White Wedding

by Milly Johnson

  ‘I love being here so much, working,’ Pav said, now climbing up his ladder. ‘Although this does not feel like work.’

  His arms had dark hair on them and his biceps were pronounced, Violet noticed, as she brought over a bacon sandwich for him. She watched him drill into the ceiling joist and thought how incredibly manly he looked pushing down on a power tool. Then a contrasting vision of Glyn in an apron at home drifted into her head, bringing with it a hiccup of nausea.

  ‘Violet, please can you hold the pole steady?’ Pav asked.

  Violet jumped to attention. She held it as he instructed, until he had fixed it firmly in place, then Pav climbed back down the ladder and they both stood back to view his handiwork.

  ‘That looks amazing, Pav,’ said Violet. Considering it was just a piece of painted wood, the impact was fantastic.

  ‘Now it is beginning to look like a real carousel inside, don’t you think?’ said Pav, taking a bite out of his sandwich and nodding his proud approval. ‘And once I put the other four poles in, you will really see the full effect.’

  Violet smiled. She loved this shop so much and couldn’t wait to open it. But then, it would only be ready to open when Pav had done his job and gone. And she so didn’t want him to hurry. He would take all the light from her life when he eventually left. She felt unexpected tears rise up to her eyes and turned her head away, but it was too late, for Pav had seen them.

  ‘Violet, are you all right?’ His hand landed on her shoulder in a gesture of concern.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Just a bit overcome with excitement about opening up Carousel.’

  It sounded like the lie it was. Pav’s hand lifted from her shoulder before she could press into its warmth.

  Her phone rang in her back jeans pocket. For once it wasn’t Glyn.

  ‘Wotcher,’ came Max’s usual bellow. ‘Did you get your invitation through the post this morning?’

  ‘Yes, I most certainly did,’ she replied.

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Violet smiling, recalling the heavy ivory card with the shocking-pink ribbon detail along the side. ‘Has Stuart seen them?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Max. ‘He quizzed me about the so-called refreshments I was putting on after the wedding.’

  ‘And you said?’

  ‘Well, I replied that a couple of our relatives are a bit old and doddery and will probably want a sandwich before they go home so I was arranging for a platter of light bites to be available after the service, seeing as we “aren’t having a reception”.’

  ‘And he bought it? Bloody hell.’ Violet was gobsmacked.

  ‘Yes, funnily enough. In fact he did a weird smiling thing and said, “That’s right, we’re not having a reception”.’

  ‘Why did he say that, then?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ laughed Max. ‘He knows I’ve got something up my sleeve and he’s okay about it. Anyway, why I’m ringing is that I’m popping up to White Wedding for a dress fitting in the next half an hour. Bel’s coming too. Want to join us?’

  Violet looked at Pav preparing his paints and knew she really should leave him to it. She didn’t want to pester him, however much she wanted to stay near him for as long as she could.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll meet you up there,’ she said. It would fill another hour of the weekend and postpone being cocooned in Glyn’s flat watching comedies on Gold. And tomorrow there was another Joy and Norman lunch to look forward to and more wedding talk. Whoopee.

  ‘Dear God, you are joking,’ said Bel, drawing close to the dressed mannequin at the back of the shop. It was a gargantuan white explosion of net and ruffles and, rather bizarrely, sitting underneath the top layer of gauze it had flashing lights in the shape of little orange fish and yellow rectangular chips.

  ‘That’s not mine,’ tutted Max. ‘This is mine . . .’ She pulled back a curtain and they walked through to find another mannequin wearing another dress that made the fish-and-chip one look like a scrap of waste material. Max watched Bel’s and Violet’s mouths fall to their feet and their eyes round to the size of dustbin lids. ‘Well, whaddya think, girls?’

  Words failed her friends. The dress was as big as an igloo. What they didn’t know was that twenty-five petticoats would be going on underneath it. Max weighed fifteen stone, her dress was going to weight twenty stone, so Stuart was going to turn round at the altar and see a thirty-five-stone tidal wave of white froth spilling towards him. He would think the River Dearne had broken its banks and come foaming into the church, and Bel wouldn’t blame him. How the hell Max’s dad was going to have room to walk at the side of her was anyone’s guess.

