Annie Cradwell hummed to herself as she lifted her black skirt slightly to step across a muddy puddle. She looked up, flicking her long brown hair away as she peered over her shoulder at her friend, Rose. ‘I’ve decided it’s time I made a move. I’m eighteen and if I don’t do it now, I never will.’
Rose Spencer giggled at her friend. ‘Not this again, I’ve heard about nothing else since you were about twelve years old.’
‘Eleven, actually.’
‘All right, eleven then, but you’ll never leave your grandfather or your ma and pa, let alone your sister or brother, and, despite what you say, you love the farm.’ Rose paused. ‘You need to stop torturing yourself about it.’
Annie stopped dead in her tracks, rooted in the mud like the trees that surrounded them. She stared at Rose. ‘I can’t believe you’re even suggesting such a thing.’ She shook her head. ‘You of all people, you’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and know how important it is to me.’
‘But you love your family, and the village too.’ Rose pulled at her ankle-length skirt, attempting to free it from the wild grasses it was caught on, revealing her flat, high-buttoned black boots. The mud from the path had crept over them. She pushed her blonde hair off her face as she looked down. ‘Me ma will kill me if this skirt gets torn.’
Annie shook her head as she stepped forward to free the material from a bramble, careful not to prick her fingers on the thorns. ‘Your ma won’t notice, especially as yer good with a needle.’ She looked around her. The sun’s rays filtered through the tall oak trees, twinkling on the pearls of raindrops still visible on the leaves of the spring flowers and ferns that were sitting under their protection. The recent rain gave freshness to the air, while the birds were in full musical song hidden in the trees and dogs barked in the distance. Annie could remember climbing the same trees and picking the flowers with Rose and Joyce when they were children. There were so many memories. Rose was right, she would miss everything about this place but couldn’t give up on her dream. ‘Come on or we’ll never get to the shops.’
They locked arms and both stepped forward together.
Annie sighed. ‘I am going though, it’s too important to me.’
‘Have you talked it over with your ma and pa?’
Annie stared at the glistening grass. ‘Not recently, but they treat me like a child and think it will go away, just like the snow does every spring. They don’t understand.’ She glanced up at Rose. ‘The farm is their life but it’s not mine; for all the open fields, it feels like a prison. There’s no hope of escaping unless I follow my dream. I don’t want to be a farmer’s wife. My ma works so hard and she’s up before the sun on most days and for what? A few eggs from the chickens and the vegetables they dig up every day? No, it’s not for me.’
They stepped out of the woodland and trundled down the makeshift path. The small red brick village shops blended in with the criss-crossing of the black and white timber-framed houses and The Kings Arms Public House further along the road.
‘I’ve got to go to the baker’s. Ma slipped on the mud and hurt her wrist.’ Annie frowned. ‘So kneading dough is painful.’
Rose looked across at her friend. ‘Is she all right?’
The corner of Annie’s lips lifted for a moment. ‘You mean apart from her wrist and feeling embarrassed for slipping in the first place?’
Rose chuckled. ‘You do feel a fool when that happens.’
Annie nodded. ‘Well, thankfully, she’s fine.’
‘I’m surprised you’re buying the bread though, instead of making it yourself.’
Annie chuckled. ‘That’s easy; I’m not very good at making it. I can tell you who was good at baking: Joyce. Ma was always going on about how wonderful her cakes and bread were.’ She paused. ‘Do you know what she’s doing now? Hopefully she’s working in some fancy restaurant somewhere, or maybe she’s a suffragette, fighting for us to get the vote.’
‘She might be, but don’t say that in front of your pa because he definitely won’t let you go to London if he thinks that’s the case.’
‘No, you’re right, and my grandfather is very stuck in his ways too.’
Rose frowned. ‘We do exchange letters, not as often as we should but we try to write once a month or so, but she never mentions her baking.’ She smiled. ‘Or being a suffragette.’
Annie’s face lit up as she turned to face Rose. ‘Perhaps we should go and visit her. That would give me a chance to see all the London theatres.’ She clapped her hands together before reaching out and clasping Rose’s slender arm under her old woollen coat, which had been previously worn by her older sister. The excitement bursting from her disappeared as quickly as it had come. ‘Mind you it’ll be hard to find the time to go to London because I’m needed at home.’ Annie paused. ‘Also, it’s been ages since I’ve written to her… I haven’t been a very good friend, have I?’
‘No, you haven’t, and you should write to her. After all, we’ve all been friends for years.’
Annie looked ashamed for a moment. ‘You’re right, I’ll write to her as soon as I get home.’
Rose frowned. ‘Only write because you want to, rather than because you want something from her. She’s been very lonely since her aunt’s been gone.’
Annie stared at her friend open-mouthed for a moment. ‘Rose, you must have a very low opinion of me but I’m not that bad.’
Rose chuckled at the hurt look on Annie’s face. ‘I know you’re not, but in her letters, she sometimes comes across as feeling quite sad.’
They both walked on in silence. A couple of children laughed as they raced passed them; a black dog ran alongside, giving the odd bark of encouragement to them both. The grocer was adding cabbages and spring greens on the stand outside his shop, stopping only to wave at a woman walking by.
‘Morning, Mr Butterworth, are you going to church on Sunday?’
‘As always, Mrs Levington, I wouldn’t miss it.’
