by Nancy Revell
‘Dunno,’ Angie said, her focus firmly on Joe and Lucille. Joe had stepped forward so that he was standing in front of the bar. He nodded down at Lucille, who was clutching the hand-tied flowers. She nodded back, her face serious.
‘What? Because they’re both just about the same height?’ Dorothy persevered.
Angie glanced back over at Bobby and Dahlia. It was true. Dahlia was almost the same height as Bobby, but then Angie noticed she was wearing a pair of gorgeous, high-heeled shoes.
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘And because they’re both very good-looking. He’s tall, dark ’n scrummy. She’s all blonde, blue-eyed ’n leggy.’
Dorothy inspected them both. There was no denying it, they were a good-looking couple.
Angie watched Joe and Lucille and thought they reminded her of two circus performers getting ready to do their trick.
‘I’ve got a good mind to go over there and tell Dahlia to steer well clear.’ Dorothy was speaking into Angie’s ear, but her eyes were still glued to Bobby and Dahlia.
Angie watched as Joe stepped forward and put Lucille on his shoulders. He then slowly turned around so that they both had their backs to the hopeful brides-to-be.
‘Tell her that he’s a cold-hearted, stubborn, selfish man and she should avoid him like the plague.’
‘I don’t think Dahlia’s that bothered about his personality, Dor,’ Angie said, looking across to see that Dahlia had moved a little closer to Bobby and was whispering something into his good ear. She quickly turned her attention back to Lucille, who was slowly raising the bouquet above her head.
‘Well,’ Dorothy said, watching as Bobby said something back to Dahlia, making her laugh and toss her long, corn-coloured hair back at the same time, ‘I’d better tell her, his body’s covered in ink.’
‘What? He’s got lots of tattoos?’ Angie asked, eyes still focused on the wedding posy. It was a lovely, home-made tie of flowers, which she knew had been picked from Albert’s allotment.
‘Yes! Tattoos,’ Dorothy said, watching as Bobby rubbed his hand on his head, giving Dahlia a half-smile.
‘How do you know he’s covered in tattoos?’ Angie suddenly said, turning her head and looking at her friend. ‘You never told me that before.’
‘And here goes!’ Bill shouted out, raising his glass in the air. ‘One … two … three!’ Knowing that was her signal, Lucille threw the bouquet back with all her might, high up into the air. Dorothy was just about to explain to Angie how it was that she had seen Bobby without some of his clothes on and therefore knew he had tattoos, when all of a sudden there was a loud cheer and she felt something soft hit her in the side of the face. Looking down, she saw a small bunch of wild flowers, tied with a blue ribbon, on the floor of the pub by her feet.
Angie sighed and bent down. Picking them up, she held them aloft to show the expectant crowd of wedding guests that the flowers might not have been caught as tradition dictated, but at least they, along with the hope of a future marriage, had been rescued from being trampled underfoot.
‘Thanks for being my escort – again,’ Helen said as she and Matthew entered the Tatham.
‘My pleasure, as always,’ said Matthew, pulling open the door that led into the bar. As he did so, they were both hit by a blast of warm, smoky air and an atmosphere that could only be described as full of revelry.
‘Actually, you were properly invited by Pearl,’ Helen added. ‘She likes you.’ It was true. Pearl had told Bel to tell Helen that her ‘usual fella’ was also invited to the reception.
Helen caught sight of the bride over a sea of heads. She was surprised to see Pearl behind the bar, serving her guests. She turned her head to continue speaking to Matthew. ‘Or should I say, I think she liked the generous sum you left behind the bar after Artie’s christening.’
Matthew laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I have come armed with a bulging wallet.’
‘And I have come armed with a present that will be equally welcome,’ she said as she fought her way to the bar.
Seeing Helen and Matthew, Bill quickly finished serving and went over to put his hand out. ‘Glad you could both make it.’ He actually felt incredibly guilty at seeing Helen. He had wanted to invite her to the registry office, as not only was she Bel’s niece, but she had given Bel the report that had gone some way to proving her paternity. Regardless, Pearl had told Bel that she would not have a Havelock at her wedding, but to relay to Helen that she was more than welcome to come to the reception, along with the good-looking, dark-haired bloke she’d brought to the christening. Seeing Helen here today with her chap, Bill was glad she did not seem to be holding any kind of a grudge. Far from it. His eyes nearly popped out when she put a bottle of single malt on the bar.
