by Maggie Hope
‘It’ll sort itself out, I tell you. Likely it’s because her cousin’s getting married, did you think of that?’
Kate sighed. ‘Aye. Likely.’
There was silence in the room, broken only by the small noises of Kate tidying up for the morning and the occasional cough from Sam.
‘Well, remember, she’s not said anything about setting a date to be wed, has she? Getting engaged isn’t final, is it?’ he said at last.
‘No, you’re right,’ she acknowledged.
Sam threw the stub of the cigarette into the fire and it flared up briefly. ‘That’s what you think, is it?’ he asked. ‘I mean, about you and me? You’re sorry we got wed?’
Kate looked down at her hands. What could she say? She didn’t know if she loved him still, didn’t know now if she ever had. At first perhaps, in the good times, when she had believed him when he’d said he would never gamble again. But always the good times had been followed by the nightmares. The mountains of debt which had to be paid somehow, the humiliation of knowing other people knew.
Then she looked up into his face and couldn’t bear to see the hurt there. ‘No, I’m not sorry,’ she said and moved briskly to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Well, I’m going to bed, I’m dog-tired. An’ you’d better come an’ all. Just leave the light on for Marina, she’ll be along in a minute.’ As they were climbing the stairs, she remarked, ‘I tell you what, that lad’s got more to him than you’d think. I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad thing at all if they did marry. But mind, not for a long time. I expect it to be a long engagement.’ As she undressed in the cool of the bedroom she chuckled suddenly. ‘A ring no less! Things have changed since our day, Sam. We were lucky to get a wedding ring, never mind an engagement one.’
The ring was a three-stone row of tiny diamonds, set on the slant in platinum to make them look bigger. The gold was eighteen-carat and the whole thing cost £25. Daft, Kate called it.
‘You could buy a lot for the house with £25,’ she said to Marina. ‘You’ll find out, my girl. A little house has a big mouth, my gran always used to say.’
‘Oh, Mam,’ said Marina. She held up her hand under the overhead electric bulb and the ring sparkled satisfactorily. That would show Charlie Hutchinson next Saturday when they went to the wedding.
Oh, Charlie. Marina felt as though she was weeping inside but smiled brightly. ‘I’m going write to Aunt Hetty and ask if Brian can come with me to the wedding,’ she told her mother.
‘It’s a bit late for her to alter the numbers,’ Kate objected.
‘Well, all right, I’ll phone. I’ll go down to the phonebox now.’
Marina swathed her new dress in tissue paper and hung it carefully in the wardrobe. She gazed critically at her reflection in the mirror on the wardrobe door. Did she need a haircut? She swung her head slowly from side to side and her brown hair, styled in a long bob which turned under on the shoulders, swung too. Pity about the colour but her mam would go mad if she bleached it. Still, she’d be looking her best, done up to the nines and with a handsome lad hanging on to her arm, when she faced Charlie.
‘Marina! It’s time you were going over to the Wearmouths’,’ Kate called up the stairs. ‘Get a move on, girl, you don’t want to be late. I don’t know, you’ll be late for your own funeral.’
Marina pulled a face at her image in the glass and took out her good blue costume and a white blouse. Smoothing the pencil-slim skirt over her hips, she cast one last glance in the mirror and went downstairs. Tonight she was invited to the Wearmouths’ for her tea and to show off her ring.
The wedding reception was held in Fortune Hall, now a hotel, one of a string owned by Aunt Hetty and her second husband, Richard Fortune. At least Marina had always assumed he was her second husband for the other hotels all had Pearson in their names and Penny was called Pearson-Fortune. Or had been before the ceremony. Now she was called Hutchinson.
Marina felt a peculiar stab of pain deep inside her. She took a long drink from the glass of champagne she was holding and smiled brilliantly at Brian.
‘Steady on, love,’ he said. ‘You’ll be tipsy if you drink it too fast.’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter. Aunt Hetty has booked us rooms. We don’t have to get home tonight, do we?’ She waved at someone on the other side of the room. Brian glanced over but could see no one he knew except the bridegroom who was talking animatedly to his new father-in-law.
