by Shari Low
‘There you go, Oli. Daddy’s going to do lots of fun things with you today, so be a good boy.’ She kissed the toddler’s head and then finally spoke to the man. ‘Daisy isn’t due another feed until two o’clock and she’s just been changed. I’ll pick them up here tomorrow.’
‘Babe, can we talk…?’ the guy asked, hope back in the equation.
‘No,’ she said simply, before repeating firmly, ‘I’ll pick them up tomorrow.’
‘Lucy, please…’
She completely ignored him. ‘Bye Oli. Love you.’ And with that she was gone.
Denise watched it all with interest, glad to have something to take her thoughts off her own life. Who knew what their story was? It certainly looked like they were a couple, probably married, because he was still wearing a wedding ring. They’d obviously split up and were acting out a scene that played out in every town and city in the country. Parents sharing custody, swapping the kids between houses at the weekend. Since these two were doing it on neutral territory, it was obviously acrimonious. What had happened? The fact that she wouldn’t even look at him meant she was either disinterested or too hurt and pained to even contemplate a dialogue. Poor girl. Poor guy. Who knew?
Denise would never offer an opinion, but if she were asked, she’d tell them to really think about what they were doing. It was much easier to split than to stay together. But ‘easy’ was never the best route to take in the long run. That was the problem with young people these days. They gave up too soon on marriage. They fell at the first hurdle, as soon as something went wrong, the minute they felt slighted or disrespected. Didn’t they realise that people had to grow? Had to change? Had to find their way in a partnership.
As she lifted the china cup to her lips, a thought made her smile. If she had walked away from Ray as soon as it got tough, they wouldn’t have made it past their wedding day.
Eleven
Denise & Ray – 1978
‘Make sure all the photographs get taken from the front,’ Agnes demanded, as she fussed around Denise’s dress. Both women were very visibly pregnant now, Denise with only two weeks to go. The wedding had been arranged at top speed by the mothers, with neither the bride nor groom being given much say in the matter. In fact, they’d only discussed it once, the night after the kitchen showdown, when Denise had arrived back at Ray’s house with her entire worldly goods packed into a suitcase.
She’d expected his mum to be furious and to hate her for trapping her son, but actually Jenny was nothing but nice to her. Ray was a different story. He barely spoke a word as she unpacked her things, then sat on the single bed in the box room, next to where Ray was lying, staring at the ceiling.
‘We don’t have to do this, you know,’ Denise told him, knowing full well that she didn’t have any other options up her sleeve. Still, much as she wanted to be with him, she wasn’t going to force any guy to marry her, not even one she loved with all her heart.
‘We do. My mother will kill me if I don’t. My dad still hasn’t spoken to me, but Mum says he’ll thaw out once we’re married. Besides, I love ya.’
She wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.
Agnes had helped her to pack everything she owned into that one case and had her round at Ray’s before the Harrows had a chance to change their minds. ‘You’ve made your bed, Denise,’ she said, making it clear there was no room for negotiation, ‘so you’ll just have to make the best of it.’
And make the best of it, they had. In the three months since then, they’d hastily booked the wedding with a wholly disapproving priest down at the chapel, who gave them a toe curling lecture about the evils of temptation. They were both too young to drink alcohol, but the local pub agreed to let them use their function suite as long as everyone under eighteen – bride and groom included – were out by 11 p.m. Agnes, Jenny and some pals had rustled together a spread of the usual soup, sandwiches and sausage rolls to greet the guests on arrival at the reception. Ray’s best man, Billy, had borrowed a disco set from his uncle and would be DJ for the night. And Agnes had used her Singer sewing machine, bought on tick from the Co-op, to run up a plain, mint green, A-line bridesmaid dress for Alice and a cream dress in the same style for Denise, adding lace sleeves and a lace hem to make it look more bridal. It was a rush job, for sure, but it had all come good in the end.
