The Road to Forever

by Jeneth Murrey

  'Get Mrs Parry up to stay with her,' he advised. 'She's coming up the night before the wedding and I expect she'll be quite glad to come a few days early. I hear her grandchildren are driving her up the wall.' He grimaced and became very Welsh. 'No doing anything with children nowadays, no proper discipline or respect?'

  Mrs Parry came and things became better. Now, the two old ladies sat in Dwynwen's room, drinking endless cups of nearly black tea from Dwynwen's rose-spattered china and reminiscing about their days in service, which gave Lallie a chance to escape down to Aber where a dressmaker was altering her wedding dress.

  She had bought it in London, the best she could afford out of her own money; she hadn't even used any of the salary he'd paid her. Owen was sardonic about that dress, mostly about its whiteness, and not a penny of Tudor money would she spend on it. So it was an off-the-peg effort that didn't fit very well—too long, too wide, but the dressmaker had been encouraging.

  'It suits you, or it would if it fitted—the simple line is what you need, full skirts and wide sleeves would make you look dumpy. I'll take it apart and re-cut it.' And now Lallie was on her way to Aber, by bus from Trellwyd, which meant a walk down to the village, up the Nant which was a short cut that cut off at least a mile and a half—a nice walk if one had the time and energy for it. The Nant was a steep little hill.

  Lallie had allowed herself the time, but she hadn't a lot of energy. This last week she had dropped into a state of depression where there was no glimmer of joy or sunshine, no hope, no anything. But at least, walking like this, she was on her own and no longer had to put on a false face. She didn't have to smile or be full of joy for anybody's benefit.

  Once or twice she had wondered if her wedding night would change Owen's opinion of her, but she doubted it. He'd be far more likely to either ignore it or to think she was putting on an act. Whatever happened, she was in the position of 'heads, Owen wins—tails, Lallie loses', but then she'd been on a losing streak ever since Owen had turned up in her flat and dragged her back here to Bryn Celyn.

  The bus from Trellwyd dropped her at the terminus in Aber which was situated just outside the railway station. She looked at it with longing eyes, but running away wasn't something she normally did, and in any case, it needed a bit of planning. She glanced down at her tee-shirt and jeans, covered by Jonty's old anorak, and then at her sandalled feet. She might look like a hippy, but she wasn't one. Wherever she went, she'd require a change of clothes and somewhere to sleep—more important, she'd require a job to keep her, and since she'd given up her flat, she had none of these things. All she had was a pair of white satin slippers and a long white nylon slip in her shoulder bag.

  'You've done a wonderful job.' She pirouetted before the long mirror in the dressmaker's workroom. The dress looked very nice and even a scrappy lunch in a milk bar couldn't make her feel quite so bad. The dress had been remade, and the total effect was that it fitted nicely in all the right places and looked far more expensive than it really was. It was understated, and on Lallie that looked good.

  The dressmaker shrugged. 'Anything looks better when it fits. I'm quite pleased with it myself. Do you want to take it with you?'

  'Not just now,' Lallie made up her mind swiftly. 'I'll finish off my shopping and call back for it—is that all right?'

  She didn't have much to do, so she walked along the Promenade, looking at the sea, and then called for the dress just before going into the one cinema. She wouldn't see all the performance, the last bus for Trellwyd left the terminus too early for that, but the film watching was only a method of delaying her return and it was an excellent way of passing the time, sitting in the darkness and paying little attention to a space epic which was colourful, predictable and incredibly noisy. So that when she left the bus at Trellwyd, her head was still spinning with the noise of the film and her problems which she had hashed and rehashed all the way from Aber. The dressbox was a weight in her arms and her problems were a weight on her heart.

  If only Owen had agreed to her proposal in London—she would never be able to understand why he hadn't. It would have been the most wonderful get-out, everything under control and no waves, not even a ripple, with, at the end of a couple of years, all the loose ends tidied away with nothing to show it had ever happened—and nobody hurt. This way, somebody was going to be hurt, and she rather thought it would be herself.

  The street lighting showed her the Land Rover parked at the kerbside and Owen lounging against the door, so, clutching her box, Lallie walked towards him.

  'Waiting for me?' she asked pertly. 'How kind and thoughtful of you!'

  'And where have you been all day?' He sounded dangerously bad-tempered.

