A Sister's Duty

by June Francis

  He hadn’t answered her question but she let it go. ‘Have you sorted it out?’

  Peter’s expression lightened. ‘They’ve all kinds of rubbish they want to hang on to. Cigarette cards, birds’ eggs, cotton reels, bits of old blanket.’ His smile faded and he dug his hands into his pockets, jingling the loose change. ‘Will you come and sort Tess’s things out for me? I can’t face it.’

  Amelia did not feel like facing it either but she had not been married to Tess, sharing her life intimately. She remembered what her friend had written in that last letter. Had she told Peter that she had never loved him? Could she have told him who Chris’s father was? How much had Peter cared for Tess at the end when her letter had arrived? She wished she knew but could not question him about such things.

  ‘Perhaps we should do it together?’ she asked lightly.

  He was still, only his eyes moving to meet hers. ‘Remember that scent she used to wear?’

  ‘Devonshire Violets.’ Amelia only had to think of it to see Tess’s face. Her heart felt sore. Despite everything, she could almost wish her friend alive again, laughing over a shared joke. Tess had loved flowers and had often said she wished she could afford a house like this one.

  ‘It lingers,’ muttered Peter, ‘and I hate it.’

  Amelia stared at him and knew Tess had been brutally honest. Oh, Tess! she thought, angry now. She touched his arm. ‘I’ll come right away. Best get it over with.’

  When they arrived at the house the twins, who had been swinging from a lamp post, followed them indoors and upstairs. Amelia knew it would not do. It would surely upset them, seeing their mother’s clothes being sorted out.

  ‘Out of here, I’ll see to it,’ she said softly.

  Peter’s relief was obvious but still he said, ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Go and help the twins pack.’ She pushed him towards the door but he turned, expression warm as he gripped both her arms. ‘Thanks, Lee. You’re one in a million.’ He brushed her lips with his own before closing the door behind him.

  Amelia stared at it. She had not expected that. Although there had once been a time, after she’d finished with her fiancé Bernard and before Peter had married Tess, when their eyes would meet across a room and they’d smile. She had known there could have been something between them if things had been different. She gnawed on her lip, considering how much she liked Peter but also remembering how she had felt when she had found him in her bedroom. Holy Mary, Mother of God! She was all mixed up, wanting but not wanting at the same time some of the changes marriage to him would bring.

  She went over to the wardrobe and began removing Tess’s clothes. As she got on with the task of separating clothes for the ragman from those she could give to Mrs Wilcox, who rented the flat above the shop, she was remembering Tess wearing a certain frock, and knew that until her friend became a distant memory – instead of the ever-present ghost she seemed to be now – any intimacy with Peter was out of the question.

  ‘Where’s my clean knickers? I remember distinctly putting them down on this bed,’ said Dotty, gazing at Rosie through thick pebble lenses.

  ‘Don’t look at me!’ Rosie was carefully drawing lines up the back of her legs. She wished she had thought to remove the nylon stockings from that first box of goodies Sam had given to her, knowing now that Maggie must have sold them. If he should ever shower gifts on her again, she was going to make sure her grandmother did not get her hands on them. She had been down to Davey’s house and told his mother exactly how the land lay and they had come to an agreement.

  ‘Then where are they?’ said Dotty, scratching her head.

  Five months ago, Rosie would have looked for her. ‘Feel under the bed.’

  ‘They shouldn’t be under there,’ said Dotty, getting down on her knees and feeling round. She had put on weight since Mother Superior had assured her she was not going to go blind. Yet still Dotty was a little uneasy. She had told Rosie she could not understand why Mary should be going blind when she wasn’t. The nun had not explained so there were still times when her old fears returned to haunt her.

  She brought out a pair of white cotton knickers from under the bed and dragged them on beneath her petticoat. Then she put on the blush pink bridesmaid’s frock, a pair of white cotton socks and black shoes with a bar strap. She gazed at her eldest sister. ‘Have you noticed there’s still only a single bed in Aunt Amelia’s room?’

  ‘I’m not blind,’ murmured Rosie, going over to the fireplace and sticking a finger up the chimney. She stroked soot on to her eyelashes just as she had seen her mother doing in the past. ‘You told me it’s a marriage of convenience.’

