A Winter Bride (2 page)

Carol was outside, standing by the front door with her new love and a geek.

‘This is Johnny,’ said Carol, pointing at the new love. She jerked her thumb at the geek. ‘And Alistair.’

Nell nodded.

‘They’re going to see us home.’

Nell nodded again. She scanned the geek with a full head-to-toe scathing look. He was wearing grey flappy trousers with big turn-ups, a green shirt with a tweed tie, old man’s shoes – brown with little holes over the toecap – and a duffel coat. Oh God, Nell thought, a student. And not an interesting student who’d wear a corduroy jacket, but a boring one who probably studied something incomprehensible like maths or physics.

They started the long walk home, Carol and Johnny in the lead, Nell and Alistair trailing behind. She noted that he walked on the outside, nearest the road. A gentleman, Nell thought. A man should always let the woman walk on the inside. She checked her watch. She gave Johnny ten minutes before he took Carol’s hand.

Alistair asked if she went to the Locarno often.

‘Every week,’ she told him. ‘It’s great.’

‘It’s a bit rough.’

‘Yeah, but it’s fun. How often do you go?’

‘Never. I just went along tonight to keep my brother company. His usual mates are on holiday.’

Nell pointed at Johnny. ‘He’s your
brother
?’

‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘Chalk and cheese, eh?’

‘Too right.’

‘He only looks like that on Saturdays. Rest of the time he looks more like me, only smarter – no duffel coat. Actually our mother hates him going out like that. She says he looks common. But he likes it. He thinks it makes him look hard.’

‘What does he do?’

‘Works with our dad at the garage.’

‘He’s a mechanic?’

‘He did his apprenticeship. Now he’s in sales. He has to wear a normal suit and white shirt for that. When he’s twenty-five, Dad’ll take him into partnership and, eventually he’ll take over the business.’

‘The garage?’

‘Yes. It’s on the Queensferry Road. Rutherford’s.’

‘The big one? That sells Jaguars?’

‘Yes.’

‘Goodness. What about you? Don’t you want to work there?’

‘Nah. Not interested in cars. Couldn’t fix one. Couldn’t sell one.’

‘But you could have one.’

‘Getting one soon,’ he said. ‘I passed my test yesterday. Johnny’s already got one, but it’s getting fixed at the moment. He drives like a maniac with two speeds: fast and very fast.’

Alistair had just risen hugely in Nell’s estimation. In front of them, Johnny slipped Carol’s hand into his. Nell checked her watch. Yes, spot on.

‘Am I boring you? You keep looking at your watch.’

‘Course not. I’m checking how long it took your brother to take Carol’s hand. I’d bet myself it’d be ten minutes. I was right.’ She punched the air in triumph.

He smiled, said, ‘Great,’ and asked how long she thought before the couple in front kissed.

‘Oh, he’ll put his arm round her first. That’ll be in another five minutes. Then he’ll kiss her when we’re further down the road, maybe about Calton Hill.’

‘Bets?’ said Alistair.

‘OK.’

‘Bet you five shilling he kisses her five minutes from now.’

‘Nah, it’ll be more like ten.’ She took the bet, and noticed Alistair was now walking a lot closer to her. She decided she’d let him take her hand and kiss her when they got home. After all, he’d soon have a car. She wouldn’t let him grope her, though. He wouldn’t respect her if she did, and with a boy who had rich parents and his own car, respect was important.

He asked what she did.

‘I work in a stationery shop. Little’s. There’s a lot to know about stationery – weights of paper and the like. And all the different sorts of cards. And pens. I love pens. One day, I’m going to have my own pen shop. I’ll sell nothing but pens … and ink, of course.’ She’d just decided this but it sounded like an awfully good idea.

Ahead, Johnny let go of Carol’s hand and slipped his arm round her shoulders, pulling her close. She put her arm round his waist. Nell checked her watch. Five minutes. She shot Alistair a smug look.

‘Where do you live, by the way?’ he asked.

‘Restalrig.’

‘That’s miles.’

She shrugged. ‘You don’t have to come. I can make it alone, no problem.’

‘Couldn’t let you do that. Can’t let you wander the streets unprotected.’

She smiled and stepped along beside him, six steps to his two, her high heels clicking on the pavement. She supposed it was better to have someone to walk with. Usually, she trailed along slightly behind Carol and whoever she’d picked up. Carol was the good-looking one: blonde; fond of low-cut dresses; pouty lipped with pick-up techniques she’d learned from magazines and movies; a knack of tilting her head and looking fascinated by what boys said; a certain way of lowering her eyelids – and she never got spots. She did well with the opposite sex. Nell didn’t. Brown haired, pale, dreamy – she was always the dowdy best friend.

