by Pam Weaver
While Sylvie enjoyed some toast and a cigarette, Dottie started on the sandwiches for the wedding breakfast.
‘How many are you doing?’ Sylvie asked.
‘I’ve been asked to do egg and paste.’
Sylvie screwed up her nose. ‘What, together?’
‘No,’ Dottie laughed. ‘A loaf of each. We’re all sharing the cost of the reception. This is our present to him although I’ve already bought him a little something.’
‘What little something?’ Sylvie wanted to know.
‘A set of fruit bowls,’ smiled Dottie. ‘I saw it in the market about a month ago. Very reasonable. 15/6.’ She opened the cupboard under the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a small box.
‘Very pretty,’ said Sylvie, undoing the box and taking one out. ‘I’ve brought him some bed linen.’
‘You can never have enough linen,’ Dottie chirped.
Sylvie took a long drag of her cigarette. ‘Leave him,’ she said, glancing out of the window to check Reg wasn’t coming.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Leave him. You’re worth much more than this. You deserve to be happy.’
Dottie’s eyes blazed. ‘Sylvie, don’t.’
‘You could come back with me,’ Sylvie insisted. ‘Robin and I will give you a new start until you can sell this place …’
‘I don’t even own this place,’ said Dottie.
Sylvie frowned. ‘But I thought Aunt Bessie …’
‘For some reason best known to herself,’ Dottie retorted, ‘Aunt Bessie left this cottage in trust until I’m thirty.’
Sylvie stared at her thoughtfully. ‘How very frustrating for Reg.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’ Dottie flew back.
‘Nothing,’ said Sylvie innocently. ‘A throwaway remark, that’s all.’
Dottie continued cutting the loaf of sandwiches.
‘How on earth do you get the bread so thin?’ Sylvie asked. ‘If it were down to me, I’d have bought a cut loaf.’
‘Homemade is always nicer,’ said Dottie relaxing. A little later she added, ‘You’re right. He is frustrated about Aunt Bessie’s money. Like I told you, Reg wants us to move to Brighton and take up a seaside boarding house. We can still do it of course, but it can’t be for at least another year and even then it will be difficult.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I can still spend the money and all that but I have to get the approval of the board of trustees for anything major until I’m thirty,’ said Dottie. ‘But don’t say anything, will you? Reg doesn’t know that bit yet. I didn’t want to upset him.’
Sylvie flicked some ash from her skirt. ‘I bet that’ll go down like a lead balloon.’
Dottie held her tongue. She finished the loaf and turned around looking for a tin to pack them in.
‘Look at me, just sitting here watching you,’ said Sylvie, stubbing out her cigarette. She stood up and grabbed an apron from the back of the kitchen chair. ‘Come on now. What shall I do?’
Dottie pointed to the fairy cakes cooling on the wire rack. ‘Fancy putting a bit of icing on them? Time’s getting on and we have to be at the hall by twelve.’
At quarter to two, as they walked the short distance from the car to the church, Dottie slipped her arm through Reg’s. She was determined to show Sylvie just how happy she could be.
Michael Gilbert was already waiting in the church. He looked very different in his smart double-breasted brown pinstriped suit. His unruly hair was slicked down, although a few wayward curls had worked loose and flopped attractively onto his forehead. His weather-beaten face glowed.
‘He looks incredibly handsome,’ Sylvie whispered as they sat down.
Dottie nodded. She hadn’t realised before how good-looking Michael was. ‘I’ve always thought of him like a little brother,’ she smiled. ‘But you’re right. Today he looks every inch the man.’
Tom Prior poked her in the back. ‘The bugger’s already proved that,’ he whispered with a grin.
Dottie and Sylvie giggled. Reg picked up his hymnbook and stared ahead, stony-faced.
They waited quietly until the vicar walked down the aisle and instructed them to all stand. The organ struck up.
Freda looked a picture in her long satin dress. Defiantly, she’d worn white, though her thickening waist and the roundness of her stomach was obvious. Her dress had long sleeves and the mitre-shaped cuff had a small loop to go over her long finger on each hand. The scooped neckline was edged with lace. There was lace on the bodice reaching under the bust, ending in a large bow. Matching lace circled the hem and met at another large bow. She wore her mother’s pearls, three handsome strands which no one would have guessed had come from Woolworths just before the war, if her mother hadn’t told everyone last night as they prepared the hall.
