by Fern Britton
Jesse was being helped up the snowy lane towards St Peter’s. The lads in the Golden Hind had given him more than a hair of the dog. He’d had the entire pelt.
‘Come on, little bro,’ said Grant, pulling him up the lane. ‘Your destiny awaits.’
‘I don’t wanta get married today,’ he slurred, trying to pull away from them both. ‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Mickey said firmly, taking Jesse’s weight as he slid on an icy cobble. He looked over at Grant on the other side. ‘You shouldn’t have let ’im drink so much.’
Grant laughed unpleasantly. ‘He’ll be all right. He’s only getting married. It’s nothing serious, is it?’
‘But Greer’s going to kill me. I’m the best man. I’m supposed to be looking after him.’
‘And I’m helping you, aren’t I?’
*
The Reverend Rowena Davies was immensely understanding and compassionate. She had been an army chaplain and knew the frailties of men. She sat Jesse down on a rickety wooden ladder-backed chair and unlocked the vestry cupboard that was used by the mothers’ and toddlers’ group, raiding their refreshments shelf.
‘There’s a biscuit tin,’ she said in triumph. ‘Please God, let it not be empty.’ Her prayer was answered. ‘Oh dear. Ginger nuts. Still, needs must. Sit down here, Jesse, and eat these. We’ve got about twenty minutes to get you shipshape.’
From under a curtained shelf she then produced a kettle and a jar of instant coffee. ‘Only black, I’m afraid. No milk but there’s sugar. Make him a strong one, Mickey. Plenty of sugar. I’m going to nip out front and greet any early-comers.’
Mickey could have kissed her. ‘Thanks, Vicar.’
‘All in a day’s work. See you shortly.’
*
Jesse drank the coffee, ate the biscuits and swallowed a couple of pills that Grant had in his pocket. ‘They give us commandos these when we’re on ops. Keeps us alert.’
‘Speed?’ asked Mickey, shocked.
Grant tapped the side of his nose. ‘No name no pack drill.’
Whatever it was that Grant had given him, Jesse began to feel a little less drunk and a little more alert very quickly. Grant crouched over him, hands on his uniformed knees, and examined his brother’s face. ‘You’re coming back to us, Jesse boy, you’re coming back.’
‘Grant, I …’ Jesse started to speak.
‘Now don’t do nothing stupid. We’re going to walk into the church now and you and Mickey are going to look happy and sober. Got it? You’re taking one for the team, ain’t you now, boy? Can’t let Daddy down.’
Terror gripped Jesse’s heart again, but he nodded. ‘How long have we got?’
Mickey checked his watch. ‘About five minutes if she’s on time.’
Edward Behenna burst into the vestry. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ He took one look at Jesse, who felt his resolve stiffen. He gulped back some more of the coffee and shook himself. He knew what he had to do.
*
Loveday had been brought to the church in one of Greer’s cousin’s cars. She was finding it hard to absorb what was actually going on around her. She found herself squashed into the back seat of an ancient Hillman Imp, with the cousin’s husband driving gingerly over the compacted snow and the cousin twisting round in the front seat to talk nonstop at her. At least she left no space for replies. Loveday’s brain was left to wonder how on earth Jesse was going to stop this wedding.
The Hillman Imp couldn’t make it up the lane to the church, so Loveday struggled over the front tip-up seat and out into the snow. It was cold but at least it had stopped snowing. Her pinching satin slippers might as well have been made from blotting paper as she trudged on up the road, the sound of the bells pealing in her ears, the cousin yakking by her side.
*
‘You look beautiful.’ Bryn Clovelly stood in awe as his only daughter stepped from her bedroom and stood in front of him. ‘Give us a twirl.’
Greer obliged. ‘Will I do, Daddy?’
‘My darling, you’d do for a prince, never mind Jesse Behenna.’
They were alone in the house. Greer’s mother had already left with her brother, Uncle Alan, and his wife, Auntie Lou, with a handbag stuffed full of tissues.
‘You do like Jesse, don’t you, Daddy? You do think he is going to be a good husband?’ Greer felt suddenly nervous that maybe her father didn’t want her to marry Jesse.
