‘I think you should get that dress off and climb into a big bubble bath,’ said Luke.
Max took a long slug of brandy. ‘I’m never going to take this dress off,’ she said. ‘I’m going to turn into Miss Havisham. I’ll get the rest of the cake brought over, put it on the table and wait for the cobwebs to grow over us.’
Luke put his arm round her and pulled her into his shoulder. As strong a woman as Max was, she felt small and soft and crushable at that moment.
‘I won’t let you shut yourself away. You weren’t built for hiding and growing cobwebs,’ he whispered.
‘It’ll save on the laundry if I never change clothes again or go out. I can do all my shopping online.’ Max plucked at the skirt of her dress. ‘How ridiculous everyone must think I am.’
Luke immediately pulled her round to face him.
‘You’re not ridiculous, Maxine McBride. You’re beautiful.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Max, not giving him eye contact.
‘You are beautiful in this dress and you’d be beautiful in sack cloth and ashes. And anyone who loves you thinks the same.’
‘You’re a lovely man, Luke. But I want to be on my own,’ said Max, feeling the tears rise inside her. His nice words were killing her.
‘Okay.’ He kissed her head and stood to go. ‘Goodnight, Miss McBride. The very wonderful and brave and formidable Miss McBride.’
After Luke had gone, Max filled up her glass and sat back on the sofa. The house felt as chilly and spartan as Stuart always said it did. It was far too big for the two of them, and characterless. The sofa was stylish but so uncomfortable, the white walls hard on the eyes and unwelcoming.
Max was suddenly plunged into a cold pool of sadness that she and Stuart were over and there was no way back from that. She gulped down the brandy in one, then put the glass on the ugly designer coffee table in front of her and sobbed until she fell asleep on the hard leather sofa.
Violet’s
Wedding
Chapter 80
‘So, between the three of us, we’ve had two shite weddings. You do realize the pressure that puts you under to give us a good one?’ said Bel, slurping her tea in the Maltstone Garden Centre coffee shop. It was a week after Max’s wedding debacle and three weeks before Violet’s big day.
Max pushed the last mini cream cake in front of Violet. ‘You have that. You need fattening up a bit. You’re looking particularly scrawny today, if I might say so.’
‘You’re not looking exactly milkmaid-plump yourself,’ said Violet. ‘How are you doing?’
‘I’m okay,’ said Max with an unconvincing smile.
‘Heard anything from Stuart?’ Bel asked, spitting out his name like a snake that had just been given its VAT bill.
‘Nope. I bagged up his stuff and Luke took it over to his parents’ house. Except Luke brought back the watch and the sweater I bought him for his birthday. He hadn’t even taken them out of the packaging.’
‘Bumhole,’ hissed Bel.
‘And I found his BMW on the drive yesterday. He’d put the keys back through the letter box. He doesn’t want that either.’
‘Double-bumhole.’
‘Hang on a minute, Bel,’ Violet put in. ‘Surely it would have been worse if he kept them. Do you want some help selling them on?’
‘I can’t be bothered,’ said Max. ‘I think I’ll just stick them in a charity bag.’
‘You can’t stick a BMW in a charity bag!’ cried Bel.
‘Luke’s a lovely caring fella, isn’t he?’ said Violet. ‘You can tell he thinks an awful lot about you.’
Bel noticed that Max’s eyes were starting to look a bit watery. She clapped her hands like a jolly Sunday school teacher.
‘Right, enough of that. Shall we buy a dartboard and pin loads of photos to it?’
Max chuckled. ‘Give us some hope. How are you getting on with Richard?’
‘He’s been in Ukraine for a fortnight on business. I’m seeing him again on Wednesday.’
She sounded very nonchalant about it, Max and Violet both simultaneously thought.
‘Have you actually snogged him yet?’ asked Max.
‘No,’ said Bel. The thought of being intimate again with Richard terrified her, if she was honest. She didn’t so much have a wall round her heart as an armed watchtower and razor wire. ‘If we got back together? Would you be really annoyed with me?’
Violet tutted. ‘That’s not how friendship works and you know it. It’s your life. We’d be charm itself whenever we happened to be in his company and there for you if you needed us.’