  ‘I know, but I wasn’t sure exactly what it meant.’

  ‘They aren’t marrying for love. Uncle Pete is going to sleep in the back room that used to be Harry’s.’ Rosie slipped her feet into shoes identical to her sister’s, still feeling that ache when she thought of her brother. She picked up a hairbrush and handed it to Dotty. ‘Brush my hair for me. It’s soothing having someone do it.’

  ‘You’re not having ringlets. I wish I could have had ringlets,’ mused Dotty, fingering a strand of Rosie’s dark hair. ‘But do you think she might have a secret pash on him?’ She wielded the hairbrush.

  ‘I shouldn’t wonder. She gets real annoyed if I even speak to him.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s marrying him for his lovely smile.’

  ‘Don’t be daft! Unless she knows something we don’t and he’s smiling because all the time he’s a secret millionaire.’

  Dotty giggled, nose almost touching Rosie’s head. ‘Anyway, they’re going to be sleeping in separate rooms so there won’t be any babies. Pity. I like babies.’

  Rosie threw back her head and gazed up at her. ‘Who’s been talking to you about having babies?’

  ‘Keep your head still!’ ordered Dotty, dropping the hairbrush. ‘The girls talk. It all sounds a bit horrible, what you have to do.’

  ‘It can’t be that horrible otherwise there wouldn’t be so many people in the world. Anyway, why should they want babies when they’ve us and the three Hudson lads on the scene? We’re enough for anyone,’ said Rosie, smiling.

  Dotty did not agree and said so.

  A few moments later, Amelia came into the room. She looked bothered and her cheeks were flushed. ‘You two ready yet?’

  ‘Just about,’ said Rosie, smoothing her skirts.

  ‘You look very nice, both of you. Now you can come and help me dress, Rosie.’

  ‘Where are the Hudsons?’ asked Dotty, facing her aunt. ‘Their things are here but they’re not.’

  ‘They’re at the best man’s house. Dotty, you can go downstairs and give Mr Brown a buttonhole and make him feel at home. You know where the flowers are. You don’t have to be shy of him. He’s a very old friend and knew your mother. Mrs Brown’s down there, too, putting the finishing touches to the table. Make friends with her.’

  ‘Did she make the cake?’ asked Dotty.

  ‘Yes. She works for Sayer’s. I was lucky. Friends, neighbours, even customers turned up trumps by giving me their points so I was able to get enough dried fruit to give to her for the cake.’

  ‘Neighbours can be good like that,’ said Rosie, thinking of Mrs Baxendale.

  ‘Yes, a good neighbour is worth their weight in diamonds,’ said Amelia, following the girls out of the room and into her own.

  ‘Now, no messing, Rosie,’ she said in a mild voice. ‘This is my day and I’m determined to enjoy it.’

  ‘Give me some credit, Aunt Amelia. I want you to knock their eyes out,’ she said, surprising not only herself.

  Amelia stared at her and cleared her throat. ‘Well, that’s a change of tune for you. Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’

  Rosie’s smile faded and she tossed back her hair. ‘I must be,’ she muttered. ‘Shall we get cracking? You don’t want to be late.’

  Amelia stood gazing at her own reflection. Had she gone too far? He
r stomach rumbled. She had eaten hardly a thing that morning and very little in the last week. What would Peter think? Trepidation welled up inside her. Perhaps she should change into the lavender suit that had been Violet’s? It would take time but people expected the bride to be late. She opened the door and called down to Rosie.

  ‘She’s gone, Miss Needham,’ shouted up Mr Brown. ‘Are you ready yet? Only the car’s here.’

  Holy Mother of God! thought Amelia. Too late! Deep breaths. She used the dress clips she had found in the tea chest to lift her skirts and went slowly downstairs.

  Mr Brown’s expression was a treat. ‘Well, Miss Needham, your father would have been proud of you. Who’d have thought you could look so lovely?’

  His mention of her father brought tears to her eyes as she picked up the remaining bouquet from a chair in the hall, only for the moment to be spoilt by him adding, ‘He wouldn’t have liked you marrying a Proddy, though.’

