The Unknown Bridesmaid

by Margaret Forster

  ‘I think,’ said Julia, ‘I need to talk to Honor’s teacher.’

  The wedding was on a Monday, which scandalised Julia’s mother. ‘A Monday!’ she kept exclaiming, as though this day of the week had some in-built taint attached to it. But Monday it had to be, for reasons Julia never understood except that they were to do with the bridegroom’s next tour of duty with his regiment and his father arriving back only on the Sunday night – it was all complicated. However, a Monday it was, a wet Monday. More horror from Julia’s mother when the curtains were opened that morning and the weather revealed. Julia herself felt miserable just looking out on the lashing rain and wild wind stripping the trees of leaves. In her mind, the very word ‘wedding’ was equated somehow with sunshine and blue skies. How could there be a wedding in this storm?

  Iris, though, just laughed. The rain and wind did not dismay her at all. ‘Rain on your wedding day means good luck,’ she said firmly. Julia’s mother asked where she’d got that bit of wisdom from, but Iris laughed some more and didn’t reply. ‘You are an old misery, Auntie,’ she said mockingly. Julia held her breath. It was true. Her mother was an old misery, but only Iris dared to say so. The peculiar thing was that instead of being insulted, or reacting with anger, Julia’s mother merely nodded her head and tightened her lips. Anyway, the rain didn’t last and the wind died down long before the time of the wedding. By 2 p.m. the sun was beginning to struggle through the clouds and though there were puddles all along the path to the church they looked pretty, like little lakes, glinting in the suddenly sharp light.

  Julia skirted these puddles carefully, not wanting to damage her beautiful white satin shoes. She progressed on tiptoe, holding up the skirt of her dress, and arrived at the church door triumphant. The other two bridesmaids, the bridegroom’s sisters Sylvie and Pat, were not so careful. They were much older than Julia and their dresses (she noticed at once, and with envy) were more elaborate, full-skirted and frilly on top, whereas Julia’s dress was plain and simple, not a frill or flounce to it. But the sisters were nice girls who made a fuss of Julia. She must walk in front of them, they insisted, and right behind the bride. ‘You look so sweet,’ they said, and Julia blushed and smiled. Her mother was nowhere near. She was already sitting in her place. I am so sweet, Julia repeated to herself in her head, so sweet, so sweet. She stood with the other bridesmaids waiting for Iris to arrive and felt happy and light-hearted. Then the car with Iris and her father arrived and there was such excitement in the air, such a lot of bustle, with ushers darting forward to open doors, and the music beginning, and at that moment Julia heard a whisper and felt something slipped into the hand not holding her posy. ‘Give it to Iris,’ the whisper said, ‘it’s a secret, afterwards.’

  There was a pocket in her dress, in a side seam. ‘I’ve made you a pocket,’ Mrs Batey had said, ‘to keep a hanky in case you need it.’ And a handkerchief was indeed safely tucked away there, an embroidered handkerchief her mother had given her at Christmas, embroidered with her name in purple silk thread. Julia looked quickly at what was in her hand – a small, square box wrapped in tissue paper, tied with a ribbon – and slipped it into her pocket. Her heart raced a little fast. The whisper had been Reginald’s, the bridegroom’s. She’d only met him once, the day before, and had been intimidated by him. He was tall and strong-looking and he’d been wearing dark clothes and looked, to Julia, sinister. She didn’t say a word to him, and all he said to her was hello. But now he was in his soldier’s uniform. Julia could see him, standing waiting in front of the altar as Iris slowly advanced on her father’s arm. He didn’t smile. He held himself rigidly, at attention it seemed, and Julia shivered a little at the sight of him, though she didn’t know why.