‘Your wedding present,’ said Helen. ‘Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Lawson.’
She smiled at the looks on Bill and Pearl’s faces. It had been one of the best bottles of Scotch stocked in the town’s top wine and spirit merchants, J.W. Cameron & Co. She had gone there because her grandmother had told her about the place, which was where she used to buy what she called her ‘Russian water’.
‘I didn’t think you’d be working today,’ she said.
‘Yer obviously didn’t see the new sign above the front door,’ said Pearl.
Helen looked at Matthew. He, too, had a puzzled expression on his face.
‘Mrs Lawson here,’ explained Bill, looking proudly at his new wife, ‘is now joint licensee of this revered establishment.’
‘Well, double congratulations!’ said Helen.
‘I reckon that means double the drinks,’ said Matthew, getting out his wallet and handing Pearl a note.
‘Cheers, pet,’ Pearl said. ‘I’ll save mine for later. Can’t have the new proprietor tipsy on her first day, can we?’
Helen thought you could have knocked her over with a feather. Pearl behind the bar and not drinking. Bill could probably have saved himself a lot of money if he’d done this the moment he’d taken Pearl on as a barmaid.
As Matthew ordered their drinks, Helen smiled. She would guess that Pearl was just as ecstatic about her wedding present as she was about her nuptials.
Dorothy was chatting to Toby, but was only half concentrating. Bobby had just brushed past her and was now standing a few feet away, next to Pearl, who was taking a fag break and sitting on the other side of the bar. By the looks of it he was congratulating her, bending over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. Cocking her head and blocking out Toby’s voice, she could just about hear Bobby thanking Pearl for inviting him to the wedding and apologising for not making it to the actual ceremony as he had been needed at the yard. She couldn’t believe it when Pearl smiled and patted him on his shoulder, telling him that she didn’t mind one bit, and he’d come for the best part – ‘a bit of grub ’n a few jars’. She was even offering him one of her cigarettes.
‘Honestly!’ Dorothy said to Toby out of the corner of her mouth.
‘What’s up?’ Toby asked, knowing Dorothy’s attention had been elsewhere, not that this perturbed him. It was one of her quirks; whenever they were out, she’d always have an eye or an ear on something that was happening in their vicinity. He’d often thought she’d have made a good agent. She never missed a trick.
‘Nothing,’ she said, as her eyes flickered across to see Bill walking over and shaking hands with Bobby.
‘Dor, what’s got your goat?’ Toby persevered.
‘Oh, it’s just Bobby,’ Dorothy said, forcing herself to focus on her beau again.
‘Ah, no surprises there,’ he said, looking across as Bobby waved a note at the barmaid and pointed towards the newly-weds to show he wanted to buy them a drink.
‘He’s got his feet well and truly under the table,’ Dorothy said.
‘Well, I’m guessing this is his local if he just lives across the road?’ Toby said, trying to cool Dorothy’s growing irritation. Every time she started on about Bobby, she got more and more vexed.
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�Not just here,’ Dorothy groused. ‘Everywhere. Agnes always leaves a bit of supper out for when he gets in, Polly really likes him because he was in the navy like Tommy, Joe gets on with him because they both worked at Bartram’s when they were young, and Bel likes him because she likes everyone since she adopted the twins. Everyone thinks butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, when the truth is, he’s a cold, hard-hearted man who’s making his mother unhappy.’
Toby looked across to see Gloria laughing at something Agnes was saying. ‘I’m sure Gloria’s all right. He’ll come round. He probably just needs to get used to the situation.’
Dorothy scowled. ‘Et tu, Brute?’
Toby laughed. ‘Forget Gloria and Bobby – let’s talk about tomorrow.’ It had been agreed that Dorothy would take Toby to meet her parents in the morning. ‘You’re sure they don’t think it’s rude that I can’t stay for Sunday lunch? They understand I have to go back down south?’
