by Nancy Revell
‘God help them,’ George muttered to himself as he crossed over the road, sticking his hand into his inside pocket and pulling out the envelope containing the rent.
Reaching the young lad, George looked down and saw the state of the boy’s footwear. His oversized boots were being held together by string.
George took the proffered newspaper, then pulled out a couple of notes and pushed them into the boy’s cold hand.
The little lad’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
‘Cor, thanks, mister!’ There was no containing his delight.
George hobbled on. Hearing the bus behind him, he hurried to the stop.
Boarding the bus, George paid his fare and sat down. It wasn’t busy. It was a dark and cold winter’s night. Anyone in their right mind would be at home or indoors somewhere warm.
George had never been a great lover of public transport, preferring the freedom and independence of having one’s own car – this evening, though, he was glad of the time to think.
And the more he thought, the more he was sure about what he wanted to do.
Looking through the paper, he spotted an article on the young girl from the Suffolk Street air raid. The report said she was back home, having been fitted with her new hands. She was soon to be back at work in her old job at the Post Office.
His decision was now cast in cement.
He just hoped Lily didn’t put up too much of a fight.
‘I’m back!’ he shouted as he stepped through the front door.
He felt a sense of urgency.
Having made up his mind, he had to get everything sorted. And pronto.
‘Ah, mon amour,’ Lily said, as she swished her way out of the back parlour. Tonight she was in her favourite red taffeta dress that accentuated her ample bosom and nipped her waist in so tightly that George was surprised she could still draw breath.
‘My dear,’ George said, hobbling down the polished wooden floor to greet her. He gave her a kiss and then kissed her again.
‘You all right, George? You look a little flushed. Has anything happened?’
‘No, no,’ George said, taking off his hat and coat and hooking them onto the stand in the hallway. ‘Well, nothing bad, anyway.’ He went to Rosie’s office and rapped on the door.
‘She’s not in yet,’ Lily said. ‘Shouldn’t be long, though. What did you want to see her about?’
George opened the door.
‘It’s not Rosie I want to see,’ he said, throwing his arm in the direction of the room. ‘It’s you.’
Lily glanced at George as she walked into Rosie’s office. He had that look on his face. Whatever it was, he meant business.
‘So …’ Lily walked straight over to Rosie’s desk and took out her Gauloises from the top drawer, wasting no time in lighting one. ‘You have my rapt attention, George.’ She blew out smoke. ‘Fire ahead.’ She grabbed an ashtray and sat down on the chaise longue.
‘I’ve just come back from the flat—’ he began.
‘Still standing? The terrible two haven’t turned it into a den of iniquity?’ Lily suppressed a smile. She knew it wound George up.
‘Yes, yes, my dear.’ He was never quite sure if Lily was aware of the irony of her comments.
‘I was offered a bourbon today – of the biscuit variety. That’s about as decadent as they get in the flat, from what I can gather. I think they save their partying for the Ritz. That’s if they’ve got any energy left. They looked shattered. Which isn’t surprising by the sounds of the overtime Rosie says they’ve been doing.’
‘Oh George, honestly, you’d bring tears to a glass eye.’ She crossed her legs. ‘They’ve got more than enough energy to party and work around the clock. They have youth on their side.’
‘Anyway,’ George said, impatient to get to his point. ‘They were telling me that Polly and Tommy are both living at the Major’s house.’
‘Really?’ Lily was clearly shocked. ‘As in living together?’
George nodded.
‘Yes, my dear. Together as in man and wife together.’
‘Blimey.’ Lily leant forward and tapped cigarette ash into the ashtray. ‘Agnes won’t approve. In fact, I would have thought she’d be mortified. Especially about Polly. She’s about the last girl on the planet I’d have thought would live in sin with a man.’
‘Well, it would seem this war makes people do things they wouldn’t normally do,’ George said, walking over to the decanter of cognac and sloshing a good measure into one of the thick-cut crystal glasses.
Lily frowned.
‘I’m a little surprised, though. I would have thought they would have waited.’
‘Well, that’s the point,’ George said. ‘Tommy’s going back on Boxing Day, of all days. They obviously want to make the most of every minute they’ve got left.’
George took a large gulp and made his way over to Lily. He eased himself down next to her.
‘Poor Agnes,’ Lily said again.
Her comment surprised George. He frowned questioningly.
‘Well, her daughter’s going to get a bit of a name for herself, isn’t she? And Agnes, I know, is the type of woman – mother – who might not have much, but she has her pride. To have a daughter so obviously not waiting until she is married. Well – ’ she puffed air ‘ – in Agnes’s eyes, it will bring shame on the family.’
‘I think it’s too late for that,’ George said. ‘But it’s not too late for them to get married.’
‘Oh, so they’re getting married?’ Lily was now looking lost. ‘Honestly, George, so much information to be taking in. And from you, of all people.’
She took his cognac and took a swig.
‘Sorry, darling, I should have got you one.’
George got up and poured Lily a drink.
‘They’re going to the registrar tomorrow,’ George said, handing Lily her glass and sitting back down. ‘To see when they can be squashed in.’
