So much of her wanted to deliver a devastating parting shot and leave, but at that moment Auntie Rosemary’s words reverber ated through her mind: This isn’t like you, Harri. This isn’t who you are . . .
‘I just don’t know how to be with you right now,’ she answered slowly, every word considered before she spoke it. ‘I’m not sure what to say, or what to believe . . .’
Alex’s brow furrowed and Harri noticed how tired his eyes looked. ‘What do you mean, what to believe? I’m not the one who’s changed – I’m still the same.’
A weight crushed her throat, as if the air in the kitchen had suddenly become thicker than treacle, reducing her voice to a strained whisper. ‘No you’re not. You pity me.’
‘What? No, Harri!’
She nodded slowly, unable to look at him now. ‘Yes, you do. You were only spending time with me because you felt sorry for me.’
Alex shook his head, incredulity claiming his features. ‘Where is all this coming from?’
Straightening up to bring her eyes level with his, Harri felt a shot of indignation firing down through her backbone. He was not going to make out this was all her imagination. Not now. ‘I heard you, Alex. I heard you telling Jack you pitied me.’
His expression moved through disbelief and realisation to sheer horror and his voice cracked as he spoke. ‘Hell, Harri, I—’
‘Don’t say you didn’t mean it, OK? Say anything else, but don’t deny what you said. I don’t want you to lie to me because you feel embarrassed. It’s better that I know the truth.’
‘It isn’t the truth.’
Harri’s laugh was cold and hollow. ‘Sure.’
‘It’s not!’
‘You’re forgetting, I heard you say it, Alex.’
‘I know, I know that, but . . . but I was stupid. If I’d known you were listening—’ He broke off when he saw her expression and pushed both hands up into his hair. ‘Harri, you have to believe me: I didn’t mean it. I don’t pity you at all. Your friendship means the world to me, I – I’d never do anything to jeopardise that.’
She took a breath and released the second accusation. ‘Then why did you tell Chelsea the same thing?’
His expression clouded. ‘Chelsea?’
‘She told me, a couple of weeks ago. Said you felt sorry for me because my parents died and I’ve had such a pathetically tragic life.’
‘No, no, you’ve made a mistake, Harri. Chels wouldn’t say that. I know she wouldn’t.’
Harri began to quickly untie her apron, hurt and embarrassment making her hands clumsy. ‘Whatever. I can’t do this any more.’
Alex stepped forward and took hold of her shoulders. ‘Stop – just stop, will you? This is ridiculous, Harri. I don’t want to lose your friendship over this.’ He paused, his dark eyes searching hers for any sign of forgiveness. ‘OK, if you say she said that, then I believe you. I can’t understand it and all I can think is that she’s got her wires crossed somewhere. But I believe you, Harri.’
For a long time they remained, eyes locked, breathing like runners after a sprint, each one unsure of their next move. Stalemate. The closeness was disquieting, but Harri couldn’t move.
A loud click from the kettle reaching the end of its boil made them both jump, breaking the tension between them. Alex’s hand lowered as Harri’s shoulders relaxed.
‘I was making you tea,’ she offered weakly.
‘Good,’ he replied, staring blankly at the kettle, then back at her. ‘Why didn’t you say anything about what I said to Jack?’
‘Because I was hurt and angry. And I didn’t want you to deny how you felt.’
‘I honestly didn’t mean that. I can’t imagine not having you in my life. You’re my closest friend and I depend on you more than I let on.’
‘Then why say it? Twice?’
He stared at her. ‘Jack was winding me up and I – I suppose I just said something to shut him up. And Chels – well, I did tell her about your mum and dad, but I swear I never said I pitied you. Look, H, I can’t excuse being an idiot, but I really am so sorry I hurt you.’ He glanced back at the kettle. ‘Will you be staying for a cuppa?’
Harri summoned the tiniest of smiles forward for duty. ‘I guess I will.’
The ceasefire was uneasy and far from a full armistice, but it was sufficient to slacken the strain between them. They drank their tea slowly, Harri aware of a thousand thoughts trekking across Alex’s brow. When she reached out to collect his empty mug, Alex caught her arm, gathering her up in his arms, not waiting for an invitation, and they hugged uncomfortably for several awkward moments, Alex prolonging it for much longer than Harri did.
