by Sharon Owens
When the music started up, they took a deep breath and began the long, slow march to the altar. Mr Winters was giving Shirley away. They set off first, in a moving and humble kind of tiptoe. Then came Mrs Winters and Kate, in a cloud of white feathers, gold lace, heady perfume and regal nods right and left to the guests. Amanda and Julie from the DHSS brought up the rear, looking shy in their bright canary-yellow dresses and carrying small posies of blue flowers. If Louise Lowry had been there, she would have said something bitchy. But she wasn’t, so that was okay.
Kevin’s face was as red as a boiled beetroot when he pledged his lifelong fidelity to his new wife; partly because his outlandish diamanté brooch-pin was sticking into his neck and partly because he had never been so happy. Kate smiled at him as they stood together before the altar. She felt fine. But that might have been the Valium capsule that her doctor had given her. Just one tablet, she said, to be taken before the wedding. The priest began the ceremony by welcoming the guests to God’s house, and Kate’s mind filtered out his words automatically, just as it had done since she was a small child. She smiled at Kevin. She felt very peaceful.
She had conquered her commitment-phobia entirely, and was very pleased that the palpitations had been due to nerves all along and not due to alcoholism, as she’d feared. The doctor explained it all to her several times, that day in the surgery. She’d been suffering from anxiety, and all her unpleasant symptoms were due to adrenaline surges! A humble hormone. Silly old adrenaline. Nothing more. The trembling hands, the cold skin, the feeling of being trapped, the dizzy spells. She didn’t need medication, either. There was no need to resort to medication, so early in the day, the doctor told her. Nine times out of ten, the doctor said gently, these things went away by themselves. No need to go getting hooked on happy pills unless there was no other option. It wasn’t as if she was traumatized by any actual event. It was just an excess of everyday worries making her mind tired. Kate wondered if there was a place she could go for a couple of weeks. Some quiet place to get her head together; hopefully with celebrity inmates and twenty-four-hour room service? The doctor smiled. No. Not unless she was prepared to pay for it herself, at any rate. Kate admitted she’d soon be on her honeymoon in Barbados. (But Kevin would be with her, so she wouldn’t be able to chill out very much.)
The doctor looked at her watch. ‘Just relax more and stop worrying about things,’ she said. ‘When you stop worrying, the anxiety will stop, and the adrenaline will stop, and the panic attacks will stop. I’ll refer you for some counselling. They’ll be in touch when there’s a place for you. There’s a very long waiting list, I’m afraid.’
Kate sighed.
She’d stood up to leave the surgery that morning as if she was a new person, she remembered, as the priest worked his way slowly through the wedding Mass. Not totally reassured. But she didn’t feel all that tragic any more. Being a proper grown-up wasn’t nearly as frightening as she’d always thought it was. She might even come off the pill and place herself in the hands of fate, she thought. Maybe having a child would make her less self-centred. Her credit card had been consigned to the bottom of a drawer. The shopping therapy was not necessary any more. It was twelve years late, but Kate had finally come of age.
She felt Kevin tugging at her sleeve and she snapped out of her daydream. Kevin was imploring her to say something. She looked at the priest in bewilderment. He repeated the words that Kate was supposed to have said. She said them. Mrs Winters could be heard quite clearly saying, ‘Bloody hell!’ Then, they were man and wife. A warm murmur of approval rippled through the congregation.
Shirley was so happy she wasn’t nervous at all, and smiled radiantly during the marriage service. She even closed her eyes at the end of the ceremony and thanked God for the way things had turned out. It was the least she could do. When she had sat alone on her little bed with the pregnancy test in her hand, she’d thought the whole world was going to end. But it hadn’t ended, and now everything was better than ever. She kissed her new husband politely. They’d agreed not to overdo the kiss in front of the guests. So as not to embarrass Mrs Winters.
