Curious how it was possible to live more than one life at the same time. While Annie went through the motions – job, house, accounts, rejoicing at Tom’s job with the Carbon Trust (part-time, mind you, but strategic and managerial), she reprised the past and rehearsed a future. House emptying? Could they afford to put Hermione back in the home? Where would Jake fetch up? He was making noises about moving out in the not-so-distant future.
Annie’s life had been unremarkable, ordinary – she would never argue otherwise and its ordinariness was precious. But the past months had triggered reminders of the time when she had lived closer to the emotional bone – the time when she had expected so much, and yearned to touch the heights.
It was as if a huge wooden spoon had dipped into her head and was stirring it up. She rubbed the place on her finger where her mother’s ring used to sit. Sufficient unto the day … Seize the day … She remembered the old truisms and helpful clichés her mother had trotted out. She had had a great capacity for living in the present, which her daughter decided she must emulate.
As a young woman, Annie had believed there had to be some sort of explanation for existence, some significance attached to it. There had to be a force pulling the strands together. These days, she didn’t consider the subject much at all, and perhaps it was time she did.
The wooden spoon was doing its work pretty thoroughly. It mixed up many recollections. Tom in the beginning: raven-haired, outrageous, strong. Tom after the children arrived: very busy being the BBC stalwart, increasingly preoccupied, a touch smug, not at ease with his son and daughters, mainly because he didn’t know them very well. Switch to Tom of the past few months: wounded, bitter, trying not to be. Almost broken.
But not.
A Midlands landscape rushed past the train window and the mutter of voices, phone calls and movement ebbed and flowed inside.
Sarah looked up from the armful of papers spread out across the table. In one of his periodic managerial fits, Chuck had packed them off to a one-day Department of Health course in Birmingham and they were on their way back.
‘Useless, wasn’t it?’ Annie concluded. ‘Except for the last speaker who was good.’
Sarah shrugged. ‘Do I care? Yes, I do. I do, Annie. Promise.’
‘Do you think we contribute at all? Are we any help to society?’
Coming at the end of a long day, it was not the first question that Sarah wished to address. ‘If you mean does our work, which is basically a series of hand-to-hand combats with medical staff, mean anything more than hand-to-hand combat, no.’
Annie laughed. ‘Go back to your newspaper.’
Large bureaucracies were designed to kill clear, unconstrained thinking stone dead and, guess what, Annie had devoted her working life to one.
…‘Pessimist,’ Tom had accused her.
‘Have you ever worked in a large bureaucracy?’
He had frowned. ‘As it happens, yes.’
‘Chicken feed,’ she had teased. ‘The BBC isn’t even a footnote on the NHS …’
From now on, she was going to refuse, absolutely refuse, to get bogged down in the metaphysics of her work life. Life was complicated enough. It was best to leave it to beings like the angel on the kitchen noticeboard – a heavenly post-boy emerging out of Leonardo’s shadows bearing with him all sorts of invitations and promises, which you could take note of or not.
The train drew into the station. Stepping out, Annie inhaled the familiar coffee-cum-overheated-pastry smell of a British station. Sarah hopped out behind her and they threaded their way on to the concourse. Annie turned to say goodbye and jumped as the Tannoy boomed: ‘“Let’s start at the very beginning …”’ and the unmistakable voice of Julie Andrews soared above the hubbub.
‘Good grief!’ For once that was all Sarah could manage.
In the middle of the concourse a man in chinos and trainers threw out his hands and turned in time to the music. A girl with blue hair mimicked him. Two others in footless tights and plimsolls were sucked like atoms to the nucleus. They, too, threw up their arms and fell into step. Within half a minute, sixty or so were dancing. They were serious in their movements, intent but also smiling.
‘That’s rehearsed,’ said Sarah, fingers clenching and unclenching on her shoulder strap.
The man beside Annie hoisted his small boy on to his shoulders and the crowd that had gathered behind them swept the two women towards the dancers.
