by Sue Nicholls
Kitty tried to rid herself of the image of her father following her down the aisle wearing a tutu over his suit, and dug into her jeans for her wallet. ‘Not for me yet.’
‘I’ll have one.’ Jack was the only taker and Kitty’s thoughts went to Alice, Jack’s wife, and her state of inebriation when Kitty last saw her.
While they waited for Paul, Kitty caught up with the news. Maurice was enjoying Anwen’s visits to clean and spoil him with cups of tea and biscuits and much needed conversation. It was some time since he had been so animated and she was glad, not only for him but for his sons, Sam and Josh.
‘She’s bright, that one.’ Maurice was saying of Anwen. ‘She hardly had any schooling when she was young, but she’s been teaching herself in the school library. Got to take your hat off to her.’
‘She’s a nice girl,’ Kitty agreed and met Sam’s gaze. He would doubtless be remembering the other things Anwen had been up to.
Paul plonked two pints and more crisps on the table and the conversation moved on, ranging through the usual bloke stuff, football, cars, films, music, technology and so on. After another round, Paul got sentimental. ‘Oh Kitty. When did you get so grown up? It doesn’t seem long ago that you were this tall.’ He patted an invisible head at about the height of a five-year-old.
Kitty glanced at Sam again before saying, ‘I remember being five, Dad. Do you?’
‘Remember being five? Nah.’
Not you being five, me being five. The thing I think of most often is that wagon you made us. Do you remember us whizzing down Little Callum Hill?’
‘I do.’ Paul squinted at her. ‘Some bugger stole it. Annoying after the effort I put into it. Took me ages to find those wheels, they came off two wheelchairs.’
Kitty took a slurp from her beer and said, ‘Funnily enough, it’s turned up.’
‘What?’ Paul jerked out of his stupor. ’Where?’
‘In the woods behind Chelterton Park.’
Paul’s expression was shocked. ‘How the fuck did it get there?’
46 KITTY
In a pew beside Paul and Maurice, Kitty’s calm face masked her churning brain. Mindlessly, her thumb rubbed the smooth surfaces of Cerys and Paul’s wedding rings, in her pocket. Behind her, the congregation shuffled and murmured, but she did not hear them. The murder case occupied her mind, along with her worry that Cerys’s reasons for marrying Paul might not be honourable.
Pulling herself back to the present, she squeezed the rings in her fist and decided that whatever Cerys’s motives, and whoever killed Mummy, today was her father’s special day. She turned to scan the crowded church. Since their engagement, Cerys had cultivated a gang of neighbourhood friends, and Kitty searched among them for faces she recognised. Alice and Freya, wearing identical outfits, were glaring at each other. Their husbands, Jack and Lewis, sat between them, to form a human shield. On the next pew, Mick and Lucas had taken this time, away from Churchills where the reception would be.
Beside Lucas was a girl Kitty had not met. In fact, now she came to think of it, she had never seen Lucas with a girl. Judging by the way they leaned into each other, whispering and laughing, this girl, lithe and blond, must be Luc’s date. In the second row, directly behind Paul, Maurice and herself, Sam met her eyes, his expression as pensive as hers. They had agreed that for the sake of harmony, it would be best to wait until after the wedding before tackling Maurice about the asterisk on his calendar.
Sensing someone’s gaze, Kitty turned to find Mick looking at her. There was a smile on his lips, but his eyes were an expressionless black. She turned away, wondering whether Mick was worried for Paul too.
The waiting organist plunged his fingers among the keys, and the familiar notes of the Wedding March burst from its ancient pipes. Sound filled the vaulted space, and Paul, after glancing over his shoulder to make sure his timing was right, hunched his jacket straight and stepped forward to meet his future. He took his place at the front of the church and Cerys began her measured progress towards him.
Kitty watched him, weighing him up, reaffirming her trust in him. During her childhood, Paul, when under pressure, would often release his rage in an explosion of aggression. His behaviour on one occasion, had shocked and frightened her to such an extent that she had retreated to the safety of her calm, even cool mother and refused to see him. When that anger stopped? At a guess it was when he was absolved of Mum’s murder. She could remember no anger after that and asked herself why. Why, when he had wasted so much time and energy proving his innocence, when he had lost the woman he loved and was left to care for his small daughter alone; why was he not still angry?