She liked it best when she and Carol walked home together, boyless and happy. On summer nights, they’d slip off their shoes and tread the pavements in stocking soles. They’d link arms and sing, mostly Buddy Holly. They were both in love with him and had agreed they’d like a bloke with horn-rimmed glasses. ‘So sexy,’ Nell said. ‘And intelligent, too.’

They would never discuss what they would sing. As if by telepathy they’d both start on the same song, ‘Rave On’, an all-time fave. Sometimes they’d stop, do a little jive together, and then carry on, arms linked once more. They’d interrupt their small concert with squeals: ‘Oooh, did you see that bloke drinking a whole pint in one big gulp?’ or ‘There was a couple having sex outside the loo. Real sex, all the way. Didn’t even notice me watchin’.’ Then they’d resume their singing. Even though the night would be almost over, and they’d be going home, which was never Nell’s favourite journey, she’d be in heaven. She was young, she was out in the night, she had a little bit of money in her pocket and all the songs on the radio were about her.

She asked Alistair if he liked Buddy Holly.

‘Who couldn’t like Buddy?’ he said. ‘We lost a genius there.’

She told him she’d cried when she’d heard he died. ‘The saddest day of my life.’ She sang ‘That’ll Be the Day’. She had the quirks and turns of the chorus perfected. He nodded approval, brought out his horn-rimmed specs, did a small pavement jive singing ‘Peggy Sue’, accompanying himself on the air guitar. Nell was impressed. In specs like that, she could almost forgive him his awful clothes.

She asked what he usually did on Saturday nights, since he didn’t go to the Locarno.

‘I go to a jazz club or a folk club up the High Street. Or just to the pub.’

By now they’d reached Princes Street and were heading towards Calton Hill. Johnny and Carol were so close, so entwined, walking was becoming difficult. First kiss coming soon, Nell thought.

The couple in front stopped, and turned to one another. He put his arms round her waist, pulled her to him. Kissed her. For a moment, she stood, arms by her sides, receiving the kiss but not participating in it. Then she slipped her arms round his neck and kissed him back. She had one foot on the ground; the other was sticking out behind her. It was a move she’d seen in the movies.

‘Oh, the leg-bent-behind-you kiss,’ said Nell. ‘The passion of it.’ Then, ‘You owe me five shillings.’

They walked past the embracing couple, moving now further and further away from the thrum of city nightlife. This always saddened Nell. She hated going home. Loved the city after dark, the rustle of taxis, the tide of people shifting from one night spot to another, or hanging about looking for somewhere to go, hoping to find a party because they, like her, didn’t want the night to end.

Alistair said, ‘You never asked what I did.’

‘You’re a student.’

‘It’s that obvious?’

She nodded and smiled. ‘What are you studying, anyway?’

‘The law.’

‘You’re going to be a lawyer?’

‘That’s the plan,’ he said.

A lawyer. My God, a lawyer. Nell’s imagination went into overdrive. Lawyers made pots of money. They could have a big house, rolling lawns, film-set interior, a Jaguar (from his father’s garage) at the door. Of course, it would be tough at first. They wouldn’t have much money and would live in a small flat – hopefully somewhere off the West End. He’d be studying night and day. She pictured him sitting at the kitchen table, books piled high; he’d be burning the midnight oil, sipping coffee, wearing a crisp white shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. She’d come to him wearing only a long silk robe, slightly open. She’d rub his shoulders. ‘Come to bed, darling. It’s late.’

‘Soon,’ he’d say. ‘I’ve just got to finish this first.’

‘You’re tired. You’ll work better after some sleep.’

He’d lean back and run his fingers through his hair. Then he’d reach for her and pull her to him. ‘What would I do without you,’ he’d say. She’d seen all this in films.

When he graduated, she’d give him a pen. At first, he’d work for a reputable law firm. But after a year or two he’d branch out on his own. He’d have an office on George Street and a secretary: an older, plumpish woman with crisp permed hair, lumpy tweed suits and a fine line in wisecracks. He’d make his name taking on famous cases, defending people whose lives were in ruin after being falsely accused of murder or fraud. He’d win them all. When film stars, international sportsmen, Nobel Prize-winning scientists and world-renowned business leaders found themselves in trouble with the law, they’d turn to their aides and hiss, ‘Get Alistair Rutherford.’ She’d be the beautiful wife in the background, always there, always supporting him. She’d look like Audrey Hepburn. She’d throw parties everybody longed to be invited to. She’d have her photo in the society columns of newspapers. Yes, Nell decided, this man was rich, had a car and wore Buddy Holly glasses. She would marry him.

