Around these parts, a wedding car was a source of wonderment and folk emerged to gawp.
Trevor told her, ‘Ma says it’s Mr Newman’s way of thanks for all the help she’s given the business over the years. He was adamant, she says, and Mr Newman isn’t a man you offend.’
Etty couldn’t see why not. Trevor, obviously in awe of the man, didn’t want him vexed, but she had personally felt it was a step too far when he insisted the Newmans should attend the wedding. After all, they had agreed that only immediate family members should be invited.
Mr Newman rapped on the dividing glass and, with a nod to the driver, they were off. As the limousine pulled away from the kerb, Mr Newman brought a handful of coins from his pocket and, winding the window down, threw them into the road. Kiddies appeared out of nowhere like hungry gulls, swooping on the coins and flapping each other out of the way.
Four guests waited outside the registry office: Mrs Milne, dressed head to toe in black (for heaven’s sake, thought Etty, you’d think somebody had died); Bertha, wearing the same gaudy coat she’d worn to the cinema, along with her husband and lastly, May Robinson. Dorothy had requested that May be invited to the wedding as a substitute for Laurie.
Seeing May on her wedding day unnerved Etty. She’d cheated on the lass and it pained her to live with her shameful secret.
Laurie, somewhere in the Atlantic, had sent his love and blessing via a letter.
Pet, I would have liked nothing better than to give you away and it grieves me deeply that I can’t. But thanks for asking, anyway.
Remember that little bird I told you about way back when? Well, the same one informs me that you two lovebirds make a smashing couple and will prosper and have a long and happy life together. And I’m glad because that’s what I hoped for you. Your wedding day will be a long and lonely one for me, but I’ll be with you in spirit. I’ve warned people on the ship that at eleven o’clock sharp I’ll let out a yell that’ll make them jump.
Tell that man of yours to look after you. You’re a precious girl.
Heaps of love,
Laurie
As Etty stepped from the car, the rain stopped and a weak yellow sun shone above the rooftops opposite.
Dorothy stood next to her. ‘A good omen,’ she beamed.
Her words calmed Etty, giving her the boost of courage she needed. Then, as she saw Trevor’s lanky frame waiting in the doorway, she involuntarily shivered with excitement despite all her fears. This was for real, she thought. There was no turning back; she was getting married. Dorothy, misreading her sister’s reaction as nerves, whispered in her ear, ‘You can pull out if you want to. This is for life, remember?’
Etty’s heart swelled with love for her sister. In Dorothy’s eyes she could do no wrong and she was always there to protect Etty.
She would make good, she determined, and show Mistress Knowles. Marrying Trevor would be the start of a new life.
She gave Dorothy a trembling smile. Dorothy nodded and, taking charge, herded everyone into the registry office. Trevor held out his hand and as Etty took it, she noticed how steady it was.
The service, it seemed to Etty, was over before it had begun. One minute she was smiling at the tall, silver-haired man, who looked kindly at her from behind round-rimmed glasses, and the next she was listening to him tell Trevor that he may kiss his bride.
Trevor did exactly that – a smouldering kiss that took Etty by surprise. She felt self-conscious at first but, as she closed her eyes, a picture of Billy’s face surfaced in her mind. Her eyes snapped open. She railed at herself guiltily. For heaven’s sake, what kind of hussy was she that, while marrying one man, thought of another? But Billy’s presence lingered nonetheless.
Trevor took her arm and guided her from the room, where they fought their way through the next wedding party that waited in the foyer. Outside, it rained again, and someone thrust a black umbrella into Etty’s hands.
‘You’re all invited back to my place,’ Dorothy told the gathering. ‘Mrs Milne, you lead the way.’
Etty looked towards Nellie and was surprised when everyone laughed.
‘Oh! Of course,’ she said, feeling foolish. ‘That’s me!’
As she took off up the road, she noticed Nellie’s face darken.
Mrs Milne senior was not amused.
‘Where on earth did all this food come from?’ Etty asked Dorothy in surprise as they entered the kitchen. She eyed the joint of ham in the centre of the table. ‘I thought the ration allowance for a wedding was only two pounds of cooked ham?’
