Rosie Thomas 4-Book Collection: Strangers, Bad Girls Good Women, A Woman of Our Times, All My Sins Remembered. Rosie Thomas
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saw Steve’s dark head.
Not brave, Annie thought. For an instant she thought that the terrible pull, one way and then the other, would tear her in half. She took the flowers blindly and kissed Frankie’s cheek. There were other kisses too, but in all the press of people she felt a light touch on her shoulder and she knew that it was Steve’s. She nodded, not trusting herself to look at him, and stumbled forward with her flowers. She felt rather than saw that Martin held out his hand to Steve.
They were calling out to her, ‘Good luck, Annie. Think of us, still in here.’
Martin’s hand was at her elbow now, guiding her. Steeling herself she turned to look back, seeing the cluster of faces as pale blobs, except for Steve’s. Every detail of Steve’s face was clear.
‘Thank you,’ she said as steadily as she could, ‘for the flowers, everything. Take care of yourselves.’
As her husband led her away she felt Steve immobile on his crutches behind them, watching her go.
Outside, the world seemed to teem with people and reverberate with traffic. Annie sat in the passenger seat of the car as they threaded precariously through it. Martin was whistling softly as he drove, and then at a red traffic light he leaned across and kissed her on the cheek.
‘How does it feel?’ he grinned at her.
‘Strange,’ she answered, and feeling the coolness of that she added quickly, ‘Wonderful.’
Martin glanced at her and then as the car slid forward again he said, ‘You’ll have to take it easy, even though you’re well enough to be at home. Everything’s organized for you.’
Annie put her hand out to touch the knee of his corduroy trousers. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
They began the familiar climb up the hill towards home, in the grinding stream of lorries and buses, under the span of the wrought-iron bridge that Annie often crossed with the boys, on their way to the park. She looked up at it, curiously, as if she were seeing it for the first time. At the top of the hill they turned, out of the traffic, into quiet streets. The corner shops were familiar here, and then they passed the tube station that Annie had hurried into on her way to do the Christmas shopping, six weeks ago.
A minute later they reached the end of their road.
She looked down the length of it and saw their house, red bricks faced with yellow, bay windows under a little pointed roof. The car stopped outside and Annie saw the boys’ faces bob up at the bedroom window.
Martin took her hand. ‘I didn’t tell the whole world that you would be home today. Everyone wanted to be here, to welcome you, but I thought you might not like a big reception committee.’
Annie smiled at him, touched by his care. But Martin was always kind, in just that way.
‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘They can all come another day.’
Martin helped her out of the car and they went up the path hand in hand.
‘Thomas and Ben have arranged their own welcome party. Ready?’
She nodded, wondering, and Martin opened the front door.
The hallway was hung everywhere with hand-painted streamers, and huge, cut-out letters dangling from the ceiling spelt out the message WELCOME HOME MUMMY. There was a second’s silence as Annie looked at it and different tears burned in her eyes. And then the children, unable to hide any longer, burst out and tumbled down the stairs into her arms.
‘Did you like it? Were you surprised?’ Tom demanded.
‘I coloured the ribbons,’ Benjy shouted. ‘All these. They go right up the stairs. Look, Mummy.’
Annie looked, and saw Barbara coming out of the kitchen, smiling at her. Through the open doors beside her she saw a fire burning in the polished grate. The house was warm, lived-in and comfortable and happy. Her tears blurred the welcome sight of it and ran down her cheeks.
‘Why are you crying?’ Benjy asked and she held him so that his face was warm against hers.
‘Because I’m glad to be home.’
Barbara hugged her, and then the boys took Annie’s hands and she let them lead her upstairs. She found that the bedroom was bright with flowers, and the covers were turned down ready for her on the wide bed. Propped against the pillows was a small, threadbare teddy.
‘I put my ted in, see, to keep you company,’ Benjy announced.
‘I told him that you probably wouldn’t want his smelly teddy,’ Thomas added.
‘I do. Of course I do.’
She sat down on the bed, feeling the familiar sag under her weight, and the boys crowded anxiously against her.
‘You won’t have to go back again, will you?’ Thomas’s casual voice tried to hide his anxiety.
‘No, darling, I won’t have to go away again.’ With her arms around her children Annie looked out of the window at the view, the unchanged composition of slate roofs and bay windows and bare tree branches, thinking.
Nothing was different, and yet the whole world had changed.
She rested her cheek wearily against Benjy’s smooth head.
Martin brought in a glass vase with the hospital’s red roses arranged in it. Their colour reminded her of blood, and of Steve, motionless in the hospital corridor, watching her go.
Martin crossed the room and touched his finger to her cheek.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ Annie lied to him. ‘Of course I am.’
Annie was cooking dinner. She moved slowly to and fro in the kitchen, opening doors and taking out pans, collecting ingredients from the larder. It seemed a long time since she had done anything of the kind. She had made suppers for the boys, and she had started cooking for herself and Martin within a few days of being home again. Barbara had done it to begin with, but after a few days Annie had taken control. It surprised her to recognize how much she minded the displacement from her own kitchen, and she thought, I must be more like Tibby than I’ve ever realized. But tonight was the first proper dinner. It had been Martin’s idea.
‘You haven’t had your welcome home party,’ he had announced one night. ‘Now you’re better, we should all go out to dinner somewhere. We could ask Gail and Ian.’
Enthusiastically he had named three other couples, old friends and neighbours.
‘It’ll cost a fortune to take all of them out,’ Annie had said.
‘Oh, we can all pay for ourselves.’
‘You can’t ask them out to celebrate and then make them pay,’ Annie protested. It was so like a hundred other plans and discussions that they had had over the years that she smiled suddenly.
‘Ask them here. I’ll make chilli or something.’
‘Can you cope with that?’
‘Yes,’ she had said. ‘I’m sure I can.’
‘I’ll help.’
Martin had put his warm hand out to cover hers, and then they had turned on the television to watch the news.
And so it had been arranged. Three couples were coming to dinner, and because she wanted to make everything the same as it would have been before, Annie had decided that it must be a proper meal. She was a good cook, and her dinners had a reputation amongst their friends. So she had planned an elaborate menu, and done the shopping this morning while Benjy was at nursery. Now both the boys were watching television in the sitting room. Annie put down the big casserole dish she had taken out of the cupboard