by AJ Pearce
We walked on as Charles told a funny story about a friend, and I updated him on the state of some hardy annuals Bunty and I had found at the back of the garden shed.
They were light, meaningless topics filled with gentle exaggerations and self-deprecation to make each other laugh.
As we made our way through the woods and along to the ruined house where as children we had pretended to be King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, I embarked on a long and, I thought, funny story involving Kathleen’s cousin and a pair of curtains that nearly caught fire. The build up to the punchline took some time, but it had made Bunty laugh like anything when I’d told her earlier, so I felt confident Charles would find it hilarious as well. Admittedly it was a very long story and after a while I realised he had gone quiet, but when I got to the end it was rather a blow when Charles didn’t seem to get the punchline at all.
‘Blimey, Phyllis, you’re not saying they used to be my slippers?’ I said and then roared at my own joke. ‘Do you get it? Slippers?’ I repeated, proving that I would make a hopeless comedian by bashing the point home whether it was funny or not.
‘Oh yes,’ said Charles. ‘Slippers. Sorry. Yes. Ha.’
He clearly hadn’t been listening. I laughed a bit more to prove he’d missed a belter and then said, ‘Ahhhh dear,’ in the way people do to make a laugh carry on if there’s an unfortunate hush.
‘Ha!’ said Charles again, trying to make up. ‘Yes.’
‘Kath said they all laughed for ages,’ I said, and then gave him a slight shove with my shoulder. ‘You are a swine,’ I said. ‘You stopped listening. I’d been saving that one especially.’
Charles nudged me back and sighed.
‘Only you, Emmy Lake, would wallop a poor hard-working serviceman for not laughing at your joke. Whatever happened to romantic silences, long gazes and batting your eyelashes?’
I looked into his eyes and tried to bat my eyelashes.
‘It’s no good,’ I said. ‘I bet it just looks as if I’m getting a stye.’
Charles shook his head.
‘I give up,’ he said, not looking as if he did in the least.
We walked over to the old building. What was left of the little house sat bravely holding itself together, while the sun eased its way through windows that were no longer there. The path from the wood went back to the canal, and years ago it must have been the nicest place to live. I’d taken off my beret as we’d walked, and a slight breeze blew through my hair.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ I said, forgiving him for not laughing at my joke.
‘Utterly,’ said Charles. ‘It’s almost as if we’ve escaped from everything. Do you know, ever since you first told me about this place, I’ve wanted to come here with you.’
‘To enjoy the silence?’ I said, aware that I hadn’t given him a chance on that front.
‘Something like that,’ he smiled. ‘It’s all right though. I don’t know if you noticed but I slowed down to a crawl so you could finish the thing about the curtains.’
I tucked my arm into his. ‘That was kind,’ I said. ‘You should have told me to shut up.’
‘Not at all,’ said Charles. ‘That’s the thing, Em. Actually, I don’t want you to shut up.’
He turned to face me.
‘In fact, I’d rather like it if you would tell me bewilderingly complicated stories forever.’ He paused and I didn’t interrupt. ‘You see, Emmy, I love you. And I want us to tell each other ridiculous jokes and make each other laugh, and to let each other know about things that bother us and sometimes, somehow even manage to forget the rest of this entire nonsensical world altogether. As if it’s just us two.’
He took hold of my hand. ‘My darling, darling, Em,’ he said as he got down on one knee. ‘Would you do me the honour of being my wife?’
I gazed at him with astonishment and he very gently spelt it out all over again.
‘Emmeline Lake,’ said Charles. ‘Will you marry me?’
*
Of course I said yes.
The two of us looked at each other rather incredulously for a second, and then Charles stood up and we kissed and hugged each other for ages and I for one got a bit watery, which I think was allowable under the circumstances.
While I was sniffing, Charles said, ‘Thank God you didn’t say no,’ and, ‘That was the longest walk I’ve ever been on.’
The sun seemed to get brighter even though it probably didn’t, and the sky even seemed bluer which it definitely wasn’t, and it was just us on our own, laughing and being amazed at how wonderful this was and how incredibly lucky we were.
