A Family Affair (33 page)

The organ was playing and the sun shining in through the stained-glass windows threw multi-coloured patterns of light on the pews and aisle. But Carrie found it difficult to approve even so. Although she had lapsed from regular worship a long time ago she was still a Catholic at heart and she found the echoing vaulted space of the parish church unfriendly and lacking in reverence compared to what she had been used to. A church should have statues and shrines and holy water and be imbued with the smell of incense. Anything less just wasn't right.

After a few minutes David and Tony came in and took their places in the front right-hand pew, immediately in front of Carrie, Joe and Jenny. Carrie turned around to smile at Vanessa, who was wearing a frilly organdie dress and drumming her new anklestrap shoes on the pew in competition with the music, and caught sight of Linda's mother coming up the aisle.
She looks like I feel
, Carrie thought,
as if that smile is going to crack her face if she has to force it for a moment longer.
She nodded to her and Doreen nodded back, her chin nudging towards the back of the church. At the same moment the organ began to play the ‘Bridal March'. Doreen had stayed with Linda until the last possible moment, Carrie realised, with a twinge of anxiety as to how Linda was today, how she was going to manage to carry this off.

The Linda who came up the aisle, however, did not look in the least like a girl under sentence of death. Though pale, there was a glow about her and to the entire congregation it was obvious that it was a glow of happiness. Somehow, in the short time she'd had, she had managed to get hold of a wedding dress that not only fitted, but suited her perfectly; the ivory lace was less harsh than pure white against her fragile skin, and the full skirt and puff sleeves concealed the fact that she was now painfully thin, whilst the nipped-in bodice emphasised her handspan waist. And it was ballerina-length, just as she had wanted. On her head she wore a coronet of diamante and pearls and she carried a spray bouquet of pink roses.

Behind her came Wendy Young, her best friend, also in a ballerina-length dress of pink tulle. There had been no time to kit out the three bridesmaids she had planned.

As Linda took her place beside David at the altar Carrie saw the look that passed between them and felt her heart turn over. Had she been wrong after all to be so sceptical about the wedding? But it was a fleeting thought only. As the service progressed the words of the marriage service only reinforced all her misgivings.

How could they ever be of comfort one to the other? David might comfort Linda, but she would be unable to reciprocate. And there would be no children, either, to be raised in this union. Worst of all were the vows. When first David, then Linda, repeated the traditional words ‘'Til death us do part' the whole congregation seemed to hold its breath as one, so that the words reverberated from the ancient rafters and filled the whole church with a heavy bitter sweetness. There were no sobs – everyone had themselves too tightly under control for that – but there were a few sniffs and rustles as handkerchiefs were found in pockets and bags.

At last it was over.

‘That's it then,' Carrie said to Joe as they waited for David and Linda to sign the register, and Joe said: ‘It's what he wanted, Carrie. It's what they both wanted.'

‘Something to want for, though!' Carrie muttered, almost to herself.

And then she was walking, arm in arm with Jim Parfitt, in the procession down the aisle, much more slowly than usual because already Linda was tiring. As they reached the door the bells began to peal, but for all the joy they brought to Carrie's heart, they might as well have been muffled and tolling.

‘There's the church bells!' Charlotte said. ‘Somebody must be getting married!'

‘It's David Simmons and Linda Parfitt,' Dolly said.

‘David Simmons? Not
Walt
Simmons'grandson?'

‘Yes.'

‘But Walt hasn't been dead any time at all! How can they have the bells?'

‘It's special circumstances from what I can make out,' Dolly said. ‘Oh – here's our Helen come to see you! Can you open the door for her, Mam? I'm all over flour.'

She was baking, as she always did on Saturday mornings after getting home from market – a treacle tommy and a big jam tart.

Charlotte opened the door. Helen had pulled up so close that she almost fell inside as she emerged from the driving seat of her car, long-trousered legs first. Charlotte noted them with some disapproval. She was old-fashioned, she supposed, but she didn't like to see a woman wearing trousers.

Not that she'd say a word about that to Helen – unless of course she was asked, when she'd give her opinion straight!