  ‘He’s a good man!’ retorted Amelia, blinking back the tears.

  She swept out of the house to gasps of astonishment from the few neighbours in the vicinity who had not gone to the church. She felt like a queen as people waved as the car went past. She returned the compliment, spirits high when eventually she descended from the car to the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of those who had come to watch. A camera clicked and Rosie and Dotty took up position behind their aunt. The organ launched into ‘The Wedding March’ from Lohengrin and the three of them seemed to glide down the aisle.

  Oh, it really is worth it, thought Amelia, noting with deep satisfaction the whispers and dumbfounded expressions on faces around her. Then she became aware of Peter staring at her as if electrified and her knees went weak. He was wearing his demob suit, tawny hair slicked down with Brylcreem. There was a tiny cut on his chin which he must have done shaving. He looked very presentable and she was aware that her heart was racing as she came to a halt beside him.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ murmured Richie, his best man, catching sight of her for the first time. The priest fixed him with a stern eye and he apologised.

  Amelia could not prevent a smile but Peter was looking woodenly ahead, a nerve twitching in his jaw. What was he thinking? she wondered, hoping her appearance made him feel the bargain they had struck was worth far more than he had expected.

  ‘Dearly beloved . . .’ began the priest, who had not been pleased about her marrying a Protestant either, but had at least got Peter’s signature on the form saying he agreed that any children from the union would be brought up in the Roman Catholic faith. Easily done, thought Amelia, when they did not intend having any. Unexpectedly, the idea caused her a moment’s regret. Then she squared her shoulders. Whatever the outcome of this marriage, it was too late now for either of them to change their minds.

  Chapter Ten

  Rosie scraped the leftovers on to a plate and watched the cat gobble them up, thinking it had been quite an enjoyable day, although it had been a pity Davey had not been there. Instead she had danced with Chris, and the best man, and Uncle Pete.

  ‘Have you finished the dishes?’ Amelia entered the kitchen, still wearing her wedding finery.

  ‘Yes. Has everyone gone?’ Rosie stifled a yawn, wondering what mood her grandmother would be in when she got home.

  ‘I’ve just closed the door on the last.’ Amelia rubbed her eyes. ‘I’ll be glad to get to bed. It seemed to go off all right, though, didn’t it?’

  ‘Fine. There was just enough food and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even you put on a good act.’

  Amelia stared at her. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Ooops, sorry! I don’t know why I said it.’ Rosie wiped her hands on the tea towel. ‘It’s time I was going.’

  ‘No, wait!’ Amelia seized her arm. ‘I’ll need your help to get me out of this dress.’

  ‘No, she can go,’ said Peter in a tone which caused them both to turn and stare at him, standing in the doorway.

  ‘But I need her,’ insisted Amelia.

  ‘I can do anything you need doing,’ he rasped, hands in his pockets. ‘It’s been a long day for Rosie as well as us.’

  The girl did not argue. He had worn that tight expression when she had asked him questions about Aunt Amelia’s ex-fiancé in the garden. It was definitely time she was going. ‘I’ll see you next Sunday.’ She brushed past him, lifting her coat from the hook in the hall.

  ‘No, wait!’ cried Amelia, rustling after her, but Peter grabbed her hand.

  ‘We’ll see you out,’ he said, compelling his new wife to slow down.

  Amelia knew then there was nothing for it but to let Rosie go. They stood on the doorstep waving until she was out of sight. ‘Why did you do it?’ said Peter, ushering her back inside.

  ‘Why did I do what?’ Amelia attempted to free her hand but his grip tightened.

  ‘You know what I mean. That dress you’re wearing.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it? It was my mother’s.’ She glanced down at herself. Her ribs and breasts were aching and she was still hungry, having eaten little of the wedding breakfast.

  ‘You mentioned that on the way back from church,’ he said with careful patience. ‘What I mean is, why wear such a dress?’

  ‘To save money.’

  ‘Amelia, stop playing games!’ He dropped her hand, a pained expression on his lean face. ‘I thought we’d agreed it wasn’t going to be that kind of wedding?’

  ‘You told me to arrange things the way I wanted and that’s what I did,’ she said, trying to sound casual.

