Persuading Annie Page 9

  Annie looked perplexed.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, but this stuff smells of dogturd.’

  Two hours, two portions of hot buttered cinnamon toast and two hot chocolates later, Cass drove Annie home. Annie got out of the Land Rover.

  ‘Cheer up, Annie,’ said Cass before Annie shut the car door. ‘Jake can’t have turned into George Clooney overnight. And Markhams’ PR is going to be all right. Trust me, I’m your fairy godmother.’

  Annie managed a smile.

  ‘Good luck with the menopause,’ she said to Cass before closing the door.

  ‘What menopause?’ asked Cass. ‘Oooh! It’s working!’

  9

  THE CRUNCH OF tyre on gravel crept into Annie’s dreams and the next moment, she woke suddenly. A car door far below her attic window slammed shut. Feet on gravel, the front door opening, then closing quietly. The echoing sound of footsteps on the hall stairs below loosened her bowels more efficiently than a week in Mexico.

  Annie looked at her bedside clock. 6 am.

  Shit. She knew Jake was moving in soon, but she had no idea he’d come so early. Since when did he ever get up before noon?

  She turned over to lie on her back. She could feel the pulse of her heart against the duvet.

  Jake Bloody Mead was in the building.

  He was in her home.

  She tried going back to sleep, but every time she shut her eyes, she saw his face as it had been all those years ago.

  After five minutes of useless tossing and turning, she reluctantly got up, feeling tired yet restless. She would be fine, she told herself as she slipped on her vest top. She would be calm, mature, serene, tranquil, sophisticated. But most of all calm. She would not give in to her anger. She was a big girl now, not the pathetic teenager whose heart he had broken.

  She went to the toilet like she did every morning. See? Fine. She brushed her teeth, while listening to the radio. Utter and complete calm. She put on the kettle just one hour earlier than usual. Serenely tranquil. Jake’s eyes flashed into her mind. Totally mature. She heard his whispered ‘Annie’ in her ears. Sophisticated. His mouth, his cheekbones, his nose, his smile. In her building. Dear God, his smell. In her building.

  She felt fine, calm, serene, mature and completely in control of her emotions.

  Maybe just another visit to the toilet.

  Where her insides imploded.

  * * * * *

  Annie’s reflection gazed reproachfully back at her.

  ‘What did you expect?’ It seemed to be saying. ‘You’re no spring chicken, honey. Let’s face it, you’re more of an autumn duck.’

  Her skin was still butter-smooth. Her eyes bright. She examined the new gossamer lines just starting to feather the corners of her eyes. She knew it went against everything the beauty magazines said, but somehow those lines made her feel more … more real.

  Unfortunately there was one part of her reflection that still had a girlish glow. Her skin. Or to be more precise, her ‘T-zone’ – forehead, nose and chin. In fact, a veritable 80s revival fest was going on underneath it. How could that happen? she thought, staring at a small but fierce pimple on her chin. Spots and wrinkles at the same time? She could join the circus with that, surely.

  Yes, she admitted it, where once there had been easy elasticity in her body, there were now comfortable curves. But still. She wouldn’t go back to her teens. Yes, time had had its effect on certain parts of her body, but in contrast, her mind had grown supple, flexible and taut from the lessons that had come with each year.

  She stared at herself in the mirror until she became nothing more than the sum of her parts.

  I am who I am, she told her reflection gently.

  And you are a feckless idiot, Annie’s reflection replied.

  * * * * *

  She had found herself unusually short-tempered at breakfast with her family all week.

  ‘Can I have chocolate for breakfast?’ Harry asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Chicken nuggets?’

  ‘Would you like spinach and liver?’ said Annie, cutting up his toast. ‘Because you’re going the right way about it.’

  Harry didn’t like the sound of that. It was just like Mummy.

  Annie had been up so early all week that she’d given the boys breakfast and walked them in to nursery school. Bertie was not enjoying this new routine. It was much nicer when Mummy drove them in. He practically had to jog to keep up.

  ‘It’s good for you,’ Annie said this morning. ‘Puts hairs on your chest.’

