Wedding Bells on the Home Front

by Annie Clarke

  They paused, still standing together as the record was changed yet again, and this time it was a samba.

  He dropped his arm, releasing her, expecting her to disengage in turn. She didn’t. Her other hand still lay on his shoulder. He said, ‘Will you come to the beck tomorrow?’

  She nodded, and only now did they move to the side and stand – together, but not touching. ‘Oh aye, I’ve the morning off for it, and I reckon our Alfie knew you wanted to hire his bike, for he was pumping up the tyres. Lord knows what I’ll do for one, though.’

  The samba dancers swirled and twirled, with Eddie Corbitt, a pitman friend of the Hall and Bedley fathers, dancing with his lady friend, as he called her. Mr Swinton was bobbing about with Mrs Adams, not doing a samba by any stretch of the imagination, but what did it matter, for they were talking non-stop just as he remembered them doing at Sarah’s wedding tea.

  Ralph looked at Viola and found some words. ‘Alfie’s has a crossbar. I’ll pedal, you sit.’

  Davey spoke up from behind them. ‘Don’t be so daft, the lass won’t be safe with you swerving about. Our Maisie’ll lend you hers, I reckon, but Ralph’ll have to cycle you down to the corner shop. The rest of us’ll meet up there, and we’ll go off like a gaggle of geese.’

  He dragged his mam past them and onto the dance floor, where they showed the rest of the room just how to do a proper samba. Ralph stared. Viola said, ‘The co-op ladies are formidable. There is nowt they canna do.’

  It was then that Ralph noticed Eva, Abraham and Tommy watching the dancing. Eva swayed to the music, but her face was sad. Was she thinking of her parents? He couldn’t bear it and turned to Viola, taking hold of her hand. ‘Please, help Sophia look after Eva. She’s sparky, but underneath she is scared. If I’m ever not here – if something happens – Eva is special, well, they all are, and I’m having none of them in an orphanage when this bloody war is at an end. Well, those without parents, because the others will go …’ He stopped just as the music did.

  They stood together as the record changed. This time it was a quick step. Viola turned to him. ‘Of course I will.’ They smiled at one another. ‘Besides,’ she said, ‘you’ll be on the surface yet awhile. I daresay you’re thinking of Mr Bedley and Mr Hall, but it’s not often a roof comes down.’

  Those words, he thought, that image. ‘Let’s return to the table, eh?’ His tone had changed, he knew it had, but he smiled and so did she, though her eyes shadowed. He picked up her hand, kissed it. ‘The war has taken too many people. Your parents, Eva’s. It’s so sad.’

  Her face cleared, and she gripped his hand, not allowing him to disengage. ‘Aye, it is that, lad, but the music plays on, and we just have to dance.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Friday, 3 April

  Davey woke in the darkness of the Halls’ front room, rolled over and gazed at Fran as she slept, feeling thankful, and loved, and remembering last night. The feel of her in his arms, his lips on hers, the confetti in the bed, on the carpet, in her hair and his. He’d begun to laugh. She’d said, ‘Howay, lad, are you thinking what I am?’

  ‘Confetti?’

  She’d drawn away, just a bit, raised herself on her elbow, looked down at him and nodded towards the trail of discarded clothes leading to the bed. ‘Not confetti. You, sewing yourself into your drawers.’

  ‘Oh, for the love of Pete, don’t go on.’ But she was laughing so hard she had to sit up, so he joined her, and she was trying to hush him, and herself. Finally, she gulped. ‘Aye, but it kept that Daisy at arm’s length. But poor lass, her lad’s gone, the bairn’s due, so she must be at her wits’ end. Or hang on, is the bairn born by now?’

  He’d shrugged. ‘Born I reckon, or it will be the biggest bairn there’s been, almost walking out. I’ll ask Daniel, his da should know.’

  She’d slapped him, he’d grabbed her arm and kissed it, and again, right up to her shoulder, and then … Oh, then …

  Thinking about it now, in the early-morning gloom, he smiled because everything had happened just as Stan had said it would and he’d felt Fran and he really were one person, and she, his lovely Franny, had whispered, ‘Don’t you ever leave me, Davey Bedley, or I’ll hunt you down and drag you back, cos you’re half of me from this minute.’

