‘I’m fortunate,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a really good man.’
Lying in the bath, Philly thought about poverty, chastity and obedience lived in a world that was completely enclosed, a place where the laughter of children would never be heard. At the time, it had seemed to be the right thing, and her Irish family had been thrilled, as there were no boys to become priests. But Philly had failed them. Now they were all dead, or still in Ireland. She had invited none of the Mayo clan, because a mixed marriage would not be good news for them. Better to tell them after the event than to listen now to the moans and pleas of aunts and uncles who still stuck to the old mores of Catholicism. His mother had relented and would be at the church. That, in itself, was miracle enough.
It was going to be Father Walsh’s last wedding. The Church was losing a valuable man, yet Philly understood him. Her one experience of the physical aspect of love had proved surprisingly pleasurable, and it was only normal for such a handsome man to fall for a beautiful woman like Lily. It was rumoured that his real reason for quitting went deeper than that, but Philly was sure that he would soon be married, and that finding a true soulmate had given him the courage to depart. Newer gossip divulged his intention to lecture in psychology – he was supposed to have had a successful interview. Or was it philosophy? It didn’t matter. As long as he was happy, Philly and Dave would be pleased, as would most of his congregation.
Having gone overboard with perfumed bath oil, she decided to finish with a shower, because she had never been a fan of strong scents. Her hair, held in a net under a shower cap, was protected from the ablutions. Paul had done it yesterday, and had refused payment. Everyone was so good. She was marrying the loveliest man and would continue to live in Lancashire’s best ever village. After drying herself, she went down to make coffee. Her stomach was all over the place, so she decided to postpone breakfast for a while.
The phone rang. It was Lily. ‘Oh, I am so glad you came back. How are you? How are Cassie and Babs?’
‘Tell you when I get there.’
‘Get where?’
‘I’m coming to do your make-up. And, before you start, you won’t look like something that’s patrolled the streets of Soho for five years. Tell me the colour of your outfit.’
Philly described her suit. She wanted to ask whether Mike had stayed the night at the presbytery, longed to discover the truth about the relationship, but she did not own Dave’s mother’s cheek. Instead, she thanked Lily for volunteering, then drank her coffee. Several hours stood between now and the wedding. It was going to be a very long day.
Then the rain stopped. Philly ran through to the kitchen and looked at the sky. There was a brilliant rainbow with a paler echo in the distance. God was smiling after all, and blackbirds were singing His anthems.
Just lying with him was simply wonderful. He touched her face a lot, tracing cheekbones with tender fingers, stroking her hair and neck, planting small kisses on her flesh. There had been no sexual contact. Lily knew he was holding back because he wanted to give all of himself to today’s service. It was probable that they would not make love again until after he had left the priesthood, but it didn’t matter. Just having him near her was almost, but not quite, enough. He was kind, he was fun and he was clever. And she loved him with all her being.
Lily pushed a few curls from his forehead.
‘I didn’t get a proper haircut,’ he said.
‘Yes, I can see it’s still highly improper. And you’re breathing in my ear.’
‘But I did build an ironing board.’
It was on such ridiculously misplaced remarks that their relationship had been founded. The rabbit, the foxes, the ironing board – these were all part of something she had never known before. Her marriage, built on a highly volatile foundation of physical desire, jealousy, anger and cruelty, had allowed no space for the smaller and more important signals of love like ironing boards, cups of tea and cold beans on burnt toast. ‘What’s wrong with the old one?’ she asked.
‘Erm . . . Well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘One of your programmes – I think it was in Plymouth or some such foreign-sounding place—’
‘You know who I am?’
‘Of course I do. I’ve bought the DVDs of series one. You were giving grief to some poor kitchen fitter who was stuck under the sink with cramp in an arm. You shouldn’t have laughed at him, sweetheart. Anyway, they had this fancy contraption that fell out of the wall and became an ironing board.’
‘How long have you known?’
‘Eh?’
‘How long?’
