by Nancy Revell
‘Is Miss Crawford not coming with Mr Dishy?’ Charlotte asked.
Rosie looked at her. It hadn’t escaped her notice that her not-so-little sister had started to show an interest in the opposite sex. She’d learnt from Lily that a group of boys from a school nearby were walking Charlotte and some of her friends part of the way home. Rosie had felt a little put out that Charlie had confided in Lily about the boys and not her. Sitting back, she sighed. If Pearl’s wedding was a turn-up for the books, then it was trumped by the fact that Lily – the madam of a bordello – had become a surrogate mother to her little sister. The world really had become topsy-turvy.
‘Bill looks nervous,’ Charlotte said.
Bill, it had to be said, was indeed looking tense, as well as uncomfortable, in a hired black suit that was a fraction too small for him, causing him to tug at the cuffs every now and again. He was standing by the registrar’s large, polished cherry-wood desk and was chatting to Joe, his best man.
‘He has good reason to be,’ Lily chuckled, causing Rosie to give her a ‘be-on-your-best-behaviour-or-else’ scowl.
George, who was sitting next to Lily, was also wearing a black suit, only his had been tailor-made to fit and did not feel uncomfortable. Leaning forward in his seat with both hands on top of his ornately carved walking stick, he was mulling over a conversation he’d had the previous evening with the Brigadier about the state of play on the other side of the Channel. Tactics of military deception were presently being employed with the aim of misleading the Germans about the date and location of the Allied landings. Peter and his circuit would likely be part of the spreading of any misinformation, as well as preparing acts of sabotage for when the invasion was imminent. Rosie’s husband was well and truly in the thick of it. Looking at Rosie, he could see that she was tired. She was working herself into the ground, convinced that by doing so it would help to bring about a victory that would see her husband return to her. He hoped to God all her hard work and extra hours made her wish come true. He dreaded the state she’d be in if Peter did not come back.
‘Look! Here’s Gloria and Hope,’ Charlotte said, waving them over.
Gloria saw them and made her way over. Hope was toddling by her side, holding her mammy’s hand and looking as sweet as pie in a vibrant yellow dress that had once belonged to Lucille. Rosie, Charlotte, Lily and George turned in their seats to welcome them as they manoeuvred themselves into the row behind. None of them asked where Jack was as they knew Gloria thought it was still too early for them to be seen out in public as a family, especially as divorce proceedings hadn’t even been instigated. Jack was to meet them all at the Tatham as this was the only place Gloria felt as though they could be seen together, although she’d told Jack to refrain from showing her any kind of affection.
‘The bride hasn’t legged it then?’ Gloria said as she lifted Hope onto the chair next to her.
Rosie laughed. ‘As far as I’m aware, she’s still in the building.’
‘She’ll have Kate chasing after her if she does get cold feet,’ Lily said, smiling down at Hope. ‘She was up all night doing her headpiece.’ They all knew Kate wanted to become as well known for her millinery as for her seamstress skills.
George lifted his trilby at Gloria and smiled at Hope, who was staring up at Lily’s orange hair, piled high into an extravagant updo.
‘Dorothy and Angie!’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘With Toby and Quentin!’
Rosie felt her heart thump, as it always did when she saw Toby.
Dorothy waved over as they took their seats on the other side of the aisle. Toby tipped his peaked officer’s cap and put his thumb up, which these days was their personal code for ‘Peter’s fine.’ In reality, it meant that Toby simply hadn’t heard otherwise.
‘Dorothy looks stunning,’ Charlotte said.
Rosie looked across and seeing Dorothy in a clinging red dress, she was catapulted back to her own wedding – she had worn a similar red dress, which had raised eyebrows. It had been her Christmas present from Kate and she had worn it simply because she had nothing else. When she had gone to see Peter after he’d sent her a telegram and a travel warrant, she’d had no idea she’d end up getting married.