Brian pursed his lips and gazed at Marina thoughtfully. She was on top form, eyes sparkling, had laughed at every joke the best man told. When they had entered the reception room to be greeted by the bride and groom and the bride’s parents, she had kissed Penny effusively and blushed a pretty pink when the bridegroom had bent and kissed her cheek.
Then she had taken Brian’s arm and drawn him forward. ‘We’ll be next!’ she had cried, and flashed her left hand with the ring on the fourth finger, looking sideways at Charlie as she did so.
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Penny had cried. ‘Congratulations to you both. We hope you’ll be as happy as we are, don’t we, Charlie?’ Her white satin wedding gown clung to her figure and fell straight from the hips. Her veil was of beautiful lace with a headdress of seed pearls, its centre in the shape of the rose of York.
‘Yes, indeed.’
But Brian had observed something, some constraint between Marina and Charlie, and even as they moved down the line she had been glancing back at him. Oh, come on, he told himself, you’re imagining things. Marina can barely know him. Wasn’t he a Yorkshire man? Anyway, she loved him, Brian. Wasn’t she wearing his ring?
Marina had cried in church, trying to hide it, pretending she had something in her eye. He had looked but there was nothing and he grinned.
‘Come on, Marina, all women cry at weddings, it’s expected,’ he had said, and she had sniffed and turned away. Looking at her now, as she turned to speak to Hetty Fortune who was going round the room having a word or two with all the guests, he still felt slightly uneasy yet wasn’t sure why.
‘Penny and Charlie are going to Venice for their honeymoon,’ Hetty said.
‘Venice? How gorgeous!’ cried Marina. Suddenly a wave of pure jealousy swept over her, enveloping her in dark misery. She looked about her. The feeling was so strong she was sure other people must notice it, she had given herself away. She looked down at the ground and managed to say, ‘Excuse me a minute. I must go …’ And fled into the hall and looked round desperately for the toilets.
Locating them in one corner, she ran in and hid in a cubicle until the black wave receded and she felt able to come out and splash her face with cold water. She patted it dry with a fleecy towel from the pile by the basins and gazed at herself in the mirror. She was a sight, she decided ruefully. At least she had her pancake stick with her, and her lipstick. Sitting down in a pink upholstered chair, she took out her make-up bag.
Five minutes later, Marina felt ready to face the world again. Of course she hadn’t betrayed herself. Why should anyone suspect anything anyway? Here she was with her own fiancé, and mind, she acknowledged to herself, Brian could hold his own in any company. She had felt quite proud of him as she walked beside him up the path to the church. He was tall and dark and handsome, and yes, sometimes when he held her and kissed her she hadn’t to pretend a response at all, it came naturally.
‘How are you feeling now, pet?’ asked Brian, who was hovering in the hall when she came out. ‘Maybe you’d better not have any more champagne? I told you you were drinking it too fast.’
‘I’m fine. Don’t go on at me, Brian!’ she snapped. ‘You’re not my keeper.’
‘OK.’
To her astonishment he turned on his heel and went out of the front door of the hotel, disappearing in an instant. She looked out of the side window but he had gone. Now what was he playing at? she thought, exasperated.
‘All alone?’
Marina spun on her heel at the unexpected sound of his voice. It was Charlie. She looked around and behind
him but Penny wasn’t there. In fact, for the moment there was no one else in the hall but them.
‘I was just going in,’ she said stiffly, and made to pass him.
Charlie took hold of her arm. ‘Oh, come on, wait a minute. I’d like to know how you’ve been getting on,’ he said, smiling down at her. Marina’s heart began to thump.
‘You can see how I’ve been getting on. I’ve got engaged to a lovely lad and we’re going to get married.’
‘Pretty quick, wasn’t it?’ Charlie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure you want to marry what’s-his-name?’
‘Brian, Brian Wearmouth. And why shouldn’t I want to marry him? You didn’t think I was still pining for you, did you?’