  Julia didn’t tell her mother about Reginald’s whisper, or about the little box he’d given her. He’d said it was a secret, and her understanding of ‘secret’ was that she must keep it to herself. But she would have liked to consult her mother about exactly what ‘afterwards’ meant. After the wedding was over? After the wedding breakfast? After Reginald had gone off with his regiment? She worried about when to give the box to Iris. There was no chance in the church afterwards. Too many people, all thronging round the bride, and then bride and bridegroom were whisked off in a car to the church hall. There, Julia was seated next to her mother at the top table, with Iris four places to her left, in the centre. There were speeches, and applause, and a lot of laughter, though Julia failed to understand why people were laughing, especially at the best man’s speech. ‘Rude, no need for it,’ her mother muttered.

  Then there was the photograph, a time of maximum confusion, with the photographer making a great fuss about who was to stand where. Julia was first of all told to sit at Iris’s feet but then told to stand next to one of the other bridesmaids, so that she was at the end of the row. This didn’t suit the photographer either. He said the ‘composition’ was wrong, and the ‘proportions’. Once more, Julia was put in front of the bridal couple but this time slightly in the centre, with the other two bridesmaids flanking the bride and bridegroom. Other group photographs were taken, with more and more people in them, and in the final one Julia was squeezed right at the end, almost out of the picture. She was tired by then and found it hard to smile, as instructed, or even to say ‘cheese’.

  Later, at school, she boasted about being a bridesmaid, describing her dress in a way that was not exactly a lie but was rather imaginative.

  ‘Honor doesn’t participate,’ the teacher told Julia, ‘not in any way. She doesn’t volunteer any opinions. If I ask her some direct question, she just shrugs. She can’t be coaxed into expressing herself.’

  It was a fee-paying school, the children wearing a neat uniform: blue-and-white-checked shirts, plain dark blue skirts or trousers, and a blue blazer with a white dove crest on the pocket. The school had been founded in the late sixties when a dove was the symbol of peaceful protest against the Vietnam War. Parents liked the idea of this, and they liked the uniform. Mrs Brooks said Honor couldn’t have been at a nicer school, what with the uniform and the small classes and the strict discipline. The fees were high, but she believed anything worth having comes at a price. It was obvious. You get what you pay for. But Honor had not made the best of the opportunities being at such a model school gave her. She hadn’t liked school from day one and had made a fuss about going every single morning from then on. What was there not to like? her mother had asked, of course she had, but Honor gave no reason, just repeated, so annoyingly, that she hated school and did not want to go. Told that the law said she had to, she said she hated the law too. Which, said Mrs Brooks, was such a stupid thing to say, so childish. ‘But she is a child,’ Julia had said pointedly.

  There was something about the tidy, quiet school which Julia found a little disturbing. She’d once been a teacher herself, and no school she’d ever taught in had been as unnaturally quiet as this one. The school building was an Edwardian double-fronted house, set in its own grounds. These grounds were not extensive, consisting as they did of a lawn either side of the driveway and a larger lawn at the back with some climbing apparatus at the end of it. There were no playing fields or anything like that, but then the children were aged five to eleven and not in need of football and rugby pitches and the like. There was a school bus, painted in the blue and white school colours, which took the children to the park and to a swimming pool in a local leisure centre. Their every need, the prospectus claimed, was catered for. But entering the school, Julia was struck by how the building appeared to dominate the children. The rooms were quite dark, and high-ceilinged, and though the furniture was modern and brightly coloured it was dwarfed by the space it occupied. The corridors, and the staircase, had lots of the children’s artwork pinned on the walls but, again, the dark oak of the banisters, and the dark brown of the carpet on the broad stairs, seemed to fight, and win, a battle with the colourful paintings. The children looked out of place, especially the younger ones.

  Honor�
��s teacher was called Miss Cass. Julia was introduced to her by the headmaster, a Dr Richards (she assumed he was a doctor of philosophy, but in that she was wrong). ‘This is Miss Cass,’ he said. No Christian name was given, and Julia didn’t ask for one, though she gave her own. Dr Richards said he would leave them to ‘chat’ about Honor Brooks, but he reminded Julia that Miss Cass only had fifteen minutes to spare. Julia said she was grateful to be spared them. They were left together, Julia and Miss Cass, in a small room next to the headmaster’s study (he’d referred to it as a study, not an office). There were two leather armchairs facing each other with a coffee table between them, upon which rested a copy of the school prospectus. Miss Cass hadn’t yet sat down nor had she invited Julia to do so. Thinking that to stand for the allotted fifteen minutes was absurd, Julia took the lead, though she felt she shouldn’t have. ‘Shall we make ourselves comfortable?’ she said, smiling, and promptly sat down herself. Miss Cass hesitated, and then perched on the very edge of the seat of the other armchair.

