A Vintage Christmas

by Trisha Ashley

  Matt thought that, in the circumstances, developing a stubborn streak had been a survival skill. And it was just as well he had, or by now he’d be married to the hunting-obsessed, ferret-faced girl with the plummy accent they invited to dinner every single time he was visiting!

  When Matt got home I ruefully described Mum’s unexpected reaction to my news.

  ‘She’s totally obsessed with the idea of our having a traditional wedding and quite sure that’s what Dad would have wanted, so it was impossible to persuade her that it isn’t the kind we’d like at all! She just didn’t believe me.’

  ‘Your dad was putty in your hands and would have agreed to us tying the knot while skydiving, if that’s what you really wanted,’ Matt said, grinning. ‘And I’m just the same.’

  I hit him with a cushion and Minnie jumped up and started dashing about, barking excitedly.

  ‘I do love the idea of a small, quiet vintage-style wedding with just our friends and immediate family. I mean, I don’t want to upset Mum, but on the other hand we’d really hate a big, over-the-top wedding,’ I sighed. ‘I’d so much rather she used the money she’s saved to buy a new car. Her old one is falling to pieces.’

  ‘Would you like me to talk to her?’ he offered.

  ‘No, she’d only think I’d put you up to it, and anyway, you’ve already done your bit by breaking the terrible news to your parents that you’re actually going to marry the gold-digging slut!’

  ‘It’s time they learned that I adore my gold-digging slut – who’s now set to earn at least twice as much as I do,’ he said, putting his arm around me. ‘Before I left I told them straight that if they weren’t prepared to treat you and your mother with respect, then I didn’t want them at the wedding.’

  Matt was a quiet, thoughtful man, but there was no mistaking that stubborn look when he’d made his mind up about something.

  ‘They may not want to come anyway,’ I suggested, ‘though I hope they do, because I don’t want you to become estranged from your family because of me.’

  I knew he loved his quiet and downtrodden father, Gerry, even if he found his mother’s airs and graces both exasperating and embarrassing.

  ‘I’ve had a brainwave,’ I said suddenly. ‘I’ll go and see Babs and ask her advice. If I can get her onside, then she’s someone Mum will listen to.’

  Babs Cartringham, Mum’s employer and my beloved godmother, was a kind, but no-nonsense woman who could be guaranteed to come up with a solution, if anyone could.

  ‘Good idea,’ Matt agreed.

  ‘Of course she might say we’re being selfish if we insist on the low-key wedding we want, rather than the kind Mum dreams of.’

  ‘I’m very sure she won’t,’ he assured me. ‘Then we’ll just need her to convince your mum that we’re not saying we want a small wedding only to save her all the expense.’

  ‘Matt and I used some of the money Mum and Dad had saved for my wedding as a deposit when we bought the cottage and I’ve just discovered that Mum’s been scrimping and saving ever since to top it up again!’ I told my elderly godmother, cutting her a slice of the seed cake I’d made to bring with me, knowing it was her favourite.

  ‘I wondered why she didn’t get a new car when her old one became so unreliable,’ Babs replied.

  She was a tall, vigorous, silver-haired woman in her eighties, and with her angular frame clad in worn moss-green corduroy trousers and a checked flannel shirt that had seen better days, she might have been mistaken for an elderly gardener, if it hadn’t been for her expensively faceted cut-glass accent.

  ‘I asked her one day and she told me she was fond of her old car and knew all its funny little ways,’ she added, helping herself to another slice of cake and pushing the teapot in my direction.

  ‘Yes, that’s what she told me, too,’ I agreed. ‘And though I noticed she’d been making economies, I assumed she’d just caught the make-do-and-mend bug from me and Matt.’

  ‘She’s thrifty by nature anyway,’ Babs said, fending off the greedy advances of her cocker spaniel, Bramble. ‘Always at me to mend something, rather than replace it.’

  ‘Well, I’d much rather she spent the money on herself, but she’s convinced I really want a big wedding, with a meringue dress, a church full of relatives I hardly know and a formal reception at a posh hotel! And of course, in spring or summer, with the sun shining on the righteous.’

  ‘I take it that’s not what you and Matthew had in mind?’ Babs asked.