‘Oh, grief. I nearly forgot,’ said Charles. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m really not very good at this.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘I wondered if I might give you this? Only if you like it of course. It was my grandmother’s. On my mother’s side.’
I opened the little red velvet box to find the most beautiful engagement ring, Victorian in design, a dark sapphire with a diamond on each side. When I tried it on, it fitted perfectly.
‘Oh, Charles,’ I said. ‘I love it.’
I put out my hand and we both admired it as if it had magically appeared without anyone doing anything.
‘I say, darling,’ said Charles, very cheerfully indeed. ‘Looks like we’re engaged.’
Even looking down at my hand, it felt hard to believe. I loved Charles more than anything, and now we were going to be married. I felt overwhelmed.
‘Does anyone know?’ I asked.
Charles grinned. ‘Your father gave me the all-clear. I came to see him last week. I have to say I was almost as nervy as just now, but he was very good about the whole thing and said yes, straight away.’
‘He was probably relieved,’ I laughed.
‘That’s what he said,’ said Charles, warmly. ‘Actually, he was awfully kind. Your mother is pleased too I think.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve all been in on the secret,’ I said. ‘No wonder Mother virtually marched us out of the house.’ Then I paused. ‘Um . . .’
Charles waited, and when I didn’t continue, said, ‘I talked with Bunty. I hope you don’t mind. I asked her what she thought of the idea of you and me making a go of things. She was jolly good about it and said I have to tell you that she’s as pleased as Punch. Actually, she told me I should hurry up and get on with asking you. Oh, and if I mess you around in the slightest, she will track me down and happily swing for me.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I would like you to know that consequently I most solemnly swear that I will not mess you around.’
Charles smiled the tiniest bit. ‘I love you, Em, and I think we could be happy. Once this wretched war’s over, there’s no end to the adventures we can have.’
If I hadn’t thought I was the luckiest person alive already, now I knew I most certainly was. Here was a man who loved me and had asked me to marry him, but who knew that my best friend’s feelings would be uppermost in my mind. I wondered how many men would understand that. It might have sounded strange, but that he had thought to talk to Bunty meant more than anything to me. It was little more than seven months since she had been the one getting engaged. Sometimes it felt like no time at all.
Charles and I sat quietly on what was left of a wall of the old house. I wanted to marry him with all my heart, and I was still almost breathless that he had asked, but there was no doubting that for all our joy, there was a bitter sweetness to it all. This was the year my best friend should have been married. This was supposed to be Bunty and William’s year.
Since Charles and I had become closer, Bunts had been the most enormous brick about things. Not once had she begrudged my happiness, and even though I had tried to play it down, she had been adamant that I shouldn’t. As she trudged through the agony of bereavement, forcing on a brave face when I knew that even getting up was often a trial, she always, always wanted me to be happy.
Bunty was the most extraordinary of best friends, and to his eternal credit, the
man who wanted to marry me knew it.
‘I’ll speak with Bunty of course,’ I said. ‘But it sounds as if the two of you have pretty much sorted everything out.’
‘That was the plan,’ said Charles. ‘Now then, might I suggest we head back? If you’d like to speak with her before we say anything, I can wait in the front garden if that helps.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘But the fact Bunty has threatened you with murder has put my mind at rest. She wouldn’t do that unless she was taking you seriously.’ I looked up at him and felt the happiest I had ever been. ‘Darling Charles,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and tell everyone we need to start planning a wedding.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
You’d Better Crack On
AS WE MADE our way back to the house, Charles and I decided that we wanted to get married as soon as possible. We were both terrifically keen to be together, and not least because no one knew what might be around the corner, there was no reason to delay. Engagements these days were a matter of weeks, and sometimes less.
We walked hand in hand, both grinning like loons, looking at the ring on my finger and marvelling slightly at what had just happened. I was certain my family and friends would want to celebrate and muster up a wedding party at short notice, although on Charles’s side, numbers weren’t quite so robust.
