by Carol Rivers
‘I’ve made the arrangements for Wednesday, March the twenty-sixth.’
‘Next month?’
‘Indeed. Here, I have the forms. Wednesday is our least busy day by far. The appointment is for ten o’clock. Mother will have the food ready for midday so that by one, we shall be open again, not missing much trade.’
Birdie took the paper he handed her. It was just a few lines that sounded as though they might be going to the doctor or the dentist, but was to be her wedding day. She tried not to feel as though something romantic and warm and endearing was missing.
‘But Dad,’ she burst out, ‘I’ve not told him yet. Will you come over this evening so that we can share the news together?’
‘I’m certain you don’t need me for that.’ He drew her close and kissed her on the lips. ‘I would just be an encumbrance.’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t,’ she protested. ‘Please come.’
‘Don’t worry, my dear, he’ll be very happy for us, just as Mother is. After all, with our respective Churches being so different, this is the only fair way. A middle line drawn down the centre, so to speak.’
Birdie hoped he was right. She’d been telling herself Wilfred would see the sense in a compromise, the quickest and easiest way to be married. But without Don at her side, would Wilfred agree?
‘I’m very pleased to say Lydia is feeling better,’ he continued. ‘She’ll be back at her desk today. A word of encouragement as you pass won’t go amiss.’
But when Lydia appeared, she held herself quite aloof and buried her head in the books. Birdie made several attempts to speak, but each time Lydia seemed not to hear her.
That night, Birdie resolved to tell Wilfred about the wedding. But the house was untidy and the ironing was piled high. Just as she sat with Wilfred in the parlour, he began to cough. It was a racking, chesty cough that had him climbing the stairs early to bed. By Saturday, the news still hadn’t been aired and on Sunday, there was no time after Mass, as Don took Birdie to tea with Aggie.
Birdie was flattered to think she had been invited, but the first question that Aggie asked as she offered Birdie a slice of fruitcake was one Birdie had dreaded.
‘So how is your father?’ Aggie asked unexpectedly, drawing her hands over a clean white apron that had been exchanged for the coarse grey one.
‘His cough is still troubling him.’
‘A good dose of friar’s balsam is all he needs,’ Aggie decided. ‘I’ve got a bottle somewhere on the shelves. I’ll look it out for you. Now come on, help yourself, it’s nice fresh fruitcake. None of the old stuff we put out for the customers.’ She gave Birdie a wink as though they shared a secret, but it only made Birdie think of all the poor customers who seemed too easily deceived. ‘And them’s nice sandwiches,’ Aggie continued. ‘I’ve spread ’em with plenty of mustard. You too, James, eat up. There’s thousands in need of feeding, so I don’t want to see a crumb left.’ She turned from the silent child back to Birdie. ‘Now that the date is set, ducks, we can get down to brass tacks. Lydia and James are to move next door, plenty of space there for a growing lad. That’ll leave you and Don two nice big rooms and will serve you both well as it did Lydia and Stephen.’ She pulled back her shoulders as she spoke of her dead son. ‘My lad done it up nice, before he left for the war and never came back, God rest his soul. A good bit of wallpaper that he found up in the attic and it wasn’t too far gone with the moth and don’t show the wear and tear.’
Birdie glanced at Lydia, who was sitting, her face ashen and her hands folded tightly in her lap. She tried to put herself in Lydia’s place. She and her little boy were to be moved next door, but what say had Lydia in this? The flat over the store had been her home since her marriage and James had grown up here. But Aggie showed no sentiment and seemed to expect no objection.
‘So if there’s any bits you want to move over before March,’ Aggie went on, ‘then you’d better move them over on a Sunday. That’s the only day the vehicle is free.’
‘I’d rather leave moving me things till after – after our wedding, that is.’ Birdie didn’t want to upset Wilfred and the less upheaval there was, the better.
‘As you like,’ Aggie agreed, placing the knitted cosy over the china teapot. ‘Be assured you’ll have a good bed here. There’s a fair-sized wardrobe too. In fact you won’t need much else, as Lydia has managed all this time with what’s in there.’
‘Oh, but I’d like a few of me bits and pieces eventually,’ Birdie rushed out, ‘like my dressing table and treadle. They were Mum’s, you see, and I’d like to have them close by.’