‘I’ve a few errands to run, but then I’ll be back to buy my veg so make sure you save me a cabbage.’ Mrs Levington chuckled and waved as she paced down the road.
The girls walked past Mr Butterworth standing in the doorway of his shop. They didn’t stop to examine the baskets of potatoes caked in dirt or the other vegetables and fruit that were sitting outside the shop alongside the many potted plants that were for sale.
‘Don’t yer stop to say good morning then, girls. I thought yer parents dragged you up better than that.’
Annie stopped and looked round at the portly, balding man that was grinning at them. She took a breath and spoke in her best voice. ‘Sorry Mr Butterworth, we were deep in thought. Good morning to you.’
Mr Butterworth raised his eyebrows. ‘That can only mean trouble.’
Annie forced a smile to her lips. ‘Now that’s just plain mean, Mr Butterworth. I have never been in trouble and my ma and pa won’t thank you for saying such things.’
‘My apologies, Annie.’ Mr Butterworth tipped his head at her. ‘But you will be tarnished with the same brush if you are friends with the Spencer family. Ain’t that right, Rose?’
Rose tried to hold back the smile that crept across her face but failed. ‘My, Mr Butterworth, there’s you claiming to be godly and yet there’s no forgiveness in you. Yet it tells you in the Bible the great Lord, our Father, will forgive our sins and here you are holding on to them as tight as ever. “There’ll be no place in heaven” ––’
‘Don’t you quote the Bible at me, young lady! You need to learn one of the commandments yourself: thou shalt not steal!’
Rose couldn’t hold in the giggle that rose inside her. ‘Mr Butterworth, you shock me. I have never stolen anything in my life. You need to pray for forgiveness.’
Mr Butterworth’s face turned crimson as his rage rose to the surface.
Annie pulled at Rose’s arm. ‘Well, we have to go, Mr Butterworth, my ma will wonder where I’ve got to. I’ll tell them you said hello.’ She spun on her small curved heels and took Rose with her before the grocer could reply. ‘Rose, you shouldn’t bait him like that. I swear you get some kind of pleasure out of it.’
Rose laughed. ‘I think I do. He gets on my nerves with his holier than thou attitude.’
Annie shook her head. ‘I do understand, but you’re not helping yourself by rubbing him up the wrong way. You know he’ll tell everybody how disrespectful you are.’
Rose shrugged. ‘What gives him the right to say we were dragged up? Both of our parents work hard. They may not own their own business, like Mr Butter-wouldn’t-melt, but they put food on the table and have given us a happy home… well a reasonably happy home.’
Annie shook her head. ‘Come on, I’ve got to get this bread before we’re banned from all of these shops.’
Annie pushed open the baker’s shop door, almost bumping into Fran Cooper as she reached out for the door handle. ‘Oh, sorry, Fran, I should be more careful.’
‘That’s all right, Annie.’ Fran pulled her long, curly, black hair back from her face. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’
Annie smiled as she stepped further inside the baker’s, letting Rose in. ‘Oh, you know how it is; I’ve been busy helping at home. How are things with you?’
Fran nodded at Rose. ‘Like you, working hard.’ Blushing, Fran stared at Annie. ‘And Sam, how’s Sam?’
Annie smiled. ‘He’s the same as ever, isn’t he, Rose?’
Rose raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘That brother of mine will never change, he’s always working, and that’s all he thinks about. Well, that and Annie, obviously.’
‘There’s a lot to be said for settling down with someone who works hard; there’ll always be food on the table.’
Annie laughed. ‘That’s what everyone says.’
Fran looked away from Annie as she twisted a lock of her hair around one of her fingers. ‘How long’s it been now, six months since you two started dating?’
Annie looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, I suppose it must be, it’s easy to lose track of time.’ She smiled. ‘Is there anyone in your life we should know about? Any marriage plans?’
Fran’s colour deepened. ‘No, I’m sorry, I must get going. Ma is waiting on the shopping.’
Annie raised her eyebrows. ‘That was sudden, the need to get away I mean. Was it something I said?’
‘I remember her not saying boo to a goose when we were at school.’ Rose watched Fran scurry along the road. ‘You know I’ve always said it, and I do believe I’m right, I think Fran has been smitten with my brother since we were about ten years old.’
‘Does Sam know?’
Rose chuckled. ‘Of course he doesn’t, he goes around with his eyes shut.’ The bell above the door clanged as the shop door shut.
Annie shook her head. ‘If that’s true then I do feel sorry for her.’ She sucked in her breath, almost tasting the aroma of the freshly baked bread.
The baker’s wasn’t a large shop, the ovens, shelving and counter took up most of the space so only two or three customers could get inside it at any one time. The cobs, buns and bloomers stood lined up on the shelves while the beautifully decorated cakes, large and small, sat in the window to entice the customers in. Trays of loose biscuits sat on the counter. The man, wearing a white coat, leant on the counter and watched the girls closely.
‘Morning, Mr Blake. Can I have one of the white bloomers please?’
‘Morning, Annie.’ Mr Blake turned to take a loaf off the shelf before placing it in a paper bag. The rustle of the paper was drowned out by his chuckling. ‘I’m surprised you’re still here, what with your dream of becoming a star of the stage.’
‘It will happen, one day. How much do I owe you?’