Dorothy tapped the side of her nose knowingly. Tall-stemmed sherry glasses stood on the sideboard, and the table was filled with delicious-looking food: bacon and egg pie, corned beef hash, a tureen of mashed potatoes, preserves, bottled beetroot, vegetables and in pride of place––
‘A wedding cake!’ Etty exclaimed.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ Dorothy quickly put in. ‘It’s a cardboard cut-out made to look real.’
Bertha gave Dorothy a knowing look. ‘Who’s been dealing on the black market?’
‘Goodness, not me.’ Dorothy flushed pink. ‘The meal was made possible by some very kind neighbours who chipped in with ration books.’
Etty should have guessed. They’d come to Dorothy’s rescue with precious provisions, because she was friends with everyone in the street. Folk were good at heart, she thought, especially when there was a war on.
By mid-afternoon, the wedding party was in full swing. Pink-cheeked and sparkly-eyed, people chatted animatedly with one another.
Mr Newman chinked the side of his stemmed glass with a fork.
‘Everyone… could I have your attention, please? I’d like to take this opportunity to wish the happy couple the best of health and happiness.’ His face sobered. ‘And to remember those absent friends we would wish to be among us.’
No doubt Mr Newman was thinking of his son, Danny, away serving in the air force. As each of them thought of their own absent loved ones, the atmosphere turned sombre. Etty’s thoughts turned to a mother she could barely remember. For a brief moment she understood why Dorothy had missed having her at her wedding. A picture of herself, the little forsaken girl leaning against Blakely’s door ran through Etty’s mind but she closed her mind, refusing to get sentimental.
Soppy fool, she thought, as she sniffed hard and brushed away a tear. Mam had discarded them like garbage and Etty would never forgive her.
The atmosphere needed jollying and Bertha raised her glass. ‘To the happy couple,’ she grinned, devilishly. ‘And may their troubles be little ones.’
As everyone toasted the newlyweds, Etty was reminded of Dorothy’s wedding day, and her own promise to herself to marry for true love. She gazed at Trevor – had she settled for less? How, she wondered, would she feel if Billy was the one she’d married?
Trevor, his eyes unfathomable green pools, met Etty’s over the rim of his glass. She flushed, guilty at her disloyal thoughts. It was a lot to ask him to take on another man’s child, and in this moment her regard for him went up a thousand fold.
‘Speech… speech,’ Bertha exclaimed. All eyes on Trevor, he held up his hand and declined.
At that moment, Mrs Milne rushed from the far side of the room, where she’d been in conversation with Bertha’s husband.
An expression of abject dread on her walnut-wrinkled face, she cried. ‘Me son… me only son… take care of him.’
She buried her head in Trevor’s chest and, shoulders heaving, she sobbed.
In the embarrassed silence that followed, Dorothy’s voice was heard to say, ‘More sherry anyone?’
Etty gave a wry grin. She could rely on her sister – no matter what the situation.
‘Come come, Mrs Milne,’ Mr. Newman walked over to Nellie. What with the heat in the room and the amount of sherry he’d consumed, his face had turned a ruddy shade.
A look of irritation flitted across his face. ‘Consider it like this. You’re not losing a
son but gaining a daughter.’
Short and bespectacled, with sparse, grey hair, what Mr Newman lacked in stance he more than made up for in influential clout. A man of means in these parts, he was highly regarded.
Trevor’s ma, quick-witted enough to know not to annoy the great man, quickly regained her composure.
‘Eee, I don’t know what came over us, then,’ she replied, sniffing at some vile smelling salts she’d taken from her coat pocket.
A conniving look in her eye, she told Mr Newman, ‘Trevor won’t forget his old Ma, will you son?’
Mr Newman filled with sherry and good cheer, clapped Trevor on the back.
‘I admire a young man who looks after his elders.’ His shrewd eyes shone. ‘Lad, I’ve got a proposition to make. With all the young men being called up, I’m finding it difficult finding anyone to help with snatches. That being said, I’m offering you the job.’