The truth was that Bryn was delighted at the thought of the merger with the Behenna fishing fleet, and about all the money they were going to make now that the two families were one. A small gust of guilt hit him. Was this really the right thing to do?
‘I’ll marmalise him if he hurts you.’ Greer’s innocent smile of relief made him pity her, so he added, ‘But he won’t.’
There was the honk of a car horn outside.
‘Your carriage awaits, my lady.’ Smiling, Bryn proffered his arm. Greer slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow and took a deep breath. ‘Ready?’
*
The 1955 cream Bentley with its wedding ribbons drew lots of attention. Its slowly negotiating the snow on the road down to Trevay meant that the locals could get a good look at Greer Clovelly on her way to marry Jesse Behenna. Greer made the most of it, smiling and offering little waves to the children through the big glass windows. She felt like a princess. At the bottom of the lane to the church, the Bentley stopped. The driver in his dove-grey peaked cap turned and said to Bryn, ‘I’ll ’ave to let ’e out ’ere. She’ll never make it up to the church.’
Greer looked horrified. ‘I can’t walk up. My dress will be ruined.’
‘I thought this might happen, so I’ve organised a little help,’ smiled Bryn. ‘Look over there.’ He pointed towards the harbour. Sitting on the wall were two of the Trevay lifeboat crew in yellow wellies and thick navy wool jumpers. One was the coxswain, the other a strapping younger crewman. They got off the wall and came towards the car.
Bryn stepped out and shook their hands. ‘Morning, lads. This is very good of you.’
The coxswain of the lifeboat, a wily old seaman who’d seen just about anything there was to see in life said, ‘Our pleasure, Mr Clovelly. Can’t ’ave this beautiful maid getting ’er feet wet, can we?’
Bryn walked to the other side of the car and opened Greer’s door. The young lifeboat man stepped forward and smiled an appreciative smile at Greer. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, before sliding one strong arm under her bottom and the other around her back. He lifted her easily out of the car and began the short climb up the lane towards St Peter’s.
At the church door, a damp-footed and shivering Loveday watched Greer draped in the arms of the handsome Stevie (everyone at school had fancied him), looking for all the world like a bloody poster for An Officer and a Gentleman. Loveday felt trapped in a nightmare that she wasn’t about to wake up from any time soon. She hadn’t seen Jesse or Mickey, but the Reverend Rowena had whispered something about having to sober the groom up, which had sent Loveday’s brain into meltdown. Was Jesse going to leave it right till the last moment to drunkenly jilt Greer in front of everyone? This was not how it should be. Loveday’s feet grew colder and wetter.
Greer was now two paces away from Loveday and smiling happily in the arms of the handsome Stevie. ‘Isn’t this romantic, Loveday?’
The wedding photographer took a couple of shots of Greer in Stevie’s arms before Stevie put Greer down gently inside the church porch, which was more or less dry.
Loveday tried a bright smile, but inside her thoughts were tumbling around; a terrible confusion of guilt and fear and an over-riding yearning for Jesse to come and sort everything out. Knowing that this radiant bride was about to have her bubble burst tore at her insides. Still, better now than a few months down the line when a messy divorce would be on the cards. ‘You look wonderful, Greer.’
‘Would you sort my veil out for me?’ Greer asked her.
‘Sure.’ With hands that were shaking from cold and appr
ehension, Loveday lifted the froth of soft tulle over Greer’s face.
‘Daddy,’ called Greer.
‘Just coming, my love.’ Bryn replied, palming fifty pounds to the coxswain and saying sotto voce, ‘Cheers, mate.’
‘Come on, Loveday. Stand behind me and Daddy and let’s go. I can’t wait to see Jesse’s face when he sees me.’ Greer watched as Loveday got into position and then she took her father’s arm. The church bells had stopped pealing and there was a moment’s silence before the organ struck up Mendelssohn’s ‘Wedding March’.
*
Jesse’s heart was hammering in his throat. He felt dizzy. Mickey touched his arm. ‘You OK?’
The organ’s swelling notes were increasing the panic he felt. He started breathing loudly through his mouth.
‘Here she comes,’ nudged Mickey. ‘Look at ’er.’