‘Although we’d be sticking pins in his wax image in the comfort of our own homes,’ added Max. ‘Why, is a reconciliation on the agenda?’
‘Not yet, I just wondered what you’d say. If you’d think I was a disgrace to womankind for taking him back,’ said Bel. Then she turned to Violet. ‘Anyway, are you going to show us your swanky ice-cream parlour while we’re in the vicinity? When are you planning to open it? Got a date yet?’
‘The first week in August,’ said Violet. ‘When I get back from honeymoon.’
‘In your in-laws’ specially valeted caravan,’ Bel teased. ‘Smashing.’
To Violet’s delight Pav’s van was parked outside the parlour when they crossed the courtyard. She had been under the impression that he was away, working all week in Wakefield. A local firm had drafted in as many Poles as they could to avoid paying fines that a penalty clause on an unfinished job would incur.
‘Ding dong,’ said Bel in a lascivious ‘whisper’ when her eyes fell on the handsome dark-haired artist. Violet gave her a sharp nudge.
‘Hi, Pav,’ said Violet. ‘I don’t want to disturb you. I’m just showing off your work to my friends.’
Pav laughed rather bashfully.
‘I like your pole,’ Bel winked cheekily at Violet as she smoothed her hand over one of the gold-painted wooden poles that Pav had fixed through the tables.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ said Max, turning a full circle. ‘I can’t wait to come here and eat all your profits.’
‘How on earth can you draw all those horses free-hand?’ Bel asked. They really were beautifully painted.
‘I don’t know. I just do them,’ Pav shrugged his big shoulders. ‘I can’t remember a time before I was painting.’
‘Well, thanks, Pav,’ said Violet, feeling the urgency to shoo out the embarrassing Bel. ‘I’ll be here all day Monday. I’ll see you then, probably.’
‘Yeah, bye, Pav, see you soon.’ Bel twinkled her fingers at him, parodying Violet, who pushed her out of the door.
‘Bloody hell, he’s gorgeous,’ growled Bel when they were safely out of the door. ‘“I’ll be here on Monday, Paaaav.” Make sure you’ve got your tightest thong on,’ she purred, in a breathlessly besotted voice.
‘Do you mind?’ said Violet, her face beginning to colour. ‘I’m an engaged woman.’
‘You’ve got three weeks to have a last fling,’ Bel nudged her. It was only a part-joke, for she wished someone would whisk Violet away from the undynamic soggy dishcloth of a man that she imagined Glyn to be. Violet was such a sweetheart, she deserved a big hunky man who made her heart flutter. A man like the very lovely Pav. Or Dan. Jesus, was that man taking some shifting from her head.
Bel and Max waited outside White Wedding while Violet chatted to Glyn on her mobile behind them. They heard her saying in a very tight and impatient voice, ‘About two hours, tops. We’re just going to the wedding shop . . . What do you mean, “What have I been doing up to now?” We’ve been chatting and having a coffee . . . No, I haven’t been to Carousel. I don’t know if the painter is there.’
Bel whispered to Max, ‘Why does she have to account for every breath she takes? Look at her face; she’s stressed out.’
And why is she lying about not going to Carousel?
Max studied Violet’s face while she was speaking on the mobile and noticed that Bel was right: Violet looked worn down.
‘It’s not normal . . .’ Bel went on, until Max tapped her.
‘Shhh, she’s coming.’
Violet strode to catch them up. ‘Sorry about that. Glyn just wanted to know what to cook for tea.’
‘Stuart couldn’t tell a pan from a Golden Retriever. Still –’ a bitter tone crept into the edge of Max’s voice – ‘he’ll have more of a traditional relationship with Jenny. She’ll do the ironing and he can hammer nails in walls.’
‘Glyn must get fed up being in the house all the time,’ said Bel kindly, although in reality she thought he needed a kick up the arse. She wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that the big wet lettuce got period pains.
Violet huffed. ‘I just wish . . .’ He wouldn’t make me the epicentre of his existence . . . ‘Oh never mind what I wish.’ Violet pushed open the shop door.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ said Freya, coming from the back of the shop to see who was entering. ‘How are you today?’
