The Accidental Time Traveller (30 page)

It turned into quite a party. The men had another couple of beers each and Mrs Brown poured us another sherry. It was very sweet, but seemed to go straight to my head. Oh God, now I sounded like my gran … Finally, Mrs Brown was clearing the dishes, gathering up the tray.

‘Ooh, I must write to our Stephen, tell him he’s gaining a brother. And he’s going to be an uncle. Help me with this into the kitchen, would you, Rosie?’ she said. ‘Then we can leave those two lovebirds together.’

Lovebirds?

In the space of a moment it seems that Mrs Brown had re-drafted the entire scene. This wasn’t a desperate wedding hastily planned to save her daughter’s name and reputation. No, George and Peggy had suddenly been transformed into a pair of devoted lovers, giggling young things who must be left to do their courting in private.

How long, I wondered, before she managed to convince herself that the baby, now growing so obviously, was George’s, and Henfield would be wiped out of this cosy domestic picture?

I went to bed early, and I was sitting up reading
Pride and Prejudice
for the umpteenth time, wondering idly how Will would look in breeches and a wet shirt – when Peggy knocked and came in. She hesitated for a moment and then sat on the bed.

I didn’t say a thing. I waited.

‘I couldn’t do it on my own,’ she said. ‘I know you said you had lots of friends who did. But I can’t. I just couldn’t.

‘And I couldn’t give it away either. I know that. I thought I could.’ She put her hands over the little bump, already protecting her unborn child. ‘But I knew life won’t be like it was before, whatever I do. So this is the best way.’

I still didn’t say anything.

‘I know George is a lot younger, but well, he’s always had a bit of a crush on me. He’s a nice lad, a good lad. I’m fond of him.’

It was no good. I couldn’t keep my lip zipped any longer.

‘Look, if George had asked you out six months ago, six weeks ago even, you wouldn’t have considered it. You would have laughed at him for his cheek. And now you’re thinking of marrying him. Marrying’s for ever, Peggy. You and George. If – I remembered something Carol had said – ‘if Gregory Peck came by tomorrow, you’d have to say “Sorry, I’m marrying George.”

‘And what about George? Are you being fair to him? He barely earns enough to keep himself and you’re saddling him with someone else’s baby. What if there’s a girl waiting for him somewhere? A nice young girl, who he can have a bit of fun with for a few years before they even start thinking of babies? Have you thought about that?’

‘Of course I’ve thought of it!’ snapped Peggy. ‘I’ve thought of so much that my head’s bursting with thinking! All I know is that this is the best way for me. It’s best for my parents too. And it’s best for the baby. And as for George …

‘You know I remember what it was like when I was … when I was down by the mill, when you and George found me. I know what I felt like then. Everything was black, it was the end, I couldn’t see any way out, any single little way that life would be worth living again. Even when I was in hospital I couldn’t say, I really couldn’t say that I was glad to be alive. I couldn’t. I wasn’t. Part of me still wished that you and George hadn’t bothered, that you’d just left me there to die in peace.

‘No listen, please. I’m not ungrateful, I’m really not. Because the one thing that kept coming into my head as I was lying in hospital was George’s voice saying, “Come on Peg, you can do it. It’ll be all right.” And his arm around me as you carried me back to the car. You and George saved me and my baby when we didn’t want to be saved. And now I’m so pleased and grateful that you did.

‘No, I’m not madly in love with George, but somehow, he brought me back to this life. I know he cares about me. He always has. And I’m beginning to care about him. Really. And if he looks after me and this baby, I will look after George. He’s a good man – and he is a man, although he’s only twenty – and I’m going to do my very best to make him happy. I promise that. It’s what he deserves. And I won’t forget that.’

She looked up at me. ‘It’s the best solution, Rosie, the best there can be.’

I clambered out of bed and reached out and hugged her. What else could I do?

Billy was ignoring me. Not nastily or obviously, but he was definitely ignoring me.