Suddenly, they all heard the door open and a baby start to cry. They turned to see Polly with Artie in her arms, unhappy at having been taken out of his cosy pram. On seeing the rows of faces that had naturally turned in his direction, most of which were smiling, his wailing stopped as quickly as it had started. Polly breathed a sigh of relief and sat down in the back row, ready for a quick exit should Artie decide his lungs needed exercising again.
Following in Polly and Artie’s wake were Agnes, who was wearing her best black dress, Dr Billingham and the Elliots’ next-door neighbour, Beryl, who was in particularly good spirits as she had just received a letter courtesy of the Foreign Office informing her that her POW husband was well, and that she’d soon be able to send letters and food parcels.
Behind them came Hannah, Olly and Martha, who had just been to the café, helping Vera and Rina make the last of the sandwiches for the reception. Vivian appeared next, looking as always like a replica of Mae West with her dyed blonde hair, and wearing a vibrant peacock-blue cotton dress that would have been relatively conservative were it not for the plunging neckline. She hurried through the door and down the side of the room, taking a seat next to George. She had just touched up the bride’s coiffure and was pleased with her handiwork. Seconds later, she was followed by Kate, who had also just finished giving the bride’s dress a quick checking over and making some minor adjustments to Pearl’s headpiece.
As the ‘Wedding March’ started up, everyone fell silent. The record, which had just been put on the gramophone by one of the clerical staff sitting at a small table at the back of the room, was the only music to be played at the ceremony. Pearl had said she wanted a no-frills affair, no readings or ‘anything fancy’, with just family and close friends. Pearl still couldn’t quite believe she was getting married and was as nervous as hell. She wanted it over and done with as soon as possible and to get back to where she felt at home – in the Tatham with a drink in one hand and a fag in the other. The registrar was more than happy to abide by Pearl’s wishes, especially as the list of soldiers, sailors and airmen wanting to marry their sweethearts before leaving for the beaches of northern France was growing by the day.
With the music announcing that the ceremony was now under way, the dozen or so guests all turned to see Lucille, looking adorable in an ivory dress and gripping a small wicker basket of petals, walk into the room. There were a few ‘Aahs’ and chairs scratching on the parquet flooring as people twisted around for a better view.
Pearl followed through the large oak doors. She was wearing a powder-blue dress with a floral print that was floaty and feminine; Kate had made it out of a long evening dress one of her more well-heeled patrons had given her. Vivian had also done a sterling job making sure Pearl’s hair looked classy, not brassy. Kate’s delicate gold headpiece, a veritable work of art made with a selection of glass-effect leaves and flowers, blended in perfectly with Pearl’s swirling updo, loose strands of hair having been teased free to frame her face. Her make-up had been applied artfully by Maisie and not shovelled on as it was normally. For once, Pearl wasn’t mutton dressed as lamb.
‘Quite a transformation,’ Lily said under her breath.
‘Kate never fails,’ Rosie whispered.
The guests looked as Pearl was followed by her two daughters, Bel and Maisie, both looking gorgeous in cream-coloured summer dresses that complemented their complexions. This was exactly the wedding Pearl wanted – her two girls and her granddaughter close by, and just a handful of guests – for this day was as much about celebrating her family as it was about her marriage to Bill.
It was something her soon-to-be husband was aware of and didn’t mind. If anything, it made him love her even more. If that were possible.
After reaching the registrar’s tabl
e, where the groom and the best man were also standing, Pearl handed Lucille her wedding bouquet, gave her a kiss on top of her head and ushered her towards Bel and Maisie, who were taking their seats at the front.
Bill bent and gave his bride a quick kiss as the music stopped and the congregation fell silent.
As the ceremony got under way, Rosie sat back, breathed in the smell of old wooden furniture and listened to the words being spoken by the registrar. She cast her mind back to her own wedding. It had been in a completely different town, three hundred miles down south, and had taken place in the dead of winter, but it felt remarkably similar. Like Pearl and Bill’s wedding, hers had been short and sweet, mainly because Peter had only just managed to get a special licence and they’d been lucky to be squeezed in; like Peter, many of the husbands-to-be were in the forces and desperate to marry their loved ones before they went back to war.