  Julia explained who she was and why she had come to ask Miss Cass about Honor, and then Miss Cass told her about Honor never responding to anything at all in class. Julia worded her response, to what Miss Cass said, carefully. ‘So you think Honor is shy?’ she said.

  Miss Cass looked surprised. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t call her shy.’

  ‘What would you call her, then?’ Julia asked.

  There was a long pause while Miss Cass thought, and frowned. Disappointingly, she then said she was unable to describe accurately Honor’s attitude, but she repeated again, quite emphatically, that the girl certainly did not give the impression of shyness. Julia switched tack. She asked the teacher if Honor was a satisfactory pupil in other ways, was her schoolwork good, was she obedient? Miss Cass said Honor’s work was average, that she didn’t lag behind but nor was she outstanding in any way. She wasn’t disobedient but there was always a certain reluctance about following instructions. She would do everything slowly and slightly resentfully. The minute Miss Cass had used the word ‘resentfully’, she took it back. ‘What I mean,’ she said, ‘is that Honor never seems to enjoy cooperating.’ Then she looked anxious, as though about to retract even that innocuous statement, so Julia quickly said she thought she understood what Miss Cass meant. ‘Do you have any of Honor’s written work available for me to see?’ she asked. Miss Cass said she had an exercise book containing work of Honor’s which she was currently marking, but she would have to ask Dr Richards for permission to show it to Julia. Julia nodded, and said she would ask herself after their fifteen minutes were up.

  They almost were. Miss Cass had taken so long replying to Julia’s simple questions that the time passed quickly. Julia looked at her watch. ‘One final thing,’ she said, ‘have you met Honor’s mother?’ There was an immediate change in the teacher’s attitude. This was something she was happy to discuss. Mrs Brooks came in every day demanding to see Honor’s form teacher and every day she had a list of complaints about how her daughter had allegedly been treated. Miss Cass was astonished at the list of what Mrs Brooks called ‘assaults’ which Honor was supposed to have suffered. She was said to have been pinched, scratched, pushed and to have had her hair pulled so viciously that she now had small bald spots all over her scalp where hairs had actually been yanked out. This was bullying, Mrs Brooks claimed, of the worst kind. Honor was defenceless against the ganging up that was going on. She didn’t pay the fees she did to have her daughter treated like this.

  Now the fifteen minutes were definitely up, but Miss Cass had warmed to her subject and indignation made her forget the time. It was Julia who reminded her. She stood up, held out her hand, and thanked the teacher for being so helpful. Miss Cass, though, hadn’t finished. She was eager to emphasise that Mrs Brooks was mistaken. Far from Honor being bullied, she was the bully, and Dr Richards had spoken to her after this tirade from the mother had been reported to him. Miss Cass had been so upset by the allegations, horrified that she might have missed observing Honor being tormented, and she had carried out a full investigation. The most trustworthy children in her form had assured her that no one bullied Honor Brooks. They were all much too frightened of her.

  Dr Richards said yes, Julia could look at Honor’s English exercise book, but in his presence, in his study. Julia didn’t mind in the least where she looked at it, or in whose presence, but she was amused at Dr Richards’ self-importance and suspicious nature. The exercise book was produced by Miss Cass and laid on Dr Richards’ desk. ‘Might I pick it up?’ Julia solemnly asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Dr Richards said, suddenly apparently aware of Julia perhaps mocking him, and pushed it towards her.

  Nothing written there was particularly revealing. Honor’s writing was neat. Her sentences were, for the most part, properly punctuated. The content of the various pieces of work was unremarkable, though there was one essay entitled ‘My Saturdays’ which offered a glimpse into Honor’s life. ‘On Saturdays,’ it began, ‘I see my cousin.’