Cerys drew alongside the front pew. She was a poor substitute for Fee. No elegance, no refinement in either speech or dress. The secret gown that had forced Paul to the sofa, hung over her swollen belly in volumes of petticoats, its style unsuited to a pregnant woman of diminutive stature. Gazing at her, Kitty was reminded of one of those cylindrical skirted dolls from her childhood, that hid the toilet roll in Nanny Gloria’s Putney home.
Behind Cerys came an equally frothy Anwen in pale green satin and net. The colour did not suit her, but she looked so proud and excited that Kitty had to smile. Cerys handed her bouquet to her sister, and Paul stepped forward to stand next to his bride to be.
Kitty gave the moist rings a rub with a tissue. Her wariness of Cerys stemmed from a sense that Paul was reluctant to marry. And she could not shake off the suspicion that Cerys had become pregnant on purpose; that the woman was not honourable. There was that word again: honourable! She nearly laughed out loud at herself. Surely her skill with words was better than that. For a while now she had toyed with the idea of giving up journalism, or at least taking a year’s break to write a novel. Something with beautiful words and a riveting storyline. Her years in the newspaper industry had exposed her to many a good plot.
Something distracted her from her reverie. The minister had stopped speaking, and the groom and best man were staring at her with lifted eyebrows. The rings! They were waiting for the rings. She passed the precious items to the vicar and caught Paul’s eye. He looked up to the vaulted roof and shook his head as if to say, ‘You didn’t have much to do for goodness’ sake.’
When the vicar said, ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.’ The couple looked into one another’s eyes and embraced, and at last, Kitty realised that love did exist between them.
Endless photographs followed in the churchyard. Kitty and Anwen were the only family members and were soon released from the effort of forcing smiles. Kitty moved a short distance away from the crowd and watched the female photographer deftly controlling the excited gathering. In her sleeveless, mannish shirt, Kitty clasped her upper arms and shivered in the chilly air.
A jacket landed on her hunched shoulders in a waft of its owner’s shower gel. ‘Thanks,’ she said without taking offense at his chivalry.
‘No problem,’ said Sam. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Looking forward to a drink.’
Sam glanced at her. ‘Are you driving?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got the bike.’
‘Be careful.’
Kitty experienced a surge of irritation. ‘I can look after myself,’ she flashed, then at the sight of his face, ‘Sorry. Bit of a short fuse today.’
Sam gave the wisp of a smile, his eyes on the camera girl. ‘No problem.’
There was a call for friends of the groom, and neighbours milled round. Kitty scanned the area for Mick’s dark head and Maurice’s balding one.
Paul was also searching. He shouted, ‘Where’s Maurice and Mick?’
And the photographer yelled, ‘Friends of the groom. Any more friends of the groom?’
Kitty craned her neck and spotted the pair, in deep conversation among the gravestones. She ran towards them, waving her arms for their attention, and when they saw her, they stopped their conversation and headed back. The photographer looked at her watch and squinted
at the sky in the dying light.
47 KITTY
In Churchills, they sipped champagne and popped elegant canapés into chattering mouths. The girl and her camera recorded shots of the cake and its slicing. The newlyweds standing shoulder to shoulder, well, hardly that, Kitty corrected herself, standing shoulder to elbow would be a more accurate description. With their hands clasped round the handle of the knife they stood among the dazzling tablecloths and the floral decorations, cheered on by their guests.
With a drink in his hand, Paul was at last more relaxed, and for once Cerys was not chiding him about his consumption.
Pushing across the room to reach them, Kitty found it hard to believe that Paul had been able to control his drinking to this degree. He was a person who, although not a nightly drinker, could easily consume five pints in a session, after which, he would become loud and embarrassing. He drank to get drunk, not to be sociable, in fact Kitty suspected that he did not much like people. Cerys must have earned his respect, for him to contemplate sobriety.
Reaching Paul, Kitty put one arm around his neck and with the other, patted his flat stomach. ‘Very dapper, Dad,’ she said, then reached over to give Cerys a peck on the cheek saying, ‘I don’t understand how you’ve got my old man to cut down his drinking but well done.’ With some effort she added, ‘You look great too, Stepmother.’
