‘Good girl.’
Good girl, thought Annie, her teeth grinding together. Good girl? How old does she think I am? I’ve spent most of my life being manipulated and ordered around by my mother, now it’s Harriet doing it, and, however good their intentions, I wish to God they would stop it!
She felt Sean watching her, his expression wry, as if he had picked up on her secret feelings. She lowered her eyelashes and tried to look blank.
Looking at her watch, Harriet groaned. ‘Got to rush! See you later. Come on, Sean, we must go now.’
Annie didn’t go back to bed; she ate a boiled egg and toast for breakfast, drank orange juice and then coffee, sitting at the red and white gingham covered table by the window in the kitchen overlooking the long back garden with the bird table right outside, on which a few brown sparrows industriously pecked at the crumbs of her toast which she had sprinkled there.
She heard Mrs Singh, who lived in the house on the right, singing tunelessly to her radio as she got her two sons off to school. Trudie rarely talked to any of their neighbours except Mr Harris, who had lived across the street for twenty-five years. Trudie had always believed in keeping herself to herself. When they still had the shop that hadn’t mattered; Trudie talked to people all day long in the shop. Since she stopped working, though, she must often have been lonely, yet she still did not encourage any of the neighbours to call.
Annie got up, ran the tap over the dishes, slid them into the dishwasher for Tracy to deal with later, and was about to order a taxi when the phone began to ring.
Almost tripping herself up in her haste, she ran to answer. ‘Hello?
‘Annie?’ The voice was husky and uncertain, but she knew it instantly, her heart skidding.
‘Johnny?’ She had been waiting for him to ring; she had thought he might ring last night, had been listening for the phone all the time, yet now that he had she was overtaken by shock and surprise, as if she had never quite believed he really had come back to her. ‘Is it really you?’
He was silent for a second, then said, ‘Yes, it’s me.’
Her heart lifted in happiness. ‘I thought you might ring last night, Johnny.’
‘I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure you would want to …’ He broke off.
‘Want to what?’ she whispered.
‘Get involved.’
‘I wouldn’t have given you my number if I hadn’t wanted to see you, Johnny!’
His voice deepened. ‘Annie … aren’t you working today? I mean … I thought you began very early in the morning. I rang on the off-chance, thought I’d leave a message on your answerphone if you weren’t at home.’
‘I’m taking a day off, I was just going to visit my mother in hospital.’
‘I expect you’re very busy, but if you had time I’d like to see you, Annie – we didn’t have a chance to talk properly yesterday.’
‘I haven’t got any plans for the rest of the day,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m just going to take a taxi to the hospital and back, then I’ll be free.’
‘I could collect you from the hospital – what time will you leave there, do you think?’
‘Around ten-thirty, I expect. I never stay long. Poor darling, she often doesn’t know me. And it tires her, too much talking.’
Johnny was silent. She felt his anger and sighed. He was still brooding over the discovery that her mother had kept them apart all this time – and Annie knew how he felt, only too well. She had always been able to sense what Johnny was feeling. Right from the beginning, they had shown their secret selves to each other, the passion hidden inside them.
‘I’ll wait for you in the car park, at ten-thirty, then,’ Johnny said, and rang off.
When he rang off, she put a call through to a taxi firm and was waiting for the cab to arrive when her cleaner unlocked the front door and paused, looking sur
prised to see her.
‘Thought you were working today. Nothing wrong, is there?’
‘No, I’m just taking a day off – I’m going to the hospital to see my mother.’
‘Give her my best wishes,’ Tracy said, studying Annie in her white jeans, white shirt and dark blue sweater. She hadn’t put on much make-up, just a light film of foundation and a pale pink lipstick. Annie wore so much make-up when she was filming that she preferred to leave it off whenever she could. ‘Are you sure you’re well enough to go out? You’re very pale.’
‘I’m naturally pale,’ Annie said drily. ‘I’m a washed-out blonde, that’s what a critic wrote in one of the tabloids, anyway. He said I was an anaemic, washed-out blonde with all the sex appeal of a piece of English cheese.’