Rosie watched as the registrar addressed Pearl and Bill, who were standing in front of his desk. Pearl started to fidget with her dress and Bill took her hand and squeezed it. They continued holding hands throughout.
‘Will you, Pearl Hardwick, take this man, William David Lawson, as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do you part?’ The clear, confident voice of the registrar sounded out.
‘I do,’ Pearl said, her voice uncharacteristically shaky.
Rosie suddenly felt unusually emotional and found herself blinking back tears. For a moment she felt herself back in the registry office in Guildford, looking into Peter’s serious blue eyes. Her wedding day had been full of conflicting emotions: happiness that she was marrying the man she loved – the only man she had ever loved – but also sadness that the man she was agreeing to marry might make her a widow for longer than he would make her a wife.
A tear escaped and Rosie brushed it away quickly. Peter had survived this long. He would get through this last battle alive. He had to. She would never admit it to anyone – it would seem so weak, and she had tried so hard to be so brave her whole life – but when it came to Peter, she knew his death would be the only battering from which she would not be able to get up.
Charlotte saw that her sister was becoming emotional and was shocked. Rosie was not the sentimental type. She nudged Lily and cocked her head towards her big sister.
Leaning forward, Lily briefly touched Rosie’s hand. ‘You all right?’
Rosie nodded, taking a deep breath and touching her wedding band, an 18-carat gold ring that Peter had bought on the morning of their wedding from the jewellers next to their hotel. She looked up to see that Bill was putting a shiny new gold ring on Pearl’s hand.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ the registrar declared.
He paused, before adding, ‘You may now kiss the bride.’
It was at that exact moment that Artie chose to burst out crying, causing all the guests to burst out laughing and giving Bill the opportunity to wrap his arms around his new wife and give her a kiss on the lips. She kissed him back, though it was just a quick one. She looked embarrassed; she was not one for such public displays of affection. Rosie remembered the awkwardness she too had felt at this part of her marriage ceremony.
Bel and Maisie stepped forward to sign the green ledger spread out on the registrar’s desk, and Lucille squashed herself in between her mammy and her aunty to see what was going on. Rosie remembered the two strangers, both clerical workers at the registry office, who had been asked to witness her marriage to Peter. After the short ceremony, the pair had made an impromptu reappearance when she and Peter had walked out of the main building and had showered them with confetti. The woman had surprised Rosie by giving her a hug. She would never forget the words she had whispered in her ear: ‘May it be long and happy!’ Rosie knew her marriage with Peter would be a happy one – but she could only hope and pray that it would be a long one.
When Pearl and Bill walked out of the registry office, they were met by a chorus of ‘Congratulations!’ Polly had managed to buy a couple of packets of confetti from the shop Charlotte had discovered near the Grand when she’d been helping Bel organise Polly’s wedding. When the happy couple reached the bottom steps, Joe put Lucille on his shoulders and she sprinkled the petals from her basket over the newly-weds. The ones that fell on Pearl’s headpiece stayed there, giving Kate an idea for another, more elaborate floral-themed one.
As they all started to make their way to the Tatham, George offered to take them there in his MG, as he had Bel and Joe for her wedding and Polly and Tommy for theirs, but Pearl declined, repeating her mantra of ‘no fuss, no frills’.
‘Eee, I have to say, I’m not half glad that’s all over ’n done with,’ Pearl said to Bill as they turned left at the bottom of John Street and crossed over Borough Road. Bill had a big smile on his face as he shook off his jacket and started rolling up his sleeves.
‘I’ll second that, Mrs Lawson,’ he said.
Pearl looked momentarily puzzled before letting out a loud laugh.
‘Mrs Lawson! I wondered who yer were talking to then!’ She continued chuckling, which was, in part, relief that the registration of their marriage had been endured and was now, thankfully, over.
‘Mrs Lawson,’ she repeated. ‘That’s gonna take some getting used to … Been a Hardwick my whole life.’
‘And now you’ll be a Lawson for the rest of your life,’ Bill said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.