‘You won’t be needing the machine,’ Aggie replied, her eyes narrowing. ‘I’ve got an old one in a cupboard somewhere.’ Just then there was a rap at the door and Aggie sprang to her feet. ‘Now, I wonder who that can be.’
A moment or two later she returned with a short, stout man wearing a dark suit, and a hat, which he removed as he entered. Don got up to offer his hand, saying awkwardly, ‘What a surprise! How nice of you to call on us, Mr Howells.’
‘Not at all.’ The visitor, who wore a white clerical collar around his neck, turned immediately to Birdie. ‘Ah, so you must be Donald’s intended?’
Birdie nodded as Aggie pulled out a chair.
‘Have a seat, Vicar, right here next to me daughter-in-law. Well, she is as good as, ain’t she?’ Aggie lay a hand on Birdie’s shoulder, a powerful grip that squeezed hard into her skin. ‘Now, ducks, seeing as you’ll soon be part of the family it’d be nice for you to get acquainted with our friends, so I asked the Vicar to drop in. Now, I’ll pour us all another cup whilst you and him have a little chat. He needs cheering up as his poor missus went and died only last month.’
‘Hello, my dear,’ said Mr Howells. ‘Aggie has told me all about you.’
‘Has she?’ Birdie was surprised.
‘I’m hoping we might see something of you at church when you’re married.’
Birdie looked at Aggie, who seemed preoccupied with pouring the tea. Yet was she? ‘I’m a Catholic, Mr Howells,’ Birdie explained.
‘We welcome all faiths, Brigid.’
‘I don’t think—’ Birdie began, only to be stopped by Aggie, who said sharply, ‘A very nice offer, Mr Howells. I’m sure it will be taken up in time.’
Birdie felt colour rush to her cheeks. Aggie had engineered all this, she was certain! But Don was frowning in her direction, his eyes meeting hers severely.
The time passed very slowly for Birdie, and by the time tea was over and the Reverend Mr Howells had warmed her ear on the blessings of his wonderful parish, she was more than relieved when at last Don said it was time to drive her back to March Street.
Chapter 26
For the next day or two Birdie spent every spare moment preparing her bottom drawer. She had collected a modest amount over the years, as most girls did: sheets and pillowcases, arm and back rests for chairs, which she had personally embroidered, two heavy chenille tablecloths hemmed with looping tassels, although this wasn’t really the fashion now. But since she hadn’t enough to spend on luxuries, at least she could take what she had. Of course, she’d need new underwear and a new nightdress for her trousseau. What would it be like to lie in Don’s arms, to have him touch her, make love to her?
Oh, how she’d ached for him to hold her close, especially in moments at the shop when they found themselves alone. He had been quite ardent once, but recently she felt he was reluctant to show any affection in front of Aggie or Lydia. Despite what he’d promised about enjoying more time together, they seemed to find less and less opportunity to be with each other. But perhaps after they were married this would change.
What was it like to have a man make love to you, she often found herself wondering. She’d asked Flo, who’d giggled a lot and said Reg had been like a bull in a china shop when they’d first married. But Flo, who had three sisters and a wealth of knowledge, had boasted that she’d gradually trained Reg up. But Birdie didn’t think that Don w
ould like to be trained. She longed for him so much. Did he long for her in the same way?
On Sunday morning after Mass, Birdie told Flo that the date had been set.
‘So you’re going through with it?’ Flo asked as they sat in the back benches of church whilst the two girls went up to light their candles. ‘Have you told your dad?’
‘I haven’t got round to it yet.’
‘That’s what you said before.’
‘Shush, keep your voice down,’ Birdie whispered. ‘Father Flynn is giving us black looks.’
‘He’ll give you more than that when he knows you’re marrying out of the Church.’ Flo sank back against the polished bench with a protesting sigh. The smell of High Mass incense was heavy in the air and the silence was broken by Enid and Emily running back to them on the polished floor.
‘We done it, we lit ’em and didn’t get our fingers burned,’ said Emily scrambling on to Birdie’s lap. ‘Is me dress done yet?’
‘I was just talking to your mum about that,’ said Birdie, taking advantage of the cuddle.