  He smiled, watching her now, drinking in the first morning of their life together. Outside there was the distant sound of the fore shift heading for the pit down the back lanes. He lay facing her, the confetti scratching him. ‘I’ll have to speak to our Viola about all this making of confetti,’ he murmured. ‘It gets bliddy everywhere.’

  He kissed her, and she kissed him and he knew that he had never been so happy, and that it could only get better.

  At eight the same morning, Ralph felt the pull of his calf muscle where it had been stitched, but that was all, and he hoped it would withstand not only the cycle ride to the beck but the aft shift at the pit. Well, it ruddy well must. He used his stick crossing the hall, but didn’t really need it. Then down the stairs to the kitchen, seeking Viola and a cup of tea, in that order. He could see through the half-glazed door that she was busy feeding the five thousand. He entered, but no one looked up from their seats at the table except Viola, who stood holding two plates of scrambled egg and toast. He smiled, she smiled back, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his. His spirits sank.

  The children drooped with tiredness because the festivities hadn’t ended until nine in the evening. Ralph was fairly certain that during that time some elderberry wine had found itself into mouths that had no business snaffling it from the buffet table, just as they had after Sarah and Stan’s wedding.

  Tommy, in particular, was pale. ‘By, I could’ve stayed in bed. Me ’ead hurts, so it does.’

  Viola placed one of the plates in front of him, and the other in front of Abraham. ‘This might help. Or is it a cycle ride to the beck for you all?’

  Ralph hoped they’d say no, for he wanted time with Viola. Tommy pushed the plate away. ‘I divint feel quite meself, our Viola. I reckon, if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to me bed for a bit.’

  Eva followed him, though first she came to Ralph. ‘Mornin’, Mr Ralph. You’ll have to go to the beck on your own, me tummy feels funny. I feel like Sophia looks of a morning.’

  Some of the children managed a bit, others none. ‘You’ll have it for your tea, remember?’ Viola warned.

  They said nothing, just followed the others out of the door and back up the stairs. Ralph whispered, ‘I do declare they must all have had more than a drop of the hard stuff.’

  Viola disappeared into the scullery. ‘Sophia’s upstairs sorting out some washing, but she’ll keep an eye on ’em. She was in bed good and early, and will be the better for it.’

  In the quiet of the kitchen, Ralph leaned against the table and flexed his leg, then collected the plates. Viola carried a half-empty bottle of elderberry wine as she came back from the scullery. ‘The hair of the dog, from the co-op. It was all that was left, and is for the beck. Fran and Sarah are bringing the remains of the buffet, what there is of it. We must leave for home by eleven, because everyone, even the blushing bride, has to be back for the aft shift, and the groom and Daniel for the train.’

  He waggled the two plates he was carrying at her. She laughed. ‘Oh, I can’t do it to them. We’ll put it in the hens’ mash, eh.’ Again, their eyes didn’t quite meet before she dashed past him and up the stairs to check that Sophia and Reginald were up and about, and that the bairns were back in bed, sleeping off their hangovers. Ralph tipped the wasted food into the mash bin, washed the plates, leaving them on the rack, then made his way to the garage. The bike was ready, and he left a ten-bob note on the workbench, calling loudly, ‘Thanks, Alfie.’

  There was only a groan in reply. Ralph grimaced in sympathy and pushed the bike to the top of the basement steps, and out she came – Viola, beautiful Viola. wearing her mac, with a scarf around her neck and carrying a bag over her shoulder and a folded blanket. ‘It
’s to pad out the crossbar,’ she said. She heaved herself up, using his arm. Use the whole of me, he longed to say. He rumbled across the cobbled yard, keeping her safe in his arms as her glorious hair escaped from beneath her woollen hat.

  He angled his leg to steer clear of hers – there was barely an ache – and off they went, down the drive. Neither said anything, but she leaned stiffly against him and he could smell the lavender water. They swung left out of Massingham Hall’s wrought-iron gates and passed daffodils and sheep, who took no notice of them, but instead bleated to one another. Lucky them, Ralph thought, because he had no words.

  As he pedalled, Viola relaxed and laughed, ducking as startled pigeons fluttered from the ploughed fields.

  She rested her good hand on the centre of the handlebars. ‘I enjoyed the wedding tea, did you?’

