The Wedding Dress Maker

by Leah Fleming

  She must let Polly go, she pondered, but where did that leave Netta? Where would she be in September when Polly left and Drew was married? What if Gus was still in hospital? How would she manage then? Griseley or Galloway: where would her heart settle? When home is one place and your roots are elsewhere, something has to shift.

  Life had been so hectic in Stratharvar in these past few weeks, seeing to farm chores, helping Peg, visiting and catching up with handsewing. Suddenly this little cottage felt poky, dark and silent and Netta was utterly alone.

  *

  Drew sat in the darkened cinema transfixed by the action on the screen. Not his usual sort of film but a gripping colourful fairytale about a ballerina trapped by her red dancing shoes, torn between her lover and the lure of ballet stardom. Ginnie was asleep beside him after her exhausting shopping trip to Paris with her cronies. They had partied their way all over the city and brought back enough contraband to sink her sports car and the ferry.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the heroine, Moira Shearer, as she flitted across the screen with her flame hair and beautiful sea-green eyes. He was stunned by her resemblance to Netta; the same innocence and wide-eyed expressive smile. As the story unfolded he became more engrossed in her dilemma and found himself choked at the end as she was carried dying from the railway track. It was all so sad. Would Netta spend her life torn between her son and her talent, never finding satisfaction in her life?

  He shook Ginnie awake for the National Anthem and they made their way out of the Ilkley cinema into a fine June evening, strolling uphill back to High House. Once inside, Ginnie on her second wind offered him some whisky.

  ‘No, thanks,’ he said smugly. Since that business with Arthur Bates he no longer found satisfaction in a bottle of spirits. He was wary of his drinking habits and realised that when he was busy and interested in something he never drank. Boredom and frustration, not thirst, sent him looking for a glass. Now was such a moment.

  ‘You’re getting to be such a sobersides, Andrew. Come on, a glass of malt will relax you,’ Ginnie ordered, shoving it under his nose.

  ‘No! I’m fine the now, don’t fuss…’

  ‘I’m not fussing. It’s just you keep going quiet on me lately. The girls have noticed it too. When I hug you, I’m not sure you’re in there anymore. What’s got into you?’

  ‘I’m tired.’ He swallowed back ‘and bored’.

  ‘I know… but when we’re married and all your stuff is moved in here, there’ll be no more trekking up and down to Leeds. There’s Cook and the staff to pander to your every whim. The decorators have started on our rooms. Isn’t it exciting?’

  ‘Look, we’ve been through this before. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to start off married life with your father. I prefer to stay nearer my work. You’ll enjoy making a new life together.’ Ginnie never listened to a word he said if it didn’t suit her plans.

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling. It’s all been agreed. Daddy has tons of space and what about the horses?’

  ‘What about the bloody horses? You have two grooms. Daddy Mackeever can fend for himself.’

  ‘You really are a bore, Andrew. This is my house and I don’t see why we should move into some semi in Headingley. Daddy says you can convert the stables and run a private practice from there.’

  ‘Are you deaf? I believe in this new National Health Service. I happen to like working with kids. In fact, I’m seriously thinking of retraining. There’s lots of opportunities for a medic to specialise…’

  ‘This is too much! What future is there in that? How can we go hunting midweek?’

  ‘When have I ever hunted with you in the middle of the week?’

  ‘But I thought we could go off on holidays, trekking. We might as well stay as we are then. I don’t intend to leave High House to answer your phone calls.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of risking you at that after the last one you misdirected!’

  ‘You’re not going on about that again? Ever since that man topped himself you’ve been like a bear with a sore head. Snapping at me every time I mention the wedding. Anyone’d think you’d got cold feet!’

  ‘If we can’t agree on my job, where we live, how I spend my time, what’s left to get married for… well, the rest we’ve done already.’ Drew smiled.