‘Well …’
At that moment Brian was walking past the window, regretting his abrupt departure. He glanced in and there she was, still in the hall, and with her Charlie Hutchinson. He was saying something to her and leaning forward, looking at her in such an impudent way that Brian wanted to punch his nose. And surely Marina was returning the look … Brian turned and strode off again.
‘Charlie? Who are you talking to? Oh, it’s you, Marina. Are you having a good time?’
It was Penny, the train of her wedding dress hooked over her arm. She walked up to Charlie and linked her free arm in his, not waiting for Marina’s reply. ‘I’m going up to change now, Charlie,’ she said. ‘We have to be at York station by four or we’ll miss the train. Are you coming?’
‘Yes, of course, darling.’
Marina watched as they went up the curving staircase; she wondered what Penny would say or do if she called them back and described the mole Charlie had high up on his thigh – no, of course she couldn’t do that. She swallowed hard. The sound of the wedding guests laughing and talking inside the reception room was suddenly very loud. Someone was playing the piano, an old Ivor Novello ballad – she couldn’t remember the name – but whoever it was began to swing the tune, making it ridiculous, robbing it of its beauty.
She couldn’t go back in there and wondered if she would be missed if she went up to her room. But no, she might bump into Penny or Charlie there and she couldn’t bear that.
‘Can I help you, miss?’ A barman paused as he crossed the hall, struck by her lost air and pale face. He wondered if she’d had too much champagne and hoped she wasn’t going to be sick, not on the polished oak floor.
‘No, thanks, I’m just going outside for some fresh air,’ she replied, to his relief, and went out into the garden. She walked rapidly around the old house, to a cobbled yard with outbuildings, garages and stables. There she leaned against the wall and fought for control of herself.
Here Brian found her as he returned from a brisk walk through what seemed to be an old orchard and beyond on the moor. He had been ready to carry on until he came to the village. Maybe he could catch a bus or something, find his way home.
But that impulse had soon passed. After all, he was probably making something out of nothing. He had no real reason to believe there was anything between Marina and her cousin’s new husband. Just the way she had looked at the man … and that was probably the champagne. He owed it to her to stay, he wanted to stay. Oh, God, he thought, jealousy was the very devil.
‘Marina? Marina, love? What is the matter, for goodness’ sake?’
‘Nothing. Well … I thought you’d gone.’
‘Of course I hadn’t. I wouldn’t leave you here to go to the dance on your own, would I? Too many other chaps about. You might get snatched away from me and I’m not having that.’
She looked up at him and smiled. He put his arms around her and held her to him. She was trembling.
‘Let’s go for a walk together, Brian,’ she said. ‘I think I just had too much champagne, I need to walk it off.’
‘You should have listened to me, pet, shouldn’t you?’ Their arms around each other, they strolled through the orchard.
‘We’ll miss the bride and groom going off,’ he said as, round the corner, they saw the best man and a few of his companions attaching tin cans and old boots to a car.
‘I don’t care,’ said Marina. And found that she meant it.
Chapter Fifteen
‘What was the wedding like, then?’ asked Rose, and Marina looked at her. Rose was not herself, Marina thought anxiously. She spoke jerkily, not making eye contact, as if she were simply making conversation, saying something, anything.
They had walked up to their favourite spot on the moor and were seated under the overhanging rock, sheltered from the ever-present wind. Marina had at first demurred when her friend had suggested they should go up there. After all, Rose’s dad was just at the Club, it being Sunday afternoon, and could be home at any time.
‘I don’t care,’ she had said as she banged the door to behind them and set off into the clean, cold air. The children were reciting the Lord’s Prayer as they passed the Methodist Sunday School and a little further on the Anglican vicar was standing at the church door shaking hands with his flock as they came out of morning service. Looking back as they climbed the bank away from the village they could see the smoke from all the chimney pots rising in a straight line to the pale blue sky as ovens were heated ready to take the Sunday joint.
Marina glanced surreptitiously at her friend. Rose seemed so calm, unnaturally so. She didn’t seem to care that she also should have been preparing the dinner for her dad when he came out of the Club. She had plucked a dry, brittle stalk of grass and was breaking tiny pieces from it almost as though she didn’t realise she was doing it.