‘That’ll be tuppence.’
Annie opened her small cloth purse. ‘I’ll tell ma the prices have gone up again.’ She pulled out two large copper coins to pass to him.
Mr Blake scowled. ‘Everything is getting more expensive, Annie, I have a family to feed as well you know. You know, one day the likes of me won’t be able to trade against the likes of the International Stores or The Co-Operative Wholesale Society, then there’s Sainsbury’s and the like. Us small shopkeepers can’t compete with them and then that’s going to affect the likes of your pa selling his vegetables so you need to think on that, young lady.’
‘Of course, Mr Blake, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Annie forced a smile. ‘I only meant if my sister comes to buy some, she will have to make sure she has enough money on her.’
‘Yes well, your ma doesn’t buy enough bread from me so I shan’t worry about it.’ Mr Blake held out his hand to take the money.
Annie handed over her coins and took the loaf from him. ‘That’s because Ma makes her own, it’s cheaper.’
Mr Blake’s lips curled. ‘You do know you’ll have to change your name if you’re going to be famous. If you ask me, Annie Cradwell just wouldn’t cut it.’
‘Thank you for your opinion, Mr Blake, but nobody did ask you.’ Annie spun round, her face flushed with rage as she pulled hard on the shop door handle. It swung open and thumped against the wall as she stormed out.
Mr Blake shouted after Annie. ‘You know, for once, I actually feel sorry for young Sam. Perhaps I should have a word with him.’
Rose quickly followed her, shouting over her shoulder at Mr Blake. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’ The door slammed shut behind her. ‘Don’t take any notice of him, he’s just a mean old man.’
Annie glanced across at her with watery eyes. ‘My dream makes me a laughing stock round here, things need to change.’
Rose nodded. ‘In the meantime, have one of these.’ She held out her hand, a couple of biscuits resting on her palm.
Annie gasped. ‘Did you just steal them from the baker’s?’
Rose raised her eyebrows as she looked down at the biscuits. ‘Stealing is a harsh word, I prefer to think you paid for them when he overcharged you for the bread.’ She looked over at her friend. ‘Go on take one, he was horrible to you and there was no excuse for it.’ She paused. ‘He’s just a nasty old man.’
*
Annie sung quietly to herself as she turned her head, glancing in the oval mirror hanging on a chain from the picture rail above the fireplace.
Ivy looked up from peeling the potatoes at the kitchen sink, the small sharp knife poised in mid-air, as she glanced over her shoulder. ‘I don’t know how your father and I managed to have two beautiful daughters.’
Annie giggled. ‘Thank you, Ma, although I think you may be a little biased.’
Ivy smiled. ‘Of course I am and that’s how it should be. Are you going to change your skirt and blouse before you meet Sam?’
She pulled her ponytail through her fingers. ‘No, Ma, Sam and I are only going for a walk.’
Ivy tilted her head slightly. ‘Why don’t you go and put on the blue skirt you wear to church? You could even put a slide in your hair.’
Annie frowned. ‘Why? I don’t want Sam getting the wrong idea. He might think I’ve gone soft on him.’
Ivy gave a nervous laugh. ‘You should always want to look your best.’
Annie stared at her mother as she returned to peeling the potatoes. ‘I thought I always did.’
The thud of heavy footsteps trundled down the stairs, almost drowning out the groans of the wood underfoot.
Annie turned round just as her father walked into the kitchen.
Tom beamed at his daughter. ‘I thought you’d be upstairs doing what girls do when they’re going out with a young man.’
Annie’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on?’
Tom’s smile disappeared. ‘Why does anything have to be going on?’
Annie’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know, but you both clearly think I should be more dressed up than I am, and you’ve said that before when I’ve been going out with Sam.’
Tom shrugged. ‘I never said anything was wrong with what you’re wearing.’
Ivy peered at her daughter. ‘You don’t have to, but sometimes it’s good to dress up, other than to go to church, that is. It was only a suggestion.’ She glanced at her husband before quickly looking back at Annie. ‘After all, he’s a nice lad, and you could do much worse.’
Annie frowned. She wanted to shout “Do much worse? We haven’t even kissed”, but she bit her tongue until she could taste blood seeping from it. ‘Well, I’m happy as I am, thank you very much, and I don’t want to give him, or you, the wrong idea.’
Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘Your ma’s right, you could do a lot worse than Sam, especially now he’s matured and stopped getting into mischief.’
A rap at the front door stopped Annie from answering. They didn’t get it; after all these years they still didn’t understand who she was.
Tom strode over and opened the heavy wooden door. ‘Hello, Sam, come in, you’ve picked a lovely day for it.’
Sam pulled vigorously at the bottom of his short jacket as he stepped inside. Clearing his throat, he eyed Annie standing near the fireplace. He lifted his chin and ran his tongue over his dry lips. ‘Yes… yes, I thought we could go and sit in the meadow.’ He looked over at Ivy and gave a small smile. ‘Something smells lovely, Mrs Cradwell.’
Ivy dropped her kitchen knife into the muddy water in the sink, and quickly wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Thank you, Sam, I made a sponge earlier and put together a picnic for you both.’ Her gaze flitted to Annie but quickly returned to Sam. ‘It’ll be good to be out in the early sunshine we’re having.’ Ivy picked up the large woven basket that had been hidden under the table. ‘It looks bigger than it is because there’s also a blanket in there.’
