A Winter Bride

by Isla Dewar

  Two O’clock

  By November 1961, Nell was nineteen and content. She hadn’t forgotten the vow she’d made on the night she’d first met Alistair over two years ago. She still planned to marry him someday. He had exceeded all of her expectations. When he’d graduated she’d smiled when she’d given him a Parker pen on the day of the ceremony, thinking of the promise she’d made on the first night he’d walked her home. He was working as a lawyer but wasn’t earning a huge amount. Though Nell knew that would come eventually. Meantime, she could eat and sleep in his comfortable family home, and she did so often that the drab two-bedroom council house where she’d been brought up became a stopping-off point for her. Her mother made the occasional pointed comment but that didn’t stop Nell. Her old home soon became the place where she kept her clothes and where she slept on the nights she didn’t sleep in the Rutherford’s spare room. This convenient arrangement went on for almost two years.

  Carol, now mother of a one-year-old and a self-proclaimed expert on relationships, had suggested to Nell that she and Alistair were in a rut. But Nell had denied it. They were a couple, she’d said, and this was how couples behaved. They went to the cinema, had the odd drink together in their favourite bar, and ate out now and then, trying new restaurants. ‘We’re comfortable,’ Nell said, and then quoted May, ‘Romantic love, pah. It disturbs your sleep. Stops you thinking. What you want in the end is affection and companionship. Alistair and I have that.’ Still, it bothered her that she was knocking on and hadn’t achieved her goals. She should get engaged this year. She should be getting married the year after next. There was no sign of either of these things happening. Perhaps she should mention this to Alistair. But she didn’t want to upset him. Magazines and movies were full of the dire things that happened to women who were too pushy.

  It was bitterly cold outside, rain streaming down the window. Nell and Alistair were curled up, entangled on the living room sofa watching Casablanca, their favourite movie. They could speak along with it, and usually did. ‘Of all the gin joints …’ Alistair was saying, when May bustled in.

  ‘Brought you something to keep you going till supper time.’ She put a tray with a couple of mugs of hot chocolate and some almond cake on the coffee table in front of them. They both thanked her, and took a mug, cupped it in their hands.

  Nell sipped the hot, sweet drink and smiled up at May. ‘Just the thing on a day like this.’ She had a thin chocolate moustache on her upper lip.

  ‘Look at the two of you,’ said May, critically considering them and folding her arms. ‘You’re like a couple of teenagers, huddled up watching a daft film.’

  Alistair protested it wasn’t daft. ‘It’s a classic.’

  ‘I don’t care what it is,’ said May. ‘I think you should be doing more than just sitting watching TV. You’re a grown man now. A lawyer working with Hepburn, Smith and Rogers, you’ve got your own office with a desk and a telephone. You shouldn’t be living with your mother and father.’

  ‘But the food’s good here,’ Alistair said. And winked at Nell.

  ‘No matter. Strikes me that you two are too comfortable. You’re being waited on hand and foot, getting everything done for you. You’re getting up to all sorts in that spare room. Don’t deny it. I know what goes on under my own roof. It’s time you both grew up and settled down.’

  Both Nell and Alistair looked embarrassed but neither said anything, though they knew this was true.

  ‘So,’ said May, ‘since it doesn’t look like either of you are going to do something about moving on with your lives, I’ve done it for you. I’ve booked the church for the second Saturday in January, two o’clock. The reception’s in the George Hotel. You’re getting married.’ Arms folded, she bustled out.

  The film played on, but Alistair and Nell had stopped watching. ‘She’s joking,’ said Nell. ‘Tell me she’s joking.’

  Alistair shook his head. ‘That wasn’t her joking face.’

  ‘But she can’t do that. She can’t arrange our wedding without asking us first.’

  Alistair said. ‘She’s just done exactly that. Do you mind?’

  ‘Yes, I mind. If I’m going to get married, I’d like to choose when and where.’

  ‘And to whom, presumably,’ he said. He was mortified. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Nell. ‘Well, will you?’

  ‘Will I what?’ she said.

  ‘Marry me on the second Saturday in January with a reception in the George organised by my bossy mother?’