Denise hadn’t had a hen do (in her state it would be shameful, her mother had informed her), but Billy had organised a stag do for Ray, and he’d come home at nine o’clock the next morning smelling like a pub carpet. She hadn’t asked questions, just grateful that he was in one piece and home.
Over the last few weeks, Ray had seemed a bit happier, especially when his mother relented and let them sleep together. They’d still been able to have sex and that – combined with the fact that Denise had taken over his washing, ironing and making his lunch for work every day – had helped him to see that this could be a good thing.
As her Uncle Joe, nominated official photographer for the big day, clicked photos of them standing outside the church, with her groom at her side, Denise absolutely knew that she was the talk of the town, but she didn’t care. Now that it was all out in the open and they’d made their relationship official, there was a big part of her that was truly, absolutely thrilled about today. Yes, they were young, but she’d just married the boy that she adored and they were going to have a baby and be set for life.
Her thick layer of black false eyelashes swept up as she gazed at him, and he responded by leaning down and kissing her, earning a rousing cheer from the spectators.
‘Och, they look like movie stars,’ Ray’s auntie Dorothy sighed. Denise liked to think so too. Ray agreed with Alice that Denise looked like that American actress Goldie Hawn, and as for him… he could be John Travolta’s brother. With his black hair and that gorgeous smile, no wonder she melted every time she looked at him. Especially when, like now, he was being lovely to her.
‘We’ll make this OK, you know,’ he told her, and she loved him even more for trying to reassure her.
She didn’t even care that his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. She knew that this wasn’t what he’d have chosen for them just yet, but she had to believe they could make it work. Nothing was going to make her give up on this, even if times got tough. What was the option? Go back to her house with a baby and bunk up with her mum and dad, the twins and the new addition? She heard her mother’s voice in her head. ‘You’ve made your bed, Denise.’ Yes, she had. And she would be lying next to Ray in it. That thought brought a flip of happiness to her stomach.
At the reception, the male guests congregated at the bar and completely ignored the fact that the groom wasn’t of legal drinking age by plying him with lager.
The women took their places at the long trestle tables, each one putting their bags on the seat beside them to save it for their man. Only an hour or so later, when the music started, did their partners finally make their way over to join them.
Billy, the makeshift DJ, kicked off with ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You,’ calling for the bride and groom to start the first dance. There were cheers as they made their way to the dance floor. Denise had picked the song. Grease was her favourite movie ever, and she’d seen it three times since it came out the month before.
Ray’s touch was all she needed to feel like the luckiest girl in the room, but her smile faded as she waited for his gaze to meet hers, for some kind of loving connection to pass between them. It didn’t come. Ray didn’t so much as look down at her, no less whisper words of love. She told herself it didn’t matter. It would come.
As was tradition, the bridesmaid, Alice, and best man, Billy, joined them on the floor halfway through the song. They looked even more awkward than the bride and groom. No wonder. They’d split up around the same time as Ray’s stag night and hadn’t spoken since. Alice shrugged it off every time Denise asked about it. Now, she saw that her best friend was watching them over Billy’s shoulder and Denise gave h
er a smile. That was a true pal. A broken romance, yet she was here and keeping her eye on Denise to make sure she was OK.
Denise was distracted from that thought as both sets of parents were next on to the dance floor, her father, Fred, having to stretch his arms as far as possible to get around her mother’s seven months pregnant bump. Her dad had been typically low key about the shotgun wedding, with just a muttered, ‘I knew I should have kept you locked up, with you looking like that.’ There was a compliment in there somewhere. Her dad wasn’t one for sentimentality. He always stayed in the background, went to work, came home, read his paper, watched a bit of telly, left the discipline and the problem handling to her mum, so at least he didn’t give her a bollocking or cast her aside when she’d got pregnant. On the other hand, Ray’s dad, Pete, still couldn’t look at them, but at least tonight he was taking part – mostly thanks to the four or five whiskies he’d already sunk at the bar.