Sam nodded and took it from her. ‘Thank you, Mrs Cradwell, that’s very thoughtful of you. I’m sure we’ll enjoy it, won’t we, Annie?’
Annie’s mouth dropped open as she eyed her mother with suspicion. Why has she gone to all this trouble? They’ve gone for walks before but never taken a picnic with them. Annie frowned as her mind raced along.
‘Won’t we, Annie?’ Sam’s stern tone caught her attention.
‘I’m sure, although, Ma, it wasn’t necessary to go to so much trouble.’ Annie couldn’t decide if she was imagining the tension that had entered the cottage with Sam or not.
Tom pulled open the front door. ‘I’m not throwing you out, but you don’t want to miss the best of the day.’
Sam nodded. ‘No, sir. Come on, Annie, let’s go.’
Annie let her gaze wander around the three of them before stepping forward. Her mother avoided looking at her.
‘Come on.’ Sam beckoned. ‘Or we’ll never get out.’
Annie forced herself to smile but couldn’t get rid of the feeling she shouldn’t be going. ‘Sam, maybe I should give it a miss today, I feel a little under the weather.’
Sam stared at Annie. His brows drew together. ‘Nonsense, you’ll be fine once the sun is on your back.’ He stepped forward and took her hand. ‘We won’t go far, and it would be a shame to waste the picnic.’
Everyone’s eyes were on her and she could feel herself getting hot. ‘All right, as long as we’re not out for too long.’
Sam took Annie’s hand and placed it under his arm. ‘We won’t be.’
Tom nodded to them as they walked past him and out through the open doorway. ‘There’s no rush for you to get back, don’t worry about the chores.’
Ivy called out. ‘Take your time, enjoy yourselves.’
They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Annie resisted the urge to look back at the house for fear of seeing her parents waving them off. There was no doubt they were pointing her towards Sam. Did Rose also think they had a future together? Annie shook her head.
Sam glanced at her. ‘Are you all right?’
Annie nodded.
‘Only you were shaking your head.’ Sam peered over his shoulder. Annie’s home was already a dot on the landscape. ‘Why don’t you take your hair down, you look like a schoolgirl with it tied back like that?’
Annie gave him a sideways glance. ‘Sometimes I prefer it out of my way.’
Sam’s lips tightened. ‘I suppose it’s practical when you’re busy around the house but I prefer it loose.’
She opened her mouth to speak but then thought better of it.
Sam stared straight ahead before glancing at Annie. ‘This is a good spot.’ He pulled the blanket out of the basket. Breathing in the fresh air, he waved his arm around him. ‘Isn’t this beautiful? I don’t understand why anyone would want to live anywhere else.’ He threw open the blanket, smoothing it over the slightly damp grass. ‘Come, let’s sit down.’ He emptied the basket and moved it to one side before dropping to his knees, patting the space next to him. ‘Come on, I want us to talk before we enjoy your mother’s picnic.’
Annie glanced down at the red checked blanket before slowly lowering herself next to him.
Sam smiled. ‘Don’t look so anxious, it’s nothing to worry about.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I just wanted to say I’ve spoken to your father.’
‘I’m sure my father can’t give you any advice that your own couldn’t give, after all they’ve both worked the land all their lives.’
Sam gave a hollow laugh. ‘No, I’ve spoken to your father about our future together.’
Annie’s eyes widened as the penny dropped, everything suddenly becoming clear. Her lungs fought to catch the air around her. Her heart was pounding and the palms of her hands were damp, as they gripped each other hidden under the folds of the long black skirt her mother had made her. Her fingers gripped the soft material. She gasped for breath. ‘What?’
Tension sat in the silence between them. The early spring sunshine gave warmth to the coldness that had wrapped itself around Annie. Did Rose know about this? Why hadn’t she warned her? She looked down at the untouched cake and sandwiches her mother had provided and wanted to jump up and run for the hills, but she stayed put, trying to desperately hide her dismay.
Sam lifted his hand and rested it on her cheek, gently edging her face round to look at him, before repeating what he had said earlier. ‘I’ve spoken to your father about our future together.’
Annie looked down, suddenly absorbed in watching an ant climb onto the blanket from a blade of grass. Sam’s eyes were boring into her, watching, waiting for her reaction. ‘Yes, you said.’
Sam frowned. ‘You said, “What?” so I thought you hadn’t heard me. I just––’
‘Please Sam, don’t do this.’ Annie squeezed her eyes tight.
Sam cleared his throat. ‘Annie, you would make me a very happy man if you would agree to be my wife.’
A tear rolled down Annie’s cheek. ‘Sam, it’s an honour to be asked, in fact there’s no greater honour.’
‘But?’
Annie sucked in her breath. ‘I can’t, I just can’t.’
Sam shook his head and clasped her hand in his. ‘Your father gave his permission for us to get married.’
Annie’s eyes snapped open and colour flooded her face. ‘He had no right to do that.’
Sam’s lips tightened for a moment. ‘I think he does, and he knows I will look after you and keep you safe.’
‘And in the village,’ Annie snapped.
Sam frowned. ‘Annie, just listen to me. You love this village and your family. Look at this beautiful view. Isn’t this a place to bring up our children, where they can be free to climb trees and run through the woods like we did when we were younger?’