  It was probably the almond cake that did it. It was awfully good. Taking a bite, feeling it melt in her mouth, Nell realised that if she said no, she was saying goodbye to the good life: the food; the gifts; this fabulous family. She couldn’t do that. Besides, she’d become accustomed to Alistair. She liked his quiet ways; his thoughtfulness. He made her laugh. So she said, ‘Why not. Yes, I’ll marry you on the second Saturday in January with a reception in the George. Why not? I’m not doing anything else on that day.’

  He put down his cup, reached for her and kissed her. ‘I was going to ask you. I just hadn’t got round to it. I took too long thinking about it.’

  It wasn’t the proposal she’d imagined. She had fond notions of the question being popped over a candlelit dinner, or perhaps as they strolled along the shores of a tranquil lake bathed in moonlight. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen. He’d been thinking about it too much to actually propose. He was behaving the way his mother said he behaved ever since he’d been in the womb.

  He took her hand. They returned to the film. Then he kissed her fingers and whispered, ‘Thank you.’ They watched a few more minutes of Casablanca before they both started to giggle. In the circumstances, it seemed the only sane thing to do.

  Two days later they bought a ring. After that, the wedding plans rolled on. May was in charge. Nell and Alistair let it all happen.

  But Nancy McClusky wasn’t happy. She took the news badly. ‘January? Nobody gets married in January. It’s not lucky. Married in January’s hoar and rime, widowed you’ll be before your time. And, don’t you know about winter brides? A winter bride always goes back.’

  Nell laughed. ‘Back to where?’

  ‘Where they started from. Well, don’t you go thinking you can come back here after you’re married. It’ll be up to you to make a go of it.’

  Nell laughed, ‘These are old wives tale. Superstitious nonsense. This is the modern age. The age of television and the radio. We are exploring outer space. We don’t believe any of that stuff anymore.’ My God, she thought, what would Simone de Beauvoir and Satre make of all that?

  As the wedding loomed nearer, Nancy had regular outbursts in the kitchen, which was the venue for all serious family discussions. ‘You’ve become a stranger to us. You’re never here. You’re not a McClusky anymore. You’re a Rutherford. You’ve gone over to them.’

  Nell was sitting at the small Formica, fold-down table. Nancy bustled around washing, drying, and putting away the supper dishes. She could never complain, nag and fuss while sitting still; there had to be movement, a rhythm to her fretting.

  A second outburst followed a few days later. ‘That May Rutherford went with you to pick your dress. That was my job. A mother should always help to choose her daughter’s wedding dress. I’ve been looking forward to that all my life.’

  Nell said that it hadn’t been May’s idea to take her to the bridal shop. It had been Harry’s. ‘He thinks I wear strange clothes. He worried about what dress I’d wear. He thought I might come down the aisle looking like a beatnik.’

  ‘Cheek of him,’ said Nancy. Although she’d had the same worry.

  May had turned up at the shop where Nell worked. ‘Thought it time you picked out your wedding dress,’ she’d said. Nell had been flustered by this. She knew a wedding dress was necessary but had been putting off buying one. She didn’t have the money to buy the kind of dress that would meet the Rutherford’s expectations. Recently she’d been think
ing that the groom would be better turned out than the bride. But she never did know how to say no to May so she’d gone with her.

  They’d gone to the bridal department of an upmarket Princes Street store. The atmosphere was hushed, almost holy. The only sounds were the whispered tones of reverential sales women and the silken rustle of frocks being pulled from displays and laid out for inspection.

  May had swooned over a multi-layered confection of lace, frills and bows. But now upstairs in Nell’s wardrobe was a simple long-sleeved dress, cut low at the front with a bow at the back. She visited it daily, stroking it, holding it to her face, breathing it in. Sometimes she stood staring at it; she couldn’t believe she owned such a beautiful thing. She’d even kept the tissue paper and glossy carrier bag the dress had been wrapped in. She’d thought them too beautiful, too expensive, to part with.

