoccupied to ask why Annie had asked such a funny question, and Annie was left wondering if she'd ever have the courage to look for the scarf herself.

  According to Dot and Bert, the pantomime went down a treat. 'It was better than the ones you see at the Empire,' Dot claimed. She gave a sarcastic laugh. 'I see your mam and dad didn't come.'

  'I didn't ask them,' said Annie.

  'Our poor Mike nearly fainted when Sylvia walked on stage,' Bert said, smiling broadly. 'He only came to see her in tights. Now he's in love all over again. Not that I blame him. She's a real Bobby Dazzler, that Sylvia. If I wasn't already married to the best-looking woman in the world I could fancy her meself.' Dot dug him sharply in the ribs with her elbow, but at the same time looked girlishly pleased.

  Mike had Sylvia, in white spangled tights and red frock coat, pinned against the wall, where he was talking to her earnestly. Later, she said to Annie. 'Your Mike wants to take me out. What should I do?'

  'He's dead nice, but he'll never be able to keep you in the manner to which you're accustomed. He's only an apprentice toolmaker.'

  'He asked me to the pictures, not for a lifelong commitment. I know, I'll suggest he brings a friend so we can make a foursome!'

  'No!' cried Annie, but Sylvia departed, grinning, just as Mr Andrews came up holding a cardboard folder, looking
strangely sheepish. To the chagrin of the girls, he'd brought his fiancee, a pretty girl with China-blue eyes and long straight hair who looked like Alice in Wonderland, and seemed entirely unaware she'd ruined several Christmases.

  'This is a play I wrote at university,' he mumbled. 'I thought we'd do it next term. I wonder if you'd mind reading it over the holiday? I'd like to know what you think.'

  Annie took the folder, flattered that he was interested in her opinion. 'Goldilocks!' She looked at him, puzzled. 'Another pantomime?'

  'It's a play.' He shuffled his feet awkwardly. 'Goldilocks is the nickname of the main character.'

  'Do you want me to be wardrobe mistress again?'

  'No, I want you to play Goldilocks.'

  'Me!' Annie looked at him askance.

  'You'd be perfect, Annie.' Suddenly, he was the old Mr Andrews again. His eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm which was catching. 'You've got the right air of authority - and the red hair! I didn't know it at the time, but the part could have been written specially for you!'

  Goldilocks was an orphan. Having lost both parents in a car crash, she arrives at an orphanage where she sets about altering the strict, oppressive regime. By the end, it is the orphans who are in charge, ordering the staff around with the same unfeeling cruelty used on them.

  'What's that you're reading?' Marie enquired. She was brushing her hair in front of the dressing-table mirror.

  Annie threw the folder onto the bed. 'A play. Mr Andrews wrote it.'

  'Honest! What's it like?'

  'Dead good.' It was incredible that a play could be so sad and so funny at the same time.

  'Can I read it?'

  'If you like. Mr Andrews wants me to play the main part.'

  'Are you going to?'

  'I'm not sure.' She felt admiration for Goldilocks, who despite all her adversities, was able to take control of her own life. Unlike me, she thought wryly, who just bumps along from day to day.

  'We're going to see The Ten Commandments at the Forum on Saturday,' Sylvia announced gaily the next day. 'Mike's bringing his best friend, Cyril Quigley, for you.'

  'Cyril! There's no way I'm going out with anyone called Cyril,' Annie said in a horrified voice.