A Winter Bride

by Isla Dewar

  Nell denied this. ‘I love Alistair. It’s just not the passionate love you and Johnny have. It’s a love full of trust and companionship. It’s what makes a marriage.’ The gospel according to May.

  Carol curled her upper lip. ‘Marriage,’ she scoffed. ‘It’s rubbish. And any passion me and Johnny had died ages ago.’

  They were in Carol’s living room, sitting on the chintz sofa May had chosen. Lined up on the coffee table in front of them were six dark-blue wine glasses, Nell’s gift for Carol from Florence. She had been going to buy the decanter that went with them, but she hadn’t quite forgiven Carol for upstaging her at her wedding.

  Nell looked round the room. It wasn’t to her taste. The sofa was floral patterned, as was the carpet and curtains. Nothing matched. The wallpaper was striped gold and cream. May had gone to town here. Thinking she was doing a good thing, she’d put a deposit on the bungalow and furnished it for the young couple. It was an act of generosity that came from the heart. Only May’s heart was wildly flamboyant – no subtlety at all. There was no comfort, just a cacophony of colours.

  ‘I’ll get a little something to christen my new glasses,’ said Carol. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of Blue Nun and filled two glasses.

  Solemnly they each raised a glass. ‘To the back lot,’ they said in unison. It had become a habit.

  ‘Have you ever been to the back lot?’ asked Carol.

  ‘Only once,’ Nell said. ‘Ages ago.’

  She had gone with Alistair to collect his car after it’d had new tyres fitted. Harry had welcomed them. He’d put his arm round her and told her this was the best place in town to buy a car. It had been the first time Nell had seen him in such bright light. Up to this point her meetings with him had been at his home where he’d been dressed in his casual clothes – twill trousers, checked shirt and slip-on shoes. On this day he’d been wearing his working outfit. He wore an immaculate bespoke suit, pale blue shirt and dazzling pink tie. His hair had been combed into style and held in place with a lavish helping of Brylcreem. With a sweep of his arm he’d proudly shown off his sales area. ‘You won’t find anywhere like it. We serve coffee, have comfortable seats for the customers and newspapers for their relaxation. Our workshop is immaculate, not a drop of oil on the floor. Our mechanics wear the Rutherford uniform.’

  There had been six Jaguars in the main showroom. They’d glistened. The place had smelled of polish and new cars. Nell had, up till that moment, never really been interested in cars, but suddenly she’d wanted one. She’d lusted after the red Jaguar that had been mounted on a stage that was slowly revolving, light bouncing off its gleaming body.

  ‘No doubt you’ll want to see the back lot we all toast,’ Harry had said to Nell.

  Alistair looked sheepish, hands shoved in his duffle-coat pockets. ‘Not the back lot!’

  But Nell had insisted. ‘I’d love to see it.’

  Harry had led Nell through the back door to a large courtyard lined with cars. A banner buffeted by the breeze had read QUALITY USED CARS. The cars, about thirty of them, had glistened. Some had been yellow, some blue, some green; many had been red. There had been Alfa Romeos, Renaults, Rovers – some big, some small.

  ‘We cater for everybody. Whatever your motoring needs, we can provide the car for you.’ Harry had led Nell to a red Alpha Romeo sports car. ‘Now if I were to choose a car to match your current needs and your personality, I’d pick this one. It’s nippy, a lovely drive, stylish and you’d turn heads as you whizz along. This is a cult car.’

  Nell had pointed out that she couldn’t drive.

  Harry had opened the door of the Alfa Romeo, indicating that Nell should slip in behind the wheel. ‘But doesn’t this car make you want to learn? Isn’t it to die for?’

  Alistair had stepped forward, taken Nell’s arm and had pulled her out. ‘Nell doesn’t want a car,’ he’d said. ‘Especially not this one.’

  ‘I’d love that car,’ Nell had protested. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘It’s an illusion. It’s a dream. You don’t want it. Believe me.’ He’d asked if his car was ready. When Harry had replied that it was, he’d walked towards the workshop. On the way they’d passed a row of rusting bangers, hidden from view round the corner. Some had no wheels, some had smashed windscreens, doors hanging off and some had obviously been crashed. Nell had asked about them.

  ‘Just some old things,’ Harry had said. ‘Handy for spares.’

  Alistair had found his car, opened the passenger door and ushered Nell in. ‘C’mon, we have to go.’