Jesse held the back of his pew for support as he turned. Greer was coming towards him as if on a cloud. He wanted to shout ‘stop’, but instead his eyes slid to Loveday walking behind, her eyes glued desperately to Jesse’s. His brain was telling his mouth to open and speak, but when he tried it would not obey. He turned quickly back to the altar. Behind him he could hear his mum sniffing into her hanky.
The Reverend Rowena had seen nervous grooms before, but never as stricken as Jesse. She smiled at him and offered a prayer to bring him peace.
Greer arrived at Jesse’s side. She looked up at him adoringly. He couldn’t move.
Greer turned to Loveday and handed her the bouquet. Loveday took it and stood rooted to the spot, staring at Jesse, who looked as if he might faint. Greer was whispering to her, ‘My veil. Lift my veil.’ Loveday looked at her hands, each holding a bouquet, her own and the bride’s. ‘Give them to my mother,’ Greer hissed.
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here, in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony, which is an honourable state …’
13
‘I can’t believe we’ve been married for almost three weeks already.’ Greer stretched out her left hand and wiggled the fourth finger to allow the two shiny rings, one a diamond solitaire set in gold, the other a matching gold band, to twinkle in the sunshine.
‘Are you happy, Jesse?’
Jesse, at that particular moment, was happy. He was lying on a comfortable sun lounger, by a sparkling azure pool with a cold glass of beer by his side, hundreds of miles away from the mess he’d left behind in Trevay. He was almost starting to believe he’d got away with the biggest mistake of his life. That’s not to say that several times a day he didn’t break out in a cold sweat thinking of his betrayal. Last night he’d dreamt of making love to Loveday in his parents’ bed. Neither he nor Loveday had heard the footsteps coming up the stairs or the turn of the door handle. They hadn’t seen the faces of his mother, his father, Mickey and Greer contorted in grief and horror until Mickey had pulled out a fish-gutting knife and had stabbed himself in the heart. His blood had pumped in a perfect arc over Loveday’s face and into Jesse’s eyes. His mother was screaming. Greer was shouting, ‘Jesse, Jesse, stop it, stop it!’ She was tapping at his face and shaking his shoulders. ‘Jesse, wake up. Wake up! What’s the matter?’
He’d opened his eyes, knowing that he would see Loveday’s blood-covered face staring at him accusingly, Mickey’s body lying across her. But all he saw was the concerned face of Greer gently shaking him. ‘Jesse, it’s OK. I’m here. It was a dream.’
His eyes slowly took in the hotel bedroom and its whitewashed walls. The early light was twinkling through the shutters and he heard the clatter of a woman in heels walk across the floor of the room above.
His heart was thudding more gently now and his breathing was returning to normal.
‘You were shouting Mickey’s name.’ Greer’s face was full of concern.
He hated himself. ‘Was I?’ Guilt swept through him. ‘Did I say anything else?’
‘You were mumbling and pushing your arms out in front of you, and you kept saying, “Mickey”.’
He sat up and rubbed the sweat from his top lip. ‘I must be missing the bugger.’
‘Can you remember what the dream was about?’ asked Greer.
‘No. Funny how dreams just vanish like that.’ He rubbed a hand over his bleary eyes.
Greer pushed the thin sheet off herself and padded over the marble-tiled floor towards the bathroom.
He heard her pee and wash her hands. When she came back there was just enough light in the room to penetrate her gauzy nightdress. He saw the flatness of her stomach and her small, high breasts. He hadn’t been a virgin when he married Greer. There had been nights out in Newquay with Mickey and other mates where they’d all succumbed to sexual experiences of varying satisfaction and success.
He had been gentler with Greer on their wedding night than he’d been with Loveday. He knew for sure that this was Greer’s first time. He wished he’d known it had been Loveday’s. He wished many things. The seething guilt rose in him again.
Greer moved gracefully to her side of the king-size bed and got under the sheet next to him. He was still getting used to the novelty of asking for sex at any time – and getting it. He rolled towards her and put his hand on her thigh, pushing the nightie over her hips and up to her stomach.
‘Why do you wear this thing?’
‘I always wear a nightie.’ He felt the tension – or was it reluctance? – in her body.
‘I like you naked.’ He moved himself on top of her and eased his legs between hers.
She kept her eyes closed as he kissed her. As he pushed into her she tensed again but made no noise.