‘Is mine?’ echoed Enid, squirming onto Flo’s knees.
‘They soon will be,’ promised Birdie, hoping that Flo would eventually manage a supportive smile.
‘Are you gonna have a long white dress?’ asked Emily, her eyes wide as she looked up at Birdie. ‘And a crown on yer ’ed?’
Birdie laughed. ‘Don’t think I’ll wear a crown. But I’ll have a nice dress and a hat.’
‘Don’t know if Reg will be able to come,’ Flo said flippantly. ‘Not on a Wednesday.’
‘But you’re my best friends. Can’t he get the morning off?’
‘He’d lose a day’s pay,’ Flo shrugged. ‘Don’t think we can afford it. But it’s not as if it’s a church wedding, is it? I mean, it’ll be ten minutes and then it’ll be over.’
Birdie glared at her friend. ‘Don’t rub it in, Flo.’
‘Well, you’re the one who agreed to be married by licence,’ Flo flung back. ‘It ain’t my fault, is it?’
‘You’ve never liked Don, have you?’ Birdie mumbled.
For a moment Flo was silent. Then, more gently she said, ‘It’s the way he treats you I don’t like. You’re me best mate and I want the best for you. Your mum did too, and brought you up with standards – good, old-fashioned values, like going to Mass regular and sticking by your family through thick and thin. But somehow it seems to me that Don don’t understand this. Pardon me for speaking me mind, but it’s only ’cos I think a lot of you.’
Emily pushed her arms around Birdie’s neck. ‘Are you and Mummy ’aving a row?’
‘Course we’re not,’ Birdie said, glancing at Flo. But her friend was already taking her daughter’s hands and pushing her along the pew and into the aisle, her jaw set tight in the way that Birdie knew meant Flo was upset.
For all Aggie’s fussing about stock, Don informed Birdie that, according to Lydia’s sums, the profit was down on last year. This seemed to inspire Aggie and Don to even greater efforts of hard work, and Birdie was ordered to fill the shop front each day with as much stock as she could manage to carry. It all went out, the good and the bad, but mostly the bad, with overripe and rotten goods drawing in the flies. Before the shop closed, it was up to her to bring back what was not sold. And there was piles of it. The customers, Birdie saw, were getting wise to Aggie’s tricks.
So Aggie insisted the store stayed open even later, though it didn’t seem to Birdie to make any difference. By the time she had stowed everything away, it was often past eight. Pat was charged with the duty of preparing supper, if not exactly cooking it. Birdie found his attempts were half-hearted, even though she told him in confidence her wedding day was not far off. He wasn’t even very good at the simplest jobs, like mashing potatoes. They turned out lumpy and unsalted, and Wilfred complained of just about everything Pat tried to do.
One Monday evening, Pat broke the news he had been promoted. ‘I was given that round I was after,’ he announced at the supper table.
‘Is it more money?’ Birdie was suspicious. This was the first she’d heard of the so-called promotion.
‘No, but I won’t have the fields to ride over. And no one wants them, as they’re marshy and hard work. This round’s nearer to Aldgate, along all the main roads.’
‘Aldgate!’ Birdie exclaimed as she filled their dishes with mutton stew laced thickly with pearl barley. She pushed a strand of damp hair from her eyes in the warm kitchen, a dozen chores on her mind still left to do. ‘But that’s miles away. What time will you finish?’
‘Dunno. After seven, I expect.’
She wondered if he’d done it to avoid his duties at home. She was about to ask him when Harry walked in the back door. His jacket was slung casually over his shoulder, but his smile disappeared when he saw the look of exasperation on Birdie’s face.
‘Oh, so you’re gracing us with your presence tonight, are you?’ Birdie couldn’t help her irritation. No one seemed bothered about what was going to happen when she was gone. ‘It must be all of two days since we saw you last,’ she noted, dropping a hefty portion of stew on his plate so that the gravy splashed over its edge. ‘Your appetite must have got the better of you.’
‘I’ve worked late—’ Harry began, trying in vain to repair the damage as the gravy dripped on to the table.
‘Now eat up, will you, before it gets cold,’ she scolded, darting a look across to her brother. ‘And what do you find so funny, Pat?’