  But her mother had said Honor had no cousins.

  Julia and her mother went straight home after the wedding, though they had been invited to stay. Going straight home meant catching an evening train, the last one that stopped at Penrith. Julia fell asleep as soon as she was seated and slept the whole way. Her mother had to shake her awake ten minutes before the train arrived at Penrith. It only halted there for a couple of minutes and so she and her mother had to be standing ready at the door. Julia swayed with fatigue and half fell out of the train. Her mother dragged her along the underpass and out into the dark windy night, and pushed her into the taxi she’d arranged to pick them up. Julia slept again, and had to be shaken awake when at last they reached home. She had no memory of climbing the stairs and getting undressed and into bed but when she woke up and saw where she was she realised she must have done. If it had not been for the bridesmaid’s dress draped over a chair the whole wedding would have seemed a dream.

  It took Julia a long time to remember the present for Iris which Reginald had given her, and when she did she panicked in case she had lost it. But no, it was still in the pocket of her dress, the wrapping paper intact except that the tiny bit of white ribbon tied round it had come loose from its bow. Julia retied it carefully. Then she held the little package in her hand and wondered what she should do with it. She ought to have given it, as instructed, to Iris ‘afterwards’. But there had been no opportunity straight after the church ceremony and then at the reception Iris was surrounded by people, and Julia resolved to wait. Reginald had said his present was a secret and so it could not be given in front of others, or that was how Julia reasoned. She would slip it to Iris when the two of them were alone. But they never were, and the truth was that Julia, during the meal and the speeches, eventually forgot what she’d been entrusted to do. It was hard to admit it to herself, but it was true, she simply forgot until the following morning, and then was overcome with guilt.

  She didn’t dare tell her mother. It was not just that her mother would make a fuss but that Reginald had said his present was a secret, and a secret it must remain. Julia felt quite clear about that. Forgetting to give her cousin the gift was one thing, betraying Reginald’s trust another. But how could she get the present to Iris? Iris had gone off with her new husband anyway and when she and Reginald came back from their short honeymoon (only forty-eight hours) they wouldn’t be at her parents’ house for long. After that, Julia had no idea what their address would be. Tears came into her eyes just thinking of the impossibility of getting the present to Iris. What would Reginald think? He would think Julia had either lost it or stolen it. Then Julia really did cry.

  Her mother heard her. She came into Julia’s bedroom and said this was what she’d expected. The travelling, the wedding, the rich food had all been too much, and this was the result she’d anticipated: ‘hysterics’. She didn’t once ask why her daughter was crying because in her opinion she knew the answer. She told Julia to wash her face
and come down to the kitchen and get some wholesome food into her and then, together, they would take a brisk walk to the village shop and that would sort her out. ‘And hang that dress up,’ Julia’s mother said, ‘and put it on a padded hanger. You won’t ever wear it again, but I might be able to make something useful out of it.’ As soon as her mother left the room, Julia again checked the pocket of the dress. Reginald’s present was still there. She took it out and put it into the drawer holding her underwear, tucking it right at the bottom, covered by a vest she rarely wore.

  Should she post it? But she only had her Aunt Maureen’s address, and her aunt might open any package that arrived. The worry was making her feel sick. Downstairs, forced to nibble at the toast her mother provided, she risked asking the question to which she already felt she knew the answer.

  ‘When will we see Iris again?’

  Her mother laughed, that scornful laugh of hers containing no merriment whatsoever. ‘See Iris again? Well, she doesn’t visit us, does she? Oh no, we have to visit them. That’s how it’s always been, we get summoned when it’s convenient. It took a funeral to bring them here, remember that?’

  Julia only remembered it vaguely. She’d been barely five when her father was killed, how could she be expected to remember? A lot of people crying in their house, that was all she thought she remembered. She didn’t remember her father himself all that distinctly. There were several photographs of him round the house but these didn’t summon up any real memories.

  Julia managed to finish the toast and the boiled egg put in front of her, and then risked another question.