‘What a shame,’ Lily said. ‘If only they’d kissed and made up earlier, they could have had their wedding at St Ignatius.’
‘My words exactly!’ George said. ‘Which got me thinking,’ he said.
‘About?’ Lily eyed him suspiciously.
‘About the fact that if anyone should have a proper wedding, it should be Tommy and Polly.’
‘Darling, we’re getting married in a registry office and ours is still a proper wedding,’ Lily said, her curiosity now growing.
‘You know what I mean,’ George said.
He looked at Lily.
Took a deep breath.
‘I kept thinking on the way back here,’ he began, ‘about Polly giving away what amounted to her wedding money.’ He looked around and realised he had left the Sunderland Echo on the bus. ‘You know that poor girl she gave the money to? The one who was going to get fitted with artificial hands?’
Lily nodded.
‘She was in the paper. She’s got her new hands and is starting back at work soon.’
Lily took a sip of her drink. Her face was unusually serious.
‘I know,’ George said, reading her thoughts. ‘Brave. So much bravery. So much sacrifice. So much selflessness.’
He took another sip of brandy.
‘And there’s Tommy. He’s done more than his bit for the war. Bloody miracle he came back alive – never mind in one piece. And there he is, chomping at the bit to get back out there. Twisting every arm that needs twisting to get the green light to go back and start ripping mines off the bottoms of boats. Without any thought for his own safety.’
He took a breath.
‘And also leaving behind the woman he is clearly desperately in love with.’
‘When he could have easily stayed at home,’ Lily interjected. ‘Gone back to the Wear rather than the mines of the Mediterranean.’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ George said.
Lily took George’s free hand.
‘I’m in agreement with you, mon cher,�
�� she said, ‘but I’m not sure where this is going?’
George pushed himself up and hobbled over to the cherry-wood desk to pour himself another cognac.
He took a breath, turned around and looked at Lily.
‘I want to give them our wedding,’ he said simply.
Lily had just taken a sip of her brandy and she spluttered a little before taking a huge breath and coughing.
‘Is my hearing going as well as everything else?’ she said, her voice rasping.
‘No, darling, your hearing isn’t going and neither is any other part of you. You are just perfect in my eyes.’
‘George, you should know me now.’ Lily coughed again. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’
She sat back on her sofa, put her hand on her bosom and took a deep breath.
George was bolstered by the fact she hadn’t said no straight away – not that it would have mattered if she had.
‘The pair deserve it,’ George said. ‘I can’t think of a couple who are more deserving, to be honest.’
Lily eyed George. She cleared her throat and took a sip of brandy.
‘Is this because you never got to marry your sweetheart before you were commissioned?’
It was a topic they rarely discussed, but Lily knew it had been one of the few regrets that George had had in his life. The poor girl had contracted TB while he was away and had died before he returned.
‘No,’ he said, sadly. ‘I can see why you’d say that. But no, this really is purely because I feel it’s the right thing to do. They could have a wonderful wedding. A honeymoon at the Grand before he left. They could invite everyone they wanted without worrying about how many they could get through the door at Tatham Street. It would be our way of giving something to two people who are giving so much themselves.’
Lily stood up and walked over to George.
‘You know I’m right,’ he said.
She kissed him, then picked up her packet of Gauloises and the lighter.
‘I just need to powder my nose,’ she told him, before walking out of the office.
When she stepped into the hallway, the front door opened and Rosie appeared.
‘You looking for me?’ she asked, seeing Lily.
‘No, ma chérie,’ Lily said. ‘But I need to borrow your office for a short while. Do you mind waiting in the kitchen?’
‘Of course,’ Rosie said. ‘I wanted to see Kate anyway.’
‘Ah,’ Lily gasped in despair. ‘You’ll have to drag her kicking and screaming from her room – she’s working on something très intricate.’
As Rosie made her way up to the third floor, she noticed Lily head for the back door, which meant she needed either to think or to kill time.
Five minutes later Rosie and Kate were heading down the stairs, followed by Vivian and Maisie. They were about to start work at the Gentlemen’s Club, but having seen Rosie and Kate had decided to join them for a cuppa in the kitchen.
They all converged with Lily as she came in from the backyard.
‘George and I will see you all in the kitchen in five minutes,’ she said.
‘So, mon cher,’ Lily said, sashaying over to George, who was now leaning on the mantelpiece looking into the fire he’d just lit.
He looked around at Lily. He could tell by the flush in her cheeks and the slight reddening of her nose that she had been out the back and had not gone to powder her nose as she’d claimed.
‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I just need to check that this isn’t some elaborate ploy to get out of marrying me?’
George just laughed, not bothering to answer her question.
‘I thought not.’ Lily picked up her glass of cognac.
‘Well, it has to be said, this is a big “ask”, George.’ She paused. ‘I would even go as far as to say, the biggest you have ever asked me.’
George considered for a moment before agreeing with a sombre nod of the head.
Lily had known from the moment George had said that he wanted to give their wedding to Polly and Tommy that this was exactly what they would be doing. Even if she hadn’t wanted to, she knew that she didn’t really have a choice. Their wedding day had to be a joyful one and it wouldn’t be if George was resentful.
