by Annie Groves
‘No, thank you, you’ve done enough,’ she squeaked. It was time to leave before she embarrassed herself.
‘Enough of what?’ said his mother, edging a tray of tea and scones around the door. ‘Sit down, lass. You need feeding up before your big day. Come on tell us all about your plans.’
There was no escape from their fussing and kindness. If only Elsie Platt would give her a welcome like this every time she turned up, things would not feel so desperate right now.
As Pete predicted, the weather turned just as the holidays were over. Out came the sun, streaming down on the sooty black buildings, the bomb sites decorated with rosebay willowherb springing up everywhere. The tarmac was melting and the pavements hot as Lily, Diana and Ana gathered in the shade under the cathedral with a map to carve up possible sightings and venues. The search for Sylvio was underway.
Susan was minding the children. Diana had brought her car, with Ana. It was the best they could muster on a Saturday afternoon. Queenie was working in the café after the salon closed at lunchtime, keeping an eye on Maria.
Ana had a list of good hairdressers around Deansgate and King Street. These were to be their first ports of call. Diana had the trade list, pages long; a daunting prospect. Queenie found them the trade newsletter in the salon, advertising local warehouse suppliers. Perhaps someone might recognise Sylvio’s name there on an order, but none of them would be open on a Saturday afternoon.
It was hopeless, and so tiring with not a single lead to show in this sticky heat. Heads were shaken politely and hands pointed to another salon up the road, round the corner, in the back street, down the lane. All their contacts yielded not one jot of hope of ever finding him.
Pete had sent a list of city barbers and the names of some footballer ex-prisoners of war.
As the afternoon wore on Lily sank into a weary slump, hot and thirsty, jaded and bad-tempered by the heat. Her toes were rubbing in her ancient sandals, unused to going barelegged. They met up by Lewis’s Arcade ready to go home. It was almost five o’clock.
‘I’m not going anywhere without a drink, an ice-cream soda, anything to slake this dry throat,’ said Diana, who was for once looking dishevelled and perspiring in the heat in an aertex shirt and smart khaki slacks. It was good of her to give up her day off duty but she seemed to enjoy ordering them about.
Diana was a bit of a mystery, bossy and kind, polite and yet distant, all at the same time. She had not spilled out any secrets, no handsome pilots or wild parties to confess. She was part of the club but not really at the heart of it as if she was holding something back.
Perhaps it was because of her public school education. She was local and yet not a Grimbletonian. She was their officer, not rank and file. She was leading her foot soldiers from the front, brave but distant.
They picked their way through milling crowds. ‘You’d think they were giving stuff away,’ Lily said, looking round in amazement. She loved the bustle of Saturday streets, the heat of the chase for bargains. Pavements trampled with the weary feet of shoppers carrying baskets and bags, window shoppers browsing to see if there was something they could afford. Manchester was abuzz, but even Grimbleton had its moments. How would the silence of Well Cottage suit after all this excitement? Was she really a gumboots and gabardine sort of girl?
In two weeks’ time she would be floating down the aisle and onto a coach bound for Dover, if she could persuade Walt to change his mind. It was not too late.
If it was as hot as this she would need some pleated shorts and a swimming costume in her new suitcase. It was sitting at the foot of her bed, waiting to be packed.
Finding seats in a café was a struggle, but eventually they sat round a table, ticking off all the places they had on their list.
Ana shook her head. ‘He gone to London. It is no good, Lily. We never find him.’
‘No, we’ve only just skimmed the surface. Perhaps he’s gone to Bolton or Oldham or Wilmslow. There has to be a way. I know he’s here. I just feel it in my water.’ It was hard to convince them of her instinct that the man was hovering just out of sight.
‘Time’s running out for you, old girl,’ Diana said. ‘Sylvio’ll have to wait. You’ve got a big day ahead. Down the aisle for you soon.’
As Diana was speaking, Lily’s eyes meandered out through the dusty window onto the street and the building opposite, to a tall red brick church rising above the other roof tops. ‘Aisle, Altar, Hymn,’ went the old joke about a bride’s personal vows. That was just what she was hoping would happen with Walt.
