Free After the Storm by Margaret Graham

man who never looked at you as you cleared up behind him.
    ‘How can you bear not to be free?’ she asked looking up into her face.
    She allowed Betsy to place her hands on her shoulders and pull her into an apron which smelt of bacon.
    ‘Nobody is free,’ she replied. ‘We all have our place and you have to make the best of it.’
    Betsy was comfortable to lean into, Annie realised with surprise.
    ‘Come on, Annie,’ called Don through the door, his tone strident with impatience. ‘We’ll be late.’
    Annie stayed. She felt that if she went now she wouldn’t quite keep this moment, wouldn’t be able to find her way back to it.
    ‘I said, come on.’ Don called again.
    Annie pushed back from Betsy’s arms then, thrusting away the feeling that this was important, then was gone, but not before she said. ‘I’ll be different, I’ll be as free as the wind.’
    Betsy stood empty, now that she had gone, but still aware of the warmth where she had been. I love her, she nodded to herself, but there never seems enough time to show her.
    Archie sat in his study, arms loose and hands dangling. It was cool in spite of the heat of the day and little of the soft evening light penetrated, though the street sounds were a constant murmur and he welcomed them. There was noise but nothingdiscernible, nothing he had to note or which demanded his attention. That was why he liked the prints on the far wall. Framed in mahogany they were so discoloured that the views were merged into the paper; totally indecipherable. His pipes were set in their stand, each in order. The paper-knife at right angles to the letter-rack. His chair was placed in the middle of his desk and the whisky was in the decanter; all could be reached without conscious thought.
    The decanter stood out now like a jewel and he treasured it as such with a sensuality which was usually reserved for a smooth-skinned woman, but that was because Mary had given it to him. It was all that he had left of her now.
    He set his lips as he turned to the invoices and went yet again over the last four years’ trading. It seemed impossible to make any headway, there simply wasn’t the money any more with the depression biting harder.
    If only the war hadn’t happened. It had destroyed overseas markets for the old industries because other nations had been forced to produce their own coal and steel, and now, where could the North sell their wares?
    He went over all the alternatives for his own survival again, knowing that this was what he was fighting for, not any longer his dream of middle-class status. Perhaps with a family partnership one store could keep the other afloat.
    To merge with Albert went against the grain somehow, though. He took a pipe from the rack and filled it, tamping down the tobacco. He did not feel easy with the man though, for God’s sake, he was his brother. Was it unnatural he thought to dislike Albert, to feel nothing but irritation at his surliness; at the way he pressed close in order to use his larger size to intimidate?
    Above all, was it normal to resent entering into a partnership of equals when he had always felt superior? His father had encouraged that of course, grooming him to run the business whilst sending Albert into one of his shops.
    He should have objected then, told his father it was unfair on Albert, but he had not. He enjoyed too much the position of power and Albert had never objected, never complained. Even when they were at grammer school together and Archie had always beaten him in the exams, he had never appeared to register the fact. They had just grown up ignoring one another.Albert was like Betsy, Archie thought, not aware of anything very much.
    The irony was, of course, Archie sighed to himself, his father had groomed Albert to succeed in the world they now found themselves in whilst he was sinking rapidly. The golden boy was going under and, what’s more, he doubted if he really cared.
    He struck a match and sucked until the