Melanie Diamond was her other bridesmaid, having a crafty fag downstairs. Rosa felt mean not asking Connie and Joy, but both of them seemed relieved to be out of the limelight. Mel and Fina were happy in shocking-pink satin with puffed-out skirts and matching satin shoes. Their hair was piled up into cottage loaf buns with matching fuchsia headbands. The colour suited their dark dramatic looks.
Marty was banished to his parents, who’d welcomed Rosa into the family with open arms, his big brothers crushing her fingers with handshakes.
Sylvio’s team had everyone’s hair under control, working since dawn, making sure everyone had a style to suit their outfits. She’d never called Sylvio ‘Daddy’, and kept a picture of Marco Santini in her prayerbook. She could hardly recall him now, but the smell of Dettol always took her back to a sad time when Auntie Lee took her home and she’d wet herself the night her father died. Sylvio had done a good job, though, and she was proud that he had stood by her mother when Salvi was born so quickly after their wedding. It had caused a terrible rift with the Santinis, one that was never going to heal. That was why she’d chosen St Wilfred’s for the service, not Our Lady of Sorrows. Only her cousins would attend today.
Why did weddings bring out all these sad bits of family history? Memories of lost loved ones, petty arguments about who sat where and with whom, those not invited and why. She didn’t want to think about all that stuff now. The service would be long and chilly in that concrete barn of a church, but it had to be done, and after that they’d have a night to remember. They were going to have a ball!
The church was packed inside and out with hordes of sightseers wanting to catch a glimpse of the golden couple. The photographers were snapping away as they made their entrance together with their families in a break with tradition. Maria was dressed from head to toe in her favourite lilac with a pillbox of flowers stuck on the back of her head. The men were in pinstripes, black tie or dark suits, with white heather in their buttonholes for luck. The church was candlelit and sparkling, still smelling of varnish, the seats were hard and Neville noted the organ was electric. Everything was too modern for his taste. There was a sprinkling of his regular customers in stiff collars, looking scrubbed up for the solemn occasion.
The flowers were gorgeous, a riot of expensive blooms with rich foliage and tasteful arrangements. He’d never seen such extravagance and flair.
‘Who did the flowers, not the church ladies?’ he asked Joy to his left.
‘The new florists in town, Consider the Lily … won a gold at Chelsea Flower Show, so Rosa said.’
‘It brightens up the concrete, doesn’t it?’
Joy nodded, looking gorgeous, and Denny sat stiff but sober. To his right Connie had made a Trojan effort but her eyes were sad and he guessed who she might be thinking about. They’d both survived the whirlwind of last year but he felt she was still drifting, not settling to anything much. She was wasted as a shop girl. Now Joy was busy making her empire and Rosa and Marty would leave town, what would become of her?
Thank God, Neville prayed, he and Connie hadn’t married to please their folks. The sky hadn’t fallen on them either but Rosa marrying Connie’s old flame, and with such mystery around the baby’s genes … he wondered. But now was not the time to dwell on any of that.
Then the organ pipes struck up. Everyone stood. It wasn’t the traditional Bridal march, but Purcell’s Trumpet Tune and Air, very jaunty and original. The show was about to start.
The Country Club had done them proud, with great circular tables festooned with flowers and confetti roses, white linen and silver candelabras, a trio playing in the background as the guests wolfed their way through prawn cocktail, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding followed by Chantilly meringue and ice cream with crushed pineapple.
The speeches were mercifully short, funny enough, and poor Sylvio got carried away by his emotions, breaking into Italian. ‘I never think when I am in this country against my will, one day I see my daughters in such a place. I am verra proud man. Rosa make me happy and Maria.’ Tears into his hanky. ‘I wish you all happy night.’
They toasted the couple, the family, the bridesmaids. Connie just let it all wash over her. Go with the flow, the hipsters said. She was doing her best to look cheerful and involved. Rosa was happy. It was her turn for happiness, but what if she knew that Anna might be Marty’s child? What then for their friendship? Why did these thoughts flash into her head? Night and day, listening to the radio, driving the car, standing in a bus queue, lying in the bath, she was struck by the force of her yearning. It was a stab wound into her heart every time. Stop it! she chided herself. This is their day, not yours; their chance to start a new life together, not yours. Don’t be so selfish!
