by Maggie Ford
Harry, a little ahead of her, looked anxious to get going. She hurried along watching his long gangling form leaning away from the heavy suitcase as it bumped against his leg, his other arm held away from his body to counter-balance the weight. She carried the two smaller bags, one with various bits and bobs that hadn’t fitted too well in the case: another hat, her envelope handbag, a spare cardigan in case the sea air was chilly when they stepped out of the train at Eastbourne. The other bag held sandwiches, a bit of their wedding cake and a flask of tea to tide them over on the train journey.
They were catching the ten twenty from Victoria. She hoped they’d have enough time to buy the tickets without too much of a rush, perhaps even get a cup of tea in the station buffet. That remained to be seen. Getting there was the most important thing. Once on the train they could relax. She only hoped they wouldn’t look too much like newlyweds and have to endure the covert smirks that would embarrass her and spoil her journey. Well, she’d look the smirkers straight in the eye until, embarrassed themselves, they’d have to turn away. She would put her arm through Harry’s, cuddle up to him and show them all that she was proud to be his wife.
They were going to have a lovely honeymoon.
Chapter Three
In the kitchen Mum was buttering the slices Brenda had so far cut from a large crusty bloomer.
‘I must say, Bren, yer look as if yer’ve settled down nice enough.’
Brenda chuckled as she sawed at the loaf. She’d bought the week’s provisions yesterday, an hour or two after she and Harry had arrived home from Eastbourne. Tired from the journey, she’d still had to go out shopping, cutting her first teeth as a new housewife. It was as yet a labour of love, as was this Sunday tea to which they had invited both their parents with one or two relatives popping round later to celebrate their homecoming.
Harry and both their fathers were at the moment in the front room, the two older men lounging in the nice if second-hand armchairs while Harry sat on the small sofa that didn’t match. Soon she would buy some strong fabric to cover all three pieces and make them match. The men, taking full benefit of the September evening sunshine slanting through the window, were talking and smoking as they waited for tea to be laid.
‘We’ve hardly ’ad a chance yet,’ Brenda answered her mother. ‘Say that again after we’ve had tea. I’m still new to all this.’
‘You ’ad enough practice at ’ome.’
‘Not all on me own, Mum,’ Brenda laughed. It was nice having her parents to this, her first effort at entertaining. ‘All I ever did them days was ter help you.’
Harry’s mum popped her head round the door. ‘Anythink I can do?’
Wedged between a wall and the little wooden baize-covered kitchen table, Brenda glanced around the pocket handkerchief of a kitchen. ‘Well, not really, Mum.’ She had to get used to calling her Mum, though with her own mother there it made her feel awkward doing so. ‘There ain’t hardly any room for two of us out here.’
She saw Harry’s mother’s expression change and hastily rectified her mistake. The woman mustn’t feel shut out.
‘But if yer could lay the table, the tablecloth’s on one of the chairs in the front room still wrapped up in fancy paper. And if yer can take in that nice cutlery and the tea set you and Harry’s dad bought us. Thanks ever so much for them. They really were a lovely wedding present and we just can’t wait to give them an airing. You’ll be the first of our visitors to use them, you and my mum and dad.’
The woman’s face brightened as she went to the little leather box whose open lid displayed the gleaming cutlery. ‘I’ll come back for the other things.’
It was her own mother’s turn to look a bit down as the other woman departed bearing the box of cutlery. ‘I ’ope yer liked our present, Bren.’
Brenda beamed at her. Mum and Dad had bought them a radio set. ‘It’s the best present anyone could wish for, honest. We can occupy all our evenings listening in, being as we won’t be able to afford to go many places.’
She saw her mother’s face relax, but it grew thoughtful too, a slow, deep indrawn breath accompanying it. ‘So, Bren, how’d it all go?’
Brenda returned to cutting bread. ‘How did what go?’
‘You know. Yer ’oneymoon. Did yer . . .? Well, you know.’
‘Oh, we had a lovely time. The weather was smashing for September, and we had really comfortable digs. We could see the sea from the landing.’