‘Aisle, Altar, Hymn and a church…Why ever hadn’t she thought of that before? She leaped up out of her seat, that stuck to her bottom in the heat.
‘Where’re you off to now?’ Diana shouted. ‘We ought to be heading home.’
‘Stay here. Give me two minutes, I’ve got an idea.’
Lily shot across the cobbled street, holding her breath as she walked into the church. It was dark and cool inside, silent with just the flickering of candles and women bent over in prayer.
It was late Saturday afternoon and she knew enough about the Catholic faith to know it was a good time to hear confessions. There was a cubicle with a curtain drawn that was doing good business. One by one the penitents rose and entered the box, coming out and walking down the aisle out into the daylight. She had time to think just what to say. When it was her turn she sidled into the seat, her heart thumping.
‘Before you start, I’m not a Catholic but I’m trying to help somebody who is…’ It was time to confess the whole sorry tale to the unseen priest. ‘…So you see, if you can find Sylvio Bertorelli for us…We’ve searched the soles off our shoes down your pavements but we’re strangers here. But I thought who would know his flock better than a priest, and priests know other priests…Sylvio is a good man. I’m not asking for confidences to be broken but for him to get in touch with us. You have to help us, please,’ she begged. ‘It’s for the best of causes. It will give the chance for two good people to find each other again.’
There was silence. Then the priest spoke with an Irish lilt. ‘How will I be making contact if I find such a man-and I’m not promising that I will?’
‘Give me a ring at Longsight Travel.’ Lily scribbled the number on a scrap of paper and shoved it through the grille. ‘Ask for Lee Winstanley, and if I’m on my honeymoon, ask for Queenie Quigley at Lavaroni’s Hair Salon, Grimbleton. Sylvio used to work there. Or Sister Diana Unsworth at Grimbleton General Hospital. He has to come back to Grimbleton, and soon. That’s the message. Thank you, I’ve taken up enough of your time.’ She made to leave.
The priest peered through the grille. ‘If everyone had friends like you, the world would not get into such a mess, now would it? God bless you. I’ll do what I can.’
The others were waiting outside the café, furious at her desertion. ‘Where’ve you been, Lily? We are so worried.’ Ana was pointing at the time on the clock tower.
‘I’ve sorted it. With the Roman Catholic Church on board now, we might just have a chance,’ she laughed. ‘Why didn’t we think of it before?’
‘You crazy woman, this is just a little church in back street here.’ Ana was not impressed.
‘The arm of the Church is long, Ana. Anything’s worth a try but come on, time to go home and paint my toenails.’
‘Lily, that’s not like you,’ Diana laughed.
‘I know. Isn’t it fun?’
Each morning at work when the telephone rang, Lily jumped just in case it was for her. On the Sunday night before the wedding, the girls were going to meet after church, as they’d recently resumed doing, for one last supper in Maria’s flat. If no one had heard anything from Manchester by then there was going to be such disappointment.
The following Monday Pete called in to the travel agency in Lily’s lunch hour to find out how things were going but the look on her face told its own story.
‘It’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘Just be patient. Come and bring your s
andwiches out into the fresh air. We can keep an eye on the shop from the square.’
It was a beautiful afternoon, baking hot, and they sat on the nearest bench in Longsight Square Gardens. He asked her about her wedding plans and Walter’s back, and about her plans to chaperone the cross-Channel trip.
Lily would miss meeting up with him at Brownies. Watching him play football wasn’t the same as sitting next to him and seeing those eyes flash and those lips…Had he really kissed her? Had she dreamed all those lovely things he’d told her? Why was it when they were together she wanted the minutes to go so slowly and for the sun to stand still in the sky?
It wasn’t right to be fancying Pete Walsh like this, was it? It wasn’t natural. She jumped off the bench. ‘I’d better be off,’ she said. This was temptation. What if someone saw them together? Walt wouldn’t understand and he’d be hurt. It must be last-minute nerves or something.