By the time Harri left, she was feeling more positive. While it was clear that it would take more than a cup of tea and a faltering hug to repair the damage done over the last few months, it felt like a step in the right direction. Their friendship had survived its biggest test in years.
But unbeknown to both of them, a larger ordeal lay ahead.
Preparations for the Binchams’ big day started early the next morning. When Harri arrived at the snow-covered church, Auntie Rosemary was already there, wobbling on the top step of her trusty stepladder as she attempted to fit a garland around the stone doorway.
‘Auntie Rosemary, what on earth are you doing?’
‘Won’t be a tick, Harri. Be a dear: hold these, would you?’ She passed down a handful of foliage sprigs and a pair of secateurs.
‘How long have you been here?’
Rosemary tutted and straightened a pink ribbon bow near the middle of the garland. ‘Ah, that’s better. I’m sorry, my darling, what were you saying?’
Harri smiled. ‘Nothing. So, what can I do?’
Rosemary carefully made her way back down the ladder and dug in her cardigan pocket for a shabby-looking folded envelope with writing on the back. ‘Let’s see . . . um . . . could you fit the end of pew arrangements for me? They just need hanging.’
‘No problem.’
‘Excellent.’ She pulled a chewed biro from the messy bun at the back of her head and ticked another two items off her list. ‘That’s almost everything done. Not bad, considering I only arrived here at six this morning.’
‘Only?’
They walked into the church together. ‘Believe me, Harriet, six o’clock is practically a lie-in compared to some weddings I’ve worked on over the years. It used to drive your cousins mad when I got them up before the birds, dragging them out with me because I had wedding flowers to do.’
‘Oh, I bet James loved that!’ Harri laughed.
‘Well, let’s just say I wasn’t his favourite person in the summer,’ Rosemary replied, sitting down on a pew and rubbing her back. ‘So is Rob coming tonight?’
‘Yes. There wasn’t any point asking him to help with the preparations today: he’s useless at anything practical.’
Auntie Rosemary nodded, but her eyes had a strange look to them. ‘You are happy, aren’t you, darling?’
Harri hated this question. After all, what did it mean? Was it possible to be happy with every arena of your life, or was it more a case of getting the majority of it somewhere near happy and ignoring the rest? In many ways Harri loved her life – her little cottage, her job (for all its annoyances and frustrations it was the best occupation in the world for her), Rob, her friends and her travel books . . . In that sense she was content. But the loneliness waiting for her whenever she was by herself, the queue of dreams still waiting unfulfilled – in these areas she was far from where she wanted to be. ‘I’m good, thanks.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’ Rosemary stood suddenly, her eyes drifting away up the aisle. ‘I’ll just be up by the pulpit if you need anything, all right?’
Surprised by her aunt’s sudden shift in demeanour, Harri set to work.
From the church she went straight to the Binchams’ house to deliver a small blue brooch that had been her mother’s, for Ethel to wear. The house was a flurry of activity, with see
mingly half the females of Stone Yardley crammed into the front room of the Edwardian blue-brick semi, whilst Geoff and several friends were in the process of being evicted down the stairs by Ethel’s sister, Flo.
‘. . . but shouldn’t I wait with our Eth?’ Geoff protested. ‘You can see her at the church, Geoffrey, and that’s the end of it. Now get your backside out of that door!’ Flo demanded, bundling her brother-in-law and his entourage out into the porch with surprising force for a lady of her age. ‘This is about the only time we’s’ll ask you to go down the pub, so you’d best make the most of it!’
In the middle of the front room, Mrs Bincham was standing shakily on a small footstool as the women fussed around her, the back of her cream dress hitched up on an ironing board while a red-faced relative ironed the hem with great enthusiasm. The room smelled of violets and lavender, and the faces of the Binchams’ children and grandchildren smiled down from gilt frames clustered upon the mantelpiece.
‘Stand still, our Eth,’ the ironing lady boomed. ‘We don’t want you all creased up going down the aisle, do we?’
‘But I’m going to have to sit down in the car,’ Ethel protested, to no avail. Her face lit up when she saw Harri. ‘Oh, Harriet, you’re here.’
‘You look lovely, Mrs B,’ she smiled, handing her the brooch. ‘Here’s something borrowed and blue for you. It’s old as well.’
