by Rosie Harris
‘Mum!’ Ruth was out of her chair, hugging Helen, her grey eyes shining.
‘Hold it … you haven’t heard my condition.’
Ruth’s arms dropped to her side. ‘It’s not about me going to university is it, Mum? Honestly, it wouldn’t work. I really don’t want to …’
‘It has nothing to do with university,’ Helen said quietly. ‘I’ve had my say about that. I won’t drag it up again.’
‘What is the condition, Mrs Woodley?’
Hugh’s dark eyes met hers. He looked ready for a battle and she smiled to herself, wondering just what he thought she had in mind.
‘That you and Ruth have a white wedding.’
There was a hushed silence in the kitchen after Helen had spoken. Ruth and Hugh exchanged glances, Mark’s brows drew together in a puzzled frown and Lucy crept up to slip her hand in Helen’s, conscious that something was being decided but unable to understand what was going on.
‘You mean in church? A long dress and bridesmaids and everything?’ Ruth said in an awed voice.
‘One bridesmaid … Lucy.’
‘That will cost a lot of money … we can’t afford it!’
‘I can. I’ve been saving up to help pay your way through university. It’s not needed for that now, so we’ll spend it on your wedding,’ Helen said firmly.
‘Oh, Mum! Does that mean you approve?’
Helen barely hesitated before nodding. ‘On reflection, yes. You have Mark to thank for my change of mind.’
‘Mark!’ Ruth looked bewildered.
‘He made me see that I wanted you to go to university because that was what I thought I should have done.’
‘And you want Ruth to have a church wedding because that was something else you should have done?’ Hugh asked softly.
Helen felt the colour staining her cheeks as she looked him square in the face. ‘Perhaps. I also think it might help you both to realise the seriousness of the occasion,’ she added cuttingly.
For a moment it looked as if the battle between the three of them was about to break out all over again. Quickly Mark summed up the situation and intervened.
‘And I’m going to be the one to give you away, Ruth!’ He grinned. ‘Can you see me in top hat and tails?’
‘You can’t, you’re not old enough,’ Ruth told him.
‘There’s no one else … except Jim Baines.’
‘Who is Jim Baines?’ Hugh asked.
‘The elderly chap who helps out around the place,’ Helen told him.
‘Perhaps we should let Mark do the honours then,’ Hugh told Ruth. ‘The journey to London might prove a bit too much for an old man like that.’
‘London … who mentioned London?’ Helen asked, perplexed.
‘I’ve agreed to your condition, Mrs Woodley. Now I’ve one of my own to make,’ Hugh informed her gravely. ‘If we are to be married in church, then it will be in the Guards’ Chapel at Wellington Barracks.’
‘Oh Hugh … I’d love that!’
Ruth’s cry of delight brought the discussion to a close. Helen knew she was getting her own way, but on Hugh’s terms. It would probably always be like that, she thought resignedly. She rather liked the fact that he had agreed to compromise without in any way losing face. It was the sort of thing Adam would have done.
Now that the die was cast, Helen entered whole-heartedly into all the plans for the wedding. There were a thousand and one things to be arranged. Hugh undertook to make all the arrangements for the service and Helen was happy to leave that in his hands. She had quite enough to do getting Ruth’s wedding-dress and Lucy’s bridesmaid’s dress ready in time, as well as hiring a grey morning suit for Mark.
Buying an outfit for herself was also more difficult than she had thought. She did so want to look right. In the end, she decided on a matching dress and coat in deep cream slub silk. And, to wear with it, she eventually found the perfect hat, wide-brimmed and in a dramatic shade of deep pink.
‘Hugh’s parents are staying in London and meeting you at the Guards’ Chapel just before the ceremony starts. That means I won’t meet them until after I’m married to Hugh,’ Ruth said in a worried voice. ‘That seems all wrong, Mum, doesn’t it?’
‘Talk to Hugh about it,’ Helen advised. ‘Perhaps you could both spend a couple of days at his home before the wedding.’
‘There isn’t time. Hugh wants to save his leave for our honeymoon.’
‘Then the only other thing we can do is to ask them to come and stay here for a few days before the wedding.’