  'Out,' she answered briefly. 'What's the matter, did you miss me?'

  'Like a cold in the head,' he was equally brief. 'But you should have told somebody where you were going. I came home to a houseful of hens all clucking about not knowing where you were.'

  'I've been to the dress-maker's, and on the way I looked longingly at the railway station, but as you see,' she gestured at her jeans and anorak, 'I wasn't dressed for London.' She glanced at him sideways. 'Owen, I believe you've been worried, did you think I'd run out on you?'

  'I wouldn't put it past you.' In the light of the street lamp, his smile glimmered. 'You've an ingrained habit of disobedience.'

  'Only when I'm provoked,' she answered demurely, and then, as he took her box from her arms and tossed it over the seats and into the tarpaulined interior of the vehicle, 'Hey! That's my wedding dress! It's "handle with care", "this side up" and "don't drop".'

  'You're in a merry mood!'

  'Of course, why shouldn't I be? Here am I, little Lallie Moncke with nothing to recommend me but an awkward disposition, and I'm going to be married on Saturday to the local Don Juan who's also a wealthy vet. I've been congratulating myself on my good luck all day. A Cinderella story come true!'

  'That's better.' She caught the glimmer of his teeth as his mouth stretched in a smile. 'You haven't been your usual caustic little self these past few days, I was thinking you were perhaps sickening for something.'

  'Merely obeying orders,' she murmured. 'Keeping a low profile and a guard on my tongue.'

  'Becoming used to the idea?'

  'Resigned.' She gave a huge sigh. 'I walked along the prom today and contemplated suicide, but the water's too cold this time of year, I'll have to wait until it's warmer.'

  'Cinderellas don't do things like that.' Owen put his hand under her elbow and steered her across the street.

  'No, they don't, do they?' she muttered. 'They put on the glass slipper, smile widely and marry Prince Charming.' Suddenly she felt beaten as though all the fight had gone out of her again.

  'I don't think the glass slipper fits this Cinderella, Owen. It's going to pinch my toes.'

  'Then put on a smile to cover the pain,' he advised. 'Nobody's going to look that closely, only me. Come on, we'll go to the pub and have a drink.'

  The interior of the pub was dim and smoke-filled, even in the lounge, and from the public bar came the sounds of a dart match with the accompanying thud of darts in the board and the whoops of delight and groans of anguish. Lallie sat quietly and sipped at half a pint of shandy.

  'Jonty and Vi came over this evening.' Owen put his tankard down precisely in the middle of the beer mat. 'They hung on for quite a while, but they had to go. Something about a late lamb Vi's bottle-feeding.'

  'Sorry,' she grimaced, 'but I didn't know. I went to the cinema when I'd finished my bit of shopping. How are they?'

  'The usual,' he shrugged. 'They thanked us for the wedding invitation, brought a present, I've asked Jonty if he'd like to give you away—I can hardly do it myself.'

  'Oh, I don't know.' She glanced at him speculatively. 'You could walk me up the aisle, do a quick sidestep when we get to the rails and take your place at my right hand.' She stopped suddenly to glance around, but the lounge was nearly empty, most people were watching
the darts match and the few left in here were intent on their own conversations. 'If what you've told me is true, isn't that rather a cruel thing to do?'

  Owen took a quick glance at her over the rim of his tankard. 'You talking about cruelty, Lallie? You went your careless, unheeding way without a thought for anybody's feelings.'

  'Another area where we're totally compatible,' she shrugged, delving into a packet of crisps. 'You were right, Owen, we have so many things in common, I'm discovering new ones every day. I don't think I like myself very much!' The last words came out with a snap and a look of disgust.

  Saturday morning dawned fine and clear, Lallie watched the sun rise from her bed, huddled under the clothes and feeling sick and shivery. Perhaps she'd caught a chill—she amplified it—a nice feverish one with complications—anything to stop this happening to her. She stifled a sob and then thought, why not? She was quite alone, there was nobody to see her, she could cry her head off if she wanted to. Weep for what she wanted but would never have, could never have—love instead of disdain, warmth and sweetness instead of a hot passion which would be wonderful but quite unsatisfactory.