‘“Doh …”’ sang Julie.
The notes ricocheted around Annie’s head and, deep in her bones, she felt something shift.
Julie’s voice soared higher.
The dancers swirled round as one and, as they did so, a youth with Rasta hair and leathers grabbed Annie. ‘Look after my bags,’ she shrieked at an open-mouthed Sarah.
‘“Ray …”’
She was singing of sun … warm, bright sun
Round Annie went. Hands up, arms windmilling, feet clicking and sliding over the concourse, pushed and willingly pulled by a leathered Prince Charming. What am I doing? She whirled past an elderly couple doing a brisk waltz and past a girl with her school satchel on her back kicking her legs up as if there would be no tomorrow.
‘“Me …”’
What name did one call oneself?
My name is Annie.
And as the song progressed, the music prised up the claws of the succubus of bitterness and regret so long dug into her back. It grew to be less and less burdensome, weightless, until it rolled off and away, to leave her leaf-light and cleansed.
Reborn?
Once again, she was the Annie who had danced with Tom and stolen home in a white and violet dawn. Once again she was dancing in the alpine meadows above Salzburg and at the beginning of the journey.
Not quite. She was breathless and the protest from her pelvic floor reminded her that she had given birth to three babies. But, in that last moment of free-fall, she had shaken free of the shackles that bound her to float on a thermal of excitement and hope.
‘And what was all that about?’ Sarah handed back her bags when, as quickly as it had cohered, the dance and the dancers melted back into the crowd of commuters and passengers.
Between pants, Annie managed a grin. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But it was marvellous.’
It was dark as she emerged from the Tube station. As she headed home, lights were switched on, looping a necklace of brilliance along the streets like Christmas lights. Each one sheltered a melting, radiant centre that pierced her vision. Piles of leaves in the gutter shuffled and whispered in draughts created by traffic. The cold on her cheeks felt as crisp as baked salt and yet the warmth from her body was lazily languorous. Now she felt hungry – and crazily expectant.
She phoned Tom but his mobile was switched off. Instead, she flipped down the speed dial and rang Sadie. ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve just done.’
‘Let me see. What choices do I have? I could waste the equivalent of six months in guessing or you could tell me.’
‘Flash danced in a station.’
Sadie hooted. ‘There’s hope … there’s hope.’
‘Well, actually, I think there is,’ said Annie.
She wondered what Jake and Emily were up to. Had Emily finished packing – and what was the latest on the divorce? Life Lesson 110. Children discard their parents, and she must get used to being … not exactly last but fourth or fifth in the line when they had news to tell.
What was Mia doing?
A little stiff from the dancing, she paused on the front step to find her key. The door opened.
‘Thought it was you,’ said Tom. He drew her inside and kissed her. ‘You’re late. What have you been doing?’
‘Flash dancing, as it happens.’ She enjoyed the expression on his face. ‘Actually, I need to change. Got a bit hot.’
‘Hot,’ he murmured, following her up the stairs. ‘We like hot.’
He banged the bedroom shut behind him. ‘Are you going to take off your clothes, Mrs Nicholson?’
‘Guess.’ Annie dangled her skirt from a finger in a manner that would have done credit to a world-class stripper. ‘Will that do?’
‘I can’t tell until you’ve taken more off.’
Annie shrugged off the incredibly expensive T-shirt. ‘You look pleased with yourself.’
‘Signed the contract.’
He was pleased and happy. How like him. Now that he was back in harness, Tom could allow himself to be himself and she was delighted for him.
‘I need to get closer to inspect the situation.’
She shot a look at him from under her lashes. ‘I need a shower.’
‘I definitely agree.’
She headed into the bathroom and Tom followed her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘What do you think?’
‘On reflection, I think you’re nuzzling my neck.’
‘What are you planning to do after that?’
‘This.’ His hand snaked around her back and undid her bra. ‘Now what?’
‘I was going to run the water until it was hot.’