Declan was impossibly handsome in his black suit, and his blond hair, which was dyed specially for the occasion. It was a promise he had made to his mother. She wanted him to be blond in the photographs. He had also promised his father he would stay at college for another six months. After that, if he didn’t want to go on with it, he could give up his studies and run the ballroom with his parents’ blessing. Meanwhile, the ballroom on Magnolia Street was boarded up and left to the spiders and the dust. Marion had a feeling that when Declan became a father, he would lose interest in the ballroom.
The guests spilled out onto the lawn and many boxes of confetti were thrown, to the huge dismay of the fastidious church caretaker. He tried to stop the handfuls of red and pink and yellow tissue hearts and flowers being cast into the air, but the celebratory mood was impossible to curtail. In the end, he gave up and went off to fetch a dustpan and brush from the sacristy. The sun shone down through a gap in the clouds and they managed to get a few good pictures before it went in again.
Mrs Winters cried on and off, the whole morning. Partly because she was so happy to see her daughters married to good men; and partly because Pamela Ballantine never did make a documentary, and never did get to see Martha Winters’s extensive ornament collection or her magnificent furniture with adjustable glass shelving and integral lighting. Mr Winters spent his time in the flower-laden church daydreaming, and planning to buy a new shed. A much bigger one with better insulation and room for a workbench, a gas heater and an armchair. Now that his daughters were married, his wife would have plenty of time on her hands and he didn’t want her to turn her attentions to him. Ballroom-dancing had been mentioned, more than once. There was a beginners’ class being held in the community centre. Still, to be fair to the old bag, she wasn’t the worst in the world. He smiled at her and held her hand.
Marion and Eddy also held hands throughout the wedding service, their love for each other as strong as ever. Marion didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but she thought Eddy beating Johnny up was very sexy. He wasn’t just a safe bet any more. He was a man of uncontrollable passion and strong desires. A man who had fought to keep her by his side, when Johnny had let her walk away without even risking his pride by begging her to stay. A passer-by wouldn’t think to look at Eddy, in his tweed jacket and his cloth cap, that he was such a hero. But that’s exactly what he was. Not an accidental hero like Hollywood Hogan.
Emily, Eve and Eloise were having a great time and were already planning to help Shirley with the baby-sitting. They were throwing confetti now, and taking photographs and telling the two brides they looked absolutely beautiful. Which, as Marion knew only too well, was by far the most important part of any successful wedding. Shirley and Kate were delighted with themselves. It was going to be a great day. A day to remember always.
31. Mavourna Moon is Born
After the wedding pictures had been pasted into thick albums and stored away safely in protective boxes, both couples finally set off on honeymoon. Kate took four suitcases to Barbados with her. Including a full set of luxury bed-linen and ten embroidered bath towels, just in case the hotel’s own supply proved inferior. (They were fine, as it happened.) Kate also took seventeen jewel-bright sundresses and twelve micro-bikinis on the trip, as well as countless pairs of leather sandals and plastic-flower-coated flip-flops. She hoped she would get a chance to wear every single item of clothing in the cases, but she knew that Kevin was due some high-quality bedroom action for all he had been through in the run-up to the wedding. He’d been laughed at the whole wedding day, in his gold suit. And even the priest had made a joke about forgetting to bring his sunglasses. While he was still standing at the altar, and all the guests were laughing their heads off in the church; which made Mrs Winters very upset. Such disrespect for a holy place.
And so, Kate was prepared to be generous to her new
husband. She would let him think he had seduced her, every time. Even though she had to psych herself up beforehand in the bathroom, occasionally, like a boxer going into the ring. And pretend that Kevin was Martin Fry on Top of the Pops. Kate did love Kevin, as much as she thought she could love anyone. Maybe it wasn’t world-class passion and fireworks, but it was comfortable. He was inclined to rush matters slightly when they went to bed together. That was true. He was scoring well in the frantic-passion department, but letting himself down badly on tender eroticism. When she got to know him a little bit better, she would explain the basics of lovemaking to him; and show him how to get her in the mood properly. But she was wise enough to know that their honeymoon was not the right place to start telling him where he was going wrong in bed. The holiday was a great success, and they both returned tanned and happy and ready to start paying for all the nice things they had enjoyed so far.