The breeze caught Annie’s dark hair, whipping her ponytail in front of her face. She gently freed her hand from his to pull it away again. She stared at the undisturbed landscape in front of her for a few seconds before whispering, ‘It’s certainly beautiful, I’m not denying that, but there’s things that I want to do.’
Sam groaned. ‘Not this again.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you seriously want to throw all this away for some half-baked dream of being on the stage? I’m offering you a family, a life, one we can build together. It’s time to put away those fantasies of yours. It’s not like you’re ever going to do anything about them, it’s clearly never going to happen. Once we’re married and have lots of children running around, you’ll forget about it all. I’m offering you something real here, not some outlandish childhood dream that’s never going to happen.’
Annie thought about her parents’ happy marriage and shook her head. Wasn’t that what she had always wanted?
‘I’ve been saving hard, and your Pa has said they will contribute towards our home together.’
Annie stared into the distance, perhaps it was time she stopped being whimsical. She forced a smile to her lips. ‘You’re right, as always, Sam. It’s probably time to let go of it.’
Sam nodded. ‘I think so because it’s never going to happen and you’re just making yourself, and your parents, a laughing stock. This is real, and remember, they want us to marry.’
Annie thought about her trip to the village. She hadn’t thought about her parents being ridiculed, perhaps they were all right and she was wrong. She forced a smile to her lips and nodded. ‘I’m honoured you’ve asked me, so my answer is yes.’
Sam beamed. ‘Excellent, we must set a date soon and for now we can live with my family, and while we save up for our own farm, we can decide how many children we should have. I’d like a big family, wouldn’t you?’
Annie nodded.
Sam gave Annie a pensive look. ‘You’re going to be busy making things for our home, looking after our many children, and we’ll have chickens, maybe pigs or cows as well to look after. That’s without the vegetables we’ll grow, it’s exciting isn’t it?’ He picked up the silver cake knife. ‘Let’s celebrate with a slice of your ma’s homemade cake.’ He chuckled. ‘Just think, in twenty years this could be our children sitting here doing exactly the same thing.’
*
Joyce Taylor dragged her feet along Great Lion Street. The London Streets were still busy despite the evening drawing in. Tiredness swamped her, and her feet and legs ached more than usual as she trudged home. It had been a stifling hot day, which meant serving more customers than usual with sandwiches, light lunches and drinks. Customers had delayed her leaving, even though the café was closed for the evening. She had stayed later than intended, helping out in the kitchen with the washing up. Simon, who owned the café, was always grateful for the extra help. Joyce had loitered for as long as she dared, she said her goodbyes and reluctantly closed the café door behind her, the bell above the door chiming in her wake. The aroma of fried food followed her everywhere. The smell oozed from her skin, while her face had broken out in little red spots, despite scrubbing it vigorously every night. The briskness of her walk that morning had disappeared.
Joyce dawdled passed several three-storey red-brick buildings with shops on the ground floor, their various wares creeping out onto the pavement. Shoppers were still milling around looking for last minute bargains. She watched Peter bag up some fruit with his grubby hands, before turning round and passing it to a grey-haired man huddled in a blanket near a shop doorway. The smile spread across her face. ‘You won’t get rich giving away your fruit.’
Without ceremony, the man snatched the bag, pulled out an apple and bit into it.
Peter smiled as he glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Richness isn’t just about money. I’m lucky to have a roof over my head and a few coins in my pocket.’
Joyce watched the old man wipe away the juice that was dribbling down his chin with his sleeve.
‘Thank you for your kindness, sir.’ The old man bit into the apple again.
Peter nodded before turning back to his stall. ‘Do yer need some potatoes for your dinner tonight?’
Joyce smiled. ‘I’m too tired to carry them tonight, I’ll get some off you tomorrow.’ She watched him turn to serve a customer with his ready smile and chatter, wondering why she wasn’t attracted to him. He was a very handsome and kind man, but then she felt sure he didn’t have those feelings for her either and that’s what made their friendship so wonderful.
‘That’s all right, I’ll drop some round to yer on my way home.’
Joyce jerked at the sound of his voice and panic rose in her throat. ‘No, no, I’ll take them now. I don’t want you to go out of your way, I was just being lazy.’
Peter laughed. ‘Yer do know we’re friends and there’s no hidden code here, the potatoes come with no expectations whatsoever.’ He paused. ‘Yer do, don’t yer?’
Joyce tried to force a smile to chase away her fear. ‘I know, it’s just…’
‘What?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’
‘It does, but I won’t pry.’ He dropped some muddy potatoes into a box before looking up at Joyce. ‘I’ll just knock and leave them on your doorstep in about an hour or so.’
Joyce thought she saw sadness in his eyes for a moment. Her throat tightened, she tried to swallow but couldn’t. Did he know about how her uncle had been since her aunt had gone? Where was she these days? There had been no word. She blinked away the tears that were threatening to follow and whispered to Peter, ‘Thank you.’
Peter nodded. ‘Yer do know you’re not on yer own, yer have friends here. Me ma would luv to see yer, she don’t get much female company these days, that’s if yer don’t count the theatre lot that she rents rooms to.’
‘I know, thank you.’ Joyce paused. ‘I’ve got to get home, I’m late as it is.’