‘Can’t afford it,’ he said flatly and, pushing her up against the tiles, kissed her throat. ‘Micro-economy. Are you wearing the same perfume I gave you – oh, years ago?’
‘I am.’
‘Good. Cost a king’s ransom.’
Annie turned her head and found his ear and bit it. He yelped – but with approval.
With a hand, she grasped his hair and forced his face up so that he was looking into her eyes. ‘I have to learn you all over again,’ she said. ‘And I might as well do it properly.’
‘The world has changed. It’s all changed. It’ll be difficult.’ He smiled, and his transformation from the man whom she had once loved, then hated and now discovered she loved again was complete.
‘Are we going to stay in here?’ she asked – not unreasonably.
Reason? What was reason?
‘One thing, Tom.’
‘Stop talking, Annie.’
‘Tom …’
‘What?’
‘We’ll look for Mia?’
Pause. ‘Yes. Yes, we will.’
Half an hour later, Annie struggled into a pair of jeans and a sweater and ran downstairs. Hermione was sitting in the kitchen talking to Jake, who was describing Maisie’s first sentence. Annie reminded herself that she must cut up Hermione’s supper before giving it to her. She had also promised to wash her mother-in-law’s hair after supper.
Annie bent down and kissed Hermione. It seemed the thing to do when one’s heart had been, for a transcendental second, fresh minted. Then she reached down and kissed Rollo too.
‘Hallo, Mum.’ Jake sent her one of his heartbreaking smiles.
‘You look … happy?’ Nowadays, Annie was sparing in how she used the word.
‘Not happy, exactly,’ said the careful Jake. ‘But there is news.’
The baby alarm chose to broadcast Maisie’s sneeze.
‘And?’
‘Much of it was Dad’s doing,’ said Jake. ‘He found out about it. By using a psychiatrist like Reginald Brown, we gave ourselves an advantage. He’s known to favour fathers. He’s sent in a report to the court recommending that Jocasta should not be allowed to take Maisie out of the country, but she should come over regularly and that a visiting schedule is worked out. Apparently, he was of the opinion that Jocasta’s lot ran a very unattractive case … falling over themselves to cite how many houses and material advantages they could give Maisie. And, apparently, this particular judge always listens to the psychiatrist’s report.’
Annie sat down. ‘So, we’ll see.’
‘No. There’s more. Jocasta has formerly notified the court that she’s given up her claim to take Maisie permanently. She’s prepared to accept Reginald Brown’s recommendations.’
Annie looked deep into her son’s face. ‘I’m so glad,’ she said. ‘So very glad for you.’
Emily clattered in her clogs down the stairs and into the kitchen. ‘If I paid you,’ said Jake, ‘would you get rid of them?’
‘I’ll consider it when you’ve paid me.’
‘Do you think I’m a complete idiot?’
‘I do.’
‘Packed?’ asked Annie.
‘Sort of.’ Emily smiled at her mother – and, suddenly, Annie saw the woman Emily would become. ‘Here.’ She unpinned Leonardo’s angel from the noticeboard and closed her daughter’s hands over it. ‘You must take this. He’ll guard you.’ She paused. ‘He’ll keep tight my other daughter.’
‘Oh, Mum.’
The doorbell rang. Rollo gave tongue. Holding the angel, Emily twirled around and said she would get it. She disappeared into the hall. There was a silence, a muffled shriek – and Emily called out, ‘Mum, Dad, I think you should come.’
Annie stepped into the hall just as Tom emerged from their bedroom. For ever after, she remembered the sound of the door banging shut behind him. At that crucial moment she glanced up – and noted that she and Tom were frozen in roughly similar poses.
He looked down at Annie. She looked up at him. A little while earlier, he had cupped her head in his hands. Hallo, Annie.
She turned back to the front door and Rollo danced underfoot like a dervish.
A small, thin figure stood on the step, clasping a canvas shoulder bag.
Mia.