  Then she pulled herself together. Owen wasn't ever going to know how much she was hurt—she'd hidden that hurt before, she'd been doing a good job of hiding it for weeks now, and she was not going to walk down the aisle of the stone church in Trellwyd with puffy eyes! She pattered off to the bathroom to splash cold water in her face and then came back to bed.

  As she lay there, waiting for seven o'clock, she made her resolutions. She would be a good wife for however long it lasted. She would cultivate her abominable tongue instead of suppressing it, and nobody should ever know she was dying inside— bleeding to death. The minutes dragged by on leaden feet, the hands of the bedside clock hardly seeming to move. She dozed a little and dreamed fantastic things until Nerys was there at the bedside with a laden tray and her usual vacuous smile.

  'Nerys!' Lallie sat upright with a gasp. 'What are you doing here today? You're supposed to be having it off, going to the wedding.'

  'Going,' Nerys said monosyllabically, then giggled as though she'd won the pools. 'Owen's taking me when he goes down—plenty of time. Came to give you your breakfast, Miss Roberts said I could.'

  Lallie thought that one out. Dwynwen was Miss Roberts but Owen was just Owen as far as Nerys was concerned, and she wondered whether that was a good sign or not. Apparently Owen was a lot easier to approach than Dwynwen was; it bore thinking about. To her, Owen had represented authority and Dwynwen had been a friend, but Nerys saw it the other way round!

  'Going down with Owen? You are in luck.' Lallie put on a cheerful face and a voice to match it.

  'And having my photograph taken with him as well.' Pleasure and excitement made Nerys talkative. 'He said so—special, he called it, because you weren't having any bridesmaids.'

  Lallie suddenly felt very mean and small-minded. She should have thought of something like this, some little thing which would have given the girl pleasure instead of wallowing in her own puddle of misery. To cover the moment, she looked at the tray and forced a smile.

  'It looks lovely.' She eyed the brown egg nestling in its cup and the thin sticks of toast. 'We'll have to watch out or you'll be taking a job in a swish hotel where you're really appreciated!'

  'Like it here,' Nerys shook her head. 'Nice and close to my mam,' and she disappeared through the open door.

  Left with the tray, Lallie pulled the toast into crumbs and spread them on the windowsill. She was undecided what to do with the egg, so she wrapped it up in a couple of tissues and poked it in the toe of a pair of flat shoes she hardly ever wore, hoping she wouldn't forget it, she could dispose of it later—and then she drank the whole contents of the small teapot thirstily.

  When she came back from the bathroom, it was to find Vi standing by the bed, a very elegant Vi in a silky, bronze-coloured two-piece and wearing a small hat of the same colour on her soft brown hair. She looked confident and capable, and Lallie nearly flew to her to weep on her shoulder. Hastily she recovered herself.

  'Why, hello, Vi, do you think it's going to stay fine?'

  'I hope so,' Vi smiled quietly. 'There's nothing worse than a wet bride, is there? I've come to help, if I may…' She looked at Lallie seriously. 'I've plenty of experience, my mother remarried when I was nineteen and since then I've helped my two sisters when they were wed, so I know what to do. My mother was the worst, she was convinced it was going to be wet, she threw her hat on the floor—and talking about nerves, Jonty and Owen are downstairs, both of them pretending to be calm and collected.'

  'Thanks,' Lallie said gratefully. 'I was wondering how I'd manage if my zip stuck—I could feel myself going into hysterics at the thought.'

  'I'll calm them,' Vi told her soothingly, 'and I didn't come here just to help, you know. I've got a bit of news which maybe will take your mind off things, like Jonty and me. We've decided—that is, I've decided,' she handed Lallie the treasured pair of silk stockings and stood waiting with the long slip. 'I had to think about it and I' m sorry it took so long, but like I said, my mother remarried, a man younger than herself, and things didn't work out very well. I was afraid the same thing might happen to me. I'm older than Jonty, nearly five years.'

  'Pooh!' Lallie struggled into the slip and when it was down over her head, her voice came out muffled by the folds. 'What's five years nowadays?' At last her head was free and she smiled widely. 'That's wonderful news, I hope you'll be very happy—and I'm not just saying that, I mean it.' It was amazing how thinking about somebody else took her mind off her own personal tragedy.