‘Fine,’ they all said, sounding anything but.
‘I’ve come in to pick some accessories,’ said Violet.
‘And to see if you have any idea what I could do with my gypsy dress now I’m finished with it,’ Max added, getting ready to answer the question ‘How did it go?’ She was surprised when Freya didn’t ask. It was almost as if she knew exactly how it had gone.
‘I do know of a lady who is buying them and re-selling them. Let me give you her number,’ said Freya, walking to her desk to hunt for a business card. Max thought she might have been a dancer when she was younger. She moved with such grace and poise.
‘Thanks,’ said Max, tucking the card into her purse.
‘Should I have a veil or not?’ asked Violet, picking up a pretty diamanté crown and putting it on her head.
‘I always think your dress looks better with a veil,’ said Freya, and she opened a drawer, took out a package and released a short ivory veil from it. There were tiny peach flowers stitched along the edge, the same flowers that appeared on her dress. Then Freya unlocked a cabinet in which there was a selection of tiaras and delicate coronets.
‘Try this one,’ Freya suggested, attaching the veil with a small clip to a delicate gold hoop that she placed on Violet’s head.
‘That’s really nice,’ said Max, standing with her arms folded and studying Violet. ‘Try on another couple, though.’
She did, but none suited her as much as the simple hoop.
‘You really know your wedding onions,’ said Violet.
‘I’ve been in the business a long, long time,’ smiled Freya.
‘Do you come from Barnsley?’ asked Max.
‘Yes, I was born here. But I’ve lived all over the world. London, Paris, Berlin . . .’
‘Ooh I love Berlin,’ Bel’s hands crashed together with delight. Her dad had a lot of business interests out there and he and she and Faye used to go twice every year, at least, and stay in a beautiful hotel just outside the city. It was an old castle, with two great big stone swans standing guard at the door portal.
‘I had many wonderful years living in Berlin,’ smiled Freya with a happy look in her bright eyes. ‘I’ll need you for the final dress fitting in a week and a half, maybe Thursday the fourteenth if we can arrange a time,’ said Freya to Violet, folding the veil and placing it with the hoop in one of her pretty White Wedding bags. Then she wrote an entry into her desk diary. ‘You must be so excited.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Violet with a big smile. A smile that was a brave facade because every day Violet was crumbling a little more inside. And there wasn’t anything she could do about it but put on that beautiful dress and get married. Never did the expression ‘ball and chain’ ring so true.
Chapter 81
Glyn was holding a puppy by the back of the neck and the puppy was yowling. In his other hand he had a rope.
‘If you leave me, I’ll hang it,’ Glyn was saying with a quiet smile.
And Violet was screaming as he wrapped the rope round the puppy’s neck. She tried to run forward to help the puppy but she could only move in slow motion, her muscles aching from the battle with the thick, treacly air.
Then Glyn was screeching at her that she loved the puppy more than she loved him. And she was screaming back that she didn’t and please could he let the puppy go. Then Glyn started crying and let the puppy fall from his grasp and it dangled by the rope, making the most awful sound, and when she snapped awake she realized that sound was coming from her own throat.
‘Letty, love, are you all right?’ Glyn’s arms were round her and she momentarily struggled against him, disorientated, shaking and crying. ‘Hey, come on,’ he smoothed her hair back from her face and started to place small kisses on her cheeks.
‘No,’ she pushed him hard and he fell back on the quilt, a wounded expression on his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ Violet gasped. ‘I was dreaming and I couldn’t breathe.’
‘It’s all right,’ Glyn’s expression changed into one of sympathetic understanding. ‘I’m here. What were you dreaming about?’
‘I can’t really remember,’ she lied.
‘Poor darling, you’re so stressed. Don’t go to the shop today. You don’t need to go.’
‘I do. I have to, Glyn. I’ve got deliveries to take care of. I need some air, for a start,’ she said, swinging her legs out of bed, but he surprised her by wrapping his arms round her waist and pulling her back on to the bed.