Peter waved his hand in the air. ‘Go on then, off wiv yer and I’ll see yer tomorrow.’
Reluctantly, Joyce turned to walk away. She peered over her shoulder and gave him a wave. He would make someone a good husband one day… just not her.
It was with trepidation, and exhaustion, that Joyce held her breath and gently pulled the rough piece of string through the letterbox. The key on the end knocked against the other side of the black front door and clattered against the letterbox as she tugged it through. She waited, hoping her uncle was out or at least asleep in his armchair. The key clicked as she turned it in the lock, her lips tightened as she waited for the inevitable squeak of the front door as she pushed it open. Stepping into the square hall, Joyce was hit with the stench of alcohol quickly followed by loud snoring from the sitting room. She shut the front door and breathed a sigh of relief as she quickly pulled the key back through the letterbox. Walking to the bottom of the stairs on tiptoe, she sat down on the second step and removed her curved heeled boots, carefully placing them on the red-and-black tiled floor underneath the coat hooks. It was only then she noticed a white envelope lying on the floor. She leant forward and picked it up; it was addressed to her. Excitement bubbled inside her when she recognised the handwriting of her friend, Rose. Forgetting about her uncle, Joyce lifted her ankle-length skirt and ran up the stairs, ignoring the creaks of each step.
Joyce flopped on to her narrow bed and turned the envelope over. She missed Rose and was thankful for her weekly letters. Ripping open the envelope she pulled out the single sheet of paper and scanned the page, eager to receive any news she might have. Her face lit up as her hand, clutching it tight, dropped to her lap. She looked around her tiny bedroom, scarce of furniture and decoration; she imagined it was once the servant’s quarters. It was the room she retreated to after a hard day at the café to avoid her uncle’s temper. The stacks of books on the floor by her bed were testament to the places she escaped to. The places where everyone found love, and real heroes lived. Joyce peered down at the letter and started reading it again.
Dear Joyce,
I hope this letter finds you well. Annie and I are talking about coming to London for a visit. Well, actually, I want to visit but Annie still wants to be on the stage so she will be looking for work. Does the offer to stay with you while we find our feet still stand, or can you recommend somewhere cheap for us to stay? It’s been a long time and I can’t wait to see you and catch up with everything. I hope you know I’m expecting you to bake us one of your fabulous cakes. Annie and her mother were only recently talking about how you were a great cook and could have worked anywhere, and they’re right so I’m hoping you’re chasing your dreams in the city that’s paved with gold.
I think Annie wants to talk to her father about it – I don’t think he will let her go, but she insists she’s coming regardless. I’m not so sure she will though. My family, on the other hand, won’t miss me, so I’ll definitely come. Please write and let me know about staying with you and I’ll let you know when we are coming.
Best wishes,
Rose xx
Her happiness was quickly chased away by thoughts of her uncle’s drinking. Could she let her friends see how her life was now? Did she want her friends to see how she was living? Did it matter she was no longer chasing her dream?
*
Annie shifted the weight of the basket of fresh eggs as she walked past the bed sheets fluttering on the line in the garden. The damp wooden rollers of the mangle stood drying in the spring sunshine. A sparrow stood cheekily on the metal frame watching her walk past. She looked back over the farm; the green leaves of the plants were glistening in the early morning dew. The chickens were clucking with contentment and Sam’s words were resonating in her ears, “You’re going to be busy making things for our home, looking after our many children, and we’ll have chickens, maybe pigs or cows as well to look after. That’s without the vegetables we’ll grow, it’s exciting isn’t it?” Shaking her head and sighing, Annie pushed open the heavy back door to the farmhouse. Rex, the black and white border collie followed her in and immediately flopped down on the stone flooring. ‘Ma, the chickens have given us plenty of eggs today,’ she called out as she sat the basket down next to the yellow and blue packet of Sunlight soap on the scrubbed wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. ‘David is bringing the potatoes in; the basket has been filled up to the top and was too heavy for me to carry.’
Ivy Cradwell smiled drying her hands on her long-bibbed apron. ‘That’s tomorrow’s breakfast taken care of.’ Lifting one of the eggs, she brushed it with her hand before twisting it in her fingers. ‘They look a good size.’ Ivy gave her eldest daughter a sideways glance. ‘I was just thinking we should start making a list for your bottom draw and I’ll have a look to see what we have that can be passed on to you and Sam.’ She gave a broad smile. ‘Your father and I are so happy you’re going to be living close by, let alone all the grandchildren we’re going to have.’
Annie nodded.
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. ‘I thought you would be excited and be thinking about planning your wedding. I remember being so happy when your father asked if we could get married.’
Annie looked away. ‘I am excited, I just have a lot to think about.’
Ivy sighed and moved the basket of eggs further along the table. ‘Talk to me because Sam will make you a good husband.’ She paused. ‘You both get on very well so I don’t understand what the problem is. Your father was so happy when he came and asked for your hand in marriage.’
‘I know, Sam told me.’ Annie’s shoulders slumped as she moved towards the back door. ‘I’ll go and see if Pa needs any help in the field.’
Ivy closed her eyes for a moment. ‘While you were cleaning out the chickens, Mr Blake came to see your father and me. Luckily, I was hanging the washing on the line and saw him before he made it to the house.’
Walking back to the sink, Annie groaned. She switched on the tap and rinsed her hands under the cold water.