  It was only when Bertie started crying that Annie slowed down.

  By the Friday morning, the boys’ headmistress was seriously concerned by their unusual punctuality. She phoned Victoria to see if everything was all right at home. Annie hadn’t returned yet.

  ‘Of course they’re happy at home,’ Victoria said, nonplussed into the phone. ‘I’m just an amazingly efficient mother.’

  ‘Ye-es. It’s just that it’s never happened before. We do like to keep an eye out for anything unusual in the children’s routine.’

  ‘Oh well then,’ snapped Victoria. ‘I’ll be sure to let you know when we start our annual Satanic abuse rituals. They might be a few minutes late for assembly that week. Thank you so much for the call.’

  Bloody private nurseries, she thought, as she slammed down the receiver.

  It was still so early when Annie got back that morning that she made Charles and Victoria freshly squeezed orange juice while they were abluting. Then they all sat in silence munching their breakfast and drinking black coffee until talk was possible. Slowly, Charles and Annie stopped munching and looked at Victoria.

  Victoria was staring thoughtfully at her grilled tomatoes.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Charles, his mouth full.

  Victoria sighed. ‘I can’t decide whether to eat them or not.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They’re full of fluid which will make me fat. But they’re also full of antioxidants which are anticarcinogenic.’

  ‘Do you want them?’

  She looked at her husband as if he was mad. ‘What’s wanting them got to do with it?’ Really, Charles could be tiresome sometimes.

  They fell into silence again.

  Charles went back to his newspaper and then glanced up to find his wife looking at him like he was something unmentionable on the sole of her suede Chanel mules.

  ‘What have I done now?’

  ‘I never said a thing.’

  ‘Then why are you looking at me like I’m a buffoon?’

  Victoria picked up a slice of dry toast and stood up.

  ‘I’m practising.’

  She left the room.

  Charles sat pondering on this for a moment before turning to Annie.

  ‘More coffee?’ he asked.

  Annie shook her head. Then she nodded.

  As Charles went to pour her another one, she shook her head.

  ‘Yes or no, old thing?’ asked Charles kindly.

  Annie shrugged.

  ‘Don’t mind,’ she said quietly.

  Charles poured her another cup, frowning in concern.

  Annie stared at her coffee, as if it was some great perplexing puzzle.

  She was, she knew, somewhat preoccupied of late. The truth of it was that she was terrified of leaving her own front door. Where would she see Jake first? In the High Street? In the hall? What if he kept away? What if she never saw him? She couldn’t decide which scared her most.

  ‘Ah dear, Annie. Marriage you know,’ Charles was saying, as he poured himself another coffee, assuming that Annie’s thoughtfulness had come on from witnessing his and Victoria’s regular morning tiffs. ‘Not as easy as it looks. Bloody hard work in fact.’

  Annie nodded and stared at her cup. She didn’t hear another word until—

  ‘And of course, the cherry on the proverbial … um … cupcake, is that he’s not as fond of golf as the other chap. Has a handicap of 70. The man is no
less than ideal.’

  Confident that he’d amply proved his point, Charles sat back and started the Second Act of his breakfast.

  ‘Isn’t 70 rather poor for a handicap?’ asked Annie mildly.

  ‘Poor? It’s shocking! Positively shameful!’ replied Charles joyously. ‘The man will make an absolutely perfect addition to the family. Think he’ll be ideal for Sophie. David’s nice, but not the same quality, if you get my drift.’

  Annie thought it would be wise not to ask David’s handicap.

  ‘By the way,’ continued Charles, ‘you do know that David’s invited us all down there tonight, don’t you? Liked the sound of my two sisters, I don’t doubt.’

  Annie shook her head slowly.

  ‘Oh yes, you must join us. Don’t know that David realised you live with us when he made the invite, but can’t possibly have you staying up here all by yourself while we’ll be down there gassing. It’s not formal, so shouldn’t see why they’d mind an extra one. It’ll be great fun watching two top ‘troubleshooters’ falling over each with my kid sisters, eh?’

  Annie moved her facial muscles into a faint smile. ‘Yes, great fun,’ she said.