‘The wedding?’ Marina remembered Rose’s question. ‘Oh, you know, it went like all weddings do. The hotel was nice, though, very posh.’ She wasn’t ready to discuss the wedding, not yet. Her mind shied away from it.
Rose nodded, not really interested. She hadn’t even heard the reply.
‘What is it, Rose?’ Marina asked abruptly. ‘Come on, tell me. I know there’s something, you’re different today somehow.’ Rose dropped the grass on the ground and straightened her shoulders as though facing up to something. Her voice, perhaps sharpened by her state of mind, came out aggressively.
‘I’ve fallen wrong.’ The words hung on the air. Rose could hear her own voice saying them but they didn’t sound real.
‘What?’ Marina was sure she’d misheard.
‘I’m going to have a baby.’
‘Are you sure? I mean … well, you can’t be, you never go out with anybody. Oh!’ Light dawned on Marina. ‘Have you been meeting Jeff on the quiet and never told me?’
‘No.’ Rose shook her head. She began playing with her skirt, pleating it and smoothing it, over and over again, with quick, nervous fingers.
‘Why, then you must be mistaken. You can’t be. What was it – as immaculate conception?’ Marina grinned at Rose, trying to jolly her out of her strange mood. She must be going a bit doolally with being on her own in that blooming house so much, that was it. She had a sudden frightful thought herself. By, what if she had got pregnant when she was with Charlie? It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘I’m not, I’ve been to the doctor. I’m expecting, I tell you, I’m four months on.’
‘Rose!’ Marina was jolted out of herself to the point where she was almost speechless.
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ said her friend, not sounding distraught, no emotion at all in her voice now that she had told someone at last.
‘Well.’ Marina found her tongue. ‘You’ll have to marry Jeff, won’t you? Never mind what your dad says.’
‘It’s not his baby.’
Marina started. ‘Well, whose is it?’
Rose got to her feet and walked off towards the path. After a moment Marina followed her. ‘Wait a minute, where are you going?’
‘Up to the top of that rock,’ Rose replied.
‘Whatever for?’ But realisation dawned even as Marina spoke. ‘You’re not going to throw yourself off? You’re not trying to kill yourself? Rose!’
She stopped and looked squarely at Marina. ‘No, I won’t kill myself. If I did, who would protect Mary from him? It’s not high enough to kill me anyway, but it might get rid of the baby.’ She began to climb the grassy slope at the back of the rock.
‘Stop it! Behave yourself, Rose, you’re talking like a loony. I don’t know what you’re on about!’ In the urgency of trying to stop Rose, the bit about protecting Mary didn’t register on Marina properly. She scrambled after her friend and managed to grab hold of Rose and force her to a halt, though in the ensuing struggle they both fell on the steep ground and rolled over a couple of times, almost to the bottom. A grouse flew up in startled flight right by their feet; the wind blew remorselessly. The girls lay on their backs, panting. Marina was the first to get to her feet. She took hold of Rose’s forearm and hauled her upright too.
‘Come on, you’re shivering,’ she said, and Rose went with her docilely enough, the fight knocked out of her for the moment. They returned to the shelter of the little dell.
‘Now then, madam,’ said Marina, and all of a sudden she sounded exactly like Kate. ‘I want the whole story.’
‘You won’t want to know me if I tell you.’
‘Don’t talk so daft, it can’t be that bad. Howay, out with it.’
Rose looked away from Marina into the middle distance where there was a stand of trees, grown lopsided by the force of the prevalent winds. Well, she thought, I have to tell someone and Marina might believe me when some folk won’t.
‘Do you remember, years ago, when we were about eleven? We were walking to school with June Simpson and that girl passed us, the one that used to live on the farm up the road?’
‘Now how would I remember one single day out of all the days we walked to school?’
‘Yes. But June Simpson said, if you remember, “That girl’s da is her granda”.’
Marina’s brow creased in puzzlement then cleared as the memory returned in a flash. ‘Oh, yes! And I said June Simpson wasn’t talking sense. We didn’t know what she meant, did we?’