  ‘I know, but—’ Peter eased a finger round the inside of his collar. ‘I thought there would be just a few people with you in a—’

  ‘Little frock? Well, that wasn’t what I wanted. It might have been your second time around but—’ She stopped abruptly, remembering his first time and how young and sparkling he and Tess had appeared. That had been a sham, too, if Tess had been telling the truth in her farewell note.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Amelia in a low voice, fiddling with the lace on her sleeve. ‘I didn’t mean to bring it all back to you.’

  He stared at her and then suddenly started removing his collar studs. ‘I don’t begrudge you your day. It’s just that people seemed to think—’

  ‘That I’ve been out to catch you all these years?’ Her laughter contained a bitter note. ‘They’ve short memories!’

  ‘Tess committed suicide just as the war was nearing its end and she knew I’d be coming home,’ he said, dragging off his collar. ‘You know what people are like. And you processed down that aisle as if all the trumpets voluntary were playing. It was like the song – “This Is My Lovely Day”.’

  Of course she knew it. ‘I will always think of today as a lovely day,’ she said defiantly. ‘So don’t spoil it, please. I thought it would be obvious to them all why we were getting married.’

  ‘Well, I reckon it wasn’t to some.’ He sounded irritable. ‘Hasn’t there been enough gossip about Tess’s death? What with you providing her with the pills!’

  Amelia gasped. ‘You can’t be serious? You can’t think people believe I had anything to do with her death? You’re imagining things.’

  ‘Am I?’

  She was silent, remembering what one of her school friends had said about her being clever and a dark horse only a couple of hours ago. She might not have said it if she had not been drinking. ‘I’m sorry,’ Amelia said stiffly.

  Peter’s expression softened. ‘Let’s forget it. It’s done now. And isn’t it time you got out of that frock? Perhaps then we’ll both behave like normal people again.’

  ‘What’s normal?’ she said tartly.

  He did not answer, placing the studs in his trouser pocket. ‘You’ll need my help.’

  ‘Yes, because you chased Rosie away and it’s a really fiddly job.’ Amelia headed for the stairs, holding up her skirts.

  ‘Shhh!’ he murmured. ‘The twins are in bed.’

  ‘And Chris is out,’ she sai
d. ‘Do you think he went out deliberately?’ There was a fluttering in her breast as Peter followed her into her bedroom.

  ‘He’s a sensible lad,’ said Peter, taking her by the shoulders. ‘Here, stand under the light. Imagine the poor dressmaker slaving away with a guttering candle to sew all these on.’

  She was glad to present him with her back so she did not have to see his face. ‘The dressmaker was my mother and my grandparents had gaslight.’

  His fingers were warm against the nape of her neck and she hoped he was unaware of the shiver his touch sent right through her as she rushed into speech. ‘I do remember reading, though, that buttons were sometimes handmade by dairy maids in Poland.’

  ‘I bet they received a pittance.’

  ‘Most women were desperate to help feed their families.’ She realised they were both making conversation to cover up the awkwardness of their situation.

  ‘Not just women,’ he muttered, working his way down the back of the dress, all fingers and thumbs. ‘You only have to read Dickens to realise working-class men had a hard time of it, too. And not only manual workers but white collar as well. My great-grandfather was a clerk in a mill up in Lancashire.’

  ‘I thought your family came from Ireland?’

  ‘In Wellington’s time. My great-great-great-whatever followed the Duke to England. Not that he was a duke then.’ Peter’s hair brushed her back as his fingers went lower and lower, tickling her so that she wriggled. ‘Keep still,’ he said. ‘Fought in the Peninsular Wars, had a soldier mate from Bolton who died in his arms, and later married the bloke’s sister.’

  ‘You could write a book about a life like that,’ said Amelia, standing rigid now as she held the slack bodice against her.

  He paused and his arm went round her waist, pressing her against him, taking her completely by surprise. ‘You think so?’ he said against her ear. ‘I thought about it when I was in the Army. Money was always tight for us, with Tess’s illness. I put some of the story down on paper but she thought I was wasting my time.’

  Amelia was interested. ‘You must carry on. People need to escape their lives and live someone else’s for a while. Maybe you could make us rich?’ She glanced over her shoulder at him.