  ‘It’s still not finished yet,’ said Max, stripping off her skirt and shirt as Freya undressed the mannequin then pooled the dress on the carpet so that Max could step into it. ‘You won’t see the full effect until the actual day. I have to keep some surprises, even from you two.’

  ‘There can’t be any more surprises, surely?’ Bel said.

  Max said nothing. She merely climbed into the dress and Freya lifted it up so she could put her arms through the sleeves. At six foot, with gorgeous Amazonian shoulders, Max looked absolutely stunning in it, it had to be said.

  ‘I’ve picked my tiara and my shoes and my veil, but I’m not letting you see them,’ Max winked at her two totally flabbergasted friends, then she shivered with excited delight. ‘I can’t believe it’s only a fortnight away, can you?’

  ‘There are a lot of things I can’t believe at the moment,’ replied Bel, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe you’ve totally reorganized your wedding in such a short time, for one thing. It’s only just over a month since you had this brainwave. It would take a normal person at least a year to get all this together.’

  ‘One: it’s meant to be,’ said Max. ‘That’s why everything has gone so smoothly. Two: I’m not normal. You should know that by now.’

  ‘I have the bridesmaids’ dresses almost finished, if you wish to try them on,’ said Freya.

  ‘Already?’ marvelled Bel. Blimey, Freya was as mean a machine as Max was.

  ‘Ooh yes, go and put them on and let’s see what we’ll look like in the photos,’ Max clapped her hands together.

  ‘So you’ve organized a photographer as well, then?’ Bel said, although the answer was obvious and Max merely lifted up her eyebrows innocently.

  Five minutes later they were all standing looking at themselves in the huge expanse of mirror in the dressing room: Max in her enormous eruption of white and her two shorter bridesmaids in shocking-pink crinolines.

  ‘There’s enough material in these frocks to make curtains for every house in Wales,’ said Bel, twisting to the side to examine her profile.

  ‘What are we wearing on our heads?’ asked Violet. ‘Those pink hula-hoop things?’

  ‘Nope,’ grinned Max. ‘Show them, Freya.’

  Freya reached for a box on a shelf behind them and pulled out two mantilla combs, pink and sparkling, with long bright-pink veils attached.

  ‘Wa-hay – bring on the bullfighter,’ laughed Bel, plunging the comb into her hair. ‘Actually, I’m liking this very much.’

  Violet giggled as Freya threaded the comb into her fine, silver-blonde hair. She looked so delicate in the headdress. Like the wispy ghost of a Flamenco dancer.

  ‘The shoes will be ready next week when you pick up the dresses,’ said Freya. ‘I am dyeing them tomorrow.’

  ‘Let’s have a photo,’ Max announced suddenly. ‘Bel, have you got your phone on you? The camera on mine doesn’t work properly. I need an upgrade.’

  Before Bel could answer, Freya had taken an old Polaroid camera from the shelf.

  ‘It’s a little old-fashioned these days,’ she said, lifting the camera to her eye, ‘but it still works.’

  She clicked, the photo protruded and they waited for the colours to develop.

  ‘Oh my, we are fabulous,’ laughed Max, looking at the image. ‘Can I have it?
’

  ‘Of course,’ said Freya. ‘It’s yours.’

  ‘I’ll send you both a copy when I get home,’ Max promised.

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Bel, with a faux-deadpan expression. ‘I honestly can’t wait.’

  Chapter 68

  There were exactly three roast potatoes and two roasted parsnips on every plate, Violet noticed as Joy served out from the dishes on the table. Norman was carving the pork and would shortly distribute three slices to everyone. The Yorkshire puddings were even puffed up into clones of each other. Violet compared that to Sunday lunch at her mum’s house, where chaos usually abounded as Susan rushed ladlefuls of food on to the plates so it wouldn’t get cold and the Yorkshire puddings ranged from flat to enormously deformed. Not that they’d all had Sunday lunch in Spring Lane for ages; Glyn only felt comfortable eating at his mother’s house.

  ‘Forty-one days exactly,’ said Joy excitedly, taking her seat at the table and pouring out four tumblers of cooled water from a glass jug. ‘I can’t imagine how thrilled you both must be.’