Cerys beamed at her, and Kitty moved off, relieved to have made the right noises. She looked around for a friendly face. Mick was some distance away chatting to a couple she recognised but did not know. Maurice was with Sam who, seeing her eyes on him, pointed her to a circular table where Lucas and his girl were laughing with Josh.
The girlfriend’s name was Megan. Kitty liked her straight away. There was something attractive about the way she carried herself. Lucas appeared happy, too. It had been a long time since Kitty had seen him without a crease between his eyebrows.
Sam asked Kitty what she would like to drink, and Kitty, eyeing the darkening weather, asked for a pint of bitter. With luck, it would outlast the celebrations.
Lucas took a last slug of his lager and got to his feet. ‘Dad’s gone to the kitchen. I should give him a hand.’ He touched Megan’s shoulder. ‘I won’t be too long. Don’t let this lot get you into bad habits.’
‘We’ll be as good as gold.’ Josh grinned at Megan, who, it seemed to Kitty, would not be led astray, even by George Clooney.
In a flurry of green froth, Anwen rustled into a chair beside Kitty and eyed her drink.
‘Want to try it?’ Kitty offered, and Anwen took a small sip and pulled a face. ‘That’s disgusting,’ she said, ‘Do you seriously drink it for pleasure?’
Kitty laughed. ‘It’s an acquired taste.’
Anwen folded her arms across her upholstered front. ‘You mean you have to keep drinking it until you get used to it. Why bother?’
Kitty searched for an effective answer and gave up. ‘You have a point, Anwen.’ She picked up the glass and took a small swallow. ‘You have a point and I have a pint.’
Anwen giggled. ‘You’re clever with words.’
‘Thanks. It’s something of a prerequisite for a journalist.’
‘I want to be a journalist, too.’ Anwen wriggled her bottom inside her lacy skirt and unfolded her arms. ‘We might be partners one day. Thomas and Hughes.’
‘It’s not an easy profession. You need to be self-motivated - work hard and get your own contacts.’ Kitty’s tone must have been dismissive because Anwen’s face fell. Not wishing to discourage the girl, Kitty hurried on, ‘But who can tell? If you prove yourself, I might offer you a job one day.’ She accepted a hug, hoping she was not giving the girl false hopes.
Across the room, Paul and Cerys were weaving between chairs towards the ‘top table’ so Anwen and Kitty moved to join them.
Everyone took their seats, craning to see the Best Man – and Woman; looking forward to being entertained - or to endure in silence.
But, before the speeches came the food: glossy smoked salmon roulade, crisp rack of lamb with port sauce and a dessert called Mocha Katy, which was rich and delicious. On either side of her, Kitty felt the nervousness of those waiting to make their speeches. She herself felt quite relaxed because she had only to add a few lines to Maurice’s piece. Maurice had sent back most of his food, and his dessert sat untouched on the table. Such a shame the speeches came after the food. If she got married, huh, not much chance of that, she would have hers before the food so everyone could enjoy their meal. Once again, the image of her father in a tutu rose to mind and she suppressed a snigger.
Along the table to her right, Maurice cleared his throat and struck his glass five times with a fork.
The room fell silent - everyone gazed at Maurice.
~~~
Maurice fumbled in his inside pocket for the notes he had fretted over for the past two weeks. He felt the gazes of the guests and their cheerful expectation, but he fixed his eyes on the piece of paper.
Also seated at the top table, beyond Paul and Cerys, Kitty, in a shirt and tie, lolled in her chair, scrolling through her phone, presumably to find her addendum.
Maurice took a sip of Champagne and glanced up at his audience, then with a deep breath, he focused on the slip of paper in his shaking hands and opened his mouth. ‘Paul and I have been friends for about twenty-five years.’ He licked his lips. ‘I sometimes wonder how we’ve managed it, but like a marriage,’ he nodded at Paul and Cerys, ‘Friendship takes perseverance.’ He dared to look at his audience and chuckled, ‘And boy have I had to persevere.’ He grinned at Paul to show he was kidding, and a murmur of laughter from the floor gave him confidence.
