Faded Glory

by David Essex

  “You look sharp, Len,” said Danny.

  “A choc ice dressed as a pox doctor’s clerk,” Ricky grunted. “Now I’ve seen it all.”

  “I got something for you, Danny,” said Lenny, ignoring Ricky.

  As he handed over Danny’s wedding suit, shirt, waistcoat and cravat, Rosie made her grand entrance down the stairs, dressed to kill in head-to-toe leopard print topped off with a giant pink hat. The impression was not unlike a movie star from a bygone era. Rosie held her head high in a cloud of cheap perfume and struck a model-like pose.

  “What d’ya think?” she said, and gave her audience a bit of a twirl.

  Danny and a startled-looking Lenny nodded without a word.

  Ricky whistled. “Beautiful, my darling,” he said. “The belle of the ball.”

  Danny decided the best thing was to escape upstairs as soon as possible and get dressed.

  “Thanks for the suit, Len,” he said. “Where’s Albert, is he on his way? He was supposed to be here for twelve.”

  Lenny cleared his throat. “I saw Albert,” he said. “He came by me garage this morning, to give me the suit and a letter he told me to give you.”

  Danny slowly took both the letter and the suit.

  “I’ll be back later with the car to pick you up,” Lenny added.

  “Yeah, right,” said Danny, staring at the letter. “Thanks Len.”

  Danny headed up the stairs. Sitting on his bed, he opened the envelope.

  DEAR DANNY,

  Sorry, but feeling a bit rough today so I am unable to make the wedding. I send my very best wishes to the bride and groom. I hope you have a wonderful day, and I wish you both well.

  ALBERT

  He had half-expected this. He knew at once that the presence of Cohen and Costa at the wedding had brought on Albert’s mystery illness. With no best man, and indeed no best friend, Danny felt deflated. He felt like going round to see Albert, but thought he’d better not force the issue. Besides, he wasn’t sure where Albert actually lived, because he had never invited Danny round.

  Danny decided he had enough on his plate today. Though he was disappointed, he tried to look on the bright side. At least a drunken confrontation at the wedding breakfast between Albert, Cohen and Costa wouldn’t now spoil Wendy’s big day. And Albert had been spared meeting Rosie and Ricky and their unique fashion sense.

  Feeling like a trussed-up chicken, Danny was soon suited and booted and ready to go. Rosie and Ricky headed off to the church on Ricky’s BSA Gold Star motorbike, with Rosie desperately holding on for dear life to her very big hat. It felt to Danny like the lull before the storm.

  All was now quiet, the empty house full of memories. Danny listened to the clock’s tick-tock, the soundtrack to his growing up. Danny’s mum’s pride and joy, second only to her radiogram, the grandfather clock in the hall was like the heartbeat of home. As Danny looked around at the familiar furniture and ornaments he had lived with all his life, a wave of nostalgia came over him. Soon it wouldn’t be his home any more.

  As the clock’s second hand moved slowly and he heard the clock chime one, Danny thought about the many things the house had seen. His mum’s parties, which had kept him awake. His childhood friends congregating around the gramophone and playing Rosie’s records before she came home. The pet mouse he had called Micky, and how he’d cried when Micky died. His bedroom upstairs where he’d once put together the model of a Spitfire. The smell of cooking mixed with Rosie’s perfume, the kitchen tap that always dripped and the stairs that creaked; all would soon be memories.

  He walked into the living room, found his favourite record, Tutti Frutti by Little Richard, and put it on. It sounded good. Danny liked the way the music transported him back to a less complicated time.

  When the record finished, there was just the tick of the clock and the dripping tap to be heard. The clock struck one-thirty, and Danny came back from yesterday to now and to the future. To the wedding.

  For a small fee, Lenny had procured a nearly new Ford Cortina from one of his clients to act as a limo and to drive Albert and Danny to the church. When Danny opened the door, he saw Lenny with the polished and valeted Cortina, the usual wedding ribbons attached to the wing mirrors for the occasion. There was no Albert in the back. Danny had hoped Albert might have a change of heart, but no.

  “You’re looking sharp, man,” said Lenny, eyeing up Danny in his wedding regalia.