‘Oh, Mum! I’m nervous enough as it is without having strangers around the place,’ Ruth wailed. ‘They mightn’t even like me!’
Ruth was trying on her wedding-dress as she spoke and Helen felt a lump in her throat. Ruth looked so radiant. The tight-fitting bodice was cut just low enough in the neckline to reveal the tantalising curve of her firm breasts, before billowing out in a froth of lace and tulle. The shoulder-length lace veil, held in place on her dark brown hair with a circlet of tiny white roses, framed her oval face like a halo. Her big grey eyes shone with happiness and her mouth curved in a smile of sheer contentment. How could anyone not like Ruth? Helen thought proudly. Hugh was fortunate to be getting such a lovely bride.
She wished Adam could have been there to see her. Hugh had been right; she had wanted this ceremony because it was something she had forgone. Tears stung her lids as she remembered the grim registry office where she and Adam had been married, and her father’s derogatory remarks at the time. Perhaps he had only been expressing the hurt inside him at seeing her make the greatest commitment of her life in such a tawdry fashion.
She pushed the thought away. It hadn’t mattered; she and Adam had enjoyed a wonderful marriage. No one could have found a better husband, or a more faithful one. She hoped Ruth would be as lucky.
Ruth’s wedding was a picture-book one. A coach-load of friends and relatives came from Sturbury, including Aunt Julia, who was wearing a flowered hat that was far more elaborate than Helen’s. Hugh found a moment to introduce his parents to Helen, before taking his place in the front pew alongside a fellow Guardsman, to wait for his bride to arrive.
The Chapel at Wellington Barracks had not long been restored after being hit by a V1 flying bomb in 1944. As she sat admiring the magnificent apse and rich mosaics, which were the only part of the original building to survive, Helen felt the tension within her subside. For the first time since Ruth had returned from Brecon, she felt at peace.
When Ruth entered on Mark’s arm, she seemed a little over-awed by so much grandeur. Helen, watching proudly as they made their way slowly down the blue-carpeted aisle, saw her nervousness vanish as soon as she took her place at Hugh’s side. Her own heart thudded with past memories as she saw Hugh turn and smile into Ruth’s eyes.
In her magnificent white dress and flowing veil, Ruth made a radiant bride. As she stood beside Hugh, who looked resplendent in his red and blue Guards’ uniform, Helen found it hard to control her tears. Surreptitiously, she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a lace-edged hanky and tried to focus her complete attention on the service.
Mark, looking very grown-up in his grey morning suit, took his duties very seriously. His voice seemed to acquire a new depth and authority as he solemnly gave Ruth away.
Lucy looked adorable in a dress of palest blue, a matching cap on her golden curls. She behaved perfectly, sitting motionless on the crimson velvet stool provided for her throughout the long ceremony. She even remembered to take Ruth’s bouquet at the right moment.
The sun was brilliant, the sky over London cloudless, when they all moved outside to have photographs taken. The vibrant colours of the Guards’ uniforms added to the splendour of the occasion. Passers-by in the road outside stopped to look through the railings and watch the colourful spectacle. Listening to the cameras clicking repeatedly, as guests were re-grouped for more and more pictures, Helen thought wryly of the single picture taken by Aunt Julia that was the
only momento she had of her own wedding day.
As they walked across the Parade Square to the Mess where the reception was to be held, Helen found that being back in Army surroundings filled her with nostalgia.
Mark was in his element. He wandered around, immersing himself in the atmosphere, like someone returning home after a long absence. Watching him, Helen knew in her heart that she must resign herself to him enlisting. It was obviously the life he wanted.
Mellowed by the excellent food and witty speeches, the two families began to mix more freely. Helen liked Hugh’s parents. They were older than her and she could see that Hugh’s mother was worried because Ruth was so young.
‘I was married at eighteen, too,’ Helen assured her with a smile.
‘But the Army is a hard life. Hugh’s away overseas or on exercises such a lot. A young girl will find it very lonely.’ The older woman sighed, shaking her grey head sadly.
‘Ruth knows all about Army life. Her father was in the Guards,’ Helen said quietly. ‘We lived in married quarters until about three years ago. Adam, my husband, was killed …’ she stopped, unable to go on.