‘It says in this book of etiquette,’ he held up a paperback with a dated, lemon and grey cover, ‘That I am supposed to be witty and tell a few of Paul’s secrets.’ He looked again at Paul, but Paul was staring at the opposite wall, and Maurice met instead the horrified face of Cerys. Hurriedly, he held up a finger to prevent interruption and opened the book. Pointing at a page, he intoned, ‘But I must use taste and discretion.’ He put the book on the table and tried to find his place in the notes. ‘Er, where was I?’ He swallowed. Sorry. ‘I’m not as young as I was…’
There was more laughter, and Paul roared, ‘Get on with it, mate. The champagne’s getting warm here.’
‘OK. Here it is. Yeah: Paul was quite a reprobate when he was younger. Led me and Mick along many a rocky road to beer and curry.’ He paused for more merriment before continuing, ‘But seriously: if it hadn’t been for this man in my life, I wouldn’t be able to fix a shelf or hang a cupboard. He taught me everything I know about DIY.’
‘Even if your first shelf fell down when you put books on it,’ shouted Paul.
Cerys pulled at Paul’s sleeve. ‘Let the poor man make his speech.’
Maurice grinned at Paul, realising that he was enjoying himself. ‘That was a valuable lesson in choosing the right-sized plugs,’ he said with a wink. Then his face became serious, and he said, ‘I sometimes think Paul, Mick and I are like the Three Musketeers: One for all and all for one. If Paul hadn’t invited us for a drink all that time ago, we would not have this great friendship. We have grown-up children now,’ he gazed round the room, meeting the eyes of Sam and Josh. ‘It’s hard to believe how long we have all known one another. I’m sure Mick will feel the same as I do: glad that Paul’s found himself a loving wife and companion. I wish them both every happiness.’ He pulled a folded handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his eyes, then to the guests, he said. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, in the absence of parents of the bride, it is my honour to ask you to raise your glasses.’ He lifted his flute high in the air. ‘To the bride and groom and the bridesmaid,’ and the guests roared, ‘Bride and groom and bridesmaid.’
Kitty rose to her feet. ‘Thanks for that marvelous speech, Maurice, and thanks for letting me muscle in on your act. It’s been an absolute joy to be Best Woman at my dad’s wedding. I thought the day would nev
er come when he met a lady prepared to put up with him.’ More laughter. ‘Thank you so much, Cerys, for taking the responsibility from my shoulders.’
Paul pulled a face of pretend annoyance, and Cerys nodded with a gracious smile.
Kitty continued, ‘One thing I had to put up with as a child, thanks to my esteemed father, was the biggest stuffed elephant imaginable. He bought it for me when I was six years old, and it didn’t fit anywhere.’
The guests laughed again, and Kitty went on, ‘So, Dad, I thought you might like it back for the baby.’ Paul looked aghast until Kitty pulled from her pocket a ragged blue scrap of fur fabric and leaned over to drop it into his hand. ‘I’m afraid this is all that’s left of it.’
Amid claps and cheers, Kitty raised her glass and called, ‘To Dad and Cerys, may their marriage last longer than my elephant.’ And the guests thundered their response.
~~~
As with most weddings, after the excitement and adrenalin of the ceremony and speeches there was a pause, a letting out of breath - and of waist bands. This was that moment. Staff had cleared away the food, and the tables were arranged around the edges of the room to create a small area for dancing. The random notes of the band tuning up, plonked and tinkled above the drone of conversation. Kitty sat with Megan, Olivia, Sam and Josh, and soon Lucas joined them in his chef’s whites. He pulled an empty chair from nearby and wiggled it into a space next to Josh. Kitty, usually more of a burger and chips person, greeted him with enthusiasm. ‘That food was amazing, Luc.’
Lucas coloured. ‘Glad you liked it.’
Kitty scanned the room for Mick. ‘Where’s your dad?’
‘He was here a minute ago.’ Lucas swept a frown over the room then shrugged. ‘He might be in the toilet.’
Ready at last, the band began playing popular numbers from the eighties. Josh dragged Megan to her feet for a dance, and Kitty, in no mood to strut her stuff, rose too. ‘I should go,’ she said. ‘It’s dark outside and I hear rain.’