‘No good you groaning, Annie, you were brought up to be respectful of your elders.’ Ivy frowned. ‘Your pa will be furious when he finds out.’
Annie dried her hands on the cloth nearby before moving away. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you or make you ashamed of me but he is such a rude man; so is Mr Butterworth.’
The back door suddenly swung open and David walked in, his knuckles white from gripping the cane basket handles. He dropped the basket on the floor by the kitchen table and wiped the sleeve of his shirt over his forehead. ‘It’s warm out there.’ He looked from his ma to his sister. ‘Let me guess, Mr Blake?’
‘I’ve brought you a cabbage for dinner.’ William examined the leafy vegetable as he walked through the open doorway, closing it behind him.
‘Thank you, Grandpa, I expect Ma will be pleased with that.’
William handed it over to his eldest granddaughter. ‘Was that Mr Blake I saw earlier?’
Annie groaned. ‘It’s not fair. Him and Mr Butterworth are both so rude to us and always get away with it, but not anymore. I’m not a child and I don’t see why we should have to put up with it.’
David shook his head. ‘I shall leave you to it but, Ma, I will say Annie shouldn’t have to put up with their bad manners, or indeed should any of us.’ He waved his hand in a salute to them both before walking towards the back door. ‘Try not to argue too much over their rudeness because they’ll have succeeded in causing the trouble they set out to do.’ He opened the door and was gone before anyone could say anything.
William turned to follow David and stopped to peer back at them. ‘The trouble is we need them to sell our fruit and vegetables.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘So we don’t have a lot of choice but to put up with them.’ A small grin appeared. ‘But I will say Annie’s right, they’re rude and think they’re better than everyone else.’ He turned and followed David out the door.
‘Your grandfather should know better than to encourage such behaviour.’ Ivy shook her head. ‘As for David well, they can both say what they like but I think Rose is a bad influence on you, the Spencer family have always been a handful.’
Annie threw her arms up. ‘And yet you want me to marry Sam.’
Ivy stared at her daughter through hooded eyes. ‘He’s calmed down as he’s got older.’
Annie glared at her mother. ‘Or maybe Pa doesn’t care who I marry as long as I stay in the village.’
Ivy’s lips tightened, her eyes holding a steel-like quality. ‘You need to stop right there, right now, and just think about what you’re saying. Your father just wants what’s best for his children. The Spencers weren’t brought up to live by the same rules as everyone else. Their parents have been too free spirited with them, so they were always getting into trouble.’ Ivy shook her head. ‘That’s probably why her cousin’s family went to live in London with her grandmother when her mother died. That probably saved Joyce from all kinds of nonsense.’
‘Rose has never been like that, and she’s a good friend. As for Joyce moving to London, it didn’t stop her from losing her father though, did it?’ Annie walked over to the dresser and prised opened the King George V and Queen Mary biscuit tin, finding it empty but for a few crumbs and the aroma of what it had once contained. ‘Anyway, she’s probably a cook in some fancy restaurant now.’
Ivy nodded. ‘I’ll give you that, we all thought he had been so lucky to get a job on the Titanic.’ She sighed, remembering the day they heard about the ocean liner sinking. ‘It must have been awful for them and to think it was only two years ago.’ Ivy frowned. ‘From what I remember, Joyce was an excellent cook and could have worked in some of the big houses around here, it’s a shame they moved away.’
‘You mean be in domestic service?’ Annie replaced the metal lid. ‘What’s wrong in wanting to work in a proper restaurant, or a top hotel, for paying customers? She was good enough for that even back then.’
Ivy dropped some potatoes into the sink and turned on the cold tap, water spluttered out spraying drops onto the wooden worktop. The dirt that had been stuck fast on them quickly began to drop away and dissolve in the water. ‘There’s nothing wrong with domestic service, it prepares you for marriage.’
Annie sighed. ‘Is that all I have to look forward to, cooking and cleaning for the rest of my days?’
Ivy turned off the tap and stared into the muddy pool for a moment before turning to face her daughter. ‘I don’t understand why this life isn’t good enough for you.’ Her lips quivered but she sucked in her breath and bit down on it. ‘Thanks to your father’s hard work we don’t go hungry, we eat what we grow and he sells what we don’t need to Mr Butterworth, and that’s why you have to be nice to him.’
Annie rushed over to her mother and draped an arm around her thin shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, you and Pa work so hard and have given us a good life but it’s not the life I want to have for myself.’
Ivy sniffed and pulled away. ‘Here we go again.’
‘Ma, I don’t know what to say… except I feel trapped. Every time I think about my life with Sam the noose tightens. I don’t want to disappoint you, nor do I want to hurt Sam, but I don’t love him. I want to love someone the way you love Pa. Is that so wrong?’
Ivy shook her head and sighed. ‘No, it isn’t, I would follow your father to the ends of the earth.’
‘And he would you too, Ma, it’s obvious to everyone you respect each other.’ Annie’s vision became blurry. ‘Whereas I don’t think Sam takes me seriously. Part of his proposal was telling me to let go of my dream because it was never going to happen. There was no talk of love, support, just of chickens, pigs, children, cooking and cleaning.’
Pain flitted across Ivy’s face as she watched her daughter. ‘We all have to make sacrifices, Annie, that’s life.’