‘Of course they’ll understand,’ Dorothy said. Secretly, she was over the moon that Toby couldn’t stay for lunch; she couldn’t think of anything worse than sitting round the table with her mother, stepfather and four siblings, making polite conversation. ‘In fact, you could tell a little white lie and say you’ve got to leave that bit earlier so we only have to be sociable for an hour at the most – and then me and you can go somewhere posh for a bite to eat.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Toby said.
Dr Eris forced a smile as Dr Parker opened the door to the lounge bar. It was her fault they were running late. Their tardiness had been orchestrated so as to spend as little time as possible at the wretched wedding reception. Still, she thanked her lucky stars they hadn’t been expected to attend the actual ceremony – in a registry office, of all places.
Stepping into the crowded pub, she immediately came face to face with Helen. Typical. The last person she wanted to see was the first person she bumped into.
‘Ah, Helen! Lovely to see you.’ Dr Eris embraced the woman she despised and gave her an air kiss.
Helen forced herself to smile at the woman she loathed. ‘Claire, how are you? Lovely to see you. And so good you could make it. John says you’re all working round the clock?’
Dr Eris felt herself bristle at the reminder that the woman who could give most Hollywood sex sirens a run for their money was friends with the man she planned on marrying. As soon as possible. ‘Well, he’d be right there. John’s lot are overrun with war casualties, and at the asylum we are seeing quite a substantial increase in the wounds to men’s minds.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Not that we’re meant to broadcast the fact, but I know you are very discreet.’
Helen nodded, feeling that Dr Eris was leading up to something else. Something unrelated to the bodies or minds of their patients. Glancing at Matthew and John, who were standing next to them, she caught the word ‘Bucharest’ and knew they were engaging in war talk. Earlier on in the week the papers had been full of reports about the bombing of the Romanian capital, which had had limited success and had led to the deaths of thousands of civilians living near the railroads they were targeting.
‘So, tell me,’ said Claire, drawing Helen’s attention back to their own conversation, ‘I believe there is another reason you have become somewhat of a regular visitor to Ryhope – apart from seeing John, of course.’
‘You might be right,’ Helen said, tentatively. She was reluctant to tell Claire anything until she was aware of exactly what she knew.
‘You’re sounding very mysterious,’ said Claire, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Would I be overstepping the mark in asking who it is you are visiting?’
‘Oh, it’s a very old and very distant relative,’ Helen said, looking over Claire’s shoulder, desperate for a distraction and overjoyed to see Polly come into view with Artie on her hip.
‘Oh, look!’ she said, loud enough to stop John and Matthew chatting. ‘Here’s Polly – with Artie!’
‘Excellent!’ said Dr Parker, glad of the excuse to break away from Matthew. The man was annoyingly perfect. ‘I’d best say hello to my godson – my, hasn’t he grown!’
‘Stay here,’ said Helen, desperate to extract herself from any more probing questions from Claire. ‘I shall bring mother and son over and we can all “ooh and aah” to our heart’s content.’ And with that Helen put down her drink and squeezed her way through the busy pub to fetch Polly and Artie.
As she watched Helen weaving her way through the wedding guests, waving at Polly to get her attention, Claire’s mind started to whirr as she thought again about Helen’s regular visits to Ryhope. Very old and very distant. Miss Girling wasn’t that old. She might be in her sixties, but she looked well for her age, more like fifty. And distant? Perhaps. Perhaps not. When Denise had told her about John pulling her up on her failure to pass on Helen’s message, it had put paid to her attempts at scuppering the frequency of Helen and John’s cosy little get-togethers in the canteen. She had been forced to look at other ways to keep the pair apart, which had led her to think not only about how she could limit the regularity of their rendezvous, but about how to take Helen out of the game altogether. She’d realised that she needed to find some kind of leverage that she could use to force Helen to cool her friendship with John; she’d need to do some digging, but she was confident she would find something. Everyone had secrets. Her work had taught her that. And that was when she had thought about Helen’s visits to the asylum. She’d been so focused on Helen’s friendship with John that she hadn’t looked beyond that; she hadn’t looked at who it was that was bringing her to the asylum in the first place. Who it was that Helen was visiting.