  I shook my head vigorously. ‘No, we’d like a small wedding in the village church, with only close friends and family invited – and we’ve booked the ceremony already, for just before Christmas!’

  ‘I had a wartime winter wedding,’ Babs said reminiscently. ‘And I suppose that was quite economical, because the church flowers and the reception venue were already decorated for Christmas and I carried a small posy of winter roses from our garden.’

  ‘We’ve booked the village hall for the reception and I’ve already started to make plans. We’d like everything home-made or borrowed. There’ll be a buffet set out on flowery china – I thought we could ask for old plates and cups and saucers as presents – and I’m sure I could find an inexpensive vintage wedding dress on the internet.’

  ‘I got my wedding dress from Norman Hartnell just before the war broke out, so that was the one extravagance of my big day,’ Babs said, which came as no surprise since, even if her accent hadn’t been such a giveaway, I knew my godmother came from a wealthy and titled family.

  ‘Alistair and I got married the following year, when he was home on leave, though I’d only just turned eighteen and my parents wanted us to wait. Just as well we didn’t, though, since he was killed two years later.’

  ‘That’s terribly sad!’ I said.

  ‘Oh, no, dear,’ Babs said cheerfully, ‘it would have been much sadder if we hadn’t married at all, because he was the love of my life, just as I’m sure Matthew is yours.’

  ‘Yes – though how he came to have such dreadfully snooty parents is a complete mystery to me. He went to Tonbridge last weekend to break the news and they were aghast.’

  ‘I know you don’t get on with them and I’m not surprised, because Gail told me what happened when she invited them to tea. She said Matthew’s mother was just like Hyacinth Bucket in that old TV series!’

  ‘She’s even worse,’ I confessed. ‘They run a booming mail-order children’s party supplies business called Crate Parties, but Pamela likes to give the impression they’re Old Money and just doing it for fun. But why pretend you’re something you’re not? What does it matter?’ I asked. ‘I mean, you really are a lady – Lady Barbara – but you don’t rub everyone’s nose in it!’

  ‘No, because it isn’t of any importance. It’s not who you were born that counts, it’s what you become,’ Babs said. ‘But since Matthew’s an only child, they’ll have to come round to the idea in the end, won’t they?’

  ‘I hope so, but even if they do, I don’t suppose the kind of wedding Mum wanted would impress them, let alone the one we’re planning.’

  ‘Well, it’s your big day, when it comes down to it, so you and Matt must have it exactly how you’d like it,’ Babs said. ‘There’s no point in your mother beggaring herself by taking out loans for something you’ll hate.’

  ‘It does seem such a huge waste of money to me – especially the big meringue wedding dress, which wouldn’t suit me in the least,’ I agreed, because I’m tall, dark and broad-shouldered, and look ridiculous in frilly, fussy clothes. ‘We think the day should be all about committing our lives to each other, not a display of conspicuous consumption,’ I added.

  ‘I’ll talk to Gail and make her see that you and Matt really do want something different,’ Babs promised.

  ‘That would be so kind of you, because you’re the one person Mum will believe,’ I said. ‘I only hope she’s not too disappointed, though.’

  ‘She’ll come round to the idea, especially when
she sees how much you need her help. And perhaps I could get involved a little too, because if it’s vintage you want, I still have my wedding dress! I loaned it to one or two friends during the war, because you just couldn’t get the coupons or the material then, but it’s been laid up in lavender ever since and I’m sure it would fit you, if you’d like to borrow it? It’s a slinky ivory silk-satin and there’s a matching velvet cape.’

  ‘Oh, Babs, that would be so wonderful,’ I exclaimed. ‘And Mum’s bound to be mollified by the idea of her only daughter swanning down the aisle in Hartnell, even if she isn’t too happy about the rest of it!’

  I got up and kissed her. ‘Babs, you’ve saved the day!’

  On a bright but chilly late October day, I was sitting by a sunny window in my Dog-Coature workshop behind the cottage, snatching an hour to work on the Regency-style silk waistcoat I was making for Matt, to jazz up his good dark suit for the wedding, while Tonya, my old college friend and now right-hand woman, was unpacking and checking the dog coats she’d just collected from local outworkers.