She knew George.
She knew when he had his mind set on something.
And there was no doubt that he had his mind set on this.
It was against her nature, though, to simply hand him what he wanted without a little negotiating.
‘George, darling,’ she began. ‘You are the kindest, loveliest man I think I have ever met. And I know you don’t like to even hear it said, but you are also the bravest man I know.’
She walked over to the fire and kissed him sensuously. She then picked up the poker and stabbed the coals.
‘I have thought about what you want.’ She walked back over to the chaise longue and sat down, crossing her legs, not once taking her eyes off her future husband. ‘And I will, indeed, give you my consent.’
She paused.
‘On one condition.’ She continued to eye him. ‘And I will not waver on this point.’
Another pause.
‘I will agree to give our wedding to the young ones, if you will accompany me to their wedding in your uniform.’
There was a moment’s silence.
George looked at Lily. She was a born businesswoman. Opportunistic to the last and always determined to get what she wanted, no matter how long it took.
Just as Lily knew that George would not back down, he knew that Lily would not relent until he had agreed to the deal.
‘I often wonder if I love you because you’re so shrewd – or in spite of it,’ he said.
Lily smiled.
‘I’ll take that as a yes, then?’
‘Good. You’re all here.’
Lily looked around the kitchen table at the four expectant faces.
‘Woe betide us if we weren’t,’ Vivian whispered to Maisie.
Lily scowled.
‘I’ve told you before, Vivian, it’s rude to whisper!’
Lily took a deep breath. Her bosom lifted as she did so and Kate thought that the dress might need a little altering. Lily had put on a few pounds these past few months. The Chinese herbs might have helped her hot flushes, but not the slight weight gain.
Lily looked at George and smiled before directing her attention back to the women.
‘George and I have something to tell you.’
She paused for dramatic effect.
‘We have decided to call off the wedding,’ she said, poker-faced.
Lily looked at the four upturned faces. Pleased by the display of shock and disappointment she observed, she continued.
‘But not because we don’t want to get married.’
Again, she looked at George and smiled.
‘I still want to become Mrs Macalister – just as much as George wants to make an honest woman out of me.’ Lily allowed herself the slightest of smiles. ‘But we have decided – in the spirit of Christmas – that we’re going to give our wedding at the Grand as a present to Polly and Tommy.’
Again, Lily examined the second lot of looks of shock and surprise in as many minutes and felt a wave of satisfaction.
‘Polly and Tommy, of course, don’t know that yet, as George and I have just agreed that this is what we’d like to do, but we wanted you all – as our nearest and dearest – to be the first to know.’
‘And also,’ George added, ‘we wanted you to hold the fort while we nipped to Tatham Street.’
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, George had opened the kitchen door and the pair had disappeared into the hallway.
Rosie, Kate, Maisie and Vivian were still sitting, speechless, when they heard the front door shut.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
‘Gawd, what an awful building,’ Lily muttered as George helped her out of the MG. She had thrown on her full-length fur coat for their impromptu trip out. It was keeping the co
ld out but there were still flashes of red taffeta visible. Lily’s fleshy bosom was also very conspicuous, despite the gold silk scarf she had flung round her neck.
‘Many would argue the point that this Early English-style church is actually architecturally stunning,’ George said. ‘Graduated Lakeland slate. Stone gable coping. Spire. Stunning stained glass. And all together rather magnificent in its grandness.’
Lily scowled at George.
‘This is a time when you simply agree with me, George. It’s called humouring. Now come on, let’s see this bleedin’ vicar.’
Walking through the main door at the side of the large red-brick church, they were greeted by the smell of snuffed-out candles and a slight change of temperature, although it still couldn’t be classed as warm. Evening service had just ended.
Lily scanned the church. There was an old woman in a pew on her knees, hands clasped in prayer. Despite the dim lighting, the tall, grey-haired vicar could be seen tidying up.
George coughed, but the sound was lost in the vastness of the building.
‘Hello there!’ Lily shouted out, waving a hand. Her coat fell open, showing the full splendour of her theatrical dress.
George cringed inwardly. This might have been better coming from him. But Lily had taken the reins and was clearly determined to be in charge.
‘Sorry to bother you, Reverend.’ Lily’s heels clacked loudly as she walked down the aisle. George followed her. The praying woman was still kneeling, but now looking up.
‘Good evening.’ The vicar stepped down from the raised altar just in time to stop Lily from joining him on hallowed ground.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Lily said, holding out her hand, ‘you most certainly can. My name is Lily.’
Lily never gave her surname.
‘And this is my future husband, George Macalister. Former captain in the Ninth Battalion Durham Light Infantry. Awarded the Distinguished Service Order for “gallant and distinguished services”.’
George felt like stepping back into the dark recesses of the nave. The deal he had just struck, he realised, went beyond simply the wearing of a uniform.
The vicar shook their hands, giving them both his well-rehearsed smile. His face was impartial. Not giving away even the slightest hint of astonishment at the sight of this outlandish, orange-haired woman whose coat alone would keep the church running for at least a year. There was something familiar about her, though. It was that hair. Rang a distant bell.