  Vi stood with her back to Lallie and she muttered as she lifted the dress from its hook. 'I was a bit worried about you as well,' she admitted. 'I knew Jonty'd had this thing about you when he was younger, and it wasn't until I saw you together that I knew it had died the death.'

  'Sheer madness.' Lallie sat down on the bed and looked up. 'I never felt that way about him and I didn't know anything about it till Owen shoved it in my face. Jonty's always been like a brother, that's the only way I've ever thought of him.'

  'But Owen wasn't a brother?' Vi teased.

  'Owen was a tyrant,' Lallie glowered, and then remembered she was supposed to be happily in love with the tyrant. The emphasis was on 'happily'—the love was there, but she didn't think she'd have much joy from it. 'But don't you dare get married, not until Owen and I are back from wherever he's taking us.'

  'And not until the sheepdog trials are over,' Vi laughed, a musical sound, understanding and happy. 'That's far more important than waiting for you and Owen to be present—there are the two dogs, you see, and he can't make up his mind which one is the better.'

  'You choose,' Lallie advised, 'otherwise he'll be dithering right up till the last moment.' She became serious. 'He needs somebody like you, Vi, somebody to look after the sheep while he trains dogs.'

  'The fact hadn't escaped me,' Vi said ruefully. 'It's a good job I like sheep!' She became businesslike. 'Now, shall we get on,' she murmured. 'I know a bride's allowed a little latitude in the matter of time, but not all that much.'

  'Owen might run away?' Lallie laughed. She had only said it, she hadn't meant it. The chances of Owen running away were nil. He'd made up his mind and he'd wait till Domesday, but at least one good thing had come out of this ghastly mess—Jonty and Vi. No, two! as she remembered Dwynwen.

  Vi twitched the last fold of the long veil into place and bent to kiss Lallie's cheek. 'You look wonderful, that dress is just right, so simple, the princess line suits you—you're too small for frills.'

  'Just what I thought,' Lallie grinned. 'I saw a beauty, but then I thought of it on me and went cold. I'd have looked like the fairy on top of the Christmas tree, but I'm afraid I shan't get voted bride of the year, I don't have any bridesmaids, and they're a must for a truly good wedding.' She grimaced. 'I only hope they don't stick to the strict etiquette all the way through, though, because if they do that
, the church is going to keel over on one side with the weight of Owen's relations. I haven't any of my own.'

  'Cheer up,' Vi chuckled. 'As from about half past eleven, you'll have all of Owen's, and that includes me! Shall you like that, do you think?'

  'I'll love it, a real family at last, but I'll have to be careful, I've got a sharp tongue.'

  'Marriage might cure it,' Vi said serenely.

  Not marriage, Lallie thought. Owen would cure it or make it worse!

  She supposed it was a nice wedding, although, looking back on it, she didn't remember very much. There was Jonty's arm firm beneath her hand as they walked down the aisle; it comforted her until she caught sight of Owen's russet brown head slicked down to a dark red. He really did look very good in thin suiting, just as good as he looked in tweeds, and he turned his head to watch her come. From this distance and through the corner of veil over her face, he looked quite pleasant, not in the least as though he was beginning the 'punishment of Lallie'.

  She heard the murmur of responses and was surprised to discover her voice was quite steady. It didn't squeak or hesitate, but the words meant nothing to her, they were just words she was repeating after somebody else, like a child in school.

  She hadn't wanted to 'obey', but as Owen had pointed out, that was part of the bargain, and when he kissed her—it was a proper kiss, not the usual peck on the cheek—she met his mouth with her own as though she was frozen all the way through.

  She remembered the Community Centre, the only hall in Trellwyd big enough to hold the Tudors and the rest of the relatives. Caterers had arranged long tables and there seemed to be a lot to drink, she spied a couple of cases of champagne, and then there were the speeches. Owen's best man, a colleague from the Trellwyd practice, was very witty, although he made one or two bawdy jokes which would have better been kept for the Rugby Club of which he was an ardent member.

  And there were the photographers and a host of people she didn't know and had never met, but she smiled. Oh yes, she smiled. Oh yes, she smiled until she thought her face would crack, all the time conscious of Owen sitting next to her at the top table. She didn't want anything to eat, but she gulped a glass of wine thirstily and followed it with two glasses of champagne. Somebody in London had once told her that the world always looked rosier through the bottom of a wine glass.