As the song began to fade out, Billy switched seamlessly into ‘You’re The One That I Want,’ making at least a dozen more guests get out of their seats and shuffle to the dance floor. Despite the circumstances, the next couple of hours passed in a whirl of dancing, singing and ignoring the pursed lips of the one clique of aunties and neighbours who were determined to make their disapproval of the circumstances clear, thinking this gave them some kind of moral high ground. If they didn’t drop the glares soon, Denise was fairly sure Agnes, who was getting increasingly irritated by them, would wipe the smirks off their faces.
After tea and cake was served at 9 p.m., Billy got everyone back on the dance floor by playing ‘Knock Three Times’ by Tony Orlando and Dawn – a mating call to the entire female population to get to a dance floor and do the Slosh, the unofficial national dance of Scotland, a synchronised mass movement performed at every gathering Denise had ever been to.
Traditionally, the men didn’t join in and tonight was no different. Denise could see Ray swaying over at the bar. She had seen him drunk a few times before, but tonight he was getting more and more wasted.
‘Can you believe you’re married!’ Alice screeched, diverting her attention from her concern over her inebriated groom. ‘You know, I think you’ll be so happy together. I mean, I’d rather stab myself with a fork than get married at our age, but I think it will be the perfect life for you.’
There were so many loaded comments in there that all Denise could do was laugh as she – and every woman lined up beside her – did three steps to the side, a kick, then three steps back the other way.
‘But promise me things won’t change and we’ll still see each other,’ Alice went on, and the more she spoke, the more Denise could tell that she’d had a couple of Babychams too.
‘Of course things won’t change,’ Denise assured her. ‘Well, maybe a little bit, because I’ll have the baby and I won’t be able to get out as much, but I promise I’ll make sure we still do stuff. Ray will watch the baby sometimes too.’
At that they both glanced over to see that Ray was knocking back what looked like a whisky, egged on by the men he was standing with. Glass drained, he didn’t seem to have the faculties to get his head back up to a normal position. Like a lamp post keeling over in the wind, his whole body suddenly fell backwards as he collapsed on the floor, earning a cheer from his drinking buddies.
The outraged aunts and neighbours over at the judgemental table in the corner now added wide eyes to the pursed lips. They would be discussing this over the garden fences for weeks.
Agnes, completely sober due to her advanced state of pregnancy, sussed out every aspect of the situation. She stormed over to a table by the door, where Ray’s dad was sitting on his own, grabbed the man by the collar and hissed something in his ear. Denise had no idea what it was, but he immediately got up, went over to the bar and picked up his son, half carrying, half dragging him outside. Ray’s mum, Jenny, was too busy dancing to notice.
Denise felt the tears well up in her eyes as she realised this wasn’t going to be the romantic night that she’d hoped for. Agnes, meanwhile, was heading back in her direction, stopping momentarily at the table of disapproving faces. Denise couldn’t hear what she said, but the shocked reactions were enough to tell her that it wasn’t anything good. Bugger. Her mother was a force to be reckoned with when someone crossed her.
Agnes pulled her shoulders back, chin out, head high, as she continued her march to the dance floor and slotted in right next to Denise.
‘What did you say to Ray’s dad, Mum?’
Agnes rolled her eyes. ‘I told him that he’d better get his son sorted or Ray was going to be the first bridegroom in the town to be physically dragged out of his own wedding by his pregnant mother-in-law.’
‘Mum!’ Agnes ignored her rebuke and Denise didn’t take it any further. There was no point. She’d never been able to stand up to her mother and that wasn’t going to change now. ‘And what did you say to them over at that table?’
Agnes took three steps to the right, kicked, three steps back, kicked…
‘I just said, “And as for you lot, you can sit there all night with faces like a wet weekend or you can piss off home because, quite frankly, none of us give a toss about your opinions.”’
Denise said nothing. Heart thudding louder than the jaunty tune coming from the speakers, she just walked off the dance floor, through the spaces between tables and out of the door. She’d be lucky if Ray’s family would let him stay married to her after that performance by her mother. She pushed open the swing doors of the function suite and scanned the street. No sign of Ray or his dad. She was about to go back inside when she heard voices coming from the right hand side, from the alley that ran along the side of the door.
