by Nancy Revell
Polly had also asked Bel to invite Alfie, and to tell him to bring his aged grandmother.
Rosie had asked if she could invite her next-door neighbour Mrs Jenkins and her husband, Kenneth. Polly thought it was because Rosie felt guilty about her lack of neighbourliness. Bel thought it was because Rosie felt sorry for the woman as she seemed rather lonely, had no children and rarely went out.
Polly had said ‘of course’, although Bel thought that her sister-in-law would have said ‘of course’ to inviting the whole of the east end, which she wasn’t far off doing already.
During it all, Pearl had sidled up to Bel and pointed out that as Bill had been prepared to give up half the pub for Polly and Tommy’s ‘first wedding’, it would be rude not to invite him to this one. Bel knew Polly would agree, but when her ma suggested that it would also be rude not to invite Ronald as he was their neighbour and had provided them with a fair few bottles of whisky over the past couple of years, Bel had hesitated. Her ma was, as usual pushing boundaries. She’d have to ask Polly.
Bel had given her ma strict instructions to stay as sober as possible on the day. She was also to find herself a dress to wear that was appropriate for her age. Pearl had muttered something about going to see Kate, at which point Bel had told her that Kate was probably up to her ears in wedding dresses and party frocks and not to bother her. She knew, though, that her ma wouldn’t take a blind bit of notice. She also knew that Kate, for some unknown reason, had a soft spot for her ma and would sort her out.
In addition to her many duties, Bel had also had to convince Mr Clement, the photographer, to give up a few hours of his Christmas Day. He had said he would if he could bring his wife and three children to the Grand.
Bel had acquiesced, but only if Mr Clement, in turn, agreed to defy ration regulations and use every bit of photographic paper he possessed. She knew from her own wedding that the government had stipulated only two photographs could be taken per wedding. She was determined this was not going to be the case for her sister-in-law.
‘I don’t care how you do it,’ Bel had told the wiry, grey-haired photographer, ‘but there’s going to be lots of photos. And at least one photograph has to be ready the next morning.’ Tommy was going to return to war with more than just a picture of Polly in his head.
‘And there’s the whole wearing something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue,’ Bel had lamented to Marie-Anne. As Polly had seemed totally unconcerned about this particular wedding tradition, Bel had made the decision on Polly’s behalf that the dress would be ‘new’, the ring ‘old’, and Polly would borrow her ma’s gold cross and chain.
‘Blue’ would be the garter, once, that was, she’d had the chance to get one.
‘Everyone’s asking me what presents they should get the bride and groom,’ Bel had gasped in exasperation to Marie-Anne, who had made the fatal mistake herself and been curtly told to ask her mother for ideas.
Bel had not been able to tell Helen to do the same when she had started badgering her as to what to buy Polly and Tommy. Not only because Helen was her boss, but because she couldn’t imagine Helen’s mother giving up a second of her precious time to think up a present for a woman welder – never mind one who was close friends with her husband’s lover.
The problem was solved during a chat in their lunch break about Hope’s ‘totally adorable’ flower-girl outfit that Helen had bought for her. Bel already knew from Gloria all about the ‘adorable’ and also very expensive dress. The chatter, however, had led to Helen asking Bel about Polly’s wedding bouquet and if there were going to be any flowers in the church.
When Bel had told Helen that Arthur was going to get what he could from the allotment, Helen had not even tried to hide her disdain.
But then her face had lit up.
‘That’s it! Flowers! John and I will gift the wedding flowers.’
Bel had made a mental note to tell Polly that it would seem Helen had apologised to the good doctor, and it would also seem that she had been forgiven.
During the conversation Helen had told Bel, between puffs of her cigarette, ‘You really remind me of someone. I just can’t think who it is.’
Helen had scrutinised her and Bel had got paranoid that she might somehow work it out, but she’d dismissed the idea.
It was preposterous.
Helen would never guess in a million years.
The only part of the wedding that Polly had told Bel she wanted to take an active part in was the cake.
So, on Wednesday morning Polly and Tommy collected Arthur from Tatham Street and the three walked to the café in High Street East, sank a pot of tea and devoured three huge bacon butties.
Arthur reminisced about days gone by when Tommy had been just a lad, and the two of them would meet Jack at the café before work for a bacon bap breakfast.
They talked briefly about the latest war news. The newspapers were full of reports coming back from Stalingrad that Germany’s Sixth Army was trapped.
The trip also gave Polly the chance to apologise to Arthur for being such a nightmare during what she called her ‘week of madness’, and to ask if the old man was still willing to give her away.
‘Dinnit be daft, pet,’ Arthur told her. ‘Like I said to yer afore, yer making an old man very happy.’ He reached out and patted Polly’s hand. ‘I don’t think there’ll be a prouder man on this planet, come Friday.’
His words made Polly want to cry, but she stopped herself. This was not the time for tears.
Spotting Rina in the kitchen on her own, Polly went to see her.
She gave her a hug.
‘Thank you, Rina.’
Once again, she pushed back tears.
Polly didn’t have to say why she was offering her thanks, nor did Rina have to ask.
