Presently she could hear someone tiptoeing up the stairs and along the landing and she lay very still in the camp bed with her eyes shut pretending to be asleep, as another girl came in and undressed quickly and eased into the single bed. Our Betty. Should I say something to her? she wondered. And decided against it. This is all a mistake, she thought as sleep dragged her away, an’ I shall have to say so in the morning.
But the next morning her new cousins let her lie in and didn’t wake her until nine o’clock when Joyce arrived with tea and toast on a tin tray and the news that it was a beautiful day and that she was to have a bath ‘all to herself’ because she was the bride.
‘We share ours’, she confided, ‘to save water. But Mum says you’re the special one today. And she says you’re to borrow Bet’s dressing gown because there’s all sorts in the kitchen.’
Never a truer word. By the time Barbara came downstairs to take her promised bath, swathed in the prescribed dressing gown and feeling very self-conscious, the kitchen was full of people. ‘Here’s the bride!’ they called. ‘How are you duck?’ The dresser was mounded with cut lilac and Betty and Hazel were hard at work in their petticoats making buttonholes and an enormous bouquet, neighbours ran in and out with boxes, her new aunt was pouring tea, there were two women by the table gossiping and making sandwiches, Joyce was standing in the hearth, half an inch away from the mirror, wincing as she took the curlers out of her hair, and a man in his shirtsleeves who said he was ‘your new uncle Sid’, was sitting in the corner patiently cutting the end off a broom handle.
So the bath was rather an uneasy luxury. It was blissful to be able to lie out full length in scented water – for the first time in her life what’s more – but her thoughts were spinning with anxiety. What if someone was to come in to use the lavvy? Why hadn’t Steve taken her to meet his parents? What if her mum had found out and came up to London to stop them?
Presently she became aware that the two girls were in the scullery and that they were exchanging scurrilous confidences in the low, slightly shocked tones reserved for these occasions. So naturally she listened. And realised with a shock of anger that the person they were disparaging was her.
‘She’s taking for ever in that bath,’ Hazel was saying. ‘What you think she’s up to?’
‘Expect she’s dirty,’ Joyce confided. ‘I don’t suppose they have baths where she comes from. Out in the country.’
‘D’you see her knickers?’ Hazel giggled.
‘Weren’t they awful!’
‘Ghastly. An’ those clogs! Fancy wearing them round town. She looks a proper clodhopper. I’d die if it was me.’
‘I don’t know what our Steve saw in her. I mean, she’s nothing to look at and the way she talks! All that oo-ar stuff. Thass this an’ thass that.’
‘Oo-ar, oo-ar, the country bumpkin,’ Hazel said. And they both giggled as they walked away.
Their mockery stiffened Barbara’s resolve. Right, she thought furiously. Thass it. I hain’t wearing that rotten frock an’ you needn’t think it. I would be a country bumpkin in that.
She climbed out of the bath, dried quickly and swathed in the dressing gown, strode through the kitchen and straight upstairs to dress as she pleased.
It took quite an effort because her skin was still damp but she was ready – in her green skirt, her pretty blouse and her country bumpkin clogs – before anyone came up to see how she was getting on. And then, mercifully, it was Betty and not her two horrid sisters.
She was carrying an enormous bouquet of white lilac and was watching it carefully as she walked in. ‘No one’s to see you till the car comes,’ she said. ‘Otherwise it’s bad luck. Hazel says to tell you your blue ribbon’s in the lilac. Tied round the handle.’ Then she looked up and stopped, her eyes widening. ‘You’re not wearing the dress then?’
‘No,’ Barbara said boldly. ‘That makes me look a freak.’ And she waited, prepared to be mocked or scolded or argued with.
But Betty smiled at her. ‘Quite right,’ she said. ‘You wear what you want. I know I would.’
She understands, Barbara thought. I’ve got a friend in this family. She’s an ally. ‘Thanks,’ she said and smiled.
Betty smiled back. ‘I’m Betty by the way,’ she said. ‘Came back too late to be introduced last night. You were asleep.’