It only took a few minutes for them all to make their way along Borough Road and then right down Tatham Street. When they reached the front door of the pub, Bill stepped aside, waving everyone in.
‘Get yourselves in and get a drink. We’ll be in in a minute.’
Bel and Maisie passed their ma and gave Bill a questioning look as Lucille pulled her aunty Maisie’s hand, her other still carrying her basket, which was empty of petals but now contained her grandma’s blue wedding bouquet.
‘Why’re we waiting out here?’ Pearl asked. ‘I’m choking for a drink and it’s not ’cos I’m thirsty.’
‘I’ve got you a wedding present,’ he said.
‘Ah, yer soft bugger. I didn’t knar we had to buy each other presents as well as marry each other.’
Bill laughed.
‘You don’t. But I wanted to give you something that I think you’re going to really like.’
He pointed to the sign above the door.
‘You are now not only Mrs Pearl Lawson, but the joint licensee of the Tatham Arms.’
Pearl looked at the newly inscribed wooden panel above the main entrance. And sure enough, there it was:
Mr William Lawson & Mrs Pearl Lawson, licensed to sell beer, wine and spirits for consumption on the premises.
Pearl’s chin almost touched the pavement.
‘Ah, Bill,’ she said, clearly taken aback. ‘I dinnit knar what to say.’ She kept looking at the gilt-painted lettering on the sign. ‘I think yer might have made me the happiest woman on this planet.’
Bill looked at Pearl. She was smiling like the Cheshire cat.
‘And you, my dear, have just made me the happiest man on the planet, so I guess we’re even.’ He kissed her and she kissed him back, because she wanted to, and because she thought she might blubber if she didn’t.
‘Now, shall we go and get that drink, Mrs Lawson?’ Bill asked.
‘Mrs Lawson, Licensee of the Tatham Arms, dinnit forget,’ Pearl said as she walked into the pub. Her pub. Their pub.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bill clinked the side of his glass with his spoon, forcing the guests to quieten down.
‘You all know I’m not one for speeches, so I’m just going to keep this really brief,’ he said.
‘Thank Gawd for that!’ someone heckled.
‘I want to say thank you to everyone for coming and helping us celebrate – and to point out that there is no free
bar!’ he laughed.
There were a few boos.
‘Although everyone’s first drink is on the house—’
This was followed by a robust chorus of ‘Hurrah!’
‘So, before the stampede, I just want to raise a toast to my new wife, Mrs Pearl Lawson.’
Everyone’s attention went to Pearl, who looked as though she wanted the ground to swallow her up.
‘It’s quite simple, Pearl …’ Bill turned to look at his bride ‘… I love you to pieces.’
Bill lifted his glass and took a sip.
Everyone followed suit.
‘And just one more thing before I get back to where I belong – behind the bar,’ he chuckled. ‘Pearl’s granddaughter Lucille is going to throw the bouquet, so, ladies, either make a run for it now, or keep your eye on the ball – or should I say, the bouquet.’
All the young unmarried women had known that Lucille was to do the honours as Pearl had not wanted to cause a commotion outside the registry office, so they had positioned themselves within catching distance. Dorothy and Angie were, naturally, amongst the dozen or so hopefuls.
‘God, look at him!’ Dorothy hissed into Angie’s ear.
‘Who?’ Angie said as she followed Dorothy’s angry stare over to where Bobby was chatting to Matthew’s secretary, Dahlia, nicknamed the ‘Swedish seductress’ by Marie-Anne, who had invited her as her companion in the hope that she might pick up some tips.
‘Bobby, of course,’ Dorothy said. ‘Look at him! Happy as Larry, chatting up Dahlia.’
Angela saw that Bobby and Dahlia were indeed both happy and chatting away to each other.
‘Actually, they look well suited,’ Angie said, returning her attention to the ritual of the throwing of the bouquet.
‘What makes you say that?’ Dorothy snapped. She wished it didn’t bother her, but it did. She didn’t know why, but seeing them together irked her.