‘Hello, Gran! You're on the ball this morning!' Helen said, smiling.

‘I had my orders,' Charlotte returned drily. ‘This is a surprise, Helen. We don't usually see you on a Saturday morning.'

‘Well, there you are – life's full of surprises.'

She looked like the cat that got the cream, Charlotte thought.

Helen ducked back into her car and reached for a bunch of dahlias, paper-wrapped, that were lying on the back seat. She handed them to Charlotte.

‘For me?' Charlotte asked.

‘For you – and Auntie Dolly, and anyone else who might appreciate them. I got them on the flower stall in the market.'

‘I didn't think they were out of our Amy's garden!' Charlotte said drily.

‘Amy's garden is actually looking very nice at the moment,' Helen said. ‘She's got Cliff Button helping her out now.'

‘So I heard. How is he?'

‘He's OK,' Helen said. ‘I didn't come to talk about Cliff Button, though. I want to talk to you about something quite different. And Auntie Dolly too.'

‘Would you like a cup of tea, Helen?' Dolly asked. ‘You'll have to put the kettle on if you do. I'm all over flour.'

‘I know what I'd like,' Charlotte said. ‘A nice glass of milk stout.'

‘Mam!' Dolly sounded scandalised. ‘Whatever will Helen think of you?'

‘A bit of bread and nice tasty cheese and a glass of milk stout,' Charlotte repeated, enjoying every moment of her temporary notoriety. ‘You know what they say – a little of what you fancy does you good. Isn't that right, Helen?'

‘It certainly won't do you any harm,' Helen said, laughing.

‘It'll spoil your dinner!' Dolly said severely. ‘I've got sausages and Savoy cabbage with fat out of the pan – your favourite.'

‘Spoil my dinner!' Charlotte scoffed. ‘Anyone would think it was the children you were talking to! You're getting too bossy for my liking, Dolly.'

‘You have a glass of milk stout if you want one, Gran,' Helen said. ‘And I'll have one too.'

Pretending to ignore Dolly's disapproval, Charlotte padded defiantly to the pantry and emerged with two bottles and glasses.

‘What did you come to talk to us about then?' Dolly asked as Charlotte rummaged in the kitchen drawer for the bottle opener.

‘Well – I've got some news,' Helen said. ‘You remember when we went up to Greenslade Terrace, Gran, we saw that your old house was up for sale?'

‘It's never gone already!' Charlotte said, sounding shocked.

‘Yes. Of course, it was a bargain, wasn't it?' Helen was so full of excitement she couldn't resist teasing a little.

‘It was at that! When I think of all the things we had done! There was no electric when we moved in, you know, only the gas mantels. And no bathroom.'

‘I know,' Helen said.

‘All the same – gone already! Who's bought it, I wonder?'

‘You'll never guess. In a million years.'

‘What – you mean it's somebody I know?'

‘You could say that, yes.'

‘Well – who? You've come up here'specially to tell me, I reckon. So don't keep me in suspense!'

‘All right,' Helen said. ‘It's me.'

For a moment Charlotte gaped at her, open-mouthed, and Dolly stood transfixed with a circle of pastry suspended over her rolling pin halfway to the enamel pie-plate.

‘You!'
she said in the loud voice she adopted to talk to her deaf husband Victor.

‘Me.'

‘You never have!' Charlotte said. ‘Fancy that!'

‘You're a dark horse,' Dolly said. She sounded vaguely affronted. ‘You never said a word!'

‘I wanted to be sure I could get it,' Helen said. ‘You never know with these things … there's so much that can go wrong. But now it's all signed and settled, I couldn't wait to share the news.'

Charlotte had forgotten all about her milk stout. It stood untouched on the little cupboard beside the sink.

‘Well, I am pleased, Helen. I've always hated the thought of strangers in my house.'

Helen hesitated. This, she knew, was going to be the tricky part – asking Charlotte to come back and live in ‘her'house. Ideally, Helen would have preferred to raise the subject when they were alone, but she didn't want Dolly to think she was going behind her back. Already she seemed a bit put out by not having known what was going on. It had been her home, too, once, after all. But the subject of where Charlotte would finish out her days was even more delicate. Dolly might be terribly offended that anyone should consider her mother might prefer to be anywhere other than with her.