  Insisting that this was what she wanted wear on her wedding day was the nearest Nell had come to falling out with May. There had been glaring, tight lips and a bit of tugging to and fro of very expensive dresses. Eventually, encouraged by the assistant who’d clapped her hands in joy when she’d seen Nell emerge from the changing room in the dress, May had pulled her purse from her handbag and forked out the money. ‘Cash,’ she’d said. ‘Can’t be doing with banks.’ Thanks and gratitude had tumbled from Nell’s lips but May dismissed them, saying, ‘Don’t be daft.’

  Two days later, when Nell was at the Rutherford’s dining table, she heard May’s rewritten version of their shopping spree. ‘Nell wanted the full meringue,’ May had said, ‘but I steered her towards this simple sophisticated frock. Knew it was the one soon as I saw it. Very Audrey Hepburn. Nell looks a treat in it.’

  Nell had opened her mouth to protest at this description of their outing, but Alistair, having heard what had really happened, kicked her shin under the table. For a week, the dress-buying business festered in Nancy’s mind.

  Soon after there was another kitchen outburst.

  ‘I’ll tell you why the Rutherfords were so worried about you not looking like a beatnik on your wedding day,’ her mother said. ‘It’s because this isn’t a wedding for them. It’s a bit of showing off.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Nell.

  ‘Of course. They sent out the invitations, not us. And look who they’ve invited: councillors, the chief of police, business clients and relatives, three hundred and six of them. And only fifteen McCluskys.’

  This surprised Nell. She hadn’t realised her mother and father knew fifteen people.

  The resentment went on. Nancy complained that May Rutherford had chosen the flowers for the church and the reception. She’d booked the band. She’d chosen the menu of smoked salmon, beef Wellington and crème brûlée. ‘That food’s too rich for me. I’d have been happy with a sandwich.’

  The next day Nancy was incensed that May was having the viewing of the presents at her house. ‘She says her house is bigger, with more room for everybody. She’s serving sherry and canapés, and acts as if I don’t even know what a canapé is. Bloody rude.’

  By this stage, Nell had stopped listening to her mother’s outpouring of rage. Instead, she tuned in to the songs in her head. As Nancy ranted, Nell let ‘Stand by Me’ rip through her mind. Ben E. King sang and she swayed slightly in time with him.

  ‘I feel like an outsider,’ Nancy said one evening. ‘An onlooker at my own daughter’s wedding. It’s not right. Your father and me have been shoved aside as if we don’t matter. I tell you, these Rutherfords with their fancy ways, flashing their money around are going to get found out for what they are. One day they’ll get what’s coming to them and they’ll fall flat on their faces. You’ll see.’

  But Nell had moved to a new tune. Horns, bawdy-voiced backing singers and Ray Charles’ aching, rasping growls, ‘Hit the Road, Jack’, were playing in her head and she didn’t hear the warning.

  Chapter Eight

  The Youngest and the

  Sanest

  It was after the meal and the speeches at the wedding when Carol upstaged Nell. Johnny, the best man, said that Nell was the most beautiful bride he’d ever seen. ‘The bridesmaid’s pretty cool, too. But then I have to say that; she’s my old lady.’ Everyone laughed. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pinstriped pants. ‘Alistair and Nell. Look at them. Young, in love, with a flat in the West End. The world is at their feet. They’re going to be the grooviest couple in town.’

  Alistair leaned over and whispered in Nell’s ear. ‘He’s jealous.’

  Looking up at Johnny, seeing a slight twist in his lips as he spoke, Nell agreed and wondered why.

  Since Nell’s father was pale and nauseous at the thought of giving a speech, Harry gave one in his place. He thanked his wife for organising this wonderful party. He thanked Carol for being a marvellous bridesmaid and he thanked everyone for coming along. Then he turned to Nell and Alistair. ‘A lovely couple. You’ll be happy. Now, get busy doing what you’ve been doing in our spare room for the past few years and make some new Rutherfords to join the clan.’ Nell blushed, but not as much as her mother, who looked scandalised.

  Alistair smoothed things over when he finished his speech by thanking Nancy for having such a beautiful daughter and allowing him to marry her. When Nell looked at her, Nancy was smiling. It was the first time Nell had seen her do that in months. She wished she would smile more often. It really suited her.