  ‘Don’t be coarse!’ Ginnie lit a cigarette and opened the veranda windows. ‘Now you tell me, two weeks before the day. So gloves off, is it? Well, let me tell you, you’re no great shakes in that department either and since you’ve taken the pledge you’re about as much fun as flat champagne! Boring on about your army group and dressmaker’s sons with polio… what do I care about any of them? You’re a bore, Andrew Stirling, and I’m not marrying a bloody bore!’ Ginnie pulled off her engagement ring and flung it into the shrubbery. ‘There! That’s better!’ He could see the tears in her eyes.

  ‘Yes, it’s a wee bit of a relief. Tell the truth and shame the devil! The only thing you and I had in common was the booze. Since I got my act together we’re not the cosy little couple we once were: Andrew, Ginnie and a bottle. I’m advising you, it wouldn’t do you any harm to cut back your own tippling. I’m no ready to put on a collar and lead. Some tame lap dog running to heel at your or your father’s beck and call. I have ma own life to lead and if you don’t want to share any of it, I just don’t see the point, do you?

  *

  Drew stood in the doorway, watching her bend over the handsewing with total concentration, oblivious of everything but her task. ‘You’re back.’ She looked up and smiled at him then realised it was the wedding dress in her hands. ‘Shut your eyes, don’t look, it’s bad luck!’ Netta fumbled to clear away the dress.

  ‘Dinna fash yerself, hen,’ he mimicked. ‘The wedding’s off, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, Drew, I’m sorry,’ she lied until she remembered all those unpaid hours of work on the gown. As if reading her thoughts and her panic, he raised his hand. ‘Don’t worry, all bills will be honoured. You won’t be out of pocket.’ He lifted up the dress. ‘Is this it?’ She nodded. ‘It’s terrible… I feel sick just looking at the colour. I hate pink.’

  ‘So do I,’ confessed Netta with a wry glimmer of a smile. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Fancy a stroll and some fresh air?’

  They walked on top of the ridge overlooking the Wharfe valley. It was clear and Netta could see for miles. A skylark babbled above them. Lapwings dived and twisted in the fields where the fat lambs nestled with the ewes. Drew had told her about the quarrel and its aftermath. ‘It’s all your fault, you know.’

  ‘What have I done now?’

  ‘Got me back on the wagon. After Arthur died I was shaken up. I knew I couldn’t spend the rest of my life hiding in a bottle. If alcohol is your weakness it will always be your weakness so I wanted to see if I could cut down. I even had a session with a trick cyclist friend of mine and he put me straight on how to go about it. Now I like waking up in the morning with a clear head and not a doormat for a tongue. I like that rinsed out, fresher feeling. I sound like a toothpaste advert but it’s the little things you notice. Ginnie and I moved in boozy circles and once I stepped away from them, I could see more clearly that we had nothing in common any more. She’s mad as hell with me but she’ll survive.’

  ‘What’ll you do?’

  ‘Stay where I am for a while, but I want to do some more study. I’m interested in new research stuff coming out about the effects of separation on children. I think it’s going to be important work. I’m reading up my psychology theory again and there are lectures in London I can attend. Just a hunch but working with the POWs opened my mind. There’s so much going on under the surface of people’s lives we don’t understand yet. It intrigues me. That’s a start, I suppose. One step at a time. Who was this precious doctor who gave you all these sayings?’

  Netta took a deep breath, plonked herself down on the grass and told him the full story, holding nothing back this time. Her fingers wound a nec
klace of daisies as she talked. She told him about Polly’s plans and her own quandary.

  ‘I ought to stay here and build up my business.’ She sighed wistfully.

  ‘Don’t be so conventional! You can be in two places at once if that’s what you want. Sewing fingers travel anywhere so go where your heart dictates. Finish off your work here and take yourself back to Galloway. It’s not impossible. What’s stopping you?’

  ‘I shall miss you and the Oldroyds gang.’

  ‘I hadn’t intended to be so easily disposed of, Miss Nichol. I shall be here, there and everywhere for a while but petrol rationing won’t last forever. There are trains and buses even in Galloway, telephones and postage stamps. I hope we’ll make our own bridge, if you think there could be a future?’ He edged closer.