‘I did think, Gran,' Helen said carefully, ‘that it would be nice for you. You could always come and stay.'

‘I don't know about that.' Dolly had slapped the pastry on to the plate; now she ran a knife round the rim almost viciously. ‘It would upset her routine.'

‘For goodness sake, Dolly!' Charlotte said testily. ‘Don't talk about me as if I wasn't here! And what routine are you on about, anyway?'

‘Well – your All Bran in the mornings … your afternoon nap …'

‘Why couldn't I have All Bran and a nap if I was staying with Helen?'

‘Well, you could, I suppose. But it would be such a to-do, getting you there and back …'

‘It would give you some time to yourself, Auntie Dolly. And you could stay for as long as you liked, Gran. When I'm out at work you can pretend nothing's changed and it's still your house, just like it always was.'

‘It wouldn't be the same, though, would it? I should feel like a visitor.'

But Helen could sense the undercurrent of her excitement.

‘Think about it anyway, Gran,' she said. ‘And I shall be doing up your old room specially for you so you'd better not let me do it in vain.'

‘Are you saying what I think you're saying?' Dolly asked suddenly, plonking strawberry jam into the tart and pointing the spoon at Helen. ‘Are you asking Mam to go back there and live?'

‘Well … if she wanted to there'll be plenty of room and I should be in and out and well able to keep an eye …' She broke off, aware that she was doing the same thing Charlotte had accused Dolly of doing – talking about her as if she wasn't there.

‘Oh, Gran – I might as well come clean. There's nothing I'd like better than for you to be back where you belong. I know Auntie Dolly does a wonderful job of looking after you, but your heart's in Greenslade Terrace, and I'd be really happy if you moved back in with me – if that's what you want.'

‘Well yes,' Charlotte said, ‘there's not much doubt about where my heart is. What do you think, Dolly?'

‘I haven't had a chance to think at all!' Dolly said. ‘And nor have you, Mam. We need to sit down and talk it over – all the pros and cons. What if you should be taken bad? Helen would still have to go to work and I couldn't keep running over to look after you. I'm not as young as I used to be either, and I've got my own home and family to see to.'

Helen saw Charlotte's face fall but she was still very aware that she was treading on delicate ground. To say too much, and put Dolly's nose out of joint, would be counter-productive. The last thing she wanted was to cause a family rift.

‘I think Auntie Dolly's right,' she said. ‘Talk it over between yourselves. There's no rush. I'm not even going to get the keys for another couple of weeks. But at least you know the offer's there. If you want to move back into your own home, you know you can. If not – well, at least it's back in the family, isn't it?'

Charlotte nodded.

‘You're a good girl, Helen.'

The tears were shining in her eyes again, Helen noticed with a sense of shock. In all her life she didn't think she could ever remember seeing her grandmother cry. Now, in the space of a few short weeks, it had happened twice – and both over the old home.

It means so much to her
, Helen thought.

Everything else had changed – her children grown into men and women who were not just middle-aged but some of them verging on the old themselves – what a shock that must be, to look at a plump ageing woman and realise this was the metamorphosis of the tiny baby you had once held at your breast! Even her grandchildren were grown, with children of their own. James, with whom she had shared it all, was long dead. And the world had moved on. But Greenslade Terrace was still there, changed and yet oddly unchanging, the same bricks and mortar, the same narrow access lane to the back doors, the same plaster on the walls which had absorbed so many years of laughter and tears, seen births and deaths and marriages, survived two world wars, echoed with the living of a family at whose heart Charlotte had always been – who
was
its heart. For a brief, surprised moment tears constricted her own throat. Then Charlotte was holding out a glass to her.

‘Don't let your milk stout go flat, Helen. Especially now we've got something to drink to!'

‘I thought we were going to talk about it, Mam,' Dolly said.

‘All right, Dolly, don't get your hair off with me! We do have something to drink to, whatever's decided.' She raised her glass. ‘There's going to be Halls in Greenslade Terrace again. That's good enough for me!'