‘How do you feel about your ghastly old boss being best man?’ he asked, meaning his brother. ‘Although if you don’t want him to, it will take half the army to stop him.’
‘I’d love it,’ I said. ‘If it wasn’t for Guy, I wouldn’t have met you. And Charles, do you think we might get married in London? It feels the right place to do it.’
I didn’t have to say that the little church we had walked past was where Bunty had been supposed to have her wedding.
Charles readily agreed to London. ‘I’ll put in for leave as soon as we have a date,’ he said. ‘It may only be forty-eight hours, but it will be enough for us to say, “I do” and perhaps have a night away. I’m sorry that’s probably as close as we’ll get to any sort of honeymoon.’
‘I don’t mind a bit,’ I said. ‘Anyway, it would feel unpatriotic to go gallivanting off.’
As we arrived back in Glebe Lane and came to a stop outside my parents’ house, I turned to face Charles.
‘Now then, Captain Mayhew,’ I said. ‘This is your last chance to back out. Once we go in, I can’t be responsible for the levels of excitement which will make it almost impossible for you to change your mind. Your goose will be well and truly cooked.’
I grinned up at him, trying to make sure he knew I was kidding around, which I almost entirely was, but I had to admit to butterflies. I had been engaged once before and it hadn’t turned out awfully well.
‘My goose is very happy to be cooked,’ said Charles, wrapping his arms round me. ‘And anyway, it’s already too late. You’ve said, “Yes”, and I’m not letting you get out of it.’ He looked at me quite seriously. ‘Em, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I promise. Now let’s go and tell them all. You can speak with Bunty, and I must say I wouldn’t mind giving Guy a call if your parents don’t object.’
We crunched our way across the gravel carriage-drive outside the house and as I knew the front door would not be locked, we went straight in.
‘Hello?’ I called as I took off my coat and put my hat on the stand in the hall, stretching out the last moments of keeping the news just between Charles and me.
‘We’re in here,’ I heard my mother call in an unusually high voice, and with one last smile at each other, we went through.
The living room was usually cosy and very informal, a place where piles of books wobbled slightly beside elderly but much-loved chairs, and people lounged around chatting or left the newspaper half read on the sofa. Now it was exactly that, apart from the fact that three of the dearest people in my life were all sitting bolt upright in various overly studied casual positions, all of which looked uncomfortable. Mother was holding a teacup with hardly any tea in it, Bunty was being interested in a napkin, and Father was holding a book on embroidery I had left on the arm of his chair earlier on. None of them said a word. They just stared at us, rather like deer getting a sniff of something important.
‘Hello,’ I said again, as I saw Bunty shoot Charles a violently quizzical look.
Charles looked at his shoes and pretended he hadn’t seen.
‘All well?’ I said, enjoying myself.
‘All well,’ confirmed my mother.
‘Yes,’ said Bunty at the same time.
‘That’s right,’ said Father. ‘I’ve, er, I’ve been reading this book. Sewing and that sort of thing. Quite an eye-opener.’
My mother and Bunty looked at him.
‘So, darling,’ said Mother, ‘did you have a nice walk? With Charles? Was it, um, very, er . . .’
It was no good. Bunty broke first.
‘OH, COME ON!’ she boomed, getting up from the sofa. ‘THIS IS TORTURE. FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE WILL ONE OF YOU JUST PUT US OUT OF OUR MISERY?’
Charles stopped looking at his feet. Father threw the book on the floor.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I said, “Yes.”’
Then, as they still stared, I said it out loud for the first time, possibly to make it clear to me as much as anyone else.
‘Charles and I are going to get married.’
Now everyone was on their feet. With the speed of a leopard, Mother was out of her chair and hugging me, Father was shaking Charles’s hand and saying, ‘Well done, old chap,’ and then Mother grabbed Bunty and the three of us were hugging each other at the same time.
‘This calls for sherry,’ announced Father, as Mother denied she was crying and turned to kiss Charles and tell him how thrilled she was.
