After the Storm by Margaret Graham

prefer not to hear in my own home.’
    The fullness in Betsy’s throat hurt and she had to breathe cold air through tightening nostrils until they were too full with the mucus of tears. Then, through barely opened lips, she spoke and did not recognise the sound of her own voice.
    ‘Yes, Archie, I understand.’
    ‘Goodnight Elisabeth.’
    She turned on her side away from him and, carefully, she cried silent tears for her 22 years and the countless more that were yet to come and there was a coldness in her now, a despair which soured her youth.

CHAPTER 4
    Annie hung on the bar which divided the allotments from the wasteland at the back of the lanes, near to her father’s shop. The rust was gritty beneath her hands and smelt of old money. At last her balance was perfect. She released her hands and opened her eyes, lifting her head slowly, savouring her success, smiling though the bar pinched her breath up into her throat and her stomach was pushed into her back. The sky was dusty blue and everything shimmered in the heat.
    ‘All right Annie, we know you can do it, get yourself down here now. Eleven’s too old for that sort of thing,’ Don ordered.
    She flipped over the bar, the air rushing through her body so that her face screwed up with ecstasy. It was pleasure mixed with pain and she did it again.
    ‘Hey Annie,’ called Tom. ‘If you do that too often the blood will rush to your head and burst all over the ground, and I’m not clearing it up.’ She laughed and stayed where she was. ‘And you’re showing everyone your knickers. There’ll be a long queue soon.’
    ‘Don’t be daft Tom. Who wants to see these bloomers? But just think, if they did, we could charge a penny a look and save all this work.’ She pointed to the lead coins which she had finished in record time so that she could be free for the bar
    They laughed at her, Georgie, Tom and Don as she stood brushing red dust from her clothes, then bent again over the piping. Don and Georgie chiselling then banging, while Tom just hammered. He’d have to wait until he was 13 too, Don had told him, before he could use the proper tools. Nine was too young.
    Grace had not been able to come today but would be at the fair this evening and in spite of Don’s protests they were doing enough coins for her too. Tom had flared at Don that itshouldn’t matter if Grace was there or not. They were a gang weren’t they and Annie had kissed his thin cheek. They loved Grace, her and Tom did, but she loved Tom more. He was a like a puzzle piece. He fitted her exactly.
    Bye, it was grand here in the sun she thought, but hot, very hot. When they had arrived, Don, of course, had grabbed the shaded area created by the corner of hawthorne hedge that ran round the whole of the allotment. The only other area of shade was along by her father’s shed where they had found the hammer and chisel but nettles grew three feet high in this spot and Georgie had not let them beat them down to make a cool work area. Might see a Camberwell Beauty he had said and besides, the butterflies need nettles more than we need shade.
    Georgie was now sitting by the rows of lettuce which were yellowing and limp from too much sun whilst Tom still sat where she had been, next to the young leeks which had wafted a strong smell as they worked.
    Her da would need to water them tonight, when the sun had gone down, but most likely it would be Tom or her again as usual. She looked along the rows. There wasn’t much in this year; the patch was mostly overgrown with weeds, though the runners had gone in as always. Her da liked runner beans but without the stringy bits. Shame really that it was so neglected. It was like everything else round here now and she reached down and pulled at some weeds; the ground was too hard and would not release the roots. Georgie looked up and smiled, his mouth turned up at one side as it always did. His brown hair was too long and it fell over his eyes. He flicked it back. His