‘About four and a half feet with a heat-resistant bit for the iron. It’s sheets, you see. Ironing boards need to be longer for the sheets. Especially when we get a bigger bed. I must have got it a bit wrong, though, because—’
‘Mike?’
‘Shut up, woman. Just don’t use it. I nearly got concussion in my hip bone. Can one have concussion in a hip? Anyway, it hurt like hell, so don’t use the board till I find some hydraulic system – oh, and it brought down a bit of the wall, just some plaster, five tiles and a couple of loose bricks. Also, you should stop bleaching your hair, because I have photographs now. You are even prettier as a brunette.’
Lily got out of bed and put the phone back on its charger. She had to finish the hall, help Philly prepare for the big day, get herself showered and changed, summon some other willing company because the bride was too nervy to be left to her own devices, and he knew she was Leanne Chalmers. ‘Secrets in this village don’t survive long, do they?’
‘It’s in the old scullery that you’re making into a utility room. It’ll be a good idea when I get it right.’
He was impossible. The recipe from which he had been made was unworkable, yet it did work – perfectly. He was near-genius wed to silliness, generosity with an added pinch of common sense, naughtiness bonded with a respect for a God in whom he placed his full trust. ‘You’re a madman,’ she said. ‘A lunatic. Why can’t you leave things alone?’
He winked. ‘I am deliberately leaving some things alone, madam, and most of those things are fastened to you. The puritan in me tells me to be chaste, so I use up my energy on ironing boards. You were the one who buggered off to Blackpool. I had to do something. My boss was cross with me, and my woman had gone missing.’
‘Bishop not pleased?’
He shook his head and wiped away an imaginary tear. ‘Wanted me to go on retreat for a couple of months to think about things. He made me feel thoroughly guilty, said that many priests have to answer to their consciences when it comes to certain sins like contraception – he didn’t listen, and I listened with just half an ear. It was a draw. Or he may have won on points.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well, I can’t have it both ways. Do you have an electric drill?’
Lily clouted him with a pillow. ‘Shall we ever have a sensible conversation?’
‘I hope not,’ he replied. ‘There’s concrete in that pillow. And I see we are to have paper napkins.’
‘Listen, Nancy Mitford. For a wedding, I would normally hire linen. The tables are covered with my own emergency stuff, but I don’t happen to have a hundred napkins, so yes, paper will have to do. You can come and help me fold them.’
‘Bugger that – I have to put my best frock on. It was sewn by nuns and there’s real gold in it. But I don’t know whether to go for the peep-toe sandals or those sequined Indian mules. I shan’t wear heels this time – they throw me off balance. Bad enough falling over at a wedding. Christenings can be a minefield in my Jimmy Choos.’
Lily lowered her head and refused to look at him. She wouldn’t laugh. If she started to giggle, there’d be no napkins and no make-up for the bride. He knew who she was. He knew she’d buried a pair of sewing scissors in her husband’s side after he’d . . . She mustn’t think about after or before, not today. She thanked God that Clive had lost his temper in court, because he had tried to make the jury believe that she had stabbed
him first. That day in court had been the one time when she’d been glad about his short fuse—
‘Stop it, Lily.’
Like Babs, he could get into her head. ‘Who told you?’
‘Chas. After Eve was injured. Not the full story at first, but I wheedled the rest out of him when you were in Blackpool, then I went to the library.’ He jumped out of bed. ‘May I borrow your heated rollers?’
‘No.’
He flounced out of the room like an injured Paul Smith, arms akimbo, nose in the air. Lily heard him as he stumbled over something on the landing. The words he uttered when responding to pain should never come from the mouth of a man of God. Seated on the bed, Lily tried to compose herself. A wedding planner cum interior decorator cum florist cum Jill-of-all-trades needed her wits about her. She pulled on some ragged clothes and went to find napkins. Philly would like swags and bows, so she rooted out a few for the cake table before going to find Mike.
He came in from the garden and sat at the dining table. ‘By the way,’ he said, his tone casual. ‘Will you marry me?’