  “The motor looks good, Lenny,” Danny replied, then stated the obvious. “No Albert?”

  “Better get going,” was Lenny’s reply. “You go in the back, make you look more important. But I ain’t wearing no chauffeur hat.”

  These weren’t the kind of nerves Danny felt before a fight. They felt different, not unlike the butterflies he felt when he first kissed Wendy.The kind he felt when he’d first gone to Patsy’s boxing gym.

  As the Cortina pulled up at the church, impressing the guests outside, Danny panicked.

  “The wedding rings!” he said. “Albert had the rings!”

  “Don’t worry,” Lenny replied calmly. “Albert gave them to me.”

  Danny eased the collar away from his neck. He was sweating. Seeing a group of guests at the door of the church having a quick cigarette before the service focused him on his role. He’d practised this with the vicar and Wendy a few evenings ago. It was going to be fine.

  Danny got out of the car, going over the choreography of the day in his mind.

  “All right, Danny?”

  “Good luck in there, mate.”

  He nodded absently at a few church stragglers, most of whom he had never met. Lenny stood awkwardly with him. They were were relieved to see the hand of the vicar at the church door outstretched in welcome.

  The Reverend John Edwards had a headful of white hair, smiling eyes and a stammer. Now in his sixties, he had seen many of his congregation literally come and go, with countless baptisms and funerals. Weddings meant too much confetti strewn over the churchyard, but the vicar seemed happy to grin and bear it. His genial presence brought a sense of calm and order to proceedings.

  “Where is your b-b-best man?” he asked.

  Danny wiped his forehead. “He’s not here. But Lenny has got the rings.”

  “Yeah Father,” Lenny confirmed. “I can be the second-best man.”

  “Very good. Don’t w-w-worry, I’ll guide you through the service. Now, we’d b-b-better get going, I’ve have a christening in thirty minutes. Shall w-w-we go in?”

  As they walked through the large arched wooden doors, the chatting turned into whispering, like the reverence shown when visiting someone in hospital. Rosie waved furiously, poised for a good cry with handkerchief in hand. Rick gave Danny the thumbs up.

  Black Lenny’s appearance caused a minor stir, but respect seemed instinctively to prevail in the hallowed surroundings. Nods and smiles all round greeted Danny as he walked to the altar. He felt as if he was floating, mentally and physically. The demonic-sounding church organ provided the backdrop to this surreal dream.

  He was brought back to earth when he saw Cohen and Costa standing on his sparsely populated guest side of the church. With smiles like Cheshire cats and the light from a nearby candle catching Costa’s gold tooth, they gave Danny a wave. Lenny made that hissing sound he used when a job was a nuisance.

  At the altar, Lenny dropped to one knee and crossed himself, which surprised Danny. He was anxious to get going. It was now past two o’clock, and there was no sign of Wendy yet.

  “It’s tradition for the bride to be late,” Lenny whispered in Danny’s ear. “Don’t worry man, she’ll be here soon enough.”

  The organist played on, a rather sombre and funereal choice. Then, silence. An air of anticipation floated through the church followed by Mendelssohn’s well-used Wedding March.

  Heads turned in admiration. Danny turned too.

  A vision of stunning beauty in a flowing white dress with a veil across her smiling face, Wendy looked a picture as
she and her father made their regal entrance. Through the ringing in his ears, Danny could hear crying. Clearly some of the lady relatives were determined to enter fully into the emotion of the occasion, Wendy’s mum among them. Hopefully they were tears of joy.

  “You’re a lucky man,” Lenny murmured as Wendy floated majestically down the aisle.

  Speechless, Danny could only nod in agreement.

  Reaching Danny’s side, Wendy looked into his eyes and smiled. Their love was clear for all to see.

  Possibly because of the time pressure of the upcoming christening, the vicar’s stammer grew worse as the service got under way. It really came to prominence when he tried to pronounce “Wendy”.

  “Do you, Wa-wa-wa,” said the vicar. “Do you, Wa-wa... Do you...”

  On the third attempt, Wendy got the giggles. Danny followed. The pressure of the occasion had got to them both, and like a pair of naughty children, they were soon uncontrollable.

