by AJ Pearce
‘Gosh,’ I said and then ran out of steam.
Bunty had sat down on my bed and was looking at the mirror so she could see the expression on my face. I turned round to look at her. Neither of us said anything, but we both had tears in our eyes.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I think maybe it’s a bit much? What if I did dye it, a pale blue perhaps? I like blue.’
I looked too bridal.
I pushed off the shoes and stood awkwardly in my socks. I wanted to go and sit with my best friend, but the pins meant I had to stay standing.
Bunts got up from the bed, still managing without her stick, and came over to stand in front of me. Then she took both my hands.
‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I promise. You’re going to look beautiful, Em. On your day, just as you should. As you deserve to. I know you’re worried about me, but please keep the dress white. I really want you to.’
‘It shouldn’t be like this, Bunts,’ I said. ‘It’s not fair.’
It was supposed to be Bunty and Bill.
‘Now then,’ said Bunty and her voice shook. There was a tear running down her face and I knew I was about to follow suit. ‘We are both going to talk about it and probably cry, and then you have to promise me that from now on, you will only be happy about this wedding.’ She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and then went back to holding my hand. ‘Em, you deserve all of this. And you have to be happy. For all of us. Please say you will.’
I took a breath and nodded. I would be happy. I was already. My grandmother always said, wishing was good time wasted, but I couldn’t help wishing more than anything that Bunty and William could be together. They should have had the happiness I’d been so lucky to find.
‘All right,’ I said slowly. ‘I promise.’
And even though hugging someone when you are dressed as a gigantic pincushion is a quite lunatic thing to do, that, very carefully, was exactly what Bunty and I did.
*
With the pinning all done and both of us having managed not to inflict mortal damage by harpooning each other, Bunty and I spent a happy afternoon tacking and measuring and then getting me to try the dress on again to make sure it would fit. Bunts and I were singing along to the gramophone, so neither of us heard the front doorbell ring. We also didn’t hear when Charles let himself in, followed the sound of ‘Beat Me Daddy, Eight to the Bar’ up to my room and even though the door was open, was chivalrous enough to knock on it loudly.
‘Anyone in?’ he called. ‘Everyone decent?’
We were. I was. But I was still wearing the wedding dress, albeit now with only one arm in which wasn’t quite the look I was hoping for.
‘NO,’ I shouted at the top of my voice and then added, ‘DON’T,’ which made no sense but was all I could come up with.
‘GET DOWN,’ shouted Bunty wildly at me. ‘CROUCH.’
As Charles didn’t have the benefit of being able to see her, it was understandable if he was in need of some clarification.
‘Do you mean me?’ he asked from behind the door.
‘NO,’ shouted Bunty again. ‘STAY THERE. SHE’S IN THE DRESS.’
‘Ah,’ said Charles, laughing. ‘Can I see?’
‘NO,’ shouted Bunty and I together, although you couldn’t hear me that well as I was on my knees hiding beside the bed as if someone had just located an incendiary.
‘Shame. I’ll sit on the stairs then,’ said Charles, cheerfully. ‘Can I just mention that it has taken me three hours to get here?’
‘Can you help me out? I can’t undo the back,’ I whispered to Bunty, as if speaking at the proper volume would give something away. ‘WE’RE COMING,’ I added, beginning to feel a little bad about the reception poor Charles was getting.
‘Are you all right?’ said Charles. ‘You sound muffled. Are you going to marry me in some sort of hood?’
‘Shut up,’ said Bunty as I started to giggle which didn’t help, as actually I was rather stuck. ‘Both of you.’
‘Nearly there,’ I said, as Bunty finally managed to extract me from the fabric. ‘Well at least we’ve found the neck’s a bit tight.’
‘Ssshhhh,’ said Bunty. ‘Don’t listen, Charles.’
I could hear him chuckle as I heaved on my skirt and shoved a jumper over my head.
‘You can come in now,’ I called. ‘No, hold up, we need to hide the . . . wait . . . I’M COMING OUT.’
I raced out of my room and onto the landing. Charles was sitting on the stairs opposite, his head bowed, with one hand covering his eyes and the other holding a bunch of flowers.