  It was a rare quiet moment. We were well on target to fulfilling our big Pet Paradise order by the end of the week, but we still had lots of others from smaller shops and the mail-order sales from our website.

  I suddenly thought how serendipitously things had fallen into place recently and said to Tonya, ‘You know, everything’s going so well in my life at the moment that I’m starting to feel afraid that it’ll all suddenly come crashing down. In fact, I keep touching wood!’

  ‘It won’t,’ she assured me, fishing the last of a batch of Chihuahua-sized Angel coats out of the bottom of the crate. Her blue-black curls bounced as she righted herself and turned to look seriously at me. ‘It’s not been purely luck; a lot of it’s due to you and Matt working so hard for what you want. Who was it who said, “The harder I work, the luckier I get”?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s a good one. Still, only a few weeks now to the big day and even Matt’s parents have decided to come, though I expect his mother’s face will be so sour it’ll turn cream. They were horrified when he told them we were having a small vintage-themed wedding, so goodness knows what they’ll make of it.’

  ‘But it’s going to be wonderful,’ Tonya said enthusiastically. ‘A vintage-style wedding with a hint of wartime economy – and asking for oddments of old flowered china as wedding presents so you can use it at the reception buffet was a brainwave!’

  ‘I’ve certainly got enough now – in fact, I could start up another business afterwards, hiring it out for weddings and tea-parties.’

  ‘That might be an idea,’ she said. ‘You’d only need a bit of extra storage space.’

  ‘I suppose we could have a second string to our bow, but let’s get the wedding over with first and then think about it,’ I suggested.

  ‘You seem to have everything covered,’ Tonya beamed.

  ‘Yes, though that’s mainly because Mum and her friends have rallied round and taken over everything, including the catering for the buffet and organising extra Christmas flowers and foliage for the church. Two of the craftier ones are running up yards of cotton bunting out of that bolt of holly-printed fabric I found in the market and stringing together cardboard garlands made out of old Christmas cards.’

  ‘And you said one of them has been taking sugar-crafting classes and was making the wedding cake?’ Tonya asked. ‘How’s that going?’

  ‘Well, I know it will have two tiers and be Christmassy, but the design’s to be a surprise on the day. I’m sure it will be lovely,’ I said. ‘And now you and the other bridesmaids have clubbed together to hire Father Christmas to pay us a visit, too! Everyone’s been so kind.’

  ‘That’s because it’s all such fun,’ Tonya said. ‘I loved hunting down two more dusky-pink vintage Laura Ashley bridesmaids’ dresses on eBay to match the one Mum gave me, and sourcing pashminas in the same shade so we don’t freeze to death on the way to and from church …’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be OK, because I’ll be wearing that luscious, silk-lined ivory velvet cloak that goes with my wedding dress, and Mum already had a warm cream wool wrap to wear over her lace dress and coat, but I don’t want the rest of you to freeze.’ I smiled. ‘I admit, it’s all been fun, even though we’ve been so busy with the Pet Paradise order, too!’

  ‘It’s been a crazy summer, but we needed an occasional diversion, like scouring car-boot sales for extra flowery china,’ agreed Tonya. ‘But now that my brother’s offered to DJ at the reception and play golden oldies like Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters, and one of Matt’s partners at the practice will drive you to the church in his white Morris Traveller, I think you’ve thought of everything and can relax a bit.’

  Mum, next time I saw her, wasn’t quite so sure. She was clutching a clipboard with a huge list of things to do, make or prepare for the wedding, most of which had been ticked off, due to her having a multitude of very useful and willing friends.

  ‘We still haven’t done anything about drinks for the reception, Lucy, apart from borrowing the Women’s Institute tea and coffee urns. But you will at least let me buy champagne for the toasts, won’t you?’ she pleaded.

  ‘Funnily enough, Matt’s father’s just offered to do that, too, but Matt told him we’ve already got it covered.’

  ‘You have?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes, didn’t I tell you? Babs said she’d take care of it. Her housekeeper makes sparkling elderflower wine and there are gallons of it stockpiled in the larder.’

  ‘How … lovely,’ Mum said faintly, and I could see that she was bravely abandoning her last hope of at least one nod to tradition. ‘I think a vintage wedding is a really lovely idea, darling, but I don’t know what Matt’s parents are going to think about all the arrangements. I only hope old sourpuss doesn’t try to spoil the day with her snide comments.’