Bunty had another go at squeezing the last bit of breath out of me. ‘Oh, Emmy,’ she said, ‘WELL DONE,’ as if I had got into the Olympics or come first in a particularly difficult subject at school. ‘I’m so pleased,’ she whispered. ‘Honestly, Em, I am just so pleased for you both. I really couldn’t be happier.’ Her eyes were brimming with tears. I knew she meant every word.
‘You’ll make me cry,’ I said, already beginning to sniff.
‘Quite right,’ said Bunty, blinking hard. ‘It’s all too lovely. And it’s been SO hard not saying anything.’
‘I did hear you were in on it,’ I said, looking at Charles, who came over to Bunty.
‘I’m afraid I had to let the cat out of the bag that you knew,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure she was going to say, “Yes”, if I didn’t.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Bunts, looking tremendously pleased.
Charles gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ he said, quietly.
My father brandished a very dusty bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream and having poured everyone a drink, raised his glass. ‘To Emmy and Charles,’ he said. ‘The very greatest of happiness.’
Mother and Bunty joined in to all say it and then the toasts began to flow. Charles thanked Father and said, To us all, and then Mother said, To a Long Peaceful Life Together, and Bunty joined in with, The King, and I said, To Peace, and then Father had to top everyone’s glass up and Mother said she would get giddy, but didn’t stop him.
There was a moment of silence after that, until Bunty cried, ‘The oven!’ which took everyone by surprise. ‘I’m doing Fat Rascals as a celebration,’ she wailed, ‘and I can smell burning.’
She put her glass down on an occasional table and headed for the door.
‘I’ll help,’ I said, picking it up and following her to the kitchen, noting that Bunty could move quite quickly these days.
‘Just in time,’ she said, pulling the cakes out of the oven and setting the tray down on an iron plate stand.
‘Ooh, thank you,’ I said, as I liked Fat Rascals very much. ‘Don’t forget your sherry.’ I pulled out a chair and sat down at the old oak kitchen table. ‘This is all quite mad, isn’t it?’
‘Ab
solutely not,’ said Bunty, wiping her hands on a cloth and looking for a knife. ‘Em, it’s wonderful.’
‘So,’ I said, narrowing my eyes. ‘Exactly how long have you known he was going to ask me?’
Bunty went red and poked a cake to see if it was done. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’
My best friend was one of the cleverest people I knew. However, along with being asked to leave the Little Whitfield Junior Wind Band for her ear-piercing failure on Third Clarinet, her inability to lie dominated a very small list of weaknesses. Or perhaps it was a strength. Either way, keeping even the smallest of secrets could bring her out in a rash and make her garble like an idiot. I decided to let her off the hook.
‘It’s all right, Bunts,’ I said. ‘Charles told me everything. I don’t think he’d have asked me if you’d said that he shouldn’t.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Bunty, looking relieved. ‘Wild horses couldn’t stop him. But he was awfully thoughtful.’ She smiled. ‘He’s perfect for you, Em. And you know I’d say if I thought he wasn’t up to scratch.’
‘You would,’ I said, raising my glass. ‘You have very good taste in chaps.’
Bunty raised her glass in return.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And jolly well done, you.’
‘Absolute fluke,’ I said. ‘Hopefully we can get married before he comes to his senses.’
‘Stop it, he’s lucky to have you,’ said Bunty, taking a decent sip of the sherry. ‘How are you getting on with the wedding plans?’
Bunty was a very good organiser and never happier than when she was drawing up some sort of a list. When we were fourteen she had come to Cornwall with my family, and the first morning produced a clipboard with a list of things to tick off during the trip. It scared the life out of us Lakes, but we all had our postcards written, posted and out of the way by eleven o’clock and everyone agreed they had never seen Bunty happier.
‘Funny you should mention plans,’ I said. ‘I wondered if you might have some ideas?’
‘Really?’ said Bunty. She put down her glass. ‘Are you sure? I did start to have a little think. But honestly, not if it’s going to interfere.’