‘My dear, I’m so sorry.’ Mrs Edwards patted Helen’s hand. ‘I didn’t mean to bring up unhappy memories, not at a time like this …’ she stopped in confusion.
‘It’s all right,’ Helen said quietly with a tremulous smile.
When Ruth and Hugh left for their honeymoon, Helen found Mrs Edwards by her side. ‘Hugh will take good care of her,’ she said softly in her lilting Welsh accent.
Helen smiled and nodded, returning the pressure of the older woman’s hand, too choked to speak.
As she stood holding Lucy’s hand as the car taking Ruth and Hugh on the first stage of their honeymoon pulled away, Helen felt Mark’s strong arm on her shoulders.
‘We’d better be getting home, hadn’t we?’ he said firmly. ‘I shan’t be going into the Army now, Mum. One soldier in the family is enough. I’m going to try and make something of the farm.’
Chapter 19
‘Mum, can Hugh and I come to stay?’
‘Of course, dear. When will you be arriving?’
‘We’re at the station, now. Any chance of a lift?’
‘Oh, Ruth! You could have given me some warning!’
Helen replaced the receiver as the line went dead. She took a quick look in the hall mirror, pushing her hair into shape, wishing she had got up early and washed it that morning as she’d meant to do. Ruth might have let her know they were coming, she thought, as she outlined her mouth with a pink lipstick. She hated being caught unprepared.
She called out to Lucy to let her know where she was going. Lucy was engrossed watching television, and, knowing Mark would soon be in from milking, Helen decided to let her stay where she was.
Ruth and Hugh were waiting in the station forecourt, Ruth wearing a red mini-skirt and white blouse, Hugh in grey slacks and an open-neck short-sleeved blue shirt.
‘What kept you?’ Ruth asked as she settled into the passenger seat beside Helen, leaving Hugh to sit on his own in the back of the car.
‘Nothing kept me,’ Helen told her sharply. ‘I came the moment I put the phone down. If you’d warned me you were coming …’
‘Here we go,’ Ruth interrupted. ‘Nag, nag, nag!’ She turned to Hugh, ‘What did I tell you!’ She turned back to her mother and said, ‘Blame him; it was his idea to come.’
‘I’m not blaming anyone,’ Helen told her. ‘I’m always pleased to see you, you know that. It’s just that I’m not prepared and you know I like to have everything ready. I’m not even sure if there’s enough dinner to go round!’
‘There’d better be,’ Ruth laughed. ‘We’ve had nothing since breakfast-time. We’re both starving. We missed out on lunch we were so busy packing.’
‘Packing?’ Helen asked in surprise. ‘You’ve only brought a weekend case with you.’
‘I’ve been posted.’ Hugh said. His eyes met hers in the driving mirror, darkly intense.
Helen’s heart thudded wildly. ‘You … you don’t mean …’
‘Yes,’ Hugh said tersely. ‘Northern Ireland.’
‘I was afraid when they announced that troops were being sent over there that you might have to go,’ Helen murmured, struggling to keep the emotion out of her voice.
She had heard on the news about the riots in Londonderry and the need to send in extra troops and she’d hoped it wouldn’t be the Guards. It seemed ludicrous to think of them going over there to deal with terrorists when only recently they had been on duty at Caernarvon Castle for the lavish spectacular of the investiture of Prince Charles as Prince of Wales. She and Lucy had sat glued to the TV set, straining to pick Hugh out from the hundreds of red-coated Guardsmen, but finding it impossible since their bearskins almost totally concealed their features.
‘They should never have allowed the Apprentice Boys’ Parade to go ahead,’ she added sadly.
‘That’s what brought things to a head in the Bogside,’ Hugh agreed, ‘but it has been building up for some time.’
‘When are you being sent over there?’
‘Next Tuesday.’
‘Next Tuesday! It’s Friday now … that’s only four days away.’
‘That means you only have to put up with us for a couple of days,’ Ruth quipped. ‘We’ll have to go back on Sunday because there’s still a lot of packing to be done. The Army collects the boxes on Monday and we hand over the quarter first thing Tuesday morning.’
‘You’re going as well then, Ruth?’
‘Of course. It’s a two-year posting – the chance I’ve been waiting for.’