Freda’s wedding bouquet was enormous. Those who looked forward to dishing out acid remarks noted that it obscured her shape beautifully, covering her from waist to thigh in early autumn reds and golds.
The service brought tears to Dottie’s eyes.
Reg turned and whispered, ‘Remember? For better for worse, ’till death do us part?’
At the other end of the pew, Heather from the florist shop leaned forward to listen to their conversation. ‘Aaaah,’ she sighed happily; but Dottie didn’t smile. Something about the way Reg had said it chilled her very soul.
After the service, someone got out a Box Brownie and they all posed in the churchyard for photographs.
Because hers was the only car, Sylvie had offered to drive the bride and groom the short distance to the reception. At this point, several other Box Brownies appeared and people took turns to stand next to the Humber with the bride and groom inside. Michael and Freda seemed very happy.
Rose was in tears. ‘Don’t they look a picture?’ she said as Edna handed her a lace handkerchief. ‘So romantic.’
Freda’s father muttered something about Freda making sure she kept the bouquet in front of her and got a nudge in his ribs for his trouble.
‘Come on, Dot,’ said Reg. ‘Let’s pose by the car.’
He took her wrist painfully and pulled her towards the Humber. ‘Take a picture of me and my old lady with the bride and groom, will you? I want to give her something to remember the day.’
The photographer lined up his camera and Dottie and Reg stood beside Michael and Freda.
‘Smile, love,’ Reg called out.
Dottie did her best, but her heart was thumping. What was he up to? Everybody was happy and smiling, but she could sense the undercurrent more strongly than ever.
The picture was taken. ‘Thanks, mate,’ said Reg as he spotted the vicar coming out of the side door of the church. ‘You walk on up to the hall, sweetheart. I’m just going to have a word with Rev. Roberts,’ he said. ‘See if he’d like some of my chrysanthemums for the harvest festival.’
Dottie smiled nervously.
‘Are you ready?’ Sylvie asked.
Michael helped Freda into the car and then went round to the other door. Sylvie leaned out of the driver’s window and gave her a wink. ‘Don’t let them get back to the hall too quickly, Dottie. I’m taking Michael and Freda the long way round.’
The wedding party cheered as she pulled out into the road and headed towards Worthing and, presumably, the seafront.
Dottie fell into step with Edna Gilbert, offering the older woman her arm. ‘You never come up to the farm to see me these days, Dottie,’ she chided.
‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m just so busy.’
‘Things all right with you and Reg?’
‘Fine.’ I’m becoming a good liar, she thought to herself.
‘No sign of a little one yet?’
‘No,’ said Dottie, and seeing the expression on Edna’s face, she added with a smile, ‘not yet anyway.’
‘You know about Freda of course?’
‘You’ll make a wonderful granny,’ said Dottie, squeezing her arm.
Edna snorted playfully and ch
anging the subject said, ‘Here, Dottie, I hear you’re a dab hand with that sewing machine of yours. Would you come up to the farm sometime? I’d like you to do a little something for me.’
Once they returned from their romantic drive along the seafront, the bride and groom stood by the door to receive their guests.
‘You look so beautiful,’ Dottie told the bride as she shuffled along the line.
Michael leaned forward and kissed Dottie on the cheek. It was a featherlike touch but afterwards Dottie couldn’t look him in the eye. Her heart was beating very fast. ‘I wish you all the luck in the world,’ she said quietly.
‘Thanks, Dottie.’
She glanced up at him and felt her face flame. Reg stuck his hand out in front of Michael and the two men shook hands. Dottie hoped to God Reg hadn’t seen her blushing. Why on earth had she done it? Probably because it had been so long since she’d felt such a tender touch.
The three of them were to sit together, Sylvie then Reg and Dottie, but first the women had to make sure everyone else was happy and settled. As Freda’s mother lit the four candles on the top table next to the wedding cake, Dottie and Mary whipped off the damp tea towels they’d put over the sandwiches to keep them moist and began serving teas. Reg ate alone until they joined him, but he carried on a lively conversation with those nearby.