Being a snatch – a coffin bearer – was a position much sought-after by Trevor, who longed to better himself in life.
‘You seem a bright, upstanding lad. The sort folk would respect. The kind of man Newmans employ.’
Trevor positively glowed. ‘Aye, Mr Newman, I’d like nothing better.’
‘I’ve been looking for someone for a while. You could lend an occasional hand in the workshop when I’m rushed. Especially after there’s been a raid on. What with a full-time job at the pit and all, I know you’re a busy lad but… maybe when you do the night shift you can have a second job––’
‘Aye, that would suit us champion. I’m up for it, all right.’
‘One thing more, lad,’ Mr Newman lowered his voice. ‘If you work for me it would be wise if you dropped the Geordie twang.’
Trevor smothered a smile. That was rich coming from a man whose wife spoke in Geordie dialect.
Later, as the newlyweds made their way up the street in the dark, a crescent moon glided from behind a cloud. By its ethereal light, Etty made out the number twelve on one of the front doors.
‘Home,’ she said, with a hint of awe.
Trevor brought a key from his trouser pocket and opened the door. He stooped and, gathering her in his arms, carried Etty over the threshold. The romantic gesture touched her. They didn’t kiss but the air around them felt charged.
The flat, with its small scullery, kitchen and two bedrooms, was a replica of Dorothy’s. The similarity ended there, however. While her sister’s home was cosy and crammed with personal knick-knacks, here the furnishings were sparse and of a practical nature – a table and two chairs bought from the previous owner (much to Trevor’s disgust as he loathed anything second-hand), a cabinet for the kitchen scrounged from Dorothy, a rather lumpy horsehair couch, and a double bed on loan from Trevor’s mam. The fire burned brightly on the blackened range, a kettle sang on the hob and from the oven came a meaty aroma. Only Dorothy could provide such a housewarming and, overcome by her sister’s thoughtfulness, Etty’s eyes misted.
‘Can you believe all this is ours?’ she said, overwhelmed.
Arms winding around Trevor’s neck, she rested her head lightly against his shoulder, and a heightened sense of being surged through her. Here she was, she thought in wonder, with a husband, a home and sometime soon, a baby of her own. As reality sank in, a happy radiance spread over her. She dared to believe that life might be kind to her, after all. Then a thought struck her; what if the child she carried wanted to know about its heritage? What would she say? Her knowledge of family history was scant, and she certainly wouldn’t frighten a child with stories about orphanages, or tales of a heartless grandmother that had abandoned her children. But perhaps none of these things mattered, only that her child was loved and felt secure. And she’d make sure of that.
Her child. Her own flesh and blood. Etty smiled.
Trevor put her down and she removed her jacket and kicked off her shoes.
‘This place needs new furniture.’ He looked glumly around.
Etty laughed, a tinkling sound that echoed in the high-ceilinged room. ‘If you were brought up as I was at the orphanage,’ she reproved him, ‘you would consider this the height of luxury.’
She eyed her husband. She’d do the best to make Trevor happy and meanwhile, she must be patient. They had the rest of their lives to work out their differences.
Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
He looked surprised. ‘What’s that for?’
Etty thought of the film she’d seen on the night of the bombing. It had left an indelible mark on her – the couple’s endearing love for one another, and the way that Mr Chipping, the aloof and reserved schoolmaster, had mellowed with married life.
‘Do I have to have a reason? Other than, you’re my husband?’
‘I suppose not.’ He appeared rather pleased.
Later, as Trevor went to refill the coalscuttle, his mellow mood changed. Picking it up, he gave a disapproving, ‘Huh!’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Is this your sister’s doing?’ He nodded to the fire, then the oven where a meat casserole simmered. ‘Did you give her a spare key?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then ask for it back.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want her barging in when I don’t expect it.’
‘She wouldn’t.’
‘She already has.’ He gestured to the full coalscuttle.
‘Dorothy did us a favour.’ Confused, she nodded to the fire to make a point. ‘I’ll ask her for the key back when you ask your mam to return hers.’