  Nell had said she wanted another look at the sports car. ‘Your dad could probably do me a good deal.’

  As they had driven off, Alistair had told her there was no such thing as a good deal on a car like the one she fancied. ‘Not that long ago it looked like one of the ones that are kept out of sight. Trust me, you don’t want it.’

  ‘The cars were lovely,’ Nell told Carol. ‘Rows and rows of them, all shiny. I fancied an Alfa Romeo, but Alistair wouldn’t let me buy it.’

  ‘You still can’t drive,’ said Carol.

  ‘I would have taken lessons if I’d had that car,’ said Nell. ‘It was beautiful.’

  ‘Do you think the Rutherfords are crooks?’ Carol asked Nell.

  ‘Nah,’ said Nell.

  ‘Only, when I was in labour with Katy, I went round to the Rutherford’s house to get somebody to take me to hospital. It was a Thursday. You know, family night. They were all sitting in the dining room and there were piles of money on the table. What was that about?’

  ‘It would have been their weekly takings,’ said Nell. ‘They probably bring it home to count it. That’s what people do.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Carol. ‘They looked shifty. They couldn’t wait to get me out of the room.’

  ‘You were in labour. They’d have been worrying you’d have the baby on the spot. They’re definitely not crooks. They’re too nice. May’s so generous and Harry’s all heart. Crooks are nasty.’

  Carol said she thought May was a pain. ‘I wish she wasn’t so generous. She chose this house and this furniture, and I hate them both. She comes round everyday with stuff for Katy that I’d never dress her in. Sometimes she brings casseroles for our supper, so I’m even eating food I don’t like.’ She sighed. ‘Johnny goes out every morning at eight o’clock and comes home after six. Apart from visits from Old Mother May, I’m alone all day. I pretend this house isn’t mine, and I pretend I’m looking after Katy for someone else. I try to make life perfect for this make-believe woman’s baby.’

  Nell didn’t understand. ‘Why do you do that?’

  Carol shrugged. ‘Dunno, it just appeared in my head. I didn’t plan it. But it works. I clean the house. I look after Katy. It makes it easier if I pretend that the real woman who lives in this house and has a baby will come home and be pleased with what I’ve done.’

  Nell looked round. There was a pile of plastic toys heaped on the floor by the sofa and a trail of more toys led to the kitchen. Katy’s shoes were lying in front of the fire beside a couple of cups half-full of cold coffee. Katy’s tartan skirt, pink jumper and white socks were draped over a chair. Her teddy bear was lying under the television.

  ‘The real woman doesn’t come round on Sundays then,’ said Nell.

  Carol shook her head and smiled. ‘Nah. Don’t know what she does at the weekend. She probably has a better time than me, though.’

  ‘Where’s Katy, anyway?’ asked Nell.

  ‘At my mum’s. She sometimes stays there Saturday nights so Johnny and me can go out. She’ll be home soon; my dad’ll bring her round.’

  ‘And where’s Johnny?’

  ‘Fishing. He said he’d be back for lunch, but he hasn’t turned up and the roast beef’s gone all dry and wrinkly.’

  Nell had already smelled the dark brown smell of burned meat filling the house. She noticed too, as Carol put her feet up on the coffee table, that she was wearing
odd socks and her big toe was sticking out of one of them. The house was oddly quiet. Usually Carol had the radio on, or if the she couldn’t find something to please her – she thought programmes that were all talk and no music so boring she’d run across the room to switch them off – she’d be playing records. This silence was unnerving.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Nell asked.

  ‘Just ever so slightly fed up,’ said Carol. ‘God, I miss going to the Locarno. Wild nights, flirting and dancing, hoping to meet someone new … I was happy then.’

  ‘And you’re not happy now?’ asked Nell.

  ‘Of course I’m not happy! Who would be happy living here? Look at the carpet! A mass of pink daisies – makes me dizzy just looking at it. And this sofa’s like something your granny would choose.’

  ‘Lots of people would envy you,’ said Nell.

  Carol snorted and said that lots of people, whoever they were, could have all this if they wanted it. ‘Except Katy, I’ll keep her. One night of passion, one little mistake, one sweaty grope and kiss in a cramped car with the gear stick poking into your left leg and this is what happens.’ She slumped lower in her seat. ‘Except it wasn’t even a night of passion, was it? It was five minutes … or less. It was nothing, a fleeting moment, then he lay slumped on top of me and I couldn’t breathe. And now I’m a mother with a husband I hardly ever see and I’ll never go dancing again.’ She turned to Nell, eyes blurred with tears.