  A stern look from Mr Bristow restored some sense of order. The probably-too-happy couple managed to confirm their vows with just the odd snort of laughter, much to the relief of both vicar and congregation. Then the vicar invited the witnesses to the back of the vestry to sign the paperwork. As Albert had not made the wedding, Danny pushed Lenny into taking his place.

  And at last, with the register signed and the organ in full swing, the church bells rang out with a vengeance, heralding the emergence of Mr and Mrs Danny Watson.

  *

  Back in his bedsit, Albert could hear the church bells ringing in the distance. Rocky did her version of Irish dancing on her favourite perch, a treat she reserved for bell-ringing occasions.

  Rocky was happy, but Albert felt a sadness. He had wanted to be there, but socialising with Cohen and Costa was something he couldn’t stomach. Although Danny’s betrayal still hurt, he felt he had let the boy down.

  He looked out of his window towards the church just a few streets away.

  Perhaps he had overreacted; perhaps he should have honoured his commitment to be best man. He had asked Lenny to look after Danny on his behalf, but he was full of mixed feelings. He’d had a right to be there, much more than the new duo trying to muscle in on Danny’s boxing career.

  He picked up the photo of his son from the sideboard, stroking his fingers over the young Tommy’s face. Tears filled his eyes. Danny had helped to fill the void left by his Tommy’s death and it hurt Albert to think he was not present at the boy’s big day. But as usual, Albert’s principles, coupled with his stubbornness, had made the decision for him.

  If he had gone, any word out of place from Cohen and Costa would have led to an awkward and possibly physical outcome. Albert was no longer young, but his reflexes and punches were still sharp, and to cause a commotion at the wedding would certainly spoil the day. Danny’s day. So his decision to steer clear was best for all.

  The bells stopped ringing and Rocky stopped dancing. Albert wondered if Danny’s mother had been at the wedding. He’d never been introduced to her, but felt he knew her from all of Danny’s stories. He thought of Lenny decked out in his cream suit, looking worried when Albert had delegated his best man duties on to Lenny’s reluctant shoulders.

  Feeling like an outsider, Albert looked through his window at the Trinity Church steeple. Not sure if it was wanting to be a part of Danny’s day or just curiosity, he grabbed his coat and hat and went out into the street.

  Simon was downstairs, wrestling with a set of Victorian drawers outside his shop.

  “Present and correct Albert, off to the wedding?” he asked. “Enjoy yourself.”

  “Will do,” Albert replied, and quickly made off before Simon could interrogate him further.

  Making his way towards the church, he stood a safe distance away. He could see the confetti-covered newly-weds posing for photographs, the stately horses and carriage, people getting in cars to make their way to the reception. None of them noticing the scruffy figure standing alone on the corner.

  As Albert stood and watched, he thought how good Danny and Wendy looked together, how happy they were. But the smile on his face soon faded when he saw Cohen and Costa warmly shaking Danny’s hand, congratulating the couple with all the smarmy good wishes they could muster. The promoters got into their expensive cars: Cohen in his white Jaguar and Costa in his black Mercedes. Not even noticing Albert, they drove away to the reception. Albert felt invisible and helpless, and he didn’t like it.

  He gave himself a stern talking-to. What right did he have to stand in Danny’s way? Why should he feel bad about the boy he had mentored wanting to better himself? Cohen and Costa had money and power. He just had a faded glory that few remembered.

  Perhaps it was time to let bygone be bygones. He would talk to Danny. And if, as he had said, he still wanted Albert to be involved, then so be it.

  *

  Mr Bristow’s contacts with the local Conservative Club had led to them making a considerable effort for the wedding reception. There was still the smell of stale beer and tobacco, but there were also balloons, tables nicely set out and a banner saying “Congratulations to Danny and Wendy!” in the claret and sky-blue colours of the boxing club and local football team. All in all, a good effort.

  The guests started to arrive and find their places. The bride and groom, the Bristows, Rosie and Ricky were all on the top table. In Albert’s absence Lenny had been promoted to the top table as well. Luckily he had not been seated next to Ricky, as Ricky’s distaste for “choc ices” could have become tricky.

  Cohen and Costa, looking distinctly out of place, sat on a table with Wendy’s elderly relatives, and were doing their best to be charming. Patsy had been placed next to the seat which should have been Lenny’s, but now remained empty.