‘Reg is in good form,’ Sylvie remarked.
Dottie nodded. Yes, yes he was, wasn’t he? She was getting herself all in a lather over nothing. He was enjoying himself that was all. How silly she’d been.
After the meal, the speeches and the cutting of the cake, someone produced a piano accordion so the men cleared away the tables to make room for dancing. Dottie, Mary and several other women went into the kitchen to start on the clearing up.
It was highly unlikely that Reg would come into the kitchen so Dottie pulled Mary to one side. ‘Have you heard any news about Gary?’
Mary let out a long sigh. ‘It’s not good,’ she said sadly. ‘He’s come through it, but he’s lost the use of his right leg and the left one is very weak.’
Dottie put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh no.’
‘Peaches has gone to live with her mother for the time being,’ Mary went on. ‘Gary has been moved to Courtlands.’
‘That place Princess Elizabeth visited earlier this year?’
Mary nodded. ‘Apparently they do special exercises for kiddies with infantile paralysis there.’
‘What about the baby?’ asked Dottie. ‘It must be due any time now.’
‘She’s had the baby!’ cried Mary. ‘Sorry, hen, I thought you knew. She had a little girl. Mandy they call her.’
‘But why didn’t she let me know?’ said Dottie blinking back a tear. Peaches hadn’t had a reply to her letter but Dottie was sure she would have forgiven her by now.
‘Don’t be too cross, hen,’ said Mary. ‘What with the baby and Gary’s exercises, she’s got a lot on her plate right now.’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ said Dottie. ‘I wonder how Gary has coped. He hasn’t seen his mum for ages.’
‘Funnily enough,’ said Mary, ‘he wasn’t too bad. The hospital gave him an Ivy and Brumas and as long as they were on the bed, he was happy.’
‘As a matter of fact …’ Dottie began.
‘Where do these plates go, Mary?’ Edna interrupted.
‘What are you doing in here?’ said Mary as she took the plates from Edna. ‘You’re the bridegroom’s mother for goodness’ sake. Leave that. We’ll do it. Take her back in the hall, Dottie.’
Dottie took Edna’s arm. ‘Come on,’ she laughed. ‘We’d better do what the boss says.’
Some of the men had gone down to the off-licence to buy in some more drink. Reg had helped himself to a beer and was sitting in the corner enjoying a roll-up. The accordionist was well into his repertoire and it was time to start the dancing but nobody could find Michael. Almost immediately, the cry went up.
‘Where’s the groom?’
‘Have you seen Michael?’
Dottie came to find Reg. ‘Can you go in the gents’ to look for Michael? We can’t start the evening without him.’
Wearily, Reg stood up to go.
Michael was peering at his reflection in the cracked mirror in the gents’. He was quite pleased with the results. Taking his comb out of his top pocket, he re-arranged his hair so that the front flopped down in the new Teddy-boy style.
So far the wedding breakfast had been better than he expected. Almost as good as old times. Even Reg was enjoying himself.
Apart from the odd film show, Michael hadn’t been in the village hall since the war years. Back in 1941, Reg had come to one of the dances they put on. Michael always enjoyed the music but he was no dancer. Reg had danced like a dream and looked so handsome in his army uniform back then that he’d whisked the best-looking girl away.
Satisfied with his hair at last, Michael stepped back to admire himself as the man himself walked in.
‘I’ve been sent to look for you,’ Reg said. ‘They want to start the dancing.’
‘Looks like I’m being hen-pecked already,’ Michael laughed good-naturedly.
Reg said nothing.
‘You all right, Reg?’
‘Fine. Just gets me, times like this. I think about all me mates …’ His voice trailed.
Michael touched his shoulder and nodded.
‘It may be six or seven years ago now,’ Reg went on, ‘but a thing like that stays with you, you know.’ He looked up at the groom and smiled bravely. ‘Sorry, mate, shouldn’t have brought it up on your wedding day.’
‘No, no,’ Michael said. ‘It’s OK.’ Outside, in the hall, the accordion struck up a waltz. ‘Better get going then,’ he said awkwardly.