  ‘I’d like that very much. Old friends should stick together.’

  ‘Not so much of the old, please. And I’d hoped we would be more than that, Netta.’ They linked arms and huddled together, staring at each other with fresh eyes.

  ‘I hope so too but there’ll always be Gus in my life.’

  ‘What’s yours will be mine, I hope.’ Drew smiled.

  ‘Am I dreaming all this? Just a few weeks ago the world was so black. Now it sparkles with possibilities.’

  ‘And it will be grey and dreich again, Netta. But just for today you can touch rainbows if you reach out for the light and follow your heart. There, that’s worthy of Dr Anwar’s motto collection!’

  Netta punched him in the arm, tussling on the grass with him while the sheep watched their antics in alarm.

  On Carrick Sands, September 1949

  The celebration picnic preparations in the kitchen were nearly complete: the sandwiches cut and wrapped, the cakes in their tin, the flask warmed. The two women sat in silence, each waiting for the other to speak. It had come at last, this day of reckoning.

  ‘So what are yer plans, Netta, now your assistant’s away to college?’

  There was a silence and Netta drew in her breath to speak slowly. ‘I shall stay on in Griseley to finish my orders. Now that Gus is home from hospital… it’s time to think again.’

  ‘You’re welcome to stay here as often as you like. What we would have done if you hadn’t made me ring Ian Begg… you saved his life. I expect that’s what you’d want, to be back here with him?’

  ‘I don’t know what I want. I prayed so hard for him to live and my prayers were answered. If he recovered, I vowed, I’d make no further claim on him. I sometimes feel he’s never really been mine. When I saw you together in the hospital it was always you he wanted not me. This is his home, not mine. He belongs here with you and always will. I’m not going to take him away.’

  ‘He’s no been the same wee boy since he came out of that place. I think he believes we wanted him put away. He wets the bed every night. We could do with you close by to give a hand. Come back to Kirkcudbright. There’s room for a dressmaker there. I cannae drive you away again, lass.’

  ‘You’re not driving me away. I’ll think it over carefully but only on one condition, Peg: that we stop the lies and tell the bairn the truth or as much of it as he can understand. Drip it into him, like yon contraption in the hospital. He can get used to it slowly. Nothing’ll change. I shall always be Auntie Netta to him but that doesn’t stop me being the best auntie in the world, does it?’

  ‘I can guess what it must have meant to you, leaving him here?’

  ‘I don’t think you can, Peg, or I would never have been sent away. But what’s done is done. I made a vow and I’m keeping to my bargain even if it breaks my heart. Gus must stay here to recover. I may set up a workshop locally.’

  ‘There’s your grandfather’s old studio going to rack and ruin… you could use that?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  *

  Gus sat on his chair like a king among courtiers surveying his domain, trying to capture the moment in his drawing, fingering his crayons for the right colours. It was autumn. The sky was still powder blue with cotton white clouds and the sea shone like silver. When he looked closely the sand was in the mucky water of his painting jar, the travelling rug beneath his feet was scarlet and the grass was speckled with purple flowers. A brown fluffy spot darted across the scene as Brucie scampered towards Ardwall Island, splattering over the ripples of mud. Auntie Netta was frantically trying to catch the silly dog before it dashed to chase the sea. Mother was knitting furiously by his side, looking at her wristwatch to see when Father would arrive in the van with their picnic basket.

  Gus had dreamed of this place in hospital when no visitors came through the ward and he’d tried to be a big boy and not cry while they were hurting him, tugging his legs to get them working again. Now it felt strange to have everyone there together. This was something new but since he came home from hospital everything was different. There were visitors popping in all the time. Even his bedroom was all done up for his return, tidy and smelling of paint. He was not sure about the Yumpy Junior in his bed but his ears were tasty.

  He wished his legs would get a move on and he hated the caliper on his left leg, it felt like a cage, but Dr Begg said he was a brave boy and gave him a whole half crown to spend.