‘I wasn’t actually,’ Barbara admitted. ‘I was pretending. I’d have known who you were anyway. You’re ever so like Steve.’ The same brown eyes, the same smile, the same thick hair only brown instead of auburn and fashionably long, in a page-boy bob to her shoulders and mounded above her forehead in two elaborate scrolls. A face with strength and honesty in it, the scarlet mouth firm and shapely, nose straight, eyebrows unplucked. A friendly face.
Betty was thinking, brown eyes clouded. ‘Would you mind if I asked you something?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Well then. Have you got a hat?’
‘No,’ Barbara admitted. ‘Didn’t have the coupons.’
‘Hang on a tick,’ Betty said and ran out of the room, her blue cotton dress swishing with the urgency of her stride. She was back in seconds, carrying a hat, which she held out to Barbara balanced on the tips of her fingers. It was a very pretty hat, made of cream-coloured straw with a trimming of blue forget-me-nots around the brim.
‘You can borrow this if you like,’ she said. And when Barbara hesitated, ‘It’s all right. It’s not some old second-hand thing like that dress. I bought it new.’
‘But don’t you want to wear it yourself?’ Barbara asked. ‘I mean, if you bought it new …’
‘That’s right,’ Betty said, understanding her completely. ‘I bought it for the wedding. But I’ve got another one and you’re the bride. Go on, borrow it. I’d love you to. If you like it, I mean. Try it on.’
So it was tried and as Betty said, it set everything off a treat, the forget-me-nots matching the blue flowers embroidered on her blouse, the straw echoing the creamy blooms of the bouquet, which was heavy, just as they’d warned her, but very sweetly scented. The two girls stood side by side in front of the mirror and admired the effect they’d created.
‘Well?’ Betty asked.
‘If you’re sure you don’ mind,’ Barbara said. And to her surprise and delight was given a kiss by way of answer.
Then Joyce was yelling up the stairs that the car had come and was she ready. And from that moment on the day picked up such speed that she barely had a chance to register one impression before the next was pressing in upon her, although she was horribly aware of how annoyed they all were when she came down the stairs not wearing that awful dress.
But the drive seemed to be over before it had begun. She was still settling in the seat when they were all tumbling out again. She caught a glimpse of a large building rising from the pavement, with soot-stained columns, a clock tower high above her head, an imposing door, and then they were all inside. There were crowds of people waiting in the foyer – the man called Uncle Sid, Becky Bosworth in a new hat, a fat woman dressed in red, smoking a cigar and beaming at her, the girls from work, Joan and Mavis giggling, two of Steve’s oppos, the mousy-haired one who’d delivered his first letter and the one called Taffy. She scanned the crowd, trying to take them all in and aware that she couldn’t do it. If only Norman wasn’t at sea, if only he could have been there to give her away. She did miss him. But then Steve was striding through the mêlée towards her, looking very smart in his uniform, holding out his arms. And the day shifted and became possible.
‘Hello gorgeous!’ he said. ‘Have you missed me?’
Her face told him one thing and her mouth another. ‘No ’course not.’ If only she could kiss him. She’d never needed to kiss him as much as she did then. But there were more introductions to face.
‘This is my mum,’ he said, reaching out a hand to pull a middle-aged woman towards them. Long face, greying hair, lumpy sort of figure, wearing a flowered dress with very square shoulders, and a wary expression.
Not a bit like Steve. Am I supposed to kiss her?
Apparently not for she was holding out her hand, rather stiffly. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said. But she didn’t sound as though she was.
‘And this is Dad,’ Steve was saying.
‘Yes,’ Barbara said. ‘I can see.’ The same nice warm brown eyes, the same smile.
‘Welcome to the family,’ he said and kissed her cheek. Now that’s better, I’m going to like him.
But there wasn’t time to say anything because they were being ushered into a brown room and asked to sit in front of a table polished like glass, where the registrar, who was very old and wore pebble-dash spectacles, brought the meeting to order. ‘I call upon these persons here present …’
Afterwards neither of them could remember what they’d promised, nor when or how they’d signed the register. One minute Steve was easing the ring onto her finger and the next they were running down the steps towards the waiting car under a shower of confetti.