It hadn’t taken much to find out. A quick chat to Genevieve and she’d learnt that Helen had turned up fairly late on Christmas Day to see Miss Henrietta Girling. One of her own patients. How was that for a coincidence? And it was strange that Henrietta hadn’t mentioned it. When she’d gone back over Miss Girling’s doorstep of a file, she could have kicked herself for not making the connection earlier. The stuck-up, blonde, skinny-as-a-rake woman who had been a relatively frequent visitor until the start of this year was none other than Helen’s mother. Miriam Crawford. She’d only met the woman a few times since she’d started working at the asylum, so she supposed she could be forgiven for not realising, especially as Helen looked nothing like her mother.
Seeing Helen returning with Polly and the wretched baby in tow, she felt more than ever that Helen was hiding something. Otherwise why hadn’t she told her before that Miss Girling was a relative – even if she was a ‘distant’ one? Helen must know that she was Miss Girling’s doctor. Miriam must have mentioned to her daughter that their mad great-aunty in the asylum had a female doctor – that alone would have told Helen. There were no other women psychologists, or women doctors of any kind for that matter, at the asylum.
And John – he must have known that Helen was visiting Miss Girling and yet he hadn’t mentioned it to her. Mind you, that was John: the height of professionalism; never one to break a confidence.
Dr Eris smiled as Polly finally made it through the throng of east-enders. She saw Helen head off to speak to a group of women who Claire knew worked as welders. Matthew was making a beeline for the bar. God, she couldn’t wait to get out of this smelly, smoky, spit-and-sawdust pub. She glanced down at her watch and worked out how much longer she would have to endure this wedding reception before she could hold John to his promise of a meal at the Palatine.
As Polly reached them, Dr Eris plastered a look of adoration on her face and a wide smile.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ she purred. The upside of being a psychologist was that you learnt how to lie – and lie well. Which brought her back to Helen and her visits to Henrietta. She was pretty sure Helen was lying about something – she just didn’t know what. Not yet, anyway. But she’d find out – of that she was sure.
After chatting to the guests, Helen and Matthew found a seat and sat down.
Jack came over to say hello to his daughte
r and the man he had been told was simply a friend – and not, as it looked to him, a potential suitor.
Although Jack hated to bring Miriam into any conversation, he broke one of his cardinal rules and asked Helen if she had heard anything from her mother of late.
‘I rang Aunty Margaret the other day,’ Helen said, ‘asked her if Mother had decided to move in with them permanently, which she didn’t seem to find amusing.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. I’ll bet she didn’t.
‘So, she didn’t give any indication about when she was coming back?’
Helen knew her father must be champing at the bit to get the divorce all done and dusted.
‘I’m afraid she didn’t,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll push for more information next time I call.’
‘No, don’t do that. I can always call her,’ Jack said.
Helen gave a bitter laugh.
‘Yes, Dad, as if Mother’s really going to speak to you.’
Once everyone had settled and enjoyed a few drinks, Pearl told Geraldine that now would be the perfect time to put out the buffet. Geraldine forced a smile and disappeared out the back. She had to be nice to Pearl, it was her wedding after all, but since hearing the news that the bride was now also joint licensee, she was dreading the new regime that would surely come into being over the next few weeks.
Seeing Geraldine reappear from the back with a tray of sandwiches, Rina and Vera bustled over to help.
‘Food,’ Rina said, ‘is all about the presentation.’
‘And about having the ingredients to make it,’ Vera huffed, even though they had done well with this particular spread. Not only had Maisie got hold of a cooked joint of gammon, which had been used in the sandwiches, but Rina had brought some rugelach – spiral-shaped pastries laced with sugar, raisins and ground nuts – which she’d made for the occasion.
Most of the guests were now sitting around the pub tables anticipating the start of the buffet. The occasional waft of freshly made sandwiches and home-made pies had whetted everyone’s appetite whenever any of the bar staff had gone out the back.