In an instant, the atmosphere became strained, setting the mood for the rest of the evening. Though polite with one another, they avoided each other’s eye. Etty dreaded what was expected of her in the bedroom and postponed it for as long as she could. Finally, when she could avoid it no longer, she yawned. ‘That’s me off to bed… it’s been a long day.’
He grunted something about having to bank the fire first and it occurred to her that perhaps he too was nervous.
‘Don’t be long,’ she said. ‘Remember you’ve got work in the morning.’
As if he could forget. There was no honeymoon for the pair, as his shift was short of men and besides, they didn’t have spare money for luxuries such as holidays.
Making her way into the bedroom, she changed into the parachute-silk nightdress Dorothy had made for her as a wedding present. Slipping between the cold sheets, Etty’s feet were like blocks of ice. But you couldn’t bring a stone hot water bottle to bed – not if you were expecting a bit of romance.
She stared up at the ceiling and waited.
When Trevor finally entered the bedroom, he flicked off the light switch and took forever to undress. Sliding between the sheets, he kept to his side of the bed.
‘We don’t have to… you know… do anything tonight, if you don’t want to,’ Etty told him.
‘I’m tired,’ his voice was gruff, ‘and like you say, it’s been a long day.’
He turned on his side, away from Etty and appeared to go to sleep. She didn’t know what to think. If it were Billy, she knew things would have turned out differently. Then guilt at making comparisons with another man swiftly swamped Etty and she loathed herself for it.
The same thing happened the following night, and the next. Etty was at a loss to know what to do. None of the lasses at the factory had mentioned this kind of carry on. She couldn’t ask anyone, not Bertha and certainly not Dorothy. Such a thing was too mortifying.
The next Saturday night, as Trevor undressed and pulled back the covers, sliding his lean body into bed, Etty attempted to broach the subject. But try as she might, she couldn’t find the words because, what if Trevor was repulsed by her pregnancy? A sense of being ugly and undesirable overwhelmed Etty, and she knew her body was only going to grow bigger and feel worse as the pregnancy progressed.
Time wore on and the longer she remained silent the harder it was for Etty to approach the subject. She put the matter to the back of her mi
nd – for sanity’s sake she had to.
In other ways too, marriage wasn’t what she had expected. When she lived with Dorothy, it didn’t matter if beds weren’t made or dust gathered on surfaces. The sisters, having had their fill of structured life at Blakely, where each day brought endless chores, were determined to live a more relaxed way of life.
‘Once dust lands it never gets thicker,’ was Etty’s attitude.
Not so Trevor, who liked the place spotless. She fought to keep a sense of humour but it was tried one day when Trevor, as he came home from work, wrote ‘clean me’ on the top of the new sideboard in the dust.
The oak utility sideboard, their first new piece of furniture, had cost ten pounds seven shillings, and six points from the newly married furniture allowance. It was Trevor’s pride and joy.
Tired and deflated, Etty stormed, ‘If you’re that pernickety, do the housework yourself.’ She rifled through the ragbag and threw a duster at him. ‘Laurie’s a godsend when he’s home… he does the washing up, most of the cooking and when Dorothy’s at work he’s––’
‘Truly a saint,’ Trevor finished for her, his lips twitching.
Etty wouldn’t be humoured. ‘Laurie’s the kindest, gentlest soul, a man in a million.’
Trevor’s convivial mood changed and tight-lipped, he replied, ‘Unlike me.’
And so the row escalated. Etty said things she didn’t mean and he retaliated by raking up all her faults.
‘Call yourself a man,’ she shrieked. ‘You haven’t the courage to consummate our marriage.’
There, she’d said it. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Trevor looked startled. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘If you must know, what I think is that you find me… repulsive.’
Goodness, she’d gone all snivelling.
He came over and took her in his arms. ‘Etty, the truth is I don’t know about these things. I didn’t want to damage the baby. I thought you understood.’
She sniffed. ‘I’m not a mind reader, Trevor. You’re going to have to learn to speak out.’ Suddenly, she felt shy. ‘There are ways for both parties to enjoy sexual intercourse,’ she said, feeling brave.
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