And if the ceremony was a blur, the wedding breakfast was total confusion. There were speeches, and everybody laughed a lot, and a man called Charlie took pictures. They seemed to be drinking a lot of wine, and there were certainly things to eat but apart from the cake, they didn’t really notice any of it. The cake was different. It was so enormous that it took two people to carry it into the hall. And when she and Steve had posed in front of it knife in hand and the ceremonial pictures had been taken, the fat woman stepped forward and lifted the icing into the air to mocking cheers, to reveal a small fruit cake standing rather forlornly on the silver stand. And as Barbara looked up in surprise, she saw that the icing was made of cardboard and had plainly been used on several occasions, for the inside was chipped and stained and covered in pencil marks. But it was a tasty cake for all that and just big enough to go round.
Then and abruptly it was time to catch the train to London Bridge. It wasn’t until the engine was picking up speed and the waving guests had been left behind and Barbara was shaking the confetti from her hair to the amusement of the other passengers, that she thought to ask her new husband where they were going.
He looked like a purring cat. ‘You’ll see,’ he said.
Back on the platform, the wedding guests were going their separate ways. Hands were shaken, hats adjusted, congratulations offered, train times checked.
‘That orl wen’ off very well,’ Becky Bosworth said to Heather Wilkins. ‘Considerin’ what a rush job it was, you done wonders. They make ’andsome couple.’
Heather had been steadfastly polite all day. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming.’ And turned her eyes towards the next farewell.
Thass a funny sort a’ woman, Becky thought, sharp eyes missing nothing. Don’ she see what a catch our Barbara is? Being Becky, she kept her thoughts to herself. But Mavis, who was waiting her turn to say goodbye, caught the impact of her expression and on the journey back to Lynn, she started to put two and two together – London wedding, all done in a rush, no sign of the Nelsons, not so much as a telegram from them.
‘Did Barbara tell her Ma?’ she asked Becky. ‘Or hain’t she s’posed to know?’
‘Not yet awhile gal,’ Becky said. ‘Thass a secret.’
‘What about Vic? Did she tell him?’
‘No. Thass just us what knows,’ Becky told her. ‘Don’ you go sayin’ nothin’ to nobody, thass my advice.’
Mavis and Joan exchanged glances, Mavis warning, Joan questioning. She don’t mean it, surely? Joan thought. We can’t keep a weddin’ secret. Thass not right. Can’t be. Not from Vic anyway, the way he go on about her. He’ll be really upset. They’d talk it over later on. At the dance, maybe.
The two girls from the draper’s were still lost in the romance of the wedding. ‘Did you smell that lilac?’ ‘Didden she look bootiful?’
‘Yes,’ Becky agreed. ‘She did. An’ richly deserved, thass what I say. She’s a bootiful gal.’
That was Bob Wilkins’ opinion of her too but, given his wife’s brittle temper, he wasn’t sure it was safe to express it. He had a nasty feeling that the two women had taken against one another. Nothing he could put his finger on, because nothing had been said. A matter of looks really. The frozen look on Heather’s face when they were introduced and the changing expression on the girl’s. Not dislike. It wasn’t as strong as that. Sort of shrewd at first. As if she knew she wasn’t welcomed. And then bold, sticking her chin in the air, challenging. Or accepting Heather’s challenge. Not encouraging either way. Perhaps it would be better just to keep quiet and concentrate on getting home.
Heather seemed to have the same idea. She didn’t say anything until they were walking up Childeric Road towards their flat. Then she burst into complaint. ‘All that work,’ she said. ‘Well I hope it was worth it, that’s all.’
‘’Course it was,’ he said, putting his key in the lock. ‘It was a lovely wedding.’
‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘It was dreadful. I don’t know what she thought she looked like! All that trouble to get her a wedding dress and she gets married in old clothes and green clogs. Green clogs! I ask you. And did you see her hat?’
He thought it looked very pretty.
‘Well of course it looked pretty,’ she said scornfully. ‘Because it was Betty’s hat. The one she bought specially. Betty’s lovely hat with green clogs. Words fail me!’
‘Steve didn’t seem to mind.’
‘Steve’s got the stardust in his eyes,’ she said. ‘He’ll see through her in the end. You notice her parents didn’t turn up. Only that hideous old aunt. Joyce thinks she’s run away from home. And I wouldn’t be surprised. She looks the sort.’
