Annie's Promise by Margaret Graham Page A

adults still chasing one another.
    Sarah squatted at his side, rubbing the dry soil with her fingers, forcing it into the cracks. ‘Don’t know why he’s going into the pit, Terry said Mum should have nursed, said noone would really want to go down the pit. It’s dirty and smelly. She says there are no lavs, that’s horrid.’
    Davy looked at her, then up at their parents. ‘He wants to though, he said that.’
    ‘Terry said her mum said he would say that. I don’t want him to go down. How could anyone want to go down under this.’ She pushed more soil into a crack. An ant ran over her finger. She cupped it in her hands, letting it run, but not escape. ‘She says Mum should have nursed.’
    ‘Since when have you listened to Terry or her mum. I told you, he wants to go down and it’s daft, but then, grown ups are daft, look at them.’
    Sarah watched her mother trip and fall, watched Tom and Georgie stop, pick her up, one by the shoulders, one by the feet and give her the bumps.
    They both looked round now to see that there was no one from town to see it. Yes, they are daft, she thought, stupid and daft and she put her hands on the ground, letting the ant run on to the ground.
    ‘People die though, don’t they Davy? It’s like Dad’s bombs. You never know which one it will be that’s going to get you.’ She squashed the ant, rubbing her finger over and over it until there was nothing left.
    ‘Well, my da was in the pit for ages and he looks all right and Frank, his marrer, still goes down. All the Wassingham men do, seems right somehow. They do get cut and the scars go blue, but I don’t think it’s like the bombs. No, not the bombs.’
    ‘But people do die?’ Sarah was looking at him now, holding his arm.
    Davy was quiet, then he nodded. ‘Yes, they die.’
    There was a silence between them and then Sarah felt his hand holding her arm, his fingers tight, his skin warm, his eyes troubled but only for a moment because then they heard the shouts, the laughter, felt the pounding feet and her father scooped her up as Tom grabbed Davy, and swirled them around until they gasped, set them on their feet, held theirhands and ran them down to the bottom. It felt as though she was flying, as though she would never stop and at the bottom she hugged her father.
    ‘I love you Da, I love you,’ she shouted.
    Annie was up before Georgie, stoking the range, cooking him bacon, eggs, sausage, not thinking, just doing. She checked the clock. Five a.m. She heard him in the hall, padding through in his socks. She held out his boots as he came through the doorway.
    ‘There’s no need to get up, Annie, you’ve a busy day.’ He took the boots, sat down, shoved his feet into them and ate his breakfast, pulling a face at the milk she gave him.
    ‘Drink it, it’ll line your stomach against the dust.’
    She packed his bait tin, filled his water bottle, his cold tea flask. She stood behind him as he drank, wanting to hold him, press his strong body against hers, wanting to run her hands down his chest, his thighs, wanting to make him forget all this and stay here. But she did nothing except hand him his tin, his old clothes stuffed into a holdall and his flask. She kissed his mouth, touched his face and smiled, opening the door into the yard at Frank’s whistle, walking with them to the gate, watching as they walked together towards the pit, joining others as they came from their yards. Georgie did not walk as they walked, he did not hold himself as they did. Couldn’t he see he wasn’t one of them any more?
    Their boots were loud on the cobbles as they walked to the pit-yard, the buildings crowded in on them and Georgie and Frank nodded to each man as they joined the group. There was no talk, it was too early, too grey, these were not men on a ramble, they were workers facing a full day, heavy with sleep. There was no surprise in their faces at his presence, word spun round quickly in a pit town. There was wariness