‘I do hope that’s you, darling,’ he said, standing up but not moving his hand from his eyes. ‘Or there’s an embarrassing danger I’m about to kiss your best friend. Mind you, Miss Tavistock is a very attractive woman.’
‘I heard that,’ called Bunty. ‘I’m staying in here.’
‘I saw you first,’ I said as Bunty put on ‘Song of the Volga Boatmen’ at full blast. Laughing, I kissed him until I was confident he had made the right choice.
‘Never in doubt,’ said Charles, eventually. ‘Never in doubt.’
It would have been the most romantic moment, apart from the fact that Charles then remembered he had just seen Mr Parsons outside Durton’s, who wanted him to pass on some very important news.
‘He said to tell you that the time has come for Pauline,’ said Charles. ‘And that he’ll bring round some sausages next week.’
‘Poor old Pauline,’ I said. ‘She’s a lovely pig.’
‘Mr Parsons says it’s what she would want,’ said Charles, philosophically.
‘I must dress,’ I announced, slightly as if I was Louis XV.
‘Watch out for pins,’ said Bunty, coming out of my bedroom. ‘There may be some on the floor. CHARLES, DON’T EVEN LISTEN.’
‘You’ve used PINS?’ he said. ‘Good God, you’ve virtually given away the whole frock.’
‘She can still change her mind, you know,’ said Bunty, as he gave her a kiss. ‘Come on, I’ll make you a drink while you wait.’
I slipped back into my bedroom to find my decent going-out frock. Bunty had hung up the half-finished wedding dress on the wardrobe door, hidden again beneath the sheet we had been using to protect it from dust. Now on my own, I sneaked another look. The dress was definitely starting to look the part. I needed to do lots more work on it before it was ready, but for the first time I could see myself wearing it, standing next to Charles at St Gabriel’s and taking our vows.
From downstairs I could hear chatting and laughter, as Charles and Bunty headed for the kitchen.
With one last glance at the wedding dress, I carefully put the sheet back over the top. The dress would be lovely, but when it came to it, I didn’t really mind what it looked like. It was the man downstairs that mattered.
In just a few weeks’ time we would be married. As I began to change for the evening, I put on another record and began to sing along. It couldn’t come fast enough for me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
An Army Man and All That
AN HOUR LATER, Charles and I made our way to the restaurant in the West End that he had booked for dinner. We had been here together before and were fond of it as it was slightly off the beaten track and at this time of the evening, quiet and low-key. Later, of course, it would jazz up, with the post-midnight crowd queuing to get in for a very late supper and some music and cabaret on the tiny space they used as a dance floor. Now though, as it was unfashionably early, it would be far easier to talk and we wouldn’t have to shout over any sort of a din.
As it was in the basement, the restaurant was always dark, lit only by small art deco lamps which sat on the white cloth-covered tables. Tonight the waiter showed us to one of the nicest tables, in the corner, not far from where the band would squash themselves in later. Although the smart set had probably not even begun to think about going out or were having pre-theatre drinks somewhere more chic, many of the tables were alre
ady taken. Almost all the men were in uniform, and many of the women too. A party of good-natured Canadians were telling the waiter they were lining their stomachs for the evening, which he took very well and continued to go through the menu even though the boys didn’t seem to mind what they ate. A very good-looking Polish officer was having an intense conversation with an equally beautiful English woman, while two young Wrens were being wined and dined by a pair of very cheery naval officers. I almost wished I had worn my NFS uniform, but it was nice to put on a dress and go out with Charles as if things were normal, even if normal meant him in a uniform of course. In the months since we had met, I had almost never seen him in civvies.
‘You’ve worked out everyone’s story, haven’t you?’ said Charles, as we sat down. He was used to me watching people as a matter of course. ‘I saw you as we came in,’ he smiled. ‘Some people walk through a room expecting everyone to turn round to see who they are. You walk through a room and don’t expect anyone to look at you, but you always notice everyone else.’
‘I sound like a secret agent,’ I said in a stage whisper, feeling rather pleased. ‘How exciting.’