  ‘You will,’ said Nell. ‘Johnny could take you dancing. You could go to the Cavendish.’

  ‘The Cavendish?’ Carol spat out the word. ‘That’s for old folk who do proper, serious dancing. Tangos and foxtrots and that. The women have fierce haircuts and frocks strewn with sequins and the blokes wear penguin suits with shiny shoes. They do twirls and glare into the distance. And they’re all old. I just want to jump and jive and get sweaty and forget I’m me.’

  The last few words hung in the air. Nell didn’t know what to say. She had just returned from a honeymoon, wandering hand-in-hand through Florence with her new husband. She’d drunk wine and sipped espresso in pavement cafés. What did she know about depression? So instead of delving more she said, ‘Do you suppose the real woman goes to the Cavendish?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Carol. She laughed, though the tears never quite faded away.

  Nell loved to be touched. The soft weight and warmth of someone’s hand on her arm or shoulder pleased her, made her feel wanted, but it wasn’t an art she herself had mastered. Reaching out didn’t come naturally. All Carol needed was a hug, but Nell hadn’t got the hang of the intricacies of tenderness. All the touching, hugging and arm linking had come from Carol. Nell lifted her hand, stretched it towards her friend, clenched her fist, let it hover in the gulf between them, and then softly let it rest on Carol’s arm. ‘You should tell that real woman to get out of your house. She’s driving you nuts.’

  They sat in silence for a minute, lost in their private musings.

  Suddenly Carol said, ‘You know, the thing I liked best about going to the Locarno was walking home.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Nell. ‘I loved that. ‘Being seventeen and out in the night singing a song was the best thing in the world. If you weren’t doing that, you were sad and old.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She started a slow rendition of ‘Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow’, swaying slightly, lost in the song and in memories of long walks home, footsore from dancing, heady from a night on the town drinking vodka and looking for love, arm-in-arm with her best friend and singing. That had been wonderful.

  Nell joined in. They faced one another, earnestly working at perfecting their performance, enjoying the harmony and the fleeting few moments when the only thing on their minds was the song. All doubts and fears were banished.

  It didn’t last long. The front door burst open and Carol’s father came in, carrying Katy. Carol jumped up and took the child, held her and kissed her. Still with the child wrapped round her, she twirled round the room. ‘I missed you!’ She was so lost in the joy of this reunion, Nell and Carol’s father felt forgotten.

  Carol looked round at her audience, noticed the expression on Nell’s face, kissed Katy again and said, ‘Don’t worry. This will be you before too long.’

  But it hadn’t been maternal longing Nell had been feeling. It was guilt. She’d been a small child again, running into her mother’s arms, swept up, kissed, and hugged. Oh, the welcome Nancy had always given her when they’d been reunited. Back then, her mother’s arms were the safest place to be. There had been love.

  Nell had realised that the only person she hadn’t contacted since she’d got home was Nancy. It hadn’t crossed her mind to do so. Last night they’d phoned May who’d insisted they come for a meal. ‘Come over tomorrow and tell us all about it. We want every detail. Well, almost every detail.’ After that Nell had phoned Carol and arranged to drop in on her before going to May’s.

  This morning, she’d lingered in bed with Alistair. They’d eaten breakfast there, revelling in their new two-bed flat in Grosvenor Crescent.

  ‘Our love nest,’ Alistair called it. Almost everything was new – the sheets; the plates their bacon and eggs glistened on; the towels they’d dried themselves with after they’d shared a bath. It had all been so exciting that Nell hadn’t given her parents a thought. She felt awful about that.

  ‘Soon you will have one of these,’ Carol said, looking at Katy with love.

  ‘Actually, Alistair wants three,’ Nell said. She checked her watch. ‘I have to be going. May’s cooking dinner. You know what she’s like if you’re late. She takes it as a personal insult if you’re not at the table when the meal is at its peak of perfection.’