Beaming, she accepted it. ‘Oh, it’s proper bostin’, our kid. Proper bostin’ . . .’ She sniffed and caused a minor panic amongst the fussing female guests, who rushed up with hankies. Shooing them away, she smiled down at Harri. ‘Mind you, I’m pretty much sorted for the something old – our Geoff’ll do for that!’
It quickly became apparent that nothing was going to go to plan today. At ten o’clock Harri parked her car in the small car park at the Village Hall, having had to make three detours already: to pick up extra balloons from Clownaround, the party supplies shop in Ellingsgate; to collect a celebration cake that had been kindly donated by Sugarbuds cake shop; and, finally, when she was halfway to the Village Hall, a call from George had her turning the car round and heading back to SLIT to pick up a box of wine he had offered for the party that evening.
At least there had been no more snow. Instead, the pale winter sun shone brightly, causing the lying snow to sparkle like the Clarnico Mint Creams that Grandma Langton had always handed round at Christmas.
Alex was lifting catering crates from the boot of his car when Harri arrived.
‘Hey, you. I thought you were aiming to be here an hour ago.’
Harri balanced the three cake boxes on the roof of her car as she shut the passenger door. ‘Don’t ask. I’ve somehow managed to clock up ten miles over a two-mile journey.’
‘Some skill you have there. Need a hand with those?’
‘Nope, I’m good. Lead the way, sir!’
As they unpacked boxes, set up tables, fixed balloons and streamers around the hall, their conversation flowed easily – much to Harri’s relief after the turmoil of recent months. It was wonderful, and Harri dared to hope that it was a good sign for the future.
Viv breezed in at half-past two, apologising profusely for her tardiness and offering to help. True to form, she had arrived at the very moment everything was done, but – as she pointed out – it was the thought that counted, wasn’t it? Still, at least she found one useful thing to do and, five minutes later, they stood in the middle of the hall drinking hot tea from an eclectic selection of mugs.
‘I never had you down as a Stourbridge Town fan, Mum,’ Alex said, pointing at her mug.
‘I rather like their colours. I’m thinking of signing up for a season ticket, what do you think? Anyway, you can talk: apparently you feel like Chicken Tonight.’
‘Why on earth would anyone have a mug with that on it?’ Harri chuckled.
Alex laughed. ‘Evidently they don’t any more, seeing as it’s here.’
‘Well, I really don’t know what to make of mine,’ said Harri, turning her Hamlet Cigar mug round to reveal the legend ‘For the man who thinks that little bit bigger’.
‘I shudder to think,’ Viv said, looking at her watch. ‘Gracious me! Look at the time! We have to change and get over to St Mary’s for four!’
Quickly, they finished their tea and donned hats, coats and gloves to head out into the chilly afternoon.
The saying goes that you’re never too old to be in love: in Ethel and Geoff’s case this was undeniably true. Forty-three years since he had complimented her Melting Moments, they appeared as smitten with each other as ever.
The packed congregation’s excited chatter hushed as Etta James’s sultry voice began to sing the opening lines of ‘At Last’, accompanied by sweeping strings. Harri gave Rob’s warm hand beside her an involuntary squeeze as the sheer romance of the song and the occasion lifted her heart. Before the ceremony, Rob had arrived at the church fifteen minutes after Harri, surprising her by catching her hand and spinning her round for a very public kiss – much to the surprise of Alex and Viv, who she was standing with at the time. Viv smiled politely, but Alex looked away, an odd expression on his face.
The whole of the church smelled of winter roses, freesias and lilies. Auntie Rosemary had done the Binchams proud: every available flat surface had been adorned with flowers in hues of palest yellow, white, cream and lilac. Instead of Geoff waiting nervously alone by the altar, he had chosen to walk in with Ethel; and as the song swelled around the vaulted arches of the red sandstone church, in they came – Geoff proudly dressed in his best suit, escorting the love of his life down the aisle. She was wearing a white lace shrug over her cream dress, and a pale yellow rose was nestled amongst her newly set grey curls.
They made their way slowly past smiling friends and family – mainly because both of them had received new hips in the last eighteen months – but it all added to the effect, imbuing their entrance with a slow-motion quality. As the song neared its conclusion, they stopped by the chancel step and Pete, the curate, took his place in front of them.