Joy was watching Denny knocking back his wine during the toasts and asking for refills. She kept topping his glass up with water but he pushed it aside with a glare. Why did he spoil things by drinking too much? Was he nervous amongst her friends? Was it because they were in the public eye and he was known? Was it because he was bored and couldn’t be bothered to make small talk with the woman sitting next to him, who was perfectly charming? She was trying not to draw attention to her ways of slowing down his drinking.
It took only a few too many glasses for him to switch from jolly and affable, confident and polite to edgy, aggressive and rude. At least he couldn’t take his displeasure out in public. He’d save that until he went home. Tonight she’d sized up his mood and would make some excuse to go back with Mummy and Jacob. He could punch his pillow, not her.
Looking across at Rosa, she thought of her own wedding day, not that long ago, when she had been so trusting and overawed, thinking it was the pinnacle of a girl’s life to go down the aisle with the first man who asked her.
Rosa had been round the world and Joy had hardly been out of town. Rosa had stories to tell but she had only horrendous memories of being flung across the bedroom floor, assaulted whether she wanted lovemaking or not, pinned against the wall in terror while Kim cried in the next room, tormented by Denny locking the doors, turning the lights out, pushing her onto the bed and forcing her legs apart. No woman should have to be at the mercy of such temper and fury. It was as if he hated her. She’d made so many excuses for him, lied and hid away, but something in her head had shifted. She was seeing him for what he was: weak, sullen and possessive. He wanted to control her every move and when she defied him he punished her. What sort of love was that?
Rosa had found her prince in Marty. They had so much in common. How she envied them their future together. How she wished she were fancy free like Connie. She looked at her husband for the first time with eyes rinsed clear of any sympathy. All she felt was revulsion as those terrible scenes of violence played themselves out like a film. Am I stuck with you for the rest of my life? What have I done?
She swallowed back her wine in a gulp and held out her glass for more.
The ballroom was on fire with dancing bodies twisting to the sound of some of Marty’s old beat merchants. It was hot, smoky, sweaty, and jackets were off, the men glowed lime-lighted, fluorescent in the spinning glitterball as they jived. At nearly midnight they were still dancing, waltzing and chatting. Rosa was so excited that the wedding was going so well. Everyone was mixing and the drink was flowing. Her friends and family were all around her. Even Connie was letting her hair down with Neville.
Rosa was now Mrs Gorman in the eyes of Mother Church and they were going off to Ireland from Holyhead the next morning to visit the Irish Gormans, who wanted to give them a proper Irish welcome with Guinness and jigs. This would be their first night alone together since Marty’s return. Mamma had refused to let them kip down until Father Patrick had made them legal. Rosa was bursting with goodwill to all men but dying to have Marty to herself.
It was one of those moments when she wanted to catch every sensation, sound, the essence of a wonderful day, and bottle it up in a jar. What had she done to be so lucky? All the arrangements had worked, not a glit
ch to spoil the day. She wanted the night to go on for ever.
As she danced with her friends, all girls together, shaking their bodies and showing off, with Serafina doing a turn in the middle of them, she became aware of a kerfuffle at the side of the dance floor. They carried on, ignoring the horseplay, thinking it a bit of fun, and then she saw Joy looking anxious and leaving them to see what was happening. Rosa followed out of curiosity.
Joy could see Denny was in trouble.
‘Shut yer fuckin’ gob!’ he gestured to Enzo Santini, who was raising his hands, ready to walk away. ‘Say that again!’
‘Look, mate, forget it … you’re drunk,’ Enzo replied.
‘Don’t you walk away from me, you wop!’ Denny was taunting the lad, who turned on him in anger.
‘No wonder we lost the cup, old bandylegs here lets the ball through his legs for an own goal! We lost because of you, Gregsy!’