Chapter Two

Emotionally Itchy

It was late when they reached Nell’s home. She sat on the low wall beside the front gate. He stood in front of her, hands in his pockets. She wondered if he’d kiss her. But, worryingly, he wasn’t making any moves. Perhaps he doesn’t think I’m kissable, she thought.

‘So, a lawyer,’ she said. ‘Your mum and dad must be proud.’

He kicked the ground with the toe of his old man’s shoes. ‘The day will come when they’ll be glad of a lawyer in the family.’

Nell asked what he meant by that.

He shook his head and said, ‘Nothing, really.’ He turned, looking for his brother and Carol, but passion had delayed their long walk home.

‘Does your friend live near here?’ he asked.

‘Round the corner,’ said Nell. ‘I’ll see her tomorrow.’

‘To compare notes?’

‘No,’ she said. A lie. She was desperate to compare notes. ‘By the way, you still owe me that five shillings.’

‘I’ll buy you dinner next Saturday instead,’ he said.

She thought about this. Dinner on Saturday would mean missing the Locarno. And she’d never been to dinner with a man. Dates were usually a night at the cinema or the pub. This seemed awfully sophisticated. Still, if she was going to marry this man, she’d better get used to such things. So she said yes.

Ten minutes later, lying in bed, too thrilled to sleep, Nell planned it all. She would, of course, have to change his appearance. He’d have to get tighter trousers and ditch the old man’s shoes. She thought he’d scrub up well. He was quite handsome if you screwed your eyes and imagined him with a decent haircut.
And
, he had Buddy Holly glasses and almost had a car. You could forgive him the duffel coat if you thought about that.

In the morning, Nell went round to Carol’s to compare notes. Her friend was still in bed, lying sprawled between her pink sheets, hair spread over her pink pillow and surrounded by her menagerie of soft fluffy toys. Carol was indulged by two doting parents who were better off than Nell’s. She had everything, including, years ago, a Mickey Mouse watch that Nell still envied.

Nell sat on the end of the bed and watched her friend yawn and stretch.

‘Great night,’ Carol said.

Nell agreed.

‘What was yours like?’ Carol asked.

‘He’s nice. He’s going to be a lawyer.’ She didn’t mention getting married to him. Too soon, she thought. And if I say I’m going to marry Alistair, she’ll just say she’s going to marry his brother.

‘I’m going out with Johnny tonight,’ said Carol. ‘He’s going to borrow his father’s car and we’ll go for a drive.’

‘Alistair has a car. Or, at least, he’s getting one,’ said Nell.

‘Johnny has a sports car,’ said Carol, ‘but it’s getting fixed.’

Nell was about to say she knew that but Carol wasn’t to be interrupted.

‘He’s really handsome,’ Carol said. Her glistening words tumbled out. ‘I told him straight out not to wear that long jacket when he comes tonight. And he said he wouldn’t. He said his mum didn’t like it either. He’s going to take over the family business when his dad retires. Though that’s not going to be for ages yet. Years and years. Still—’ she turned to gaze at Nell ‘—he’s really, really rich.’ She sat up, took her favourite toy – a soft little pink spaniel that was also a pyjama case – held it to her and kissed it. ‘He looks a bit like a film star when you see him up close. A bit like James Dean. Sort of sulky and moody. I always wanted someone who looked like that. I think he may be The One. I think I’m in love. It’s wonderful. It can happen just like that.’ Carol sighed. ‘A look across a crowded room, a kiss and your life is changed forever.’

It all sounded so romantic, a whirlwind of love and starlight, that Nell felt downcast. She’d been upped. Carol had a moody hunk with a sports car. She had a student who wore old men’s shoes and a duffel coat. She pointed to the red row of lovebites on her pal’s neck and said, ‘Better hide those.’

The following Saturday, Alistair drew up outside the house at half-past seven and blasted the horn. Nell had been watching for him at the window. She picked up her coat, shouted goodbye to her mother and father and ran out. She didn’t want him to come in; he might mention the Locarno, and then she’d be in trouble.