  Violet didn’t say anything. She was exhausted with the effort of talking weddings already and they’d only been there half an hour.

  ‘We’re having the caravan especially valeted for you,’ said Norman, transferring three slices of meat onto Glyn’s plate.

  ‘Thanks, that’s brilliant,’ said Glyn. ‘Isn’t it, Violet?’

  ‘Yes, lovely,’ Violet said, wanting to drop the fake smile she was wearing and run off screaming out of the front door. She felt hot and was having palpitations, something that was affecting her more and more these days. She would wake up, her heart racing, her lungs clawing for breath, after dreams of being married. She had woken Glyn up last night and he had rushed to get her a glass of water and then tried to cuddle her when she wanted space. He was agoraphobic and she was getting claustrophobic. It didn’t bode well.

  ‘Very nice, Mother,’ Norman judged his first mouthful of Sunday lunch. He always said that after eating the first roast potato, Violet noticed. She wondered if she were looking at a picture of what was to come for her and Glyn; matching home-knits, matching sprout-sizes and precision in all things.

  ‘Daddy and I wondered if you would like to go out for a meal after the wedding service,’ announced Joy. She held up her hand seeing Glyn open his mouth to speak. ‘I know you aren’t having a proper reception because of your health, but Daddy and I thought it might be nice for the four of us to have a little celebration.’

  Violet shook her head. Was Joy on the same planet?

  ‘What about my mum and Nan?’ asked Violet.

  Joy and Norman looked at each other.

  ‘Well, we were thinking of Glyn’s predicament, really. It’s going to be quite hard on him being in an unfamiliar place for the wedding as it is. We thought it might be too much of a strain if he had to eat with str— I mean, with other people.’

  Strangers. Joy was going to say ‘strangers’.

  ‘I don’t think that would be very nice of me to leave out my family,’ said Violet, as firmly as her voice could manage.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Joy with a sad smile. ‘I think we’ve put our well-meaning foot in it, Daddy.’ She put her hand on Glyn’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘Maybe we should pay for you two to have a quiet lunch somewhere and leave all the adults out.’

  Adults? That summed up what Joy really thought of Glyn – that he was still a child at thirty-four – thought Violet.

  ‘Thank you Mum, Dad, that is so nice of you but I think we’ll just want to get home after the wedding and rest for a while before Violet drives us to our honeymoon destination,’ said Glyn, making the decision for them.

  ‘Don’t I get a say in this?’ said Violet crossly. She was as surprised as any of them that she dare say aloud what she was thinking.

  ‘Oh darling, I’m sorry,’ said Glyn reaching over to touch her arm. ‘I just presumed . . .’

  ‘It would be our wedding day,’ said Violet. ‘It might be nice to have one day when I didn’t have to sit and watch reruns of the bloody Vicar of Dibley.’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Joy, as the profanity crossed Violet’s lips. Violet had never sworn in front of the Leachs before. From the effect of that one word, Violet was only glad she hadn’t used the F-word. Joy was flustered and bordering on having ‘the vapours’. Norman, under his breath, said, ‘I think we’ll have less of that talk at the table,’ without breaking his eating stride.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Violet, feeling ridiculous and naughty-child-like now. No one said another word through the roast lunch. The only sound was the scrape of cutlery on plates. Violet felt as if her nerves were a blackboard and someone was pulling their nails down it.

  Joy and Norman finished eating at exactly the same time.

  ‘I think it’s time for apple pie,’ trilled Joy, rising from the table. Normal service was once again resumed. Although Violet’s grip on ‘normal’ was becoming looser by the day.

  Chapter 69

  As Bel was driving from her third dinner date with Richard, she realized that her head was still as mixed up as ever. He’d asked her that evening when she was going to return the wedding ring to her finger. Soon, she had answered. She wanted to put it back on, but she owed it to herself not to rush things. In the back of her mind something was advising caution. A feeling, an intuition and the alert came from the same place that had told her to look at Richard’s phone when it was charging in the kitchen that awful day – so she respected it and followed its lead.