Charles laughed. ‘You’re too honest,’ he said. ‘You’d last about two minutes under interrogation. Of course, you’d be brave to a point of madness, and before they realised it you’d be asking questions and getting them to talk about themselves. Actually, I retract my comment. You’d be a top-drawer secret agent.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, modestly. ‘We should be careful, or the other diners will think you’re here to recruit me. I should imagine this is how it’s done. You know, asking one out to dinner and then saying, “you’d be a top-drawer secret agent” quite loudly in public.’
We both laughed. I liked talking nonsense like this with him.
‘But I think you’re hiding your own interrogational light under a bushel,’ I continued. ‘As soon as I met you, I didn’t stop talking. It’s a wonder you wanted to see me again. Anyway, I’m always lying. I don’t say that with any pride,’ I added as the waiter appeared with a wine menu that defied any suggestion there was a war on. ‘Goodness,’ I said, when he had gone. ‘I hope the food menu is as good. I shall have fourteen eggs and a very large steak. They don’t appear to have cut back one bit.’
‘What do you mean you’re always lying?’ asked Charles. ‘Don’t tell me you’re about to reveal you’re a twice married divorcée with a terrible dependency on gin?’
He said it lightly, but I could see he was puzzled. It had been an odd thing for me to say.
‘Oh, nothing like that,’ I said. ‘At least not the gin.’ I tried not to sound too serious. ‘It’s just having to say the right thing at work when you don’t always agree with it. A letter where a reader is fed up to the back teeth and wishes the war would just end, and you entirely agree with her but have to reply, “we understand but we must all keep going.” That sort of thing. And now, writing articles but leaving out anything contentious. Especially with you know who.’
Charles understood I meant the Ministry. ‘I thought it was going well on that front?’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘Very.’
I quietly began to tell him what had happened with Mr Terry.
‘And I feel as if whatever I do, I will let somebody down,’ I finished, glad that the wine had now come and I could take a large sip. I didn’t want to burden Charles with my worries, but it felt better that he knew.
‘Have you spoken to Guy?’ he asked.
‘He knows how I feel. Everyone is very happy with what we’re doing, and I don’t want to make waves. And after those women at the Ministry were so rude about everything, it makes for a sweet revenge. I don’t want to mess anything up, but I wish we could help Anne’s friend. If my meeting is anything to go by, they’re unlikely to get any help from the Factory Director, that’s for sure. Let’s not talk about it.’ I smiled at Charles. ‘I don’t want to spoil our evening. I can’t believe you nearly walked in on seeing the dress. Hideously poor wedding form.’
‘Wasn’t it? You know I wouldn’t care if you turned up in Churchill’s old siren suit, but it will be lovely to see you dressed up to the nines. I hope this will be all right,’ he said, looking down at his uniform. ‘I’m told it’s really quite “In”.’
‘I was thinking of that just now,’ I said. ‘Can you believe that after the war we’ll just be a normal married couple? I won’t have to make clothes out of parachutes, and you can spend your life in a pullover if you want. None of it will matter. Restaurants won’t be full of uniforms and we won’t be feeling awful about eating food that really should be on the ration.’
I looked around pensively. I hoped I sounded optimistic rather than maudlin, and I didn’t feel entirely bad about looking at a menu with more food than I had seen in the last month.
‘It’s going to be idyllic,’ I said.
Charles smiled, his eyes as wistful as I felt. ‘Won’t it?’ he said. ‘The thought does keep one going. Although I’m an army man and all that, so you may have to put up with me in uniform for a while after we’ve won. I’ll probably still be in for a few more years, if they want me and I’m still in one piece.’
He was so matter of fact about it, but ‘if I’m still in one piece’ was a horrible thing to hear.
‘Darling, please don’t put it like that,’ I said. ‘Of course you’ll be in one piece.’ I paused as something frightening occurred to me. ‘You are happy being back in England, aren’t you?’
‘Oh yes!’ he said, too quickly.
I looked him directly in the eye.
Charles held my gaze. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said, gently. ‘Not if you don’t want me to. I haven’t applied or volunteered for anything.’
He didn’t say ‘yet’ but I waited. Ever since he had been back from overseas, I’d known I had him on borrowed time.