  And then she surprised herself by wishing she could justify a facial and a seaweed wrap.

  * * * * *

  Annie sat in the Samaritan office, staring into space, waiting.

  One whole day, a full twenty-four hours since Jake had lived in the flat below her and her life was still the same. Charles had assured her that he’d told David to set an extra place for her and she had decided it was the best way to see Jake again – surrounded by family so she wouldn’t be tempted to garotte him.

  Would he have put on weight? Gone bald? Prematurely grey?

  A girl could hope.

  When she had exhausted this depressing thought process, she moved on to another one. Was her father really going to lose everything? It was a terrifying prospect she could hardly bear to contemplate.

  Her life really was going down the pan.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Hello Samaritans?’

  ‘Can I talk?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Annie gently. Miming might take time, she thought.

  The voice said something, or was it a cough? Annie waited. Eventually she spoke.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘Catch what?’

  ‘Did you … just say something?’

  ‘Don’t rush me!’

  ‘I wasn’t rushing you!’

  ‘No need to get angry!’

  ‘I wasn’t getting angry!’

  Shit. This wasn’t going well. She clenched the phone tighter, as if that might ensure the person on the other end wouldn’t hang up.

  ‘I just need to talk.’

  ‘Well,’ said Annie as calmly as possible. ‘You just say whatever you feel comes naturally.’

  Silence.

  ‘Take your time,’ she soothed.

  Silence.

  A deep sigh from the caller.

  A deeper sigh from Annie.

  ‘Oh bugger it,’ said the caller and hung up.

  Annie sank her head on to her arms and leant on the desk. At least my work here is meaningful, she thought. She smiled into the crook of her elbow and shut her eyes tight.

  And saw Jake, laughing, his eyes twinkling, his dark curls being blown slightly by a breeze.

  She lifted her head quickly and checked that her phone was still working.

  * * * * *

  When Annie got home, Victoria was trying to feed the boys. A fine splattering of organic fig yogurt was sprayed over her hair and forehead.

  ‘That was clever!’ Annie said to Victoria.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Holding a sieve to your face when they threw slime at you.’

  ‘What?’ Victoria looked in the mirror. ‘Jesus Christ! Bastards!’ she exclaimed and she went to wash it off, leaving her sister with the boys. She came back into the room talking.

  ‘This is just a bloody nightmare. Why don’t they give your brain an epidural to help you cope with the childhood? Doesn’t anyone know that labour’s the easy bit?’

  Just then, another dollop of organic yogurt hurtled towards Victoria from the vicinity of her heir, Harry, so fast she didn’t have time to duck. It hit her square in the eye.

  Silence descended. Annie froze, almost as terrified as her nephew, who was totally unable to comprehend how that had seemed such a good idea a minute ago.

  They waited for the scream. But although Victoria’s mouth widened, no noise came out. Gradually Annie realised that Victoria’s shoulders were shaking. She was crying. Annie went towards her, but Victoria yelled something incoherent. She stood stock still, her hands splayed as if she’d just been arrested, yogurt on her rigid face. Slowly she started mouthing something, but still no noise came out. Annie edged towards her.

  ‘I can’t hear you Vicky,’ she said softly, genuinely worried.

  Victoria took a deep breath and tried again. Still no noise.

  ‘Mummy!’ whimpered Harry, more terrified at Mummy’s odd behaviour than by her anger.

  Still Victoria mouthed, but no noise came out. Then they all became aware of a high-pitched wail coming from somewhere. Annie was the first to realise it was coming from Victoria.

  ‘I need …’ was all Annie could make out.

  ‘You need …?’ Annie repeated. ‘What do you need sweetie? Help? A holiday?’

  Victoria gasped in some air. ‘I need,’ she repeated—

  ‘You need—’

  And then it came loud and deep, from Victoria’s very soul.

  ‘I NEED A MANICURE!’ she yelled, and then collapsed on her haunches, wild sobs racking her body.

  ‘Off to bed now Harry, I’ll be with you in a minute,’ said Annie to her nephew.

  Harry ran.