  Now they had the beach to themselves for all his pals had started school. He would be starting one of these days when his leg got better. What a long summer it had been. He turned to see the van bumping its way cautiously over the hummocky sand track and Father hooted his horn. He had never come to a picnic before so this must be a special occasion. Perhaps they were taking him back to hospital again.

  Out of the back came the laundry basket covered with a tablecloth that was spread over the grassy bank. This was not the usual chittering bite of bread and jam pieces and lemonade but a full meal with cups and plates. That was because it was a special party. He knew they had a surprise for Auntie Netta hidden in the basket. Out came a flask of mutton broth and chunks of bread, then there were bridies and Scotch eggs, enough sandwiches to feed Stratharvar School and Gus’s favourite fruitcake with nuts on the top. There were gingerbread squares and millionaire shortbread, celery and cheese, and the last of the rasps from the garden. What a bunfeast!

  Gus wished he could chase around with Brucie like he used to do but he was learning a new word called patience. He’d thought it was a granny’s card game but now he knew it meant slow down, give yourself time to lift one leg in front of the other. But it was tiring. He noticed everyone was sitting around quietly, waiting for a signal for someone to speak, looking sideways at each other and at him, munching their mouths like cows. Gus wanted the picnic to follow the usual pattern with a story digestive, the bit where you had to let your food settle or it would hurt. After the food Auntie Netta must tell him a story.

  ‘What’s it going to be today? Not another soppy one?’

  ‘No, Gus, today I’m going to tell you a true story. I want you to listen very carefully and tell me what you think? Everyone’s going to chip in and tell bits of it as well. Are you sitting comfortably?’

  He squirmed. ‘Not another Listen with Mother! I’m sick of listening to they stories on the wireless.’

  ‘No, but fair dos, all good stories start with once upon a time… There was a little girl who played on this beach who was sometimes good and sometimes awful like the girl in the nursery rhyme with the curl on her forehead. She went to Stratharvar School like you and when she grew up she met a handsome soldier called Rae, on this very beach. They loved each other so much that they ran away on his motor bike to get married but when they found a place to marry the shop was closed. There was no time to wait for it to open so she went back home and he went to war. He was killed in a terrible battle in France. Then a little boy was born but the mother was so ill she had to stay in hospital, just like you, but for many more months, and her parents, who were cross with her, had to look after the bairn until she came home again.’

  ‘What was the baby’s name?’ There was a cough and then Auntie Netta whisp
ered, ‘Gus…’

  ‘But that’s my name!’

  ‘Yes, and it was me who had to go into the hospital… I just couldn’t look after you.’ Auntie Netta bent her head.

  ‘I hate hospital. If I’m naughty, do I have to go back?’ Peg dropped her knitting, shook her head and continued the tale.

  ‘So we brought down the old crib from the loft and you lived with us. I wasn’t able to have a bairn of ma own so you were very special… After a while everyone thought of you as our wee son, not Netta’s bairn. And that’s how it’s stayed.’ Then Father leaned forward to add his piece.

  ‘We didn’t know if Netta would be fit to look after you herself but she came back as soon as she was well to take you away. We couldn’t let her take you away so she had to go and find somewhere to live all by herself.’

  Now it was Mother speaking again. ‘Auntie Netta went to live in Yorkshire and worked hard at her sewing to prove that she could look after you just as well as we could. It made her very sad not to have you by her side so she came up as often as she could to see you. She’s always wanted you to know that she’s your real mother, not your auntie or your sister, but we wanted you to go on thinking of us as your parents too. Can you understand all this, son?’

  Gus stared at them unblinking. ‘I’ve got two mammies then?’ No one spoke and then Father added some more in a hurry.

  ‘That’s right, two mammies to fuss over you and spoil you, and me who’s trying to show you how to be a farmer. One day Stratharvar will be all yours. I wanted a son to follow on the line o’ things so I made you mine.’

  ‘What about Auntie Netta, can’t girls be farmers?’ There was silence again and Auntie Netta spoke softly.