‘There are always opportunities, as they put it, but you know, someone has to do the desk job.’
I could tell he was trying, but even the way he said ‘desk job’ showed how little he cared for it.
If he wanted to go off to fight again, it had to be his decision, not mine. I would happily have chained Charles to the table to stop him going into danger, but it was not up to me and it should not be my responsibility either.
‘It’s not about what I want you to do,’ I said softly. ‘Charles . . . darling, I’m not the sort of woman who tries to make her husband do what she wants, and you aren’t the sort of man who exists only to make his wife happy. I wouldn’t love you if you were.’
I leant across the table and took his hand. ‘I don’t want you to go away. I don’t want you to fight. I want you to have a nice safe job here where I can talk to you on the phone and when you get twelve hours’ leave you can rush into town and we can go to nice places like this and pretend nothing awful is happening. I want you to stay with me and live forever and do crosswords when you’re ninety. Or thirty, or whenever you like. But I also want you to be happy. I want you to look back on this stupid, horrible war and know you did what you were best at, and not regret anything.’
Charles began to interrupt, but I stopped him.
‘Please let me say this and then I promise I’ll shut up and listen to you – properly.’ I took a breath and tried to find the right words. ‘Your brother once said to me, find out what you’re good at and then get better at it, and I agree, but I also think, if you’re really, really lucky, you get to find out what you love to do. And then you should cherish every moment you get to do it.’ I paused before saying what I had dreaded. ‘Is being at a desk what you love to do?’
Charles was silent, but his expression gave him away. It was one of enormous sadness. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘More than anything. Anything. But no, I don’t love my job. I don’t even like it. I’m not doing what I’m best at. I hate the fact that my friends are halfway across the world having a stiff time, while I’ve been picked out to stay here. I’m not saying that the chaps in the safe job
s aren’t doing important work and doing their bit. It’s just it’s not what I ever wanted to do. There’s been talk batted around of a promotion and I can’t tell you how bad that makes me feel.’
‘Charles, you work all the hours God sends,’ I said, forgetting I had said I would shut up. ‘You’ve hardly had more than an evening off for the last month, in fact since you came back. And they wouldn’t have asked you if they didn’t think you would do a good job.’
‘Ach,’ he said, refusing the compliment. ‘I’m good on details, that’s all. My lot like that sort of thing. Damn it, Em, this evening was supposed to be a treat. We should be talking about the wedding.’ He lifted my hand and kissed it. ‘I’m sorry, darling, I don’t mean to spoil it.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘The wedding is out of our hands. Bunty and Thelma and my mother are desperate to organise it.’
It raised a smile from us both, as the waiter had arrived with the soufflés.
‘Where on earth did they get the eggs?’ I asked when the waiter had gone away.
‘It’s probably just one each, very fluffed up,’ said Charles looking at the concoction. ‘Even so.’
‘Under the counter,’ we whispered at the same time and then really did laugh. It wasn’t very funny, but we were both desperate not to be sad.
‘Bloody war,’ I said, enjoying the chance to swear.
‘Bloody war,’ said Charles.
He looked around. The table with the Wrens was having the gayest of times and one of the men had let out a hearty guffaw.
‘I just feel I could be of more use,’ said Charles. ‘Leaving you would be unbearable. I can’t even think of it. But yes. If I answer honestly, and I very much want to do that, then yes, my darling Em, I do think I should go.’
We had ordered a meal that was supposed to be eaten within seconds of arriving. Neither of us had so much as poked a fork into the probably illegal fluffy eggs.
Instead, we ignored them completely and held hands over the table, both of us glassy eyed.
‘We’re very lucky we’ve been able to discuss it,’ I said, which took about as much strength as I could manage. ‘Most women’s chaps just get sent. I didn’t think I could get much prouder of you, Captain Mayhew, but tonight I just have. I am utterly behind you, whatever you decide you should do. Then when we’ve won this awful thing, you and I will wear pullovers which I will knit while you are away so they will be dreadful, but you will have to say that you love them. And I’ll keep things going here and do my bit at the magazine and the station, and I’ll write so many letters to you, you won’t be able to keep up and will have to ask me to stop. And everything will be absolutely fine.’