‘Let’s make love,’ he said. ‘We haven’t done it for ages.’
‘No, I can’t. I’m having a period.’
‘No, you aren’t; you’re not due,’ Glyn said.
‘Yes, I am,’ said Violet. ‘I’ve just come on.’
‘I’m sure you used that excuse just over a fortnight ago. So you can’t be.’
Violet’s eyebrows knotted together in an impatient frown.
‘What do you want me to do? Show you my tampon?’
‘Yes,’ replied Glyn with a petulant lip. ‘Because if you aren’t lying now, you lied then.’
‘Oh for God’s sake.’ Violet marched over to the wardrobe.
‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ said Glyn. He started rubbing his stomach. Violet waited for him to say he wasn’t feeling that well, hoping that it would entice her to stay. She was quite surprised when he didn’t.
Violet chewed on her lip and wondered if she dare say what was on her mind. The tampon remark tipped the balance towards ‘yes’.
‘Glyn, I think you should consider getting another therapist,’ said Violet. ‘You haven’t got a life.’
‘I have,’ he nodded. ‘I’ve got all the life I need or want. With you. I thought we’d have griddled salmon for tea, what do you think?’
The look on Pav’s face when Violet opened the door to Carousel brought a blush flooding to her cheeks.
‘Good morning, Violet,’ he said with a wide smile. The way he said it made her name sound like it belonged to an exotic French woman – Vee-o-lett. ‘Here, let me help you.’
Violet let him take the two heavy bags of milk and cream that she had just bought from the local farm shop, and carry them into the kitchen.
‘What flavours are you making today?’ he called.
‘Lemon, ginger and marscapone; black forest – when the cherries arrive this morning; and peanut-butter cheesecake.’
‘Oh my, I am sticking around for those,’ laughed Pav.
Violet felt her insides warming. How wonderful it would be to hear that voice every day of her life. He was always so cheerful; the smile rarely left his face. She imagined he would be a very passionate lover. How could anyone with a burning talent like he possessed be rubbish in bed? His brushstrokes on the wall were so gentle and yet he was strong and masterful when drilling the holes for the horse poles. She slapped her cheek discreetly to bring her back down to earth before he returned to the room.
‘If you’re very good, you can test out the blackberry I made yesterday and the summer-fruit pudding.’ Vio
let tried to sound as if she hadn’t just been fantasizing about them rolling around in bed.
‘I will be a very good boy,’ said Pav, walking out of the kitchen and saluting her. As they crossed by the till station, their arms brushed. Violet tingled all over from the contact. She knew that if he ever deliberately touched her she would melt as surely as her own ice cream.
Nan was huddled in a crocheted blanket on the sofa. With a heavy heart she watched Susan stuff the sheets into the washing machine.
‘I’m so sorry,’ the old lady said.
‘Nan, it doesn’t matter,’ said Susan. ‘They’ll wash.’
Nan wiped at her eyes with the corner of the blanket. She had wet herself during the night. She had been trying to sponge down the bed without disturbing Susan, but her daughter-in-law was too light a sleeper.
‘We’ll have to start talking about homes,’ said Nan.
‘What?’ Susan twisted her head round.
‘I always said that if I ever started being a burden . . .’
‘You’ve been a burden since the day you moved in,’ said Susan drily. ‘But I think I can just about manage to wash a few sheets without chucking you on a scrap heap.’
Nan was going downhill quicker with every month that passed and it broke Susan’s heart. But she had to keep up her tough, no-nonsense act because it would disturb and upset Nan if she started acting right out of character and mollycoddling her.
‘I wish you had someone nice to look after you,’ said Nan, smiling at Susan, the woman who was like a daughter to her. If she was going to leave her soon, she wanted to see her happy and loved.
‘Well,’ Susan coughed. She was going to tell Nan so now seemed as good a time as any. ‘I have met someone, actually.’
Nan leaned forward on the sofa. ‘Have you, now?’
‘I haven’t been going to a book club. I’ve been dating a man called Patrick.’
If Nan’s thin grey eyebrows could have risen any higher, they would have left her head.
White Wedding Page 30