  Sitting in her fabulous dress watching the room relax as people finished their meals, swigged brandy, lit cigars and cigarettes, it occurred to Nell that she hardly knew anybody here. The room was a blur of strange faces. They were, however, faces in full wealthy bloom. This place swaggered with money. Men opened their jackets, leaned back in their chairs and guffawed at their own jokes. Women with immovably lacquered hair leaned towards one another, smiling discreetly, and discussed their latest gadgets and holidays. People gleamed, comfortable in the knowledge they were right about everything from the political party they supported to their taste in shoes or kitchen curtains. Nell could breathe in the confidence. She wished it were infectious; she could do with some of that.

  However, someone who could do with it more was her mother, who was wearing a navy-blue suit bought from a catalogue. She was paying it off by the month, and would still be paying it off this time next year. The skirt was too big and hung limply from her hips. The jacket was too small. It strained at her armpits and there was still a crease along the back from lying folded in its box. She was sitting staring ahead, raking in her mouth with her tongue for stray bits of food and thinking of something to say to the woman sitting next to her; Nancy never was very good with strangers. Nell watched as she turned and spoke. The stranger looked surprised. Nell wondered what her mother had said, and decided it was something about the price of coal. It was still a popular topic in the McClusky household. After that, her mother gave up and resumed her quiet staring ahead. Her father joined her. They gazed mournfully at the braying mass, looking confused. Her father put his hand over her mother’s, patted it. She smiled at him.

  It made Nell smile. She was glad they had each other. They were mutually lonely, companions in awkwardness. Nell wanted to rush over and hug them, but she didn’t. Now that her mother knew of her secret shenanigans with Alistair in the Rutherford’s spare room, Nell was too embarrassed to look her in the eye, far less put her arms round her and hold her close. Besides, the McCluskys didn’t do such things. Spontaneous displays of affection were not their style.

  So instead she turned back to Alistair and asked why Johnny was jealous.

  ‘My brother wanted to do what we’re doing – renting a flat in town. Except his dream was to have a bachelor pad, leather sofa, modern prints on the wall, hi-fi, huge bed to entertain the chicks. He had it all planned out. Now he’s got a mortgage, a wife and a baby. He feels he’s old enough to really enjoy being young and young enough not to be old. But he can’t do the things he wants to do: flirt with girls, sleep around a bit, fritter money on booze
and clothes. He feels trapped. He and Carol fight all the time.’

  ‘He told you that?’ said Nell.

  ‘He tells me everything,’ Alistair told her. ‘Everyone in my family turns to me with their troubles.’

  ‘But you’re the youngest,’ said Nell.

  He told her he was also the sanest.

  Nell snorted.

  ‘No, really,’ said Alistair. ‘Haven’t you noticed that my family is ever so slightly mad?’

  Nell said she hadn’t; she thought his family wonderful. She looked across at May who was deep in conversation with a man and a woman. She was decked out in pink and was gesticulating as she spoke, bursting now and then into a throaty laugh. Nell was sure they were talking about something fabulous, probably to do with making money.

  Harry brought the room to order, tapping on his glass with his spoon. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, would you please repair to the lounge while the floor is cleared for dancing? First drinks are on me.’

  Nell said it was a good time to slip off for a pee. She went to the room booked for her to change into her going-away outfit, and when she emerged from the loo, smoothing down her dress, Carol was sitting by the mirror, applying a fresh layer of lipstick, leaning forward, pouting and admiring herself.

  ‘I’m looking OK,’ Carol said. ‘You’d never know I was a mother.’

  Nell agreed.

  ‘So,’ said Carol, ‘how are you enjoying your wedding?’

  ‘It’s great.’

  ‘Of course, you’re having the wedding I should have had,’ said Carol.

  Nell looked at her in surprise. ‘But there wasn’t time to plan a big do for yours – you were pregnant.’

  ‘I always wanted something like this. Posh frock, church filled with flowers, red carpet, big meal, lots of people, then dancing with a band, and me the star of the show. The Rutherfords have spent a fortune on you.’

  ‘Christ, Carol. You got a house and all your furniture from them.’