  The car was full of the scent of the red roses he had brought again. And tonight, when they were parting, she had let his lips graze against her own. And that was odd, because it had just felt like hers were being touched by a pair of lips belonging to anyone. She hadn’t had zingy feelings zip around inside her as she used to have whenever he kissed her. Or when you think of Dan Regent kissing you. She kicked that thought right out of her head. Or at least attempted to, because the medical swine was still intent on invading her dreams at night, and at idle moments during the day. And because he was being so hard to shift, she had forbidden herself from looking him up on the internet. Even though she had been close to Googling him more times than she cared to admit.

  Her heart was still in shock. That was the only possible explanation. Her head was still full of unanswered questions about Shaden, which she shouldn’t, couldn’t and wouldn’t ask – yet they kept torturing her. As she drove home, she had a mad thought about confronting her tart of a cousin and getting her side of things.

  Sitting at the traffic lights, imagining what Shaden’s reaction would be if she turned up at the Bosomworth-Proud family home, Bel happened to glance to her side and there in the adjacent sports car was Shaden herself. She was wearing dark glasses and a bandage across the bridge of her nose like a glamorous Adam Ant.

  Bel’s heart started to thump with adrenaline. She wondered if she had enough time to leap out of the car, dive through the blonde bitch’s window and throttle her.

  Shaden was looking intently straight ahead. She had spotted Bel and was desperately waiting for the lights to change, judging from the jerks her car was doing as Shaden’s foot trembled on the accelerator. As soon as the amber light made an appearance, Shaden was off, squealing forward at warp speed.

  Bel felt so shaky that she stalled the car and the impatient bloke behind started blasting his horn at her. He overtook her and threw her the Vs. When she did eventually set off, Bel was tempted to turn right at the roundabout instead of left and drive to the remote sanctuary on the moors that was Emily. But she didn’t. Seeing Dan Regent again would have only further mushed up her brain, if there was any of it left to mush. And finding Emily empty and him gone back to the house he shared with Cathy would have been worse.

  ‘Come in, darling,’ said Trevor pulling her into the house. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘It’s not too late to call, is it?’ asked Bel, noticing the antique grandfather clock with its big hand on the twelve
and the little hand on the ten. Her dad had taught her to tell the time on that clock. Faye had bought her a lovely book with a big cardboard clock that had movable hands but Bel had shunned it. Another memory come to batter her when she was at a low ebb and show her what an awful unlovable person she must be.

  ‘You’re welcome any time, do I really need to say that?’ said Trevor.

  ‘Where’s Faye?’ asked Bel.

  ‘She’s gone to dinner with Vanoushka,’ said Trevor, adding quickly: ‘She hasn’t spoken to her sister since the wedding. Vanoushka rang up in tears last night wanting to mend the bridge. Apparently she’s broken her foot after falling from the cross trainer in her gym and is feeling a bit sorry for herself.’

  Bel huffed.

  ‘Faye’s in a difficult position,’ Trevor explained. ‘Don’t think she’s on their side, Bel. She’s been very worried about you. I wish . . . oh never mind.’ He turned and went into the kitchen. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. You have a seat, love. I’ve just made a pot of coffee. I’ll get you a cup.’

  But Bel followed her dad instead. ‘Wish what, Dad?’

  Trevor turned slowly. ‘I wish,’ he began carefully, ‘that you’d feel able to reach out to her occasionally. She’s always seen you as her daughter and I know that she frets about you as if she were your mother.’

  ‘But she isn’t my mother, Dad,’ said Bel. The words sounded so hard.

  ‘I’ve never said this to you before, Bel,’ said Trevor after pulling in a long breath, ‘but it breaks my heart how you’ve always kept Faye at arm’s length. She’s never once said that it upsets her and I know that she would never dream of trying to come between you and me, but I’ve always felt very sad about it. If only you knew what a truly wonderful woman she is.’

  Bel felt ashamed. She didn’t realize that her dad was so aware of how she felt about Faye. And there was no reason for it because Faye had never put a foot wrong with her.

  ‘I’ve just seen Shaden driving,’ said Bel, moving the conversation on because it was becoming too uncomfortable. ‘Has she been in an accident? She had a big bandage across her face.’