Denny leaped to hit him but Enzo darted away.
Joy tried to restrain him. ‘No, Den, not tonight … not now!’ she ordered.
He pushed her aside roughly. ‘Shut up, you bitch!’
‘No, I won’t shut up. You are making an ass of yourself. Come on, let’s go. You’re not welcome here.’
‘I’ll bloody well go when I’m good and ready. No greasy spoon tells me where to get off!’
She tried again, but this time he knocked her sideways onto the table, sending the glasses flying.
‘Don’t you dare hit my friend, you drunken pig. I’ll not have you hurting her. We all know your little game. Beat it!’ Rosa stood looking up at him while Joy straightened her dress.
‘Bugger off, you little show-off!’ Denny picked Rosa up as if she was a piece of cloth and threw her down on the floor with contempt. Marty, Enzo and his brothers leaped on him and dragged him out of the room for a beating. Joy was screaming, ‘they’ll kill him!’ And the band tried to play on. Connie and Neville were kneeling over the bride.
Maria came rushing forward with Jacob Friedmann. ‘Rosa?’ he said, and she eyed him with rolling eyes and fell asleep. Nobody spoke but Rosa didn’t move.
‘Fetch an ambulance,’ Jacob ordered. ‘Clear the floor and let her get some air.’
‘Shall we carry her to the side?’ Maria cried, patting her daughter’s hand.
‘Don’t move her … not yet. Just get everybody out of here!’
Joy and Connie clung to each other as Neville drove them through the darkness to Grimbleton Royal. No one could believe what they had just witnessed. Denny was flattened, kicked and beaten, arrested and in a police cell to sober up. Rosa was in the ambulance with Marty and Maria.
They stood in the grim hospital corridor in all their finery, bedraggled, smoking to soothe their nerves, watching nurses and doctors going in and out of the cubicle where Rosa lay. It was only a fall, so quick, but she wasn’t waking up. Then they saw a white coat they recognised. Paul Jerviss was on duty that night and it was a relief to see his handsome face, grim as it was as he waved and rushed by.
They sat through the night, wondering what was going on behind those doors. A terrible drama was unfolding and Joy was shaking.
Neville was doing his best to calm their fears. ‘It was just a bump on her head. Did you see the state of Denny when they’d finished with him? He’ll be needing stitches when he comes out.’
‘I don’t want to talk about him,’ Joy said. ‘Not ever.’
‘Shush,’ Connie whispered. ‘It’s the shock.’ She looked up to see Paul striding down to them, his tired eyes dull and serious. ‘How is she?’
‘Mrs Gorman is resting. She’s conscious now …’
‘Oh, thank God! Can we go and see her?’
‘I’m afraid not. She’ll have to be transferred from here to a specialist unit. We think she may have broken her back!’
Joy rushed out to be sick and Neville followed, leaving Connie to face her old adversary. She stared uncomprehendingly into those blue pools. ‘But it’s her wedding night. It can’t be serious. Rosa is a dancer.’
‘I know. Marty told me. I’m sorry, we just don’t know yet. It was a heavy fall onto a hard surface from height. I gather she was thrown backwards.’
‘But you can’t hurt yourself on a wooden floor.’
‘It just depends if she caught the edging, the angle. She’s a tiny thing.’
Connie sat stunned and he sat down next to her. ‘How are you?’ he said. ‘I heard you were home.’
Connie didn’t speak. ‘Just a year ago … when we last met … I had to give her up … the family made me give her up and then changed their minds but it was too late … this very month.’
‘I’m sorry. I wondered if that would be the outcome. You must be gutted.’
She didn’t want to think about any of that now. Rosa was all that mattered now.
‘Why, why … why, Paul? Why Rosa and why now? It’s not fair. It was Denny who did it to her. How do we live with that?’
‘I don’t know what to say. They’ll do tests. It’s a good place and if there’s the slightest chance of recovery they’ll suss it out and get her back on her feet again, I promise.’ He drew close to comfort her and for once she sank into his shoulder, suddenly exhausted. Then she jumped back, embarrassed, feeling awkward.