  He wanted to say it was heaven, the best moment of my life. Instead, he said, ‘Yes, it was quite perfect.’

  ‘Fran and the co-op planned it so well. Did you know that they found the parachute silk in a trunk in your attic?’

  ‘I did.’ It was all he said as he puffed up an incline, drenched with shame, because his father had told him on his return from the wedding tea how Mrs Hall had found his old BUF uniform and had enabled the burning of it – with no recriminations, for it had been the uniform of a boy.

  They swung towards Massingham, and his mouth was dry. He made himself remember Auberon Smythe, and focused: acceptance of a wrong done, atonement undertaken.

  ‘Penny for them?’ she asked.

  He dragged himself back to the present. ‘Not worth a farthing, Viola.’

  She was leaning against his chest, more relaxed now, and began to sing ‘All or Nothing at All’, and all he could think was that he’d take anything she felt she could give, and if it was nothing, then so be it.

  They cycled in convoy to the beck, led by the new Mr and Mrs Bedley, with Viola pedalling happily on Maisie’s bike alongside Sarah and Beth, and sometimes alongside Sid and Ralph, who talked together quietly.

  Stan cycled with Ben, Norm with Daniel, who was grateful for the loan of Simon Parrot’s bike. Beth watched and listened, and remembered the feel of Norris’s mouth on hers, his searching tongue, and though she’d tried to wash her mouth out with salt, somehow he, it, was still there.

  Once at the beck, Beth leaned her bike against Viola’s and they unpacked the sandwiches; everyone had slept late and there’d been no time to eat breakfast. The lads made up the fire on top of the blackened earth, which, even after the long winter, still bore the scars of the many they had lit over the years.

  Beth spread Viola’s blanket, and Fran hers, which her mam had insisted she take. They all sat close and each took the merest sip from the bottle of wine, as it was too early. But it was a wedding breakfast, Daniel had insisted, toasting them all. The group split up, with Ben and Stan having a race across the bridge to the oak tree from which the rope swing hung. Fran called across, ‘Divint you dare try it out, either of you. The water’ll be bliddy freezing.’

  Everyone, including Ben, yelled, ‘Language.’

  Daniel laughed and said to Davey, who was sitting across from him as sparks crackled into the air and the heat of the fire warmed them, ‘I can see why you miss it all so much.’

  Davey kissed the top of Fran’s head as she leaned back against him, laughing at Ben and Stan hurling twigs from the bridge onto the beck, then crossing over to see whose had won.

  Daniel finished his sandwich, then slapped his hands free of crumbs. ‘I’m sorry to change the mood, Davey,’ he said, ‘but I need to ask if Daisy has been in touch with you, or Fran? If I remember rightly, you gave her the fourteen Leadenhall address, but you’ve said nothing about a letter from her. She’s gone missing you see, with the babe.’

  ‘What?’ Davey gasped.

  The others stopped their murmured conversations and Ben straightened up on the bridge, calling, ‘What’s up, Davey?’

  Daniel repeated it. ‘But how old’s the babe?’ asked Fran.

  ‘Three weeks.’

  Viola rose into a kneeling position. ‘Oh no, but surely she won’t have hurt him?’

  ‘It’s a her, actually, and who’s to tell? Why the hell she couldn’t have just stayed in the home, I do not know. She’s so contrary.’

  Viola turned to Ralph. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like to give up a babe. Awful for her, awful for everyone at the home. So worrying. I doubt she’ll know how to look after it properly.’

  Davey threw a shoot of grass at Daniel. ‘No, we’ve heard nothing, and why the hell didn’t you tell us sooner?’

  ‘It wasn’t the time or place.’ He waved his hand around at the group, who were all looking thoughtful or talking quietly. ‘Dad just hoped you might have had a letter, with an address. Perhaps of her parents’ home?’

  Sarah spoke for all of them. ‘Oh, that’s a point. She’ll have gone home, of course she will, taking the baby, and the parents’ hearts will melt …’

  Daniel shrugged. ‘Dad got the police on to it pretty smartly, to keep an eye out, but there’s a war on. He’s trying to get the parents’ address from Bl—Well, where we work. The one she gave the mother-and-baby home was false. She always said she wouldn’t go to her parents – bit of history there, it seems.’