‘You’re dropping the stew everywhere,’ he informed her, unable to stifle his amusement as he caught Harry’s twinkling gaze.
‘So you both think it’s funny, do you?’ she demanded, clattering the pot on the draining board. ‘Well, I’m sure I’ll be laughing too when I finally sit down and manage to get a fork to my lips.’
‘Now, now, girl,’ Wilfred reproved gently. Until now he had been sitting without comment and his tone was mild. ‘Don’t take umbrage, Brigid, for something that wasn’t meant. And as for Harry, he’s quite entitled to come and go as he pleases.’
‘Didn’t I just say that meself, Dad?’
‘No, you did not. You were more keen to remind us of the day of hard work that you’ve had.’
Birdie felt her cheeks burn as she stared at the upturned faces. ‘Oh, so you’re listening at last, the three of you?’
There was silence in the kitchen, until Wilfred placed his hands on the table and with a deep frown, demanded, ‘What’s happening to this household? A man can’t say a thing right these days. And the place is so gloomy it’s like a bloody funeral parlour.’
‘There’s no need to curse, Dad.’
‘I will if I feel like it,’ Wilfred replied angrily. ‘You can give out the orders when you have a roof of your own to live under.’
Birdie’s eyes felt moist. ‘Well, it’ll be a good thing when I marry, won’t it? After me wedding you’ll be able to do as you please—’ She stopped, almost fainting with mortification for what she’d just said.
Wilfred stared at her, the frown so deep on his forehead that it looked carved out of his skin.
‘It’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Dad.’
‘Go on,’ Wilfred said quietly. ‘I’m listening, girl.’
Birdie felt like a child again, needing approval, yet knowing that she would never be given it. ‘It’s March the twenty-sixth, to be precise.’
Wilfred gazed at her. ‘So it’s done, is it?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Ah, well, it had to come, yes, it did. And you shouldn’t be in a fuss about it,’ he smiled, ‘I’ve told you before that we’ll all manage. So why is it you’ve that long face on you, lass?’
She fought desperately to think of a way to put it, but in the end there was only the plain truth to tell. ‘Dad, we’re being married by register. Now I know you won’t favour it, but you see, Don’s Church means a lot to him—’
‘Register?’ Wilfred repeated. ‘What are talking about, girl?’
Bi
rdie could barely look at him. ‘It’s the best for both of us, see? Mrs Thorne don’t approve of a Roman service. And it’s just not fair that Don would have no one on his side whereas there’d be a church full of us—’
‘But you’re a Catholic, girl,’ Wilfred insisted, ‘from birth.’
‘I know, Dad.’
Wilfred shook his head slowly. ‘I want to see you married as your mother wished. I’ve never converted meself, never felt the need, but you were brought up in the faith. And now you’re telling me you’re committing yourself, taking vows – promises to last a lifetime – by register?’
‘Oh, Dad, don’t take it so hard,’ Birdie pleaded. ‘I’ll mean me vows, no matter where I speak them.’
Wilfred sat in silence again, his gaunt frame hunched over the table, until at last he dragged up the strength to reply. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when a daughter of mine would give up her faith.’
‘I ain’t giving it up, Dad,’ Birdie insisted, but she was crumbling inside.
‘That’s for you to decide.’
He stood and stared down at her. For a moment she thought he was going to speak, but all he did was shake his head. Slowly he left the room. Birdie felt distraught.
She had convinced herself he’d see the sense in it, wish her good luck in the life she had chosen even though it wasn’t to be started in church. But now she knew it could never happen. And her heart felt torn in two because of it, as if she were disowning her old life, when all she was doing was trying to make a new one.
Chapter 27
‘Don’t know what you expected,’ Pat said unsympathetically as he picked up his spoon after their father had left the kitchen. Not a word had been said as they had eaten half-heartedly and refused an offer of pudding. ‘If Mum was alive—’
‘Well, she’s not.’ Birdie was hurt to the quick, yet feeling guilty. Why couldn’t everyone see that it wasn’t her first choice to marry by register, but that she had to do it? ‘It’s me and no one else that’s tying the knot, Pat. It’s Brigid Connor who at last is having a wedding ring put on her finger.’