Now that Kate was officially Mrs McGovern, she was entitled to see Kevin’s bank statements, and she realized with horror that they were up to their eyes in debt. She cancelled her plans to sit at home reading glossy magazines for the rest of her life, and got back to work immediately. She hired another mechanic and advertised for more work. Nearly three months passed with barely a day off. She sometimes felt hard done by, half-hidden behind a mountain of receipts and invoices, but then she thought of Shirley. Poor Shirley. Never well dressed at the best of times, she was absolutely dreary these days; wearing shapeless jumpers and cheap black leggings. She’d let herself go completely. There was no purple lipstick in evidence any more. Shirley was painfully thin and listless. Everyone was worrying about her and trying to get her to eat little bits of food. Kate was fascinated and horrified by Shirley’s pregnancy. Her bump was getting bigger by the day, criss-crossed with angry purple lines; and the skin was stretched so tightly over her abdomen, it was super-shiny. Shirley said the skin was really itchy too; like a thousand ants were crawling over it all the time. She caressed it softly with her fingernails in bed each night. Kate shivered when she heard that. She hated insects of any kind. Sometimes, the baby moved violently inside the bump, and you could see little elbows or knees sticking out and slithering under the skin. Kate almost threw up when that happened. She had a nightmare that the baby would tear open Shirley’s skin, crawl out by itself, peel away the messy membranes and say hello to everyone.
Shirley and Declan moved into a rented flat while they decided what to do with the ballroom. They refused to let Marion and Eddy buy them a house. It wouldn’t be fair when they had other children to look after, they protested. And anyway, when the site was sold, they would be rich enough to buy their own house. Declan had secret fantasies about reopening the dance hall and making it into the coolest club in the country. Like the hippest trend-setting nightspots in Manchester and London; crammed to the doors with genuine music-lovers in black leather jackets. Marion and Eddy said nothing on the subject, but Declan knew that they knew he was stalling for time. They didn’t want him getting mixed up in the entertainment business. The subject was never mentioned in his parents’ house. Not since Eddy gave Johnny Hogan a beating. And Shirley never mentioned it, either. She didn’t say he couldn’t reopen the ballroom, but she wasn’t madly enthusiastic either. When he tried to talk to her about it, she just said he could do what he liked with it. His friends thought he was mad that he didn’t set himself up right away as a cool gig-promoter and regular sex symbol. They didn’t seem to think it mattered that he was married. They just wanted to go around, saying, Oh, yeah, my mate owns the ballroom on Magnolia Street. And boasting that they could get free tickets to various events. Now it was July. If Declan was going to drop out of college, time was running out. He knew he should do the decent thing and inform the university in writing. That way, they could give his place to someone else. He spoke with Johnny Hogan on the telephone from time to time to discuss things. Johnny was currently travelling in America, but he’d told Declan to call him any time he wanted advice, and he always sent him a postcard when he moved to a new hotel. Johnny was eager for him to get the shutters off, and start the heaters running.
‘A big place like that gets damp if it’s left standing empty,’ he said. ‘Mice move in, rats too, maybe. Drunks break in to sleep rough. Vandals light fires.’ Then Johnny realized he was scaring his young protégé and he told Declan not to worry. That these things could be dealt with, simply enough, by the proper authorities. Even organized crime? Yes. Just call the police if any chancers showed up. That was the sensible thing to do. No need to play the hero. Declan then went off the idea again. Until he heard a fantastic new single on the radio, and then he thought that he could cope with all these problems. If he wanted his own club badly enough. His thoughts swung backwards and forwards like a row of washing in the wind. The days were flying past in a whirlwind of unmade decisions.