  The bottle came around again as the lads put more wood on the fire. They all took the merest sip again, except for Beth, who waved it away.

  ‘Have some, Beth,’ said Viola, ‘it’s only the tiniest sip to warm us. Oh dear …’ she faded, looking embarrassed, perhaps thinking of Beth’s secret drinking. Sid and Ralph shared a glance but said nothing. It wasn’t theirs to tell.

  Beth poked the fire with a stick and finally answered, looking at the flames, not at them. ‘Aye, you see, I’ve taken to drinking and I want to stop, and ’tis hard, for Bob makes it hard. I just get a handle on it and then another letter comes, like just before the wedding. He wants me to pay half the cost of the divorce because it has to be heard in the High Court, or summat like that, or to send them the allotment from his pay that we wives get each month. It’s right that I do send that to them, for the bairn’ll need it. I know me and mam can just manage without it, especially now I won’t buy any more off Norris.’

  Sarah said quietly, ‘Oh, poor Beth.’

  Beth shrugged. ‘I were upset that Bob could be as he was, for the letter were from them both, and I felt so damned alone. I said to Norris I didn’t want more, but I gulped it down because it stops me thinking. I … I let—’

  ‘You did nowt,’ Sid burst out. ‘It’s that Bob who’s a bliddy bastard. I’ll bliddy take myself to Grimsby and sort him out, so I will.’

  Sarah and Fran reached out to her, but Beth stood up, waving them down. ‘I’m all right, really I am. I’ve written I’ll send the allotment money but pay for nowt else, and I’ll read no more of his letters so I can sort myself out. Mam said it weren’t fair for me to suffer, but maybe it is, for I made you suffer, our Stan. Things get paid back, eh?’ She headed for the path, calling back, ‘I’ll go and fetch a bit more firewood. You stay here, make the most of your time, for we have to go in half an hour.’

  She walked off. Sarah rose, but Ralph was up before her, his hand out. ‘Sarah, you stay with Stan. I’m an outsider, and sometimes that’s better, eh?’

  Fran and Sarah looked at one another. ‘I reckon the lad is right, you know,’ said Fran. ‘It’s like telling secrets to someone on a bus because you’ll never see them again.’

  ‘Don’t be so bliddy daft,’ Davey laughed. ‘You only go on the Factory bus and you know everyone on it, inside out.’

  Sid was getting up. ‘Best I go too.’

  Davey picked up Ralph’s half-eaten sandwich and threw it at him. ‘Best you don’t. Let Ralph see what he can do, for perhaps he knows more about these things. You know, the law and divorce and so on. We know nowt, and we’re too close.’

  ‘All I know is that when Ralph was being foul, I could
n’t talk to you all,’ said Fran. ‘Don’t you remember? I carted myself off to St Oswald’s to chat to whoever it was looking down.’

  ‘But—’ said Sid.

  This time it was Stan who waved him down. ‘I reckon our Franny is right. Let’s see how Ralph manages, eh? If he makes a pig’s ear of it, we’ll send the next man in.’

  ‘Sounds like a military campaign,’ muttered Ben.

  Stan nudged him with his toe. ‘Aye, well, dealing with women is, lad.’

  This time the girls threw bits of sandwich.

  Beth rushed along the path, cursing herself for bringing it all up, but she was fighting not to drink, and if word got around about Norris being outside the Miners’ Club yesterday … And what if someone saw the kiss, other than Sid? Had he actually seen it? She couldn’t remember.

  Anyway, she had to tell. Or did she? She didn’t know anything any more, only that she hadn’t drunk anything before the elderberry wine, and that was a sort of victory.

  Just keep walking, she told herself. She continued along the bank, where the beck was shallow and the water ran over stones, splashing and tumbling. But as she reached the drystone wall where the hawthorns grew high and straggly, it ran deeper, and slower, and was soundless … which was when she heard breathing, and footsteps.

  She spun round. It was Ralph, catching up, his walking stick under his arm. She stopped. Waited.

  He reached her. ‘I’m the emissary, or perhaps the messenger.’

  She said, ‘I know what an emissary is, Ralph,’ she said. She wasn’t cross or insulted. She wasn’t anything.

  Ralph tucked his walking stick under his arm. ‘Of course, you do. I was just talking for the sake of it. The path’s widening, perhaps I may take your arm?’