He tried to demur. ‘Aren’t you being a bit hard?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’ll end in tears, you mark my words. Do you know how old she is? No I thought you didn’t. Seventeen. That aunt of hers let it slip. Didn’t tell me, mind. I overheard her. Seventeen. It’s ridiculous. And did you see the way she looked at me? I never saw anything so bold. Sticking her chin up, daring me. She’s a nasty bit a’ work.’
‘She could have been nervous.’
Heather snorted. ‘Nervous? That one! Don’t you believe it. She’s a hard little thing. There’s not a nervous bone in her body. I can’t think what he sees in her.’
‘He loves her,’ Bob said, defending his son.
‘Oh I don’t doubt that,’ she said, following him up the stairs. ‘But there’s a lot more to marriage than love. As he’ll find out.’
‘Not when you’re newly-weds,’ he said.
‘You can’t be newly-weds for ever,’ she said, brisk with distress and anger. ‘You’ve got to live with one another when you’re married. Be a different story then. You mark my words.’ And she went off quickly to change into her ordinary clothes. The sooner she got this day back to normal the better.
They might never get the chance, poor little devils, Bob thought. This honeymoon might be all they’d get. The Second Front was necessary and unavoidable, they all knew that. It was going to be a very great event, a valiant endeavour, a moment of history. But at that moment it loomed over his household like a monster avid for blood.
Chapter Seven
When Steve and Barbara arrived at their destination, they were so far out in the depths of the country that they could have been at sea. There was no station, just a halt with two wooden platforms and a gap where the name-plate had been, and no roads either, no convoys, no Jeeps, no staff cars, and apart from Steve’s uniform, not a trace of khaki anywhere. An earth track ran alongside the halt and out into the fields, which spread peacefully east and west across rolling countryside, growing fruit trees and wheat and an odd sort of crop that needed a network of strings to support it. Barbara could see a farmhouse in the distance and a building with two fat chimneys, which seemed to have been built leaning over sideways, but otherwise the landscape was empty. After the speed and noise of London it was blissfully, soothingly quiet. And wondrously private.
&nb
sp; As soon as their train had disappeared round the bend, Steve put his arms round his new wife and kissed her so long and lovingly that her borrowed hat fell from her head and lay in the dust of the platform, quite forgotten.
‘We made it,’ he said, looking down at her with splendid triumph.
She wound her arms round his neck as they stood close together in the gentle silence. ‘I do love you,’ she said.
He smiled into her eyes. ‘Likewise,’ he said. ‘Come and see our house.’
She looked round at the fields. ‘House? Have you got us a house?’
‘Wait till you see it. Come on.’
They picked up their luggage, retrieved her hat, and set off with their arms around each other, walking in unison in their lovely three-legged way, and following the track between the fields. The sun warmed their shoulders; the sky was clear blue and full of cotton wool clouds; there was no such thing as war.
‘How d’you know where it is?’ she asked. He didn’t have a map but he didn’t seem to need one.
‘I used to come down here every September when I was a kid.’
‘For holidays?’
‘No,’ he grinned. ‘Hopping.’
So that’s what those funny plants are.
‘Had to stop when I went to grammar school. Went up in the world. But it was fun while it lasted. The whole family came down. Me an’ the girls an’ Aunty Mabel and Mum and Aunt Sis. Half the street. Dad said it was like moving a regiment. They ran a special train for us out of London Bridge. Terrible old thing. You should’ve seen it. Packed to the gunnels. People brought all sorts of things down with them. Aunt Sis used to bring her canary.’
‘Where did you sleep?’ she asked. ‘Was it in this place we’re goin’ to?’
‘Good God no,’ he said. ‘We were in huts. I wouldn’t take you to a hut. We’ve got a bungalow. Only the best for you and me!’
So naturally she had to stop and kiss him, even though it meant losing her hat for the second time, and as the kiss went luxuriously on, a skylark rose from the distant corn and trilled into the air, its joyous song rippling over them as it spiralled higher and higher, free and passionate and untrammelled.
Avalanche of Daisies Page 9