Time, on the other hand, seemed to stand still for Shirley. She had to hold up her own bump when she was walking now, because it felt so heavy. She was always hungry but her stomach was squashed flat against her ribs and she could only eat tiny meals. Nobody would get in the lift with her at the dole office, in case the doors got stuck and she went into labour. Shirley finally felt unable to travel to work on the bus any more, when she was nearly squashed under a couple of strapping Australian tourists wearing backpacks, and she reluctantly took maternity leave. She lay on the sofa for most of the day, eating crisps and watching daytime television. (She liked the mouth-watering cookery slots best of all. Shirley couldn’t be bothered to cook anything herself, but it was still very pleasant to watch other people doing it. It was relaxing and harmless.) She realized that her emotions were in tatters. She cared about everyone and everything in the world. The listeners phoning in to the TV agony aunts, with their personal problems, brought tears to her eyes, where she would previously have scoffed at their hopelessness.
‘Oh, you poor creature,’ she would say to the screen, ‘dump that heart-scald like a hot tin bucket!’ Or something like that. ‘Why can’t you see that this relationship is going nowhere?’ Television presenters became her closest friends, like another set of parents almost. (Sane and normal parents.) She felt quite desolate when the programmes came to an end, each lunchtime. The signing-off music made her heart plummet all the way down to the floorboards. The rest of the day stretched ahead of her like a prison sentence. She hated the soaps that were on in the afternoons. They bored her. All the girls were far too pretty.
She longed to tidy the flat but couldn’t summon up the energy to even open the curtains. She thought that their home wouldn’t look so awful if it was painted white and had a few bright prints hanging on the walls, but unless some decorators from a makeover show came round and did it for her, it would never be done.
‘I’m a mere pod. A helpless host,’ she said to the hideous wallpaper one day. ‘My life is in limbo until this baby is born. What a stupid, stupid, stupid way to reproduce! God, what were you thinking of? Why can’t we just lay an egg and keep it in the airing cupboard for nine months? What is the point of all this stretched skin and aching tiredness and greasy hair?’ Then, she was sorry. At least she had the luxury of lying about while her entire body was drained of nutrients and calcium and whatever else the baby needed. Some poor women had to work right up to labour, and immediately afterwards too. In some countries, the women had to go on working on the land, with newborn babies tied to their backs. She remembered her mother’s words of comfort in times of trouble: There’s always someone worse off than yourself. Somehow, it wasn’t very comforting to Shirley to know that another person might be suffering more than she was.
Declan brought home flowers some days, small pink rosebuds and white daisies; or a parcel of breast of chicken and chips from the restaurant, all wrapped up in silver foil. Her mother called in too, to wash the dishes and criticize the decor. Marion and Eddy kept their distance, for the sake of politeness. But they told her to call them any time of the day or night, if she required any help
at all. And Marion bought her some lovely pyjamas to wear in the hospital. And a brand-new dressing gown and slippers. And of course, Kate called in twice a week, just to be nosy. And to marvel over Shirley in her shabby flat with the worn carpets; such a difference to her own modern show-home.
She couldn’t wait to feel the first pangs of labour, Shirley said. She was so bored she thought she might develop some psychiatric problems, just to pass the time. She might start phoning radio stations and chatting about current affairs. The sooner she went into labour, the sooner the birth would be over.
‘Are you going back to work, after?’ Kate wanted to know.
‘Well, that’s easy,’ said Shirley. ‘My wages wouldn’t cover the cost of a nursery, so I’m giving up work.’
‘Won’t you be bored to death?’
‘No. Not at all. We’re going to go for long walks, the baby and me. And bake biscuits, and read library books and visit Mum and Dad, and lots of things.’
‘Sounds fascinating. Why don’t you take in another couple of kids, and make some money child-minding?’
‘Holy smoke, Kate! Let me get used to my own baby first, before you plan out my life’s work. I’m tired, you know?’
‘You’d want to get out of this dump, Shirley. The carpet alone would be enough for me. It’s filthy.’
‘It’s just old. You always did have a thing about carpets.’
‘Why don’t you let your in-laws help with a mortgage?’
‘It wouldn’t be right. They have other children to support.’
