by Paul Whybrow
Chapter 3—Celebration Day
The car-park at the community-hall was full, and late-comers were leaving their cars at increasing distances from the hall out in the street. There was a good-natured atmosphere of frivolity in the air, helped by the energy and enthusiasm of the toddlers who rushed between the dancers, playing hide-and-seek among their legs. There had been several recent births in the family, so the babies were being cooed over as the older generation reminisced about their own children.
Barry 'The Beat-Master' was providing a good variety of songs, and the daughters were pleased to notice that the flashing disco-lights had a flattering effect on their complexions.
Bella, Bea and Bianca were all dressed up-to-the-nines, and their husbands looked less constrained by their best suits now that they'd had a few pints and loosened their ties. The anniversary couple were sitting at the top-table, next to a small raised dais, where a microphone stood on a chrome stand, ready for more speeches. Mum and Dad sat rigidly, ignoring one another and accepting congratulations from dancers who stopped by.
Their father was wearing a tan suit that they hadn't seen before, in a more contemporary style than he usually wore, and with a brighter tie on too, as well as a pair of natty spectator shoes in white and tobacco-brown. He was even wearing aftershave lotion, which surprised Bella, but perhaps he was just making an effort. She'd never seen him look so flamboyant.
Their mother was dressed to kill, as usual, with a formidable new hat and much of her grandmother's fabled jewellery adorning her floral-bedecked frame. Bella thought that she looked a little like a carnival-float of juggernaut proportions, but there was no doubt who was the star of the show.
Their Dad introduced them to some of his old colleagues from the accountancy firm, as well as his bowls-club friends, some of whom were women. These sprightly ladies outnumbered the male members at the club, apparently, which Bella thought made sense seeing as how women lived longer. No wonder Dad was happier when he'd been bowling. It must be a tonic after the oppressive company of Mum.
Her father took his daughters aside at one point, to thank them for organising the evening, they thought. But instead, he'd told them that he'd resisted their mum's attempts to have their marriage blessed in the church. This was why there was even more of a frosty atmosphere between them, in spite of the day. She wasn't a regular church-goer anyway, only turning out at Christmas and Easter in full regalia. Dad admitted that he wasn't that devout a believer, but he wasn't prepared to be any more of a hypocrite than he'd already been in this marriage.
The girls were stunned by this news, glancing over at their mother to see if she was giving them the evil-eye. But their Mum was granting a supplicant an audience, nodding regally as the distant relative offered their admiration of her finery, holding a bracelet up for inspection.
“Is she happy with this all, Dad?”, Bella half-whispered, “I mean she didn't get her way with the church-blessing, but this celebration is going well enough, isn't it? I don't want her getting upset and taking it out on you later, that's all….”
Her voice trailed off, wondering if she'd said too much, but her dad just twinkled his eyes at her and gave her a fond hug, pulling his other two daughters into his arms too.
“It's wonderful—you've done us proud. Who cares what your Mum thinks? She looks down her nose at everything anyway. You three girls are the best thing that came out of my marriage to her, and I'm enormously proud of you all. Glad that your marriages are happier than mine ever was too. My speech is coming up soon. I'll have my say, and you might be a bit shocked by what I'm going to tell you all. It's good news, so don't look so worried. It's good news for me anyhow, and I'm sure it's for the best. Completely sure.”
Bella, Bea and Bianca were perplexed by what their father just told them, and his apparent joviality was unexpected, if welcome.
He moved off into the dancing throng, and as they watched he pirouetted, twirling a delighted blonde toddler around at the end of his arm.
“Look at me, I'm Fred Astaire. Do you like my new suit, by the way—I had it flown in special from Paris.”
And with a parting flourish, his left foot raised behind him, their father danced towards his wife of fifty years, who glared at his approach.
What had got into him? The girls were glad that he was happier, but this was inexplicable. Was he on some medication that they didn't know about and it was reacting badly with the champagne? But Dad's glass was barely touched. Perhaps he was smoking wacky-baccy? He suffered with arthritis quite badly, and they knew that some pensioners kept secret stashes of marijuana to alleviate the pain of various ailments. It would certainly fit with his new-found good humour, but their Dad had never smoked in his life. Perhaps he was baking it into cookies or brownies—he did all of the cooking, after all.
Could someone have spiked the celebration cakes? Bella looked quizzically at Bea, who'd done all the baking, but she hotly denied it was her.
James, Mario and Reg were slumped against a wall, half-finished pints at an angle in their hands, where they'd been surreptitiously watching lithe teen girls gyrate. They'd seen the exchange between their wives and father-in-law, and his graceful exit across the dance-floor, but when Bella raised her hands in a do-you-know-what's-going-on gesture they shrugged and examined the disappearing foam on their beer.