  ‘No one will take any notice if she does. Matt’s told his parents that it’s very chic and trendy to have a small and simple country wedding,’ I said with a grin. ‘So they’ll just have to drink their elderflower fizz and like it!’

  ‘This is it,’ Mum said nervously as we paused in the church lobby, so I could remove my velvet cloak, and the three bridesmaids their pink pashminas. ‘But I do wish your dad was here to see this day.’

  ‘Me, too, though actually I somehow feel he very much is here,’ I said, kissing her. ‘Now, come on, before we all freeze!’

  My bridesmaids, Tonya, Josie and Marie, fell in behind us, the organist began to wheezily rev up the opening bars of the triumphal wedding march and I sailed in a slow and stately fashion up the aisle on Mum’s arm to where Matthew, beaming from ear to ear, awaited us.

  Nothing had the power to burst my joyous, rainbow-hued bubble of happiness, not even Pamela Kenyon, who turned a face that could curdle milk as we passed and hissed audibly, ‘Having your mother give you away looks so odd, Gerry! Surely they could have found a suitable male relative?’

  ‘Hush, Pammie, someone might hear you! And I don’t think it’s odd at all – in fact, it’s rather nice,’ Gerry said with new-found boldness, but he knew better than to add that Mrs Thomas, in her sugared-almond-lilac lace dress and matching coat, with her face gently tinged pink from pride and emotion, was almost as pretty as the bride.

  He wished that Pammie would occasionally wear something other than severely tailored suits, wool in winter and linen in summer. She’d refused to buy a new outfit for the occasion, saying that one she’d worn for another wedding a few years previously would do, though at least the beige of this suit was enlivened by a little china-blue embroidery on the lapels and there was a matching hat.

  ‘Remember when you used to wear those pretty mini dresses you’d made yourself and we’d go dancing?’ he asked suddenly. ‘I think if I tried doing the twist now, I’d slip a disc!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ She looked at him, frowning. ‘We’re going dancing at that charity ball I’m patron of next week. Everyo
ne who’s anyone will be there.’

  Gerry sighed but didn’t reply, for the wedding service was about to start. He fervently hoped that afterwards Pammie would keep her opinions and barbed comments to herself and not try to spoil things … though now he came to think about it, it was almost worse when she was being graciously condescending!

  ‘Nice outfit,’ lied Tonya, finding herself standing next to Lucy’s snobby mother-in-law while they waited for the photographer to get everyone in position in front of the church. ‘Eastex?’

  ‘Caroline Charles!’ snapped Pamela, looking mortally offended, but Tonya was adjusting the pashmina that exactly matched the long and unmistakably Laura Ashley folds of her dress and didn’t notice.

  ‘Do you like my dress?’ she asked. ‘Mum wore it when she was a bridesmaid in the seventies, but the others found theirs through eBay. We thought because they had sweetheart necklines and leg-of-mutton sleeves, they’d be just the thing for a vintage wedding.’

  ‘Sweet,’ uttered Pamela through gritted dental implants. ‘And quite the League of Nations, aren’t you?’

  ‘You mean because I’m black, Marie’s an Irish redhead and Josie’s mum was Korean? It certainly made it difficult to find a colour for the dresses that suited us all,’ Tonya said with a grin.

  ‘I imagine it did,’ Pamela said, thinking that at least Matthew and Lucy’s beloved Bichon Frise was right on the other side of the line-up, because whoever heard of a dog attending a wedding, especially one dressed in a Christmas fairy outfit?

  Gerry, uncomfortably unique among the male guests in being attired in traditional grey morning coat and striped trousers, leaned forward from her other side and said, ‘You succeeded, because all you girls look delightfully pretty – but especially the lovely bride.’

  Pamela gave her husband a sharp dig in the ribs with her elbow and he grunted painfully, then stepped back into line.

  ‘Lucy does look stunning,’ agreed Tonya, thinking that now she’d finally met Lucy’s new in-laws, she was finding Gerry was so much nicer than she’d expected and Pamela a hundred times worse! ‘And lucky Lucy, getting married in a pre-war Norman Hartnell dress!’