‘Yes, but everythink else – was everythink orright?’
‘Of course.’ She was falling in to what Mum was alluding to, and not too happy about it. ‘Why?’
‘Just wondered.’ Mum was buttering furiously. ‘Yer know, first time fer yer both – that sort of thing.’
A small twinge of irritation made itself felt. That sort of thing was her own business, hers and Harry’s. She wasn’t prepared to share even with her own mother the ins and outs of the cat’s arse so to speak, in spite of Mum imagining she had every right to know. But she blinked away her annoyance. Probably all mothers were like this. Concerned for their daughters.
‘We had a lovely time, Mum. And me and him – we’re fine.’
Either content or realising she oughtn’t to pry, her mother went back to buttering bread, now with less agitation, and changed the subject.
‘’Ope yer don’t mind yer Aunt Grace and Uncle Herbert poppin’ over after tea. It’s natural, them wanting ter black their noses – your new place and everythink. Herbert said ’e’d bring a bottle of whisky. And I’ve got that sherry in me bag what was left over from the weddin’.’
‘Harry’s Aunt Ada and Uncle Reg will be here too after tea,’ Brenda said, growing increasingly crestfallen at the prospect of all these people in one room hardly large enough for two. They really had no business inviting themselves like that. How was she going to fit them all in?
She had started off inviting both parents to tea, that was all. But when Harry’s mum had asked if her elderly dependent mother, who lived with them, could come, how could she say no? It made seven people sitting down to tea. True, the bulky Victorian table that had been his grandmother’s now graced her own flat. This gracious wedding gift had been the old lady’s treasured possession and had stood unused in two parts against the wall of his parents’ bedroom behind a curtain. Accepting it with good grace, Brenda suspected they’d been glad to see the back of it. It was almost too big for here, but she had fitted it in somehow.
‘It’s only nat’ral,’ Mum was saying, ‘they’d want ter see yer now yer ’ome safe from ’oneymoon.’
She had no option. ‘It’s going ter be a crush in this small place.’
‘Oh, we’ll manage,’ countered her mother without hesitation.
Brenda sighed. She’d hoped for an early night. Harry had to be back at work tomorrow morning and would get up at six thirty to be there by half seven.
They’d had an early night last night after all that travelling. Even so, he had proved himself well up to standard in the lovemaking department. She had no doubt by the way he kept looking at her that once they had got rid of their guests he’d show himself equally enthusiastic as he’d been last night. Pity about all this having to take precautions though – go on like this, it would end up costing him a mint on them things he got from the barber’s shop. She’d offered to cut his hair for him and save money, but only barbers could provide what he went in there for. At that rate, she found herself smiling, he would soon have the best-cut hair in the neighbourhood.
Her first effort at entertaining was turning out a great success even with seven people crammed round the table in the tight space between the rest of the furniture.
Conversation flowed easily, apart from an enquiry from Mum about what Eastbourne’s scenery was like, which brought a wink from Harry’s father.
‘If I know ’im, he wouldn’t of given ’er much time ter look at scenery!’
Brenda felt herself blush and saw Harry’s face redden. His mother threw a s
harp look at her husband.
‘That’s enough, Sid! Round a tea table an’ all and in company. Leave the youngsters alone.’ She turned towards Brenda’s mother. ‘He can be so blessed coarse when ’e likes. Don’t stop ter think. I’m sorry.’
Mum, having hurriedly bent her head to the unnecessary task of cutting her ham sandwich into quarters, lifted her face to smile acceptance of the apology while Dad cleared his throat, and gave the two young people an embarrassed glance.
‘Let’s just say,’ Harry’s mother added hastily, ‘they ’ad a lovely time.’ This only succeeded in turning it into an innuendo, albeit innocent, and she in her turn went pink.
‘Eastbourne was lovely,’ Brenda volunteered, trying to avert her eyes from Harry. ‘We went up on the cliffs quite a few times. They’re ever so high and I felt scared. I couldn’t go anywhere near the edge, but Harry did. He didn’t see any danger. I was so frightened for ’im. It’s miles down. The lighthouse looked just like a little toy all that way below. But Eastbourne’s ever so clean and tidy. And the sea air smelled so nice and fresh. We was so sad to come away.’