Lily pretended to think about it. ‘Only this once,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t want to start making a habit of it.’ She saw the tears in his eyes. This clever man needed her. ‘I love you,’ she said. ‘But stop the home improvements, yes? Remember, I’m the Makeover Madness girl.’
He bit his lip. ‘Ah. So you don’t want me to triple-glaze the windows?’
‘Er . . . no. The windows here are precious.’
‘Draughty.’
‘No, Mike.’ It wasn’t going to be easy. He had a little devil in him, some sweet, childlike imp that allowed him to continue being a young offender. His nickname should be Asbo. She knew he would never touch the windows. She also knew that she would never find him predictable. ‘I’m going,’ she said. ‘See you in church.’ Yes, he would carry on being predictably unpredictable. He was wonderful.
Dave was thrilled to bits. The rain had stopped, he was getting married, Philly was delighted, and he had lost even more weight, because he could get his fingers down the waistband of his new suit, and it had been completed according to measurements taken just three weeks ago. He wasn’t fat any more and he was happy at last.
Eve walked round him in a slow circle. ‘Shoulders back,’ she commanded. ‘You’re the groom, not some little altar boy who doesn’t want to be noticed. Don’t twitch.’
He felt as if he was back at school with the headmistress giving him gyp. ‘You’ll be asking have I done my homework next,’ he grumbled.
‘Oh, you’ve done your homework all right.’ Eve grinned at him. ‘She’s pregnant, so eleven out of ten for that. And get that pocket hanky straight— Chas? I hope you’re ready. And I hope you’re not going to show me up by pushing your finger down the collar of that shirt all the time.’ She cast an eye over the groom. ‘My husband is allergic to suits,’ she said. ‘Chas?’ The tone was firm.
‘What?’ came the reply from the hall.
Eve found her husband fiddling with his mobile phone. ‘Right. What’s going on? Did you say something about going over to Liverpool on Monday?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I thought I’d go and see our Jack. Their Tracey’s got herself up the duff by some loonie druggie from Kirkby, and our Jack wants me to talk some sense into her.’ It was nearly the truth. It was the truth, though it wasn’t the whole truth, not the absolute version of—
‘You’re clearing your throat and holding your head to one side. How long have I known you, eh? And what are you hiding from me? You always tilt your head when you’re hiding something or other.’ She tapped a foot. ‘Out with it.’
‘It’s nothing.’
Eve opened a small bureau and took an envelope from one of the internal drawers. ‘A visiting order from Wally Willie.’
‘I’ve not seen Walter Wilson in a while, and he’s due out soon. I thought I’d call in, because our Jack’s house isn’t far from Walton.’
Eve sighed and folded her arms. She was supposed to be going across to sit with a nervous bride. She’d just promised Lily on the phone that she’d go and keep Philly company. ‘Why now?’ she asked.
‘Why not?’
‘You always tell me what’s going on, Chas. But first you get a manager in the shop without mentioning a dicky bird to me, and now you’re gallivanting off to Liverpool – which I’d never have known except for our Derek.’
‘I just want you to rest,’ he said.
‘I could rest at our Vera’s. It’s nice in Crosby this time of year.’
‘Blundellsands,’ he corrected her, his accent very clipped.
Eve nodded. She was using her special cleverness. She had discovered over the years that when she tackled him head-on, the result was more satisfactory if she distracted him for a few seconds in the middle of the attack. Vera had served her purpose, as had Crosby and Blundellsands, and it was now time to move in with the big guns. ‘Is he still in Walton?’
‘Walter Wilson? Course he is – he got a three stretch and he’s served nearly all of it for causing bother. Always kicking off, is Wally. No time off for good behaviour, so I don’t know how I’ll help him when he gets out. But Mrs Wilson was good to us, so I feel as if I should—’
‘Clive Chalmers, I mean.’
Chas stopped in his tracks. ‘Eh? Who?’
‘Don’t make me repeat myself, lad. You know what I’m on about. Wedding or no wedding, I’ll clobber you if I think you’re up to something. Then you can have a black eye while you make your best man’s speech.’