She was about to take the biggest step of her life. The great steam train of wedding preparations was rolling into the station. It was time to jump aboard. Why did she wish she could stay on the platform?
‘I never knew I had this much stuff. Take what you want for the cottage, Lil. Where did we get so much clutter?’ Esme sighed, looking over her bare cupboards with grim satisfaction. She was going over each room, one by one.
She had her eye on a bungalow at Sutter’s Fold, halfway up the hillside. The building was coming on a treat, with its neat sitting room, two bedrooms and modern bathroom. It was small but she wanted it that way so no uninvited guest would come muscling in on her territory. She’d had more than enough of that in the past.
It had one of the best views over the town, and a garden that would be no trouble, but the best bit was that it had central heating from a coke boiler-cum-cooker in the kitchen, heating the radiators. No more coal fires to make every day. All mod cons, and far away enough for neighbours not to see your smalls on the line.
Now all that was left was to see the girl wed and settled, sort out the rental with the others and let them get on with it. But first there was the royal visit to attend to.
Walter and his mother had invited Esme and Lily for tea to discuss all the final arrangements for the wedding day. Sitting across from Elsie Platt was not one of life’s joys and Esme admired Lil for taking on that harridan.
If ever there was a home without warmth and welcome this was it, Esme thought, sitting perched at the end of horsehair with a smoking fire and that sour smell of boiled vegetables up her nostrils. She grimaced. All the corners of this front parlour could do with bottoming out.
‘This time next week, Lil, it’ll be your big day. I wish our husbands could be here to share your joy,’ said Elsie. ‘Only a widow knows what it’s like to be unwanted, alone without that someone special to care for your needs.’
‘I’ve done my best, Mother,’ Walt smiled.
‘I know, son but a son’s a son till he gets a wife, a daughter’s a daughter all your life. Isn’t that so, Esme?’
‘I hadn’t quite thought of it like that,’ Esme said, looking to Lily with raised eyebrows. ‘Think of it more that you’ve gained a grand lass in Lily rather than lost a son.’
‘But when he’s gone, who will see to me?’
‘Happen you’ll have to see for yourself as I have all these years since Redvers went to his rest.’ Esme’s hackles were rising now.
‘With respect, Esme Winstanley, your circumstances are different from mine. I hear you’ve bought a brand-new bungalow, out of town. You don’t have to make ends meet like I have, all these years.’
‘Mother…’ warned Walt.
‘No, you listen to me,’ Elsie continued. ‘This wedding is an expense, with all those guests we don’t know to cater for. You two’ve got your little cottage out of earshot. One day it’ll be me as is found at the foot of the stairs and no one will know I’ve gone to my Maker,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m too old to be left to fend for myself’.
‘Elsie Platt, you’re younger than me by a long chalk. None of this self-pitying talk. Young couples need a fresh start and no interference from us until they ask for it. These two have waited long enough-years they’ve waited-so don’t go spoiling their day. It’s not fair!’
‘What’s not fair is my son being wed to a house full of foreigners with babbies. It didn’t take him three guesses to know who their father was…You Winstanleys are no better than the rest of us. My poor son’ll have a wife who wants to work outside the house and gad about with her friends, day and night till all hours. I hear they can’t cook a square meal between them and they were all fighting in the street. I don’t know how you put up with it.’ Elsie folded her arms across her ample bosom. The first salvo had been fired across the bows.
Esme was not going to take these insults sitting down. She rose up and stared out of the window. The nets were a disgrace and the aspidistra was covered in dust.
‘What I put up with is my business! I’ll have you know my girls are capable and kind-hearted, like Lily here. You should be grateful she’s taking your spoiled son on. It wasn’t my wish to see her throwing herself away on a lazy loon who’s never done a decent day’s work in his life!’ She hoped this blast would meet its target.
‘Don’t you call my Walter lazy. It’s not his fault he has no bones in his back.’ Elsie was wagging her finger and spitting feathers of fury.
‘I rest my case,’ Esme replied. ‘Spineless, and you’ve only yourself to blame, Elsie Platt.’ Gloves were off now.