When he walked back into the room, Sylvie was talking and laughing with Mary and Tom. Dottie was in the kitchen serving more teas through the hatch. She looked so beautiful in that pretty pink dress. She smiled at him and motioned towards a cup and he gave her the thumbs up.
Michael looked around for his wife, unsure as to what he should do next, but Freda had already spotted him. She came gliding towards him.
‘Mike, we have to start off the dance before we can go home and get ready for our honeymoon,’ she beamed.
‘But I can’t dance,’ he murmured, looking down at his feet. ‘You know I can’t.’
‘Nobody can start without us,’ she whispered. She held out her arms and he had no alternative but to accept her invitation.
As he placed his hand across her back, he felt her tremble. She was breathing very quickly and her face was lit up with excitement.
‘Just shuffle around,’ she murmured closely in his ear. ‘Nobody will mind.’
The embarrassment of having two left feet made him feel silly but as they moved slowly around on the inside of the circle and all his friends were nodding and smiling, he found himself enjoying it.
Freda looked attractive in her wedding dress too. It was a bit tight around the waist but that wasn’t her fault. He wished he hadn’t got her in the family way, but at least he had done the decent thing. He gave Freda a quick smile and pulled her closer. She was probably thinking romantic thoughts about him, but right now he was thinking that he’d just have to make the best of it.
Eighteen
The reception finished at around ten and everyone, with the exception of the bride and groom, who were hopefully already enjoying their honeymoon in Bournemouth, set about with the clearing up.
To Sylvie it looked like a well-oiled machine, although it did seem a little odd that they were clambering about under the stage with trestle tables in their wedding finery. Still, it was all done with good humour and fun.
‘Er, watch what you’re doing with that table leg,’ said Tom as he backed out on all fours. ‘You nearly did me a mischief.’
‘Get yer big bum out of the way then,’ came the light-hearted retort from Cecil Hargreaves, the bride’s father.
‘You off back home,
Sylvie?’ asked Mary.
‘I’m staying one more night,’ Sylvie smiled. ‘I must get back home tomorrow.’
Reg was busy stacking chairs. He turned his head sharply and looked at Dottie.
‘It’s so late,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘Course he doesn’t,’ said Mary. ‘You wouldn’t send the poor girl off on a long drive down to the New Forest at this time of night, would you, Reg?’
Reg smiled thinly. ‘Of course not.’
For a second or two, Dottie felt a little of her old nervousness coming back, but then she saw the way Reg helped the bride’s mother into Sylvie’s car and relaxed. When it came to older people, he had a kind heart really.
Once the hall had been swept and tidied and the last of the guests had gone, Dottie and Sylvie loaded her bits and bobs into the boot alongside the rest of the wedding cake. They’d been asked to drop that into Rose Hargreaves’s place on the way home. Reg and Edna sat in the back of the car chatting about roses and what to do about black spot on the leaves.
Back at the cottage, Dottie and Sylvie brought in the rest of the stuff while Reg went down the garden to shut up the hens and check on the pig. By the time he got back, Dottie had three mugs of cocoa waiting on the kitchen table. If Reg was annoyed that Sylvie was staying a second night, he wasn’t saying anything.
‘Can we talk about this child of yours, Reg?’ said Sylvie, jumping in feet first as he walked in the door.
His head jerked up and Dottie saw something flash in his eyes. Her heart missed a beat. ‘We’re all tired now, Sylvie,’ she said quickly. ‘Perhaps this could wait until the morning.’
‘Reg is off to work in the morning,’ said Sylvie, ‘and I have to leave early too. We’ve been so busy, I’ve hardly had time to speak to you, have I, Reg? I know it’s late but we need to clear a few things up, that’s all.’
Reg looked as if he was chewing a wasp. ‘Things? What things?’
‘You’ll be glad to hear, I will loan you the money,’ said Sylvie, determined to rub his nose in it. ‘I’m pleased to do it for Dottie’s sake, but I must insist you do two things. First you should make absolutely sure the child really is yours, get a blood test or something, and secondly, you must get someone to escort her to this country. She can’t possibly be left to her own devices on either a ship or an aeroplane. It will take six weeks with one and nearly three days with the other.’