‘Welcome, everyone, to this very special day. I must say that you all scrub up pretty well for a Saturday – it’s nice to see Stone Yardlians don’t save their finery for a Sunday only.’
A rumble of laughter passed around the pews.
‘And now to the best bit. Ethel and Geoff will renew the vows they made to each other over forty years ago, as a symbol of their continuing commitment to, and love for, one another. Shall we stand and pray . . .’
And so, surrounded by people who loved them, the Binchams stood and reaffirmed their promises to love, honour and cherish one another for the rest of their lives; tears welling in Geoff’s eyes as he gazed at his wife, adding, ‘You’m bostin’ pet,’ in a whisper at the end, to which Ethel replied, ‘You ay too bad yerself,’ in reply. It was a humbling experience to witness this tender exchange of promises between the Black Country couple.
‘I think you should kiss your bride, Geoff,’ Pete smiled. ‘Too right!’ Geoff replied, swooping Ethel into a Clark Gable-style clinch as the assembled guests broke into applause.
‘Put me down, Geoffrey!’ Ethel laughed, but her eyes were alive as she playfully reprimanded her husband. Watching the two of them now, so in love and so much a part of one another, Harri was certain that neither of them saw an old person smiling back. In their eyes they were the same young, beautiful dreamers whose hearts had connected over a tea trolley forty-three years ago.
‘That was amazing,’ Harri said, as she and Rob drove along wintry streets back to the Village Hall.
‘Yeah,’ he replied, gazing out of the window. ‘Reckon that’ll be us in forty-three years’ time?’
Harri made a mental calculation to see how old she would be by then. It wasn’t a comforting conclusion . . . ‘That’s if we can have the aisle widened for our Zimmer frames.’
‘I’m sure that won’t be a problem,’ he laughed. ‘Better put it in the diary then.’
To hear Rob conside
ring their long-term future together was everything Harri had hoped for. Her thoughts immediately drifted to this Christmas. Spending such a magical time of year with the man she loved was a thrilling prospect, and part of her still found it hard to believe that it was going to be a reality in less than a week. Despite the tricky terrain of this year, they had emerged stronger than ever, and now their future seemed brighter than she could have dared hope for. He seemed ready to commit, if his constant hints over recent weeks were anything to go by. And, if that happened, maybe next year he would fulfil her heart’s deepest desire and they would walk hand in hand through the Venetian splendour of the city of her dreams on their honeymoon.
Geoff Bincham was certainly true to his word when he said he wanted ‘one of them celebrity weddings’. Two magnificent-looking thrones, which the Beckhams themselves would have been envious of, had been placed at the top table – although Ethel and Geoff had been warned sternly by Enid Weatherington of St Mary’s Craft Guild not to lean back on them, ‘because the papier-mâché won’t cope with the weight’. The WI had supplied little satin bags embroidered with an intertwining E&G motif for the bridal favours, filled with gold chocolate dragees. Geoff had wanted to release doves when they arrived at their reception, but with doves being hard to come by in Stone Yardley, this had proved impossible. However, at the eleventh hour, Geoff’s cousin Alf had stepped into the breach: and so, at five p.m., floodlit by security lights and with their assembled guests around them, Ethel and Geoff hesitantly opened four long wicker baskets to release twenty racing pigeons in a cloud of feathers and beating wings from the car park of the Village Hall.
After speeches and toasts, the guests helped to move tables and chairs aside to make way for dancing. Unbeknown to Geoff and Ethel (who were bracing themselves for a night of dubious tracks from Disco Dave, Stone Yardley’s resident DJ), Rod Norton from Stone Yardley High School had arranged for the area swing band to come and play, filling the small hall with the irresistible music of George Gershwin, Glenn Miller and Cole Porter.
Chelsea was conspicuous by her absence – having booked a weekend away with her girlfriends a month before – so Alex danced with his mother, and from her vantage point behind a table halfway down the hall, Harri understood a little more of Viv’s all-encompassing desire to see her son happy. Twirling and laughing, her love for him beamed out like a Wallis-attired beacon. It made Harri smile, despite the ache in her heart, at the sight of the parental bond she missed so keenly at events such as this. Her parents would have been straight up on that dancefloor, twisting and bopping without a worry in the world.
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