Just before they all left, Polly caught Vera and told her to do whatever she wanted with regards to the wedding cake. The old woman muttered something under her breath about having to make all the decisions herself, but she wasn’t kidding anyone. She was pleased as punch that she and Rina had been given carte blanche to do exactly what they wanted. And, moreover, that the Grand were providing the ingredients.
Despite all the running around and never-ending chores, Bel had to admit to herself and to Joe that she was loving every frantic second of organising her best friend’s wedding.
‘It’s so exciting, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is. Very,’ he said, deadpan.
Joe had been tasked with making sure that Arthur’s suit was clean and pressed, as well as his own 7th Armoured Division uniform. He’d also been told to go out and find a Christmas tree, which was easier said than done, as, like everything these days, they were in scant supply. It was imperative, though, Bel had said. Christmas wasn’t Christmas without the decorating of the tree. She was determined her daughter’s Christmas was to be as magical as possible.
Neither of them said anything, but they both crossed their fingers that Jerry would want the same for their children and that there would be an unofficial Christmas Day amnesty.
Or, at the very least, no air raids.
Realising that Bel was run ragged, although trying her hardest not to show it, Rosie had offered Charlotte’s services as she had now broken up from school.
‘To be honest,’ Rosie said, ‘you’ll be doing me a favour if you give her something to do. She’s bouncing around the house like a rubber ball. She’s already done all her homework for the whole of the Christmas break and she’s been to see Marjorie in Newcastle. I’m struggling to keep her occupied. I was hoping she might have made some friends at school – that she’d want to go around to their houses and do things girls her age normally do.’ Rosie sighed. ‘But it would seem not.’
Bel reassured Rosie she would happily keep her busy.
It was why she was now heading into town, having got the afternoon off work to meet Charlotte and give her a list of last-minute presents and bits and bobs to buy for the wedding.<
br />
If Charlotte wasn’t able to get them all today, there was always tomorrow – Christmas Eve.
As Bel hurried to catch the tram, she looked up at the pewter-grey clouds.
They looked heavy.
Bel kept her fingers crossed they forecasted snow.
It would make her daughter’s Christmas even more special and it would be the cherry on the cake for a perfect Christmas wedding.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Christmas Eve
Thursday 24 December
‘This is what I’m going to miss,’ Tommy said as he put his arm around Polly’s shoulders and pulled her close. ‘Just lying here with you, in this bed, warm as toast, feeling your skin next to mine.’
Polly put her arm across his chest, pulling herself closer still so she could rest her head on her lover’s chest.
‘Me too,’ she said simply, tracing the raised scar that ran down the middle of his torso.
‘I keep wanting to say things,’ she said, ‘and then stopping myself.’
‘Say them.’ Tommy kissed the top of her head. ‘You can say anything to me, you know that.’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but they’re stupid things like, “You will take care, won’t you?” It’s pointless to say that because I know you’ll be careful, as careful as you can be.’
Polly looked up and Tommy kissed her.
‘You know that I will be careful.’ He moved a little so that he could see her properly. Look into her eyes. ‘You know I don’t have a death wish, don’t you?’
Polly felt herself colour.
‘I know. I know,’ she said. ‘I should never have said that.’
‘If anything were to happen to me out there – which it won’t – but if it did, it won’t be because I have some strange inherent desire to end it all.’ He paused. ‘Like my mam.’
Polly nodded.
Tommy shuffled round so that he was now lying on his side, facing Polly.
‘But while we’re on the subject, I need to know that if anything were to happen to me, then you will carry on living?’
Polly knew what he was saying. It was far more likely that, if he didn’t come back, she would be the one who might be tempted to follow in his mam’s footsteps.
‘I will,’ she said. ‘I won’t do anything stupid.’
‘And that you won’t spend the rest of your life in mourning? That you’ll make the most of your life?’
Polly nodded.
‘It’s just,’ Tommy looked serious, ‘if there’s one thing this war has taught me, it’s that life is precious.’
‘I know,’ Polly said. ‘And I promise you, I’ll treasure it, regardless of what happens.’
Tommy kissed Polly.
He knew she meant what she’d said.
‘Now,’ he said, looking over to the clock on the bedside cabinet and seeing it was already eight, ‘we’ve got a wedding to sort.’
‘A cup of tea first, though,’ Polly said.
‘Definitely a cup of tea,’ Tommy agreed as they both snuggled back under the covers.
‘Where yer off to?’ Pearl was still in her salmon-coloured polyester dressing gown but had put her thick winter coat on top to brave the cold and have her morning fag in the backyard.
‘Church,’ Bel said, looking around for her bag and boxed-up gas mask. ‘Are you all right looking after Lucille this morning? Beryl’s gone into town Christmas shopping with Agnes.’
Pearl nodded as she went over to her granddaughter and ruffled her hair. Lucille didn’t look up as she was engrossed in drawing a picture of Santa Claus. The kitchen table was strewn with cut-up cereal packets and crayons.
‘Why yer gannin to church? Yer’ve not got God, have yer?’ Pearl laughed, then started coughing.
‘No, Ma.’ Bel rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I’m meeting Helen there to sort out the flowers for the wedding. You know, the one tomorrow?’