‘Don’t you go calling my poor fatherless son names! At least he’s never given me a minute’s worth of trouble, not like some sons I could mention! At least he’s not fathered a pair of bastards!’
‘Don’t you dare mention my sons in the same breath as him.’ Esme pointed a gloved finger at Walt. ‘They fought for King and Country. One died in His Majesty’s service. What did he do in the war but get under everyone’s feet?’
‘Stop this, both of you!’ Lily screamed. ‘I can’t stand any more of your sniping, Elsie Platt. It’s not you I’m marrying but him. I know what I’m taking on. You’ve made him what he is and I don’t want any interference from either of you!’
‘Well, that’s told us then, hasn’t it?’ Esme sighed, but she had to hand it to the girl for once. She was sticking up for her own. Pity he wasn’t much of a trophy.
There he was, sitting hunched up, miserable, his ears sticking out like jug handles, his body sagged down with embarrassment. What did the lass see in him, Esme thought. It was going to need some firm handling to lick him into shape.
‘I think we’ve all said enough,’ Esme said, plonking her cup of weak tea on the table and wrapping her cardigan around her shoulders, feeling a shiver go down her spine.
So it was out then: all their dirty linen was hanging on the line for everyone to see. Who’d spilled the beans?
‘Lily, I want a word with you. What’s been going on?’
‘It wasn’t me, Guide’s honour, Mother,’ Lil stuttered as they were driving home in comfort for once. The black Rover saloon was now in regular service, warming up for the big day.
‘Ask Levi what happened. Ivy insulted my friends and she spilled the beans in the park. She let rip as only she can. The rest just happened. Maria had a score to settle and settled it. Don’t worry, none of my friends will say anything.’
The more Esme heard the worse it was getting.
‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to. The sooner I’m on way out the better.’
‘Now you sound just like Ma Platt,’ snapped her daughter. ‘I’m sick of all these secrets in the family. Better out and dealt with. Now you’ve made things bad for Walt and me.’
‘You can’t mean to marry that drink of water in there. You can do better than the Platts. It’s not too late to call it off.’
‘Will you give over, harping on about Walt? Yes, I’m going to have to rescue him from all this mollycoddling, find him an osteopath to sort his back, get him some nice clot
hes to wear, but he’s my mission now, a full-time job. I can’t nurse everyone’s wounds when I’ve got him to sort out. Underneath he’s a nice chap-weak, I admit-but as the saying goes, “Aisle, Altar, Hymn”.’
‘If you really believe that, young lady, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.’
They drove the rest of the way home in silence.
The spaghetti was bubbling and the sauce ready to serve. There was the usual crush in her flat but Maria was glad of company. Diana was looking at her watch, Queenie kept peering out of the curtains and Lily was falling asleep, la povera. She should be at home getting ready for the big day.
When she had married Marco she had not slept for a week with excitement, sewing her lace dress and veil. She looked wistfully on the wall at their portrait. It was another lifetime ago. Now there was new life in her belly, life she didn’t deserve, a gift that would take a lifetime of penances to give thanks for.
Everyone was jumpy and chattering when she was just out of earshot. Were they talking behind her back? Had they changed their minds about her? Without the Olive Oils she was lost.
This meal she was preparing with love and gratitude. Ana had brought broad beans from her allotment and handfuls of mint to make a paste. She had found chopped nuts and fresh berries to add to the fruit sundae. Food had brought them all together and soothed their anxious times. How could she ever thank them? But they were ignoring her now, smiling to each other. What was going on?
‘Lily? Wake up! Last-minute nerves?’ Maria was bending over her. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll all be there to see you off.’
‘I don’t want—’
There was a loud rapping downstairs, a thundering on the café door.
‘Wadda you want now, Enzo? Forget his head if weren’t stuck on,’ Maria yelled. ‘Shutta that noise, you wake Rosa. I’m coming.’
‘You stay here, I’ll go,’ said Queenie, waddling from the door down the narrow staircase. ‘I can see to it.’
‘Who is it?’ she yelled. ‘Tell them I’m out.’
