After the Storm by Margaret Graham Page A

teeth were white against his tanned skin.
    ‘You’re always brown,’ she called. ‘Where do you get your tan from? Been taking the sun by the sea, like the royals?’ She thumbed her nose and strutted about doing a regal wave.
    Tom giggled and Georgie threw a handful of grass he had torn from the verge. It fluttered to the ground before it reached Annie, lying in a loose circle.
    ‘A cloak for me to walk on – how kind,’ minced Annie and the laughter continued. She felt a sense of delight.
    ‘Get on with the work,’ Don growled. Tom glanced across at him.
    ‘She’s only having a bit of fun,’ he protested. ‘And she doesn’t act like a lady that often.’ Annie shook her fist at him.
    ‘Well, she’s not doing it on my time,’ ground out Don, his head still down. He ran his fingers round the rim of the coin, making sure it would pass without comment tonight.
    Annie gazed at Tom. He raised his eyebrows, then they both mouthed, ‘Bloody Albert!’
    ‘Hope it’s not catching Tom,’ Annie called.
    ‘This Albertitis, you mean,’ he replied. They both turned to Don and stared. ‘No, we’d have to work in Albert’s shop every Saturday and the old man’s not going to have us over the doorstop. We have to help Betsy in ours for nothing. Good thing we like it, ain’t it, Annie.’
    Don looked up and glowered at them both.
    ‘Get on with your work.’
    ‘I’ve done my share,’ challenged Annie, ‘and Tom’s doing fine. Just keep your hair on, will you, or you’ll be polishing your head in the morning. Anyway, it’s just because you’re the eldest you throw your weight around.’
    ‘Only by two days,’ chipped in Georgie and Don returned to his coins without a word, forgetting everything but the need to finish the job.
    Georgie sat back on his hunkers, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. His coins were perfect and Annie was intrigued that those broad hands could produce such precise work. He had worked quickly without seeming to, always calm, always accurate. She watched as he half closed his eyes against the sun and cocked his head to one side.
    ‘I’ll show you how to hang by your arms from that bar, turn inside out and dangle if you like.’ His voice was soft.
    She moved closer, blocking the sun and casting her shadow over him, her eyes alight with interest.
    ‘When?’ she asked.
    He half smiled. ‘Whenever you like,’ he replied, looking directly up into her face, able to do so now that she stood as a shield between him and the sun. She could see that his eyes were almost black with small yellow flecks, like a cat’s. Tom moved near to her, his small shadow cast over Georgie’s neatly stacked coins. Georgie pulled a long stem of grass from a nearby clump, eased it out of its shaft and chewed the moist white shoot. His smile grew into a grin and she responded but did not know why she felt so pleased.
    ‘Will you show me too?’ asked Tom, his small face eager. Hemoved up against Annie and she put her arm round his shoulder and pulled him close.
    Georgie continued to chew for a moment while he studied Tom and through his eyes Annie saw Tom as he now was; very thin and pale, though without rickets yet, thank God. She hadn’t noticed how gaunt he had become, how gaunt they must all have become but it looked worse on Tom because he was younger. She took out the last of her bread and dripping from her pocket and made him eat it. Hunger seemed always to be with them these days.
    Georgie smiled. ‘I reckon you’re just too young Tom, but I tell you what; I’ll take you to the hives, shall I? Down by the beck. Show you the bees, you’d like that.’
    ‘You would and all Tom,’ agreed Annie shaking him slightly, aware of his disappointment, wanting to make it all right for him. ‘Bring your pencil and draw it. There’s the beck and that willow and the shape of the hive. Georgie’ll tell you all about bees, he’s good on insects. I know, we’ll make a day of it. I’ll do a