Having finally sidestepped the ticklish subject, she was glad as the conversation settled down with no more personal references. But she knew that when the others arrived after tea, they would all be agog if only showing this in their meaningful if kindly glances. It was understandable, of course. After all, she was the first of the youngsters in the family to get married.
At one time it had been assumed that her brother Davy, oldest out of them all, twenty-four going on twenty-five, would have been first. But he was more happy with his mates, going to pubs and dance halls or cycling in the usual huge group of blokes out into the country of a weekend, with not a steady girl in sight.
At the other end of the scale, Brian, her younger brother who in her estimation was not half as good-looking as Davy, at nearly seventeen was always out with some girl or other to the consternation of Mum in case he ended up getting one of them into trouble. Mum was well aware what he was like, and even Brenda despite her own innocence knew there were girls of that sort about. In fact, Brian’s behaviour was the cause of more rows in Mum and Dad’s house than anything else. Not even Vera’s petulant attitude provoked as many arguments.
It was an unbelievable squash, as she knew it would be. By seven thirty the room was stuffy with heat coming off so many bodies. All she could think of was thank goodness the whole two families hadn’t decided to pop in. Look how full of relatives the church had been on her wedding day. All that lot and they’d have been lined up the outside stairs like some queue at the pictures. Just as well her brothers and her sister hadn’t come, especially Vera, moaning her head off. But they wouldn’t have. Too full of their own pursuits, they were: Brian out with a girl, Davy with his mates, Vera with hers.
‘If any more,’ she whispered to Harry as she watched everyone trying to find space to sit, ‘we’d have had to sit on each other’s laps.’
He grinned at her as he filled his pint glass from one of the half-dozen bottles of brown ale his uncle had brought along while her guests finally got themselves sorted out, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘I tell yer one fing, Bren, we ain’t gonna do this very often.’
From the look on his face she knew he harboured the same thought as her – to get rid of everyone as soon as decently possible so they could both go to bed. They’d been fools to entertain after having been married for only a week. With them just back from their honeymoon, only the inconsiderate would have accepted any invitation this soon, and this was just a third of the family. No doubt in time the rest would trot along. It could go on for weeks, and they would have to put up with it, she supposed. It was inevitable, with no one keen to be left out of viewing the newlyweds’ new home. But tonight it was most important, even urgent, to get their guests out as early as possible.
She and Harry needed to be alone tonight and not so late that they’d be too worn out entertaining to do anything. Tomorrow or the next day her periods would start and for the best part of a week they’d be barred the joy of each other. Being made love to in the comfort of their bed was still so novel that she contemplated the coming love-starved week with real feelings of bitterness against this most natural cycle in a young woman’s life.
‘I’d of thought you’d of found somethink of a bit more roomy than this place,’ her Aunt Grace, Mum’s sister, was saying. ‘Not quite so poky.’
Wedged on the two-seater settee between her barrel-chested husband Herbert and Harry’s ample Aunt Ada, Grace, thin like Mum, looked decidedly uncomfortable.
Harry’s dad had given up his fireside chair to Harry’s grandmother, her own dad vacating the other to Harry’s mum. Both men now stood on the iron landing to the stairs enjoying a smoke and a drink in the evening air after the stuffy room. The hard chairs were left for Harry’s Uncle Reg who suffered from chronic bronchitis and needed to stay indoors, his wife Ada, Harry’s widowed Aunt Carrie who could hardly have been left out as she lived with his mum too, Brenda’s Uncle Norman who’d fallen into deep conversation with Reg, her Aunt Kath who preferred to sit higher, Mum and herself. And Aunt Grace had given up the struggle for the constricted if softer sofa seat and moved to the dining chair which Norman had finally felt compelled to give up to her. Brenda watched him wander off to join the other men on the landing.
Under very obvious duress Grace was perched stiff-backed on the hard chair, tight-lipped and sulky and looking so much like her niece Vera when things didn’t quite go her way that Brenda had to suppress a grin.