‘If there’s anything I can do …’ he offered, and she looked up at him with concern. He looked tired, bags under his eyes. He was a kind man doing a worthy job, way out of her league now, of course. He had purpose to his life, helping others live. How could she look him in the face after how they’d last met? If only things were different. He must think of her always as a victim, not an equal. What had she done to earn his respect? How she’d like to make him proud of her one day.
‘You’d better go on your rounds. Don’t let me hold you back,’ she said. ‘I must find Joy.’
‘Take care, Connie. You look worn out.’ He stood up and set off back towards the ward. She watched him walk away from her wistfully. If only … None of that. Rosa was going to need all her friends gunning for her, praying for her recovery. Nothing was going to be the same for her again.
Rosa woke up not knowing where she was and what was happening. It felt as if she’d been asleep for months. She could recall faces bending over her, white coats and nurses, Marty bending over to kiss her. Where was she? What had happened? Then the sickening reality washed over her in a wave of panic.
She was somewhere in hospital strapped to a bed, unable to move a muscle, lying helpless, trapped in a prison of restraints. She recalled the wedding day and the dance and the fight, and then everything went blank. No one would tell her what was wrong or why she was here but it was not looking good.
The priest on his rounds glided past her bed, not looking her in the face. Mamma cried when she visited and her brothers and sisters weren’t allowed to come through the door in case they gave her a cold.
‘When can I get up?’ she begged the nurses.
‘All in good time,’ came the guarded reply. ‘You need to rest your back.’
‘Why can’t I feel my legs?’ she asked the doctor who read her notes and added his own.
He didn’t look at her when he spoke. ‘Don’t be impatient, young lady. Healing takes time. We need to know what nature will do about this first.’
‘What has nature got to do with this?’ He was talking gibberish. Nature was leaves and acorns, blue skies and the seasons.
He sat down then. ‘We think the fall on your back may have caused compression of the vertebrae that may have damaged axons – nerve endings, which carry the messages from your nerves to your brain. The extent of the damage is yet unknown. Only time will tell. We don’t want you to move.’
‘But I’m a dancer,’ Rosa croaked, knowing all about muscle wastage and how it could weaken limbs. ‘When will I walk again?’
‘You won’t unless you’re very lucky. It depends on the extent of the damage. You were very unlucky to fall like that. Were you drunk?’
‘
It was my wedding night. Some drunk tried to knock his wife about and I stopped him so I got thrown.’ That bit she suddenly recalled in a flash.
‘I see.’ The doctor stood up. ‘What a pity …’ He walked off, leaving her numb with the shock of his hard words. She stared up at the ceiling in disbelief. This must be a dream. This must be happening to someone else. How could she live trapped in a broken body for the rest of her life? She turned her face to the wall and wanted to die.
Joy kept putting off the moment when she went to visit Rosa in hospital. She couldn’t face what Denny had done to her friend. He’d been charged with grievous bodily harm. If she had anything to do with it, he’d go to prison for a long time, but that was unlikely. The Gregson mafia would see to that.
Their marriage was over from the moment she went home to the Waverley with Kim. She stripped the house in Moorlands and insisted it be sold. She never wanted to see him or that place again, with all its bad memories.
No man was ever going to treat her like that again. She would bring up her daughter alone with the help of Su and Jacob. How grateful she was for a roof over her head and her family’s protection, but now she would work full time and make her own way. She filed for separation and divorce on the grounds of cruelty, and if she had to she’d drag his family name through the mud in the papers.
How could she have ever been such a punch bag, such a wimp, such a trusting fool? How could she forgive herself for putting Rosa in such danger? She should’ve refused the invitation. She relived that terrible fight over and over again, trying to make it better, but nothing could change what had happened to her friend and it was all her fault. She was too ashamed to see Rosa, and the longer she left it the worse it got. How could she ever look her in the face again?
Mothers and Daughters Page 32