Chas took the letter from her and folded it carefully before placing it in an inside pocket. He straightened his spine. ‘Eve, leave it.’ There was a steely edge to his tone.
She looked hard at him. His head was erect, and there was no more throat-clearing. Two or three times during the marriage, he had put his foot down so hard that it would have taken a JCB to shift him. He met her gaze, did not flinch when she continued to stare. There was no need for words, because she knew full well that nothing she could say would alter the course of imminent events. ‘You’ve feelers out, I take it?’ she asked.
‘I’m not walking blind, girl.’
The joking, teasing and threatening would not work, because her Chas had made up his mind. He was a clown and a mischief, but he was also a man. ‘Are you safe?’
He nodded.
‘Is Walton Wally Willie safe?’
‘Yes. Well, as safe as any daft sod can be in that dump.’
Eve blinked back some saline. There was to be a wedding, and she must not weep. ‘But Lily isn’t safe.’
He made no reply.
‘And Cassie isn’t. Because Cassie’s his daughter, right?’
‘Yes.’
She clung to him. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful. If you went inside, I’d die. You know I can’t live without you.’
He clenched his fists. ‘Same here, kid. Don’t worry. I’ve picked a good team. The score’ll be one-nil and there’ll be no comeback. Now, stop this, or the pills won’t work.’
Eve nodded. ‘I’m taking the medicine and I feel . . . different. As if something’s clicked back in place. In my head, I mean. I really believe I’ve had my last fit, but I’ll take no chances.’
‘Good.’
‘And I don’t want you taking chances, either. So mind what I said.’
‘I won’t take any chances. Nobody will connect anything to me. Just stop your mithering, woman.’
‘I’ll do my best. But if you do to him what he did to me – by proxy – you’ll be as bad as he is.’
‘Will I?’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Whatever I’ve done in my life has been for us, Evie. For you, Derek and me. But I’ve never killed a child. Nobody I know would stoop that far. Now, you know you’re not going to get round me on this one, so go over to Philly’s and make sure she’s still in one piece. Tell her everything in the school hall’s lovely.’
‘Is it lovely?’
He almost growled, then
laughed. ‘It was all right last night, but Lily’s in charge today and we’re all banned. Tell Philly it’s all absolutely beautiful, or she’ll be in pieces.’
‘All right.’ She kissed him, wished Dave all the best, then left the house.
Chas stood for a while watching her crossing the road. He could not help nursing the terrible fear that she would collapse outside and get run over. Whenever Eve was out of his reach, he felt terrified, since he lost control every time she went out. He had some idea of how to deal with a fit, but not everyone could cope. It should never have happened to her, should never happen to anyone. With luck and a following wind, it would not happen again.
She went into Philly’s house, and Chas returned to the groom. As best man, he had a duty to perform. Monday must not overshadow today, because Dave and Philly deserved the best from everybody. Monday was just another fly that would land in the ointment named life. And flies should be exterminated . . .
Philly and Valda were weeping with laughter. Dressed only in their best underwear, they could not quite manage to pull themselves together.
Lily, who was wearing old jeans, a T-shirt and one of her more determined expressions, stood over the pair and tutted. ‘What’s got into you now?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be having a civilized game of whist while we wait for the main event?’
Valda could not speak, while the bride simply bowed down and placed her forehead on the table among a tumble of playing cards. If she laughed any more, she wouldn’t be able to walk.
‘Some kind of wedding this is going to be,’ said Lily despairingly. ‘There was nothing else for it, Valda. I couldn’t have you sitting here in your new frock till three o’clock. As for Philly – think of her amazing suit. It would have been wrinkled past saving by now.’
Eve entered after leaving her new clothes upstairs. She was wearing a bathrobe, and she threw a couple of dressing gowns at the other two women. ‘It’s playing whist in their knickers that got them reduced to melted butter,’ she told Lily. ‘Come on, put these on and let Lily do our faces.’
The Reading Room Page 29