Ignoring her daughter’s sarcasm, Pearl narrowed her eyes.
‘So, it’s “Helen” now, is it? You two getting pally with each other?’
The mother–daughter banter had been dropped.
Bel ignored her mother’s question, instead going over to Lucille and giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.
‘You be good for your nana now,’ she instructed. Lucille nodded quickly before hunching herself back over her masterpiece.
‘Just be careful, Isabelle.’ Pearl followed Bel out into the hallway. ‘That family’s no good. There’s bad blood runs in their veins.’
Bel turned and glared at her ma.
‘Does that include me as well?’ she said, before slamming the door behind her.
Five minutes later Bel had arrived at St Ignatius. It had only been a short walk along Tatham Street and then Suffolk Street, but long enough for Bel to push her ma’s words of warning firmly out of the way.
This was not the time for doom and gloom; it was Christmas and there was a wedding to organise.
Bel smiled as she looked around the normally grey urban surroundings. Everything was starting to glitter with the frost and ice that had appeared overnight. The trees that normally looked eerie and skeletal had been transformed by what looked like a light sprinkling of icing sugar.
‘Hi, Bel!’ Helen waved as she strode out of the church’s side entrance.
A young lad in a light brown overall coat was tailing her.
‘The church looks amazing,’ she beamed. ‘Even if I say so myself.’
Sensing the young lad behind her, she swung round.
‘Be gone! Your work here is done!’
The boy looked disappointed and turned to make his way back to the little blue van that Bel had just noticed was parked on the corner with its rear doors open. There was a trail of what looked like green fir leading from the van to the church entrance.
‘Oh, blast! Wait there!’ she shouted to the boy’s back.
Helen hurried into the church, returning seconds later with her purse. She took out a note and pushed it into the boy’s hand.
His face lit up.
‘Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.’ He tipped his oversized tweed flat cap at Helen.
‘Tell Beatrice she’s done a wonderful job,’ Helen said, ignoring the boy’s words of gratitude. ‘And that I can rest assured the bridal bouquet will be delivered as arranged?’
The boy nodded vigorously before shutting the rear doors and climbing into the driver’s seat. Bel was surprised he could see over the wheel, never mind drive the thing.
‘Come on,’ Helen beckoned to Bel. ‘Come and see!’
Bel could hear the same excitement in Helen’s voice that she herself felt about Polly’s wedding.
Walking through the thick wooden doors and into the dusky interior of St Ignatius Church, it took Bel’s eyes a few seconds to adapt to the change in light.
When they did, she took a sharp intake of breath.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Bel stood rooted to the spot, staring.
There, on either side of the altar, were two magnificent floral displays made up of ivory roses and cream-coloured freesias, a few sprigs of holly and a scattering of mistletoe.
But what had taken Bel’s breath away – and was something she had not expected – was the sight of the most perfect, luscious Christmas tree she had ever seen.
And it had been beautifully and very tastefully decorated with a smattering of silver baubles. Strips of glittering tinsel had been hung from its branches like sparkling icicles and a large silver star had been placed on the top.
‘This is amazing,’ Bel said. ‘I really am stuck for words.’
Helen looked at Bel, then back at the two magnificent floral displays and the picture-perfect Christmas tree. Her mother was going to go mad when she realised what she’d done.
‘I’m rather pleased, even if I say so myself,’ Helen said, starting to walk down the aisle.
‘How on earth did you manage to get all those flowers? You must have raided every florist in town?’ B
el said.
‘Not far off,’ Helen laughed. ‘But when you’ve got money – and when people realise that you’re Mr Havelock’s granddaughter – then just about anything’s possible.’
Bel picked up the slightest hint of bitterness.
‘Anyway,’ she turned to Bel, ‘I best go and tell the vicar the wedding flowers are all in place – and break it to him that I’ve also added a Christmas tree to the display.’
Helen chuckled.
‘Do you think he’ll mind?’ Bel asked, genuinely concerned. She had been amazed he had agreed to have the wedding on Christmas Day in the first place, never mind now having a fir tree within spitting distance of the altar.
‘Well,’ Helen said, dropping her voice, concerned that the church’s acoustics might make her voice travel, ‘he should be cock-a-hoop his parishioners will have something interesting to look at during midnight Mass rather than his ugly mug. Although I’ll bet my boots he has a good moan about it belittling the true meaning of Christmas – before mentioning the fact they need donations for the repair of the roof.’
Helen turned and went to fetch her handbag and gas mask from a pew.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘And good luck with everything. Polly’s lucky to have you.’
Helen let out a guttural laugh.
‘If I ever get married, I’ll be sure to ask you to organise it all.’
Bel watched as Helen sashayed down the aisle.
Something told Bel that Helen had no expectations of getting married.
Or perhaps no desire to.
As Bel hurried back home, she felt so excited.
Was it because it was Christmas?
Was it because she was well on her way to making Polly’s wedding the best ever?
Or was it because she was getting to know her ‘other’ family?
Her ma was wrong.
Mr Havelock might have bad blood coursing through his entire body, but that wasn’t to say it had infected the rest of the family.