‘You’ll be over there at Christmas!’
‘That’s right.’ Ruth grinned. ‘Do you think Father Christmas will be able to find us?’
‘I hope so. I shouldn’t think Hugh would get leave that soon,’ Helen said lightly, sensing the strain underlying Ruth’s banter.
She had changed so much since her marriage that it worried Helen. The softness had gone from her grey eyes, and her gentle, sensitive mouth was now so much firmer. Helen had wanted her to come back home while Hugh had been on tour first in Hong Kong and later in Oman, but Ruth had insisted on staying on at Chelsea Barracks.
Hugh, too, seemed older and more cynical. Helen felt she knew so little about him. She had been shocked when his mother had died just three months after the wedding. Mr Edwards had never fully recovered and four months later had suffered a massive stroke, which left him in a coma until he died three weeks later.
Over the next few days Helen’s uneasiness about them increased. Ruth seemed to be on the defensive all the time, too ready to argue, and to pick on Hugh whenever he was in the wrong. But if he made the slightest criticism of anything she did, then she rounded on him and quickly asserted her rights.
There were times when Helen thought Hugh was actually afraid of Ruth. Yet, when they were on their own, they seemed close enough, strolling hand in hand, or with their arms around each other’s waist.
It was Ruth’s bossiness, her perverseness, and her sudden flare-ups, that worried Helen. It was almost as if Ruth didn’t know how to share her life with someone else, Helen mused as she listened to them arguing fiercely. At times, Ruth even seemed to be deliberately trying to provoke Hugh, Helen thought, watching the scowl on his face when Ruth contradicted him.
Watching them together, Helen was convinced that Ruth’s attitude would lead to trouble and she tried to find a way to talk to her alone and tactfully point this out. On the Saturday evening she suggested that Ruth went with her to visit Aunt Julia.
‘I’m sure Hugh would sooner stay here with Mark than come with us,’ she said with a smile.
‘If I have to suffer Aunt Julia, then I don’t see why he shouldn’t,’ Ruth protested.
‘Suffer her!’ Helen’s voice was sharp with annoyance.
Ruth laughed a little awkwardly. ‘You know what I mean, Mum.’
‘No, I don’t. She’s a sweet
old lady and she’s always been very kind to you.’
‘Oh, I know that. Don’t take everything so literally,’ Ruth snapped. ‘She does go on a bit though about Dad and she likes to delve into the past and talk about when you were a girl and all that.’
‘She only has her memories now,’ Helen defended. ‘She’s crippled with arthritis so she isn’t able to get out and about very much these days. Looking back is one of the few pleasures left to her.’
‘Oh all right. I suppose I ought to go and say “Cheerio” to her before we leave for Ireland. Do you want to go right now?’
‘I must put Lucy to bed first.’
‘Hugh can do that. Come on, I want to be back before half-eight. There’s a programme I want to watch.’
‘Hugh can’t put Lucy to bed!’ Helen exclaimed.
‘’Course he can. All he has to do is tell her to go upstairs and remember to clean her teeth. Don’t worry, he’ll pop up later and tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.’
‘I want a story,’ Lucy protested.
‘OK. You shall have a story,’ Ruth snapped. ‘Hugh tells wonderful stories … or he’ll read to you, whichever you like. Come on Mum, don’t let’s stand here arguing all night.’
‘Well …’ Helen looked bemused.
‘It’s all right,’ Hugh assured her. ‘Lucy will be OK. You two go on.’
The speech Helen had carefully memorised, and worked herself up to give, fell flat. Ruth was in no mood to listen. The moment they were on their own she turned the tables and launched into a full-scale attack.
‘Why do you always take Hugh’s side whenever we have an argument, Mum?’ she asked angrily as they left the house.
‘Take Hugh’s side … what are you talking about!’
‘Come off it, you know what I mean. The minute I criticise him, or disagree with him over anything, you fly to his defence.’
‘Well, he is a guest …’
‘Rubbish! He’s one of the family. We’re married, remember.’
Her tone inflamed Helen. Forgoing the gentle, tactful approach she said angrily, ‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Ruth. You’ve become bossy … aggressive … you seem to be looking for a row all the time.’