  The Rutherford’s house was only a five-minute walk from Carol’s. Late afternoon, five o’clock sparrows bickered in suburban hedges, and the drifting smells of Sunday cooking filled the air. This was Nell’s favourite time of day. She watched her feet moving over the pavement in their new patent leather Italian shoes with long pointed toes. She loved her winkle-pickers and was a little miffed that Carol hadn’t mentioned them. Mostly, though, she thought about her mother. She’d have been expecting a call. Not that she would have sat by the phone. She’d have glanced at it hopefully every time she passed it in the hall. She wouldn’t mention her disappointment at its silence to Stewart, though.

  May was at the window when Nell arrived. She waved, beckoned Nell in.

  ‘Come away in. We’ve been wondering if you’d got lost. Oh, thems lovely shoes. Did you buy them in Italy? I’ve done a lovely ham with a honey glaze. We’ll have it with salad and some white wine. There’s chocolate mousse for after.’

  She held Nell by the shoulders, admiring her for a few seconds, then kissed her. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  The family was gathered in the living room, and a fire crackled in the grate. Alistair patted the sofa. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘beside me.’ He put his arm round her, pulled her to him.

  The house was full of the sweet smell of May’s ham. May and Harry fussed over her, and Harry fetched her a glass of Italian wine. Thoughts of Nancy started to slip away.

  Nell was surprised to see Johnny in the room. He was watching a football match on television, drinking beer.

  ‘Thought you’d gone fishing,’ she said.

  ‘I did. Now I’m back. Popped in here for a beer and to say hello. How’s my wife, anyway?’

  ‘She’s a bit depressed at being on her own all day. And she’d burned your dinner.’

  Johnny turned to May. ‘In that case I’ll stay to eat.’

  May said that was grand. She nodded to Harry. ‘Time for the champagne.’

  Harry brought the bottle from the kitchen along with five flutes.

  ‘We’re celebrating,’ said May.

  Harry opened the champagne, filled the glasses and handed them round. Johnny protested that he was already drinking beer.

  ‘You’ll put it aside and raise a glass with the rest of us,’ said May. ‘We’re
drinking a toast to our new venture.’

  Alistair said he’d thought they were celebrating the return of the honeymooners.

  ‘No,’ said May. ‘Not that. Well, a little bit. But we’ve been busy when you were away. We’ve bought a hotel.’

  ‘You’ve what?’ said Alistair.

  ‘You heard,’ said May. ‘We’re going into the hotel business. There’s money there. It’s going to be a family business, with everyone involved. It’ll be a restaurant first. Then we’ll expand into having staying guests. We’re all going to have to muck in. But it’ll be the best hotel in the country. Luxury bedrooms, top cuisine, a swimming pool. Oh, it’ll have everything. I’ve got it all planned.’

  Johnny, Alistair and Nell were too stunned to speak. Even if they did have misgivings, they knew not to mention them. May was giving them ‘the glare’. It was a look that told all doubters to hold their tongue.

  Harry raised his glass. ‘To the hotel and to the Rutherfords.’

  They held up their glasses and shouted, ‘To the Rutherfords.’ They drank. Harry took the bottle round the room. ‘Top up? Top up?’

  ‘A hotel,’ said Nell. ‘Goodness.’ Her mind filled with dreams of plush carpets, glistening rows of exotic bottles on shelves behind dark mahogany bars, velvet-covered chairs, a candlelit dining room with a single white rose on every table, sophisticated diners, and a swimming pool – deep blue and tempting. It would be like the sumptuous hotels she’d seen in the movies. The sort of place films stars haunted. Audrey Hepburn and Rock Hudson might turn up there. Unlikely, but Nell was an unlikely dreamer. She was bedazzled. Thoughts of her mother vanished.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carol

  Carol knew where Johnny was, and why he didn’t come home. He’d be at his mother’s house; the food was better there. No doubt Nell would have told him that she’d burned the roast beef.

  Johnny would return sometime after ten, but he wouldn’t spend time with her, chatting, telling her about his day. He’d go straight to bed. She’d sit up till after midnight, watching television or reading. They rarely communicated. Almost as soon as they’d married, they ran out of things to say to one another. But then, when Carol thought about it, they never had spoken much. She realised that her relationship with Johnny hadn’t been about conversation. When they were alone together they’d been too busy making love to chat. On dates they’d gone to the pub where Johnny was a regular. He’d talk to his mates about sport and cars. She sat beside him looking beautiful. This was all he asked of her. But she couldn’t complain; all she asked of him was that he was so good-looking girls in the pub would gaze at him and envy her.