Annie stood rigid, her face tense. ‘Do we, Ma, or is it just women that have to?’ She stared at her mother, watching fear and despair ravage her face in equal measure. ‘Look, Ma, I’m sorry, I know you’re sick of hearing about me wanting to perform but you’re all responsible for my desire to do it. Remember, I’ve been doing it for the family since I was knee high. We used to sing songs and dress up to put on our own little plays every Christmas, birthday and many times in between.’
Ivy nodded. ‘You made us all smile, particularly your Aunt Dorothy and your grandparents, but David and Margaret were also a part of that and they’ve never expressed the need to perform in public.’
Annie looked thoughtful. ‘I only vaguely remember Aunt Dorothy, but didn’t she leave the village a long time ago?’
‘Yes, she left when your gran died.’
‘I’ve made the beds, Ma, do yer need any other help?’ Margaret’s voice carried into the kitchen, over her footsteps thudding on each rung of the stairs. She walked into the kitchen. ‘I can peel those potatoes if you like?’ Her voice was partially drowned out by the thud of the back door closing.
‘What’s happening here?’ All eyes turned to the tall, thin man standing just inside the kitchen. His muddied grey trousers were held around his waist by a piece of string. His white shirt, with its rolled-up sleeves, had seen better days and hung out of the back of his trousers. He took a pipe from one of his trouser pockets and a box of matches from the other. ‘I thought we were getting some extra help in the fields today and here you all are gossiping.’ He stopped and ran his gnarled fingers through his thick mass of grey hair.
Margaret took in her sister’s and mother’s troubled expressions for the first time before turning to her father. ‘If Annie doesn’t mind helping Ma, then I’ll come out and help.’
‘That’s fine, go and speak to David, he’ll tell you what to do.’ Tom opened the door for his youngest to leave the kitchen.
Margaret did as she was bid, stroking the collie as she walked past. Rex looked up with sorrowful eyes before following her outside.
Tom waited until the heavy wooden door thudded shut. ‘Right what’s going on here? And don’t say nothing because I can tell something is.’
Annie pushed her damp palms down the sides of her ankle-length black skirt.
Ivy cleared her throat. ‘Nothing’s going on, Tom, we’re just talking while we prepare dinner.’
Tom’s gaze didn’t waver from his wife’s face.
Ivy glanced down, unable to hold the stare of his watery blue eyes.
‘Pa, we were just talking about Aunt Dorothy actually.’
Tom struck a match and held the flame in the bowl of his pipe. He puffed on it furiously, waiting for it to take hold of the brown strands of tobacco. Clouds of smoke eventually curled up into the air. The smell of the rich burning tobacco gradually wafted around the kitchen. ‘Is that right, Annie?’ His eyes suddenly held a steel-like quality. ‘And pray tell when were you going to tell me about your run-in with Mr Blake and Mr Butterworth?’
Annie pulled herself upright. ‘I wasn’t, Pa, it was a few days ago and didn’t really see it as anything to worry about.’ She frowned but continued quickly before her father could say anything. ‘Don’t you get fed up with everyone knowing your business, and more than that, everyone having an opinion when they don’t know what they’re talking about?’ She moved over to the sink and picked up a knife to start peeling the potatoes.
Tom smiled. ‘You know, Annie, you can’t distract me from what I want to say.’
‘Pa, I’m not trying to distract you.’ Annie took a deep breath and turned to face him. ‘Look, I was just saying to Ma I don’t love Sam; I’m not the right person for him anymore than he is for me. I want to go to London and I would like to do it with both your blessings. I’m tired of the likes of Mr Blake putting everyone down and mocking me for wanting to live my own life.’
Tom’s lips curled in anger. ‘Not this again, it’s about time you gave up on this silly idea, and thought about settling down and having a family.’ He scowled. ‘How many times do we need to go through this for goodness sake? The answer’s no.’
‘That’s why you said yes to Sam isn’t it?’ Annie dropped the knife in the sink, water splashing up her arms and over the wooden draining board. She clenched her hands together. ‘Pa, I don’t understand why you wish to hold me here.’
‘Does it matter? We’re your family and you should be here with us.’
‘Please, Pa—’
‘Cities are dangerous places and I won’t be there to protect you. I also have to think about your sister. Margaret’s only sixteen and before you know it, she’ll be wanting to follow you.’
Annie shook her head as she turned to face him. ‘No, she won’t. Margaret’s not me, she’s happy here.’
Ivy stepped forward and put her hand on her daughter’s arm, whispering, ‘And you’re not?’
Annie could feel a lump forming in her throat. ‘Ma, I love it here but I want to be on the stage.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand why you are both so against it.’
Tom cleared his throat. ‘A friend of mine went to the city and we never heard from him again. Why do you think the farm that backs on to us has been left to fall into ruin the way it has?’
‘Pa, that isn’t going to happen to me. I’ll probably be able to send money home so you don’t have to work so hard.’
Tom shook his head. ‘We don’t need your money, we don’t need anything other than the love of God, our family and what the land produces to keep our body and soul alive.’ He turned and opened the door. ‘I’m not talking about this anymore. Some of us have responsibilities, and it’s not right to leave my father working with David while I’m doing nothing. I don’t want to hear any more about it.’ The house shook as the door slammed shut behind him.