‘Does it still hurt?’ he asked, slowly pushing in and out of her.
‘A bit.’
‘You just need a bit more practice, that’s all.’
Afterwards she got out of bed and had a long shower before getting dressed and organising her bag of poolside essentials. He watched her. He was fond of her. She had a good heart and loved him, he knew. She wasn’t Loveday but she was his wife.
And now, here they were, lying in the January sun by a sparkling pool in Gran Canaria.
‘I still can’t believe how Mummy and Daddy managed to keep this whole honeymoon a secret from us,’ sighed Greer. ‘Hasn’t it been dreamy?’
Jesse took a mouthful of the cold Spanish beer and nodded.
He still couldn’t think with any clarity about his wedding day. He remembered Loveday’s flow of silent tears as she stood behind them at the altar, Mickey’s concern for her, and the congregation applauding when the vicar pronounced them man and wife.
In the vestry, as they had signed the register, he had tried to catch Loveday’s eye, but she had kept as far away from him as she could. Then, once the signing and the photos were done and Greer had taken his arm possessively in order to walk triumphantly down the aisle, showing off her new husband, he had felt something being stuffed into his jacket pocket by Bryn, his new father-in-law. He was saying, ‘It’s your honeymoon, lad. Treat her well. The flight goes from Bristol in five hours. Four weeks of sun in the Grand Hotel Residencia, Gran Canaria.’ Jesse had looked at him stupidly. ‘And,’ continued Bryn, ‘when you get back, no need to worry about moving in with us. I’ve got a little place all set up for you.’ He elbowed his new son-in-law in the ribs. ‘After all, you don’t want the “outlaws” breathing down your neck every time you want some privacy, do you?’ He winked at Jesse as Jesse allowed himself to be dragged out of the vestry and down the aisle to the triumphant organ and hearty applause.
*
The reception, held at the golf club, had been noisy and boozy. Mickey’s speech, nervously delivered, had gone down well, and Jesse managed the thank yous and the toasts he was obliged to give. ‘And, finally,’ he said, putting his crib notes down on the tablecloth, ‘I’d like to thank my two best friends for sharing this day with me. Best man, Mickey Chandler, and bridesmaid …’ He swallowed pushing down
the terrible but wonderful thoughts of what had happened between them. ‘… Loveday Carter.’ The crowd applauded and a few wolf-whistled as Loveday left her seat and took a mock bow. Smiling and waving, she smoothed down the hideous dress and walked sedately to the ladies to cry in the peace of a cubicle.
Jesse watched her go. With a cowardice that shocked him, he stayed put and continued, ‘And, finally, my greatest thanks go to … Greer, who I’ve known since we were both five and who is now … my wife.’ He raised his glass. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. The bride.’
*
A few minutes later, Jesse had made his way to the lavatories. Instead of going into the Gents, he dived into the Ladies, praying no one would catch him. Instead of a row of urinals he was met with a dully lit lobby, a full-length mirror and a dressing table with stool. On the dressing table was a tissue box festooned in lilac lace and a clothes brush. He couldn’t face looking at his reflection as he found the second door leading to the inner sanctuary of the women’s stalls. Five in a row and only one door closed.
‘Loveday, I know you’re in there. Let me in.’
Loveday, sitting on the closed seat, was crying as quietly as she could. She stopped and sat still.
‘Loveday. I want to talk to you.’
‘Go away.’
He heard the outer door – the one that led to the small lobby – opening, and two women talking. ‘She looks lovely, don’t she?’ remarked one.
‘Aye, she does that, but her mother was always a looker and ’er dad weren’t so bad when ’e was a young ’un.’ As they pushed the inner door, Jesse dived into the empty cubicle next to Loveday’s.
To make things sound authentic he thought he might as well have a pee while he was there. Giving himself a shake as he finished, he listened as the two strangers peed like camels, keeping up a stream of gossip about their opinions on the various outfits on display. Finally he heard their flushes and the two women washed their hands, still talking, before the hand driers drowned them out and they finally left.
He felt a hand tickling the top of his head. It was Loveday, standing on the loo seat next door. He looked up at her and a smile flooded her face. He opened his mouth to say something but she put a finger to her lips.