Bringing her chair close to Harry who had perched himself with his glass of beer on one of the sofa arms, she grew aware of its creaking and complaining at his misuse.
‘I ’ope that arm’s safe,’ she said and saw him grin down at her.
‘I ain’t puttin’ all me weight on it.’
That he hadn’t gone out with the men but had chosen to stay here with her made her feel protected and she felt his free hand come across her shoulder, a move which caught the notice of nearly everyone, who gave approving smiles. Colouring up, she again prayed they wouldn’t make it too late in departing.
Aunt Grace was still going on about the smallness of the flat. ‘You should of ’ad a better look round. It don’t do to rush into things too quick.’
‘We couldn’t find anything bigger for the rent we could afford,’ she countered, seeing Harry’s dad come back inside for a top-up from one of the bottles of beer on the table. ‘It’s big enough for us.’
‘But what about when babies . . .’
‘Not big enough fer us lot,’ Harry’s dad put in with a wink and a big grin as he filled his pint glass. ‘Never mind, Bren luv, we won’t be leavin’ it too late ter be on our way. Leave you two love birds ter yerselves, eh? Bound ter wanna make best use of yer little love nest, still only a week married.’
‘Sid!’ his wife shot at him, but his grin remained big.
‘Anyone want a cup of tea?’ Brenda the hostess asked quickly.
They might take it as a bit of a hint to begin preparing for home. Few ever stayed on after evening tea came round, a signal for a social gathering to come to a close. The other two men followed Harry’s father in, saying it was getting dark and a bit chilly out there; the general response to Brenda’s suggestion was that tea would be nice.
Making the most of it, she added, ‘I’ll make sandwiches.’ That was the deciding factor.
‘Then we’ll ’ave to go,’ Aunt Grace said, not all that happy to sit for much longer on a hard chair. Once the men had drunk up their beer, and the womenfolk had put aside their empty sherry glasses – a wedding present from her Aunt Edie and Uncle Phil who’d had sense enough not to come this evening – Brenda hurried out to the kitchen to make cups of tea and ham sandwiches with pickled onions and gherkins to pick at.
‘I’ll help yer, dear,’ Harry’s mother offered, lifting a hand at Brenda’s mother as she too rose. ‘You stay there, luv. You did it al
l at teatime. My turn now. We’ll be orright, won’t we, Brenda?’
Brenda saw her mother’s lips tighten but smiled placatingly at her as she submitted herself to her mother-in-law’s offer. The woman, in her element, took charge.
‘You put the kettle on, luv. I’ll cut the bread, and you can butter it. Then I’ll finish doing the sandwiches while you make the tea.’
Brenda, though she complied, made a small vow to keep Mrs Hutton senior at arm’s length if she possibly could. Keep Mum away too.
Like a clairvoyant, tiny signs of the future eased themselves into her head: visions of mother and mother-in-law, of herself and mother-in-law, of herself and Mum – if she wasn’t careful she’d end up piggy-in-the-middle, her married life marred scarcely before it had started. Tomorrow, she thought as she handed round sandwiches, she would start girding her loins against all outside interference. This was her place. Hers and Harry’s. Their lives. No one had any right to come barging in but on her, the home-maker’s say-so.
Snuggled down in bed, she whispered shyly in Harry’s ear that he only had a day or two left before her periods began again and the shop closed down.
‘Never mind,’ he whispered back after thinking about it for a moment. ‘Yer’ll still be ’ere beside me, an’ we can still kiss and cuddle, can’t we?’
It was nice to hear, though not doing anything would probably drive them both mad. Pushing it out of her mind, she turned her thoughts to this evening and the squash there had been in their tiny flat.
‘What if our whole families had turned up? We wouldn’t of been able to move at all.’
She giggled suddenly, her mind picturing an influx of people shuffling in a line slowly round and round the front room. ‘Bad enough those what were here. Any more and it would of been standing room only, all the way up the stairs outside, everyone taking turns coming in and going out.’