It was Ray’s that she recognised first, although it was slurred by the alcohol.
‘What have I done, Dad? How the fuck did I end up in this mess?’
‘You don’t need me to answer that, son,’ his dad spat. ‘But let me tell you… you’ve got a wife and a baby due any day now. So it’s time to drop the self-pity and make the best of a bad lot.’
The best of a bad lot. So that’s what she was?
Denise turned to run back inside and bumped straight into Alice. Her best friend. She’d come looking for her. Gratitude almost made her weep.
‘Denise, I need to tell you something.’ Alice was slurring now, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘About Ray. I’m so sorry, Den. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it, but…’
‘What are you talking about?’ Denise challenged, her father-in-law’s words now the least of her worries.
Alice barrelled on, tears falling now. ‘On his stag night… I… Oh god, I’m sorry, Denise, but you need to know. He stayed with me and we…’ She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead she jumped to another strand of confession. ‘It’s why I chucked Billy. Couldn’t look at him after it. And you… I’m so sorry. Say you’ll forgive me. Please, Denise. Please,’ she begged.
A sound behind her. Denise turned to see Ray, his dad next to him, staring at Alice with pure hatred in his gaze.
‘She’s lying. She tried it on and I knocked her back. I stayed with one of the boys from the football team. She’s lying,’ he repeated, his words slowed by the alcohol he’d sank.
‘I’m not bloody lying!’ Alice screeched, indignant.
‘Aye, she is,’ Ray countered, his full attention on Denise now. ‘She’s sick with jealousy. Billy told me that she’s desperate to get married and she can’t stand that you got there first. She’s always had a thing for me too. That’s why he chucked her.’ Ray’s tone was vicious now, and the throbbing pulse in the side of his jaw was a visible beat of his anger. ‘Who do you believe? Her or your husband?’
Denise didn’t get the answer out.
The pain was excruciating, so much so that she buckled forward, putting her hands on her knees to steady herself.
It took her a few moments to realise that the pain wasn’t being caused by his words but by a searing tightne
ss that was ripping across her swollen belly.
Twelve
Claire – 2019
Jeanna threw her hands up in the air, in mock outrage. ‘Exactly! I was completely ignored! Who doesn’t tell their best friend that they think they might be pregnant? That’s at the top of the list on Girl Conversation Code.’
Claire laughed. ‘You’re right. I’m repentant. I fully intend to tell you should I ever find myself with child in the future.’
‘Don’t think we’re due an immaculate conception anytime soon,’ Jeanna jibed with a wink as she stood up, stretched and then headed out of the door with a, ‘Back in a min. Just going to grab a drink.’
It took Claire a moment to shrug off the emotions she’d felt retelling the story about being back there, in that student bedroom, in the moment the little blue line appeared and their lives were changed forever.
Val snapped her back to the present with a sigh. ‘Och, that must have been so hard for you, love. What is it they say? Life happens when you’re making plans.’
Josie let out her twenty-cigs-a-day, low cackle of a laugh. ‘Christ, Val, you’re starting to sound like one of those notepads with deep and meaningful quotes.’
‘Well, it beats “Let’s have a gin” being the answer to everything in life,’ Val retorted pointedly, her right eyebrow arched in indignation
Josie shrugged. ‘Never done me any harm.’
Claire smiled, wishing that she’d known these women back then. Val would have swept in, taken care of all the practicalities, lavished her with affection and made sure she was coping, while Josie would have made her laugh through the pain.
And plenty of pain there was. How naïve they’d been to think that they’d figure it all out and everyone in their lives would climb on board the baby bus and support them.
As if Val read her mind, the next question out of her mouth was, ‘So what did your parents make of it all then?’
Before Claire could answer, Jeanna came back into the room, holding a tray containing four glasses of Prosecco and an iced ginger cake, already cut into thick slices. ‘It’s wine o’clock.’