  * * * * *

  Half an hour later, Victoria was lying on her bed in her darkened bedroom. ‘I have to get ready for the dinner party downstairs,’ she whispered to Annie, who was sitting on the bed.

  ‘When you feel ready,’ said Annie, knowing better than to tell Victoria she wasn’t up to a dinner party. ‘You’ve got plenty of time.’

  ‘Fi and Sophie are coming here so we can all go down together.’

  ‘OK,’ said Annie smoothly.

  When Charles rushed home from a golfing tournament an hour later, Annie was reading to the boys in bed and Victoria was sitting defiantly at her dressing table, in her underwear and silk dressing gown, scrutinising her face for signs of crying. Her nose was still a bit pink and her eyes looked tired, but in a sexy sort of way. Sort of Come-To-Bed-Or-I’ll-Cry-Till-I’m-Sick Eyes.

  She shrugged. It had worked before …

  The truth was she felt better now; cleansed. It was nice just to hear the word out loud. Man-i-cure.

  Maybe one day soon.

  Charles popped his head quickly round the boys’ bedroom, said goodnight and left Annie to it. He almost ran into his bedroom.

  He opened the door wide.

  ‘Got a hole in one!’ he exclaimed to his wife.

  She stared blankly at him and then turned back to her reflection. ‘That’s more than you do in here,’ she muttered, sucking in her stomach self-consciously.

  Charles stood for a while, gently deflating like an old balloon. Eventually he walked across the room and leant against the large window frame, staring out across the Heath.

  Victoria opened her make-up drawer fiercely, in an ecstasy of hurt pride that he hadn’t come over to kiss her. She stared unblinking at her range of foundations.

  ‘Will you be ready in time?’ she asked, her voice like ice, self-pity raging through her gut.

  ‘Mmhmm,’ said Charles.

  * * * * *

  Annie dressed slowly and thoughtfully, trying to ignore the growing sensation in her stomach that today was Domesday. She had been wrong. Meeting Jake was one thing, but meeting him surrounded by her family was quite another. No
, the only way she’d be able to cope with coming face to face with him again would be for her to be on her own. Preferably with live ammunition.

  She’d have to make up an excuse. Say she’d been abducted by aliens. Or something.

  Just as she was trying to decide whether the aliens should have one large white eye or three small green ones, a horrifying scream came from Harry’s bedroom. She rushed to the room and found Harry lying on the floor by his bed, Bertie sitting next to him. Harry was in agony, Bertie ashen faced.

  Charles and Victoria raced in moments later.

  ‘What’s happened?’ they both asked Annie.

  ‘I don’t know – Harry, what’s happened darling?’ she knelt next to him. Victoria clutched Charles’s hand and he admonished himself that he should feel grateful at a time like this.

  But Harry just writhed on the floor.

  ‘Bertie darling, what’s happened?’ Annie held Bertie’s hand. He seemed incapable of speech.

  ‘Darling, we need to know so we can help Harry,’ said Annie as gently as she could. ‘No one’s going to tell you off.’

  ‘His nose,’ whispered Bertie.

  Harry let out another agonising cry, his hands shooting up to his nose.

  ‘What’s wrong with his nose, darling?’

  Bertie started crying.

  Gently, Annie prised Harry’s hands away from his nose and looked up it. She realised his right nostril was misshapen. Something was up there.

  ‘What is it, Bertie? Be a good boy and tell me.’

  Bertie pointed to the fire engine that was lying next to them. Annie knew the toy well. Its ladder was missing. Oh God.

  ‘The whole ladder Bertie?’ she asked, her voice now getting tremulous.

  Bertie nodded through his tears.

  Annie looked at Charles and Victoria.

  ‘He’s put the fire engine ladder up his nose,’ she said urgently. ‘I think he might need to go to Casualty.’

  ‘What?’ said Victoria incredulous. ‘What the bloody hell did he do that for?’ she shouted.

  ‘I don’t think that’s important right now, dear,’ said Charles.

  Victoria let go of her husband’s hand. No one came home after a day’s golfing and then told her how to be a mother. Not even Charles. Especially not Charles.