  Looking over at the empty chair, Danny thought about Albert. The letter had said he wasn’t feeling well, but it hadn’t rung true. No matter how ill Albert felt, he would have been there, even if it had meant crawling there on his hands and knees. No, Danny knew better. He knew how strong-minded Albert was, and he knew exactly why he hadn’t come.

  Mr Bristow struck a wine glass with a spoon to make an announcement. When no one took any notice, he struck it again, this time a little harder. The glass promptly shattered, most of it straight into Mrs Bristow’s lap, which did the job.

  “Welcome one and all, to our wedding breakfast to celebrate Wendy and Danny’s marriage,” Mr Bristow announced. “I’d like to propose a toast to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second!”

  Danny wasn’t sure why it was called a wedding breakfast. It was four-thirty in the afternoon. Surely it should be called tea or dinner? Whatever its name, the celebratory meal consisted of rubbery chicken and overcooked veg. The revellers revelled manfully through it. Close on the heels of the beige chicken dinner came a decent trifle that reminded Danny of little Jimmy Ramsbottom.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr Bristow. “I give you... the best man!”

  Without Albert, the best man berth was still wide open. Lenny looked like making a speech was the last thing he wanted to do. Danny breathed an apprehensive sigh of relief as Tommy Costa stood up to to fill the void.

  “My lords, ladies and gentlemen,” Costa began. “I’ll make this short. I have known the groom for a while now. He’s a good boy with a big future in boxing who ain’t punch drunk just yet. You only have to take a look at his new wife, the beautiful Wendy, to see that.”

  Wendy smiled and turned pink with embarrassment.

  “So please join me,” Costa went on with a grin, “in toasting the bride and groom.”

  “The bride and groom!”

  Glasses clinked around the room as Mr Bristow took over, welcoming Danny into the family, thanking bridesmaids, the cake maker and as many folk as he could remember. As the applause died down, Wendy gave Danny a nudge.

  “Your turn, Danny,” she whispered. “Say something.”

  Danny reluctantly got to his feet. “Thanks for coming,” he managed. “Tim
e to cut the cake.”

  The three-tier cake was pretty impressive. It had been made by Wendy’s Great Aunt Madge, a chain-smoking lady from somewhere north of Watford, who looked on proudly as Danny and Wendy posed for photographs next to her masterpiece.

  With the cake cut and a chilling scream from Danny’s mum to ward off evil spirits, a three-piece muzak-style band called Sid and the Melody Kings began to play. The line-up consisted of a chubby drummer who looked about fifteen, a clarinet player who looked about one hundred and fifteen, and the band leader, Sid, a thin grey chain-smoker who tinkled the ivories on his electric piano.

  Tables and chairs were moved to the sides of the room and Danny and Wendy took to the floor for the traditional first dance. Wendy’s choice – Love Me Tender by Elvis – was a good one, but with Ricky crooning along in his best Elvis impression, a little of the romance was lost.

  Wendy and Danny cruised around the dance floor. Danny’s footwork was a little suspect, but Wendy managed to guide him round in a forceful but loving way, with only a hint of a grimace when Danny stepped repeatedly on her pretty open-toed white shoes.

  With a round of applause, Danny’s ordeal was over.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” cried Sid, the band leader. “We invite you all to join the happy couple on the dance floor!”

  Mr and Mrs Bristow took up the invitation, followed by Wendy’s excited young second cousin, who slid on his backside on to the dance floor just a little too close for Mr Bristow’s liking, cramping the magnificence of their sedate Viennese waltz.

  “Thanks for the invitation, Danny,” said Cohen. “We gotta get going.”

  “You look beautiful, Mrs Watson,” Costa added. “Like a princess.”

  “Please accept these small gifts as a token of our admiration,” said Cohen as Costa handed over a nicely wrapped wedding gift.

  Wendy unwrapped the box. Inside were two identical watches, one for a lady and one for a man.

  “Goodness,” said Wendy. “This is ever so generous of you.”

  Danny felt a little dazzled by the sight of the watches. The pots, pans and cheap tea sets from the other guests were no match for this extravagant gift.