I knew it was because he’d nearly made a pass at me. Oh God, I would love to know what would have happened next if Davy hadn’t come along. Would we have gone to the pub? For a walk? Would he have told me what he thought of me? He had already been saying nice things …

But the moment – if moment it had been – had definitely passed. And Billy was clearly regretting the little bit he had said. He hardly spoke to me. And when he did, it was brisk and businesslike. Perfectly polite, but he was definitely avoiding eye contact. Yet sometimes, I knew he was looking at me across the office. I could feel his eyes on me. If I turned around, I’d see a tiny movement just out of eye range, but Billy would be bent over his typewriter, or the diary, or his notebook.

It was wonderful that he cared, that he felt the same as I did. But he wasn’t going to do anything about it. I knew he wanted to, but he wouldn’t, because he was a married man, a family man.

I admired him for that. Loved him even more. I loved his loyalty to his children. I loved the way he spent time with them, teaching them things. He didn’t try and pretend he was a kid too, fooling around with them. He was their father and he took that seriously.

Most of all, though, I loved him for his loyalty to Carol. I knew he was falling for me, but he was trying hard not to, because of his loyalty to his wife. I genuinely admired him for that – even if it made me feel utterly miserable.

I was sitting in the newsroom, typing up a very dull story about Bob-a-Job week (sending small boys to knock on doors offering their services. Paedo fantasy or what?) and trying not to put my head down on the typewriter and weep, when young George came bouncing in.

‘All ready for Thursday then, Rosie?’ he asked happily, to a chorus of comments from the men in the room.

Word had got around about the wedding and had stunned everybody, hardly surprising since George and Peggy had never even been out together. Marje had guessed the story but I knew I could trust her to say nothing, so everyone presumed Peggy’s baby was George’s, which meant he got all the sympathy – and the rude comments.

‘Hey George, hear you been paddling without your boots on!’ yelled one of the young messengers walking past the door.

George took it all, responded merely by grinning. He really did seem so pleased to be marrying Peggy. I hoped she’d make him happy.

It was a special licence job. Bit of a rushed do.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Brown with her mouth full of pins that evening, ‘it’s not as though we’re inviting anybody. We haven’t got much to organise.’ She was busy trying to alter a dress for Peggy to wear, letting out seams, moving buttons. ‘It’s not the way I thought my only daughter would be getting married. Not the way at all.’

‘My friend Kate had a lovely dress when she got married, even though she was six months pregnant,’ I said chattily as I brought them a tray of tea. ‘You can get nice posh maternity dresses, even wedding dresses.’

Mrs Brown nearly choked. ‘I never heard of such a thing! Maternity wedding dresses! Well really!’

I could have pointed out that Peggy was far from the only girl in need of such a thing, but guessed I’d be wasting my breath.

The wedding was going to be extremely quiet, in the register office. Just the Browns and George’s mum, and George’s friend Derek as best man. It all seemed very hole in the corner to me, not exactly a celebration.

‘There!’ Mrs Brown handed the dress to Peggy, who slipped it on. To be fair, her mother had done a good job. The dress, a pale silk, looked dressy and flattering.

‘What are you going to wear on top?’

‘I don’t know. My coat I suppose.’

Oh dear. Her coat was fine, but it was very fitted. It was some time since she’d been able to do it up.

‘There’s no point in buying anything new just for the day,’ snapped Mrs Brown. ‘You’ve got plenty of other things you’ll need to spend your money on.’

Which gave me an idea …

In the window of Adcocks, I had spotted a very nice jacket. I had fancied it for myself but dismissed it as I had nothing really to wear it with. It was a mid colour blue, short, loose and fastened with one huge button. It was young and fun. It would, I thought, go perfectly with Peggy’s let-out dress, be fashionable but yet would fit nicely over the burgeoning bump, and I wanted to buy it for her.

I would have liked her to have come with me to choose it and try it on, but until the wedding, Peggy was practically in purdah, hardly allowed out until she had that wedding ring on her finger and was respectable again. So I went back to Adcocks and faced Frosty Face and tried the jacket on. It was – as Frosty Face pointed out – a bit tight across the shoulders for me, but Peggy was narrower there than I was, so that would be fine. And it was plenty big enough in the middle to flow over the bump. So I forked out a week’s wages for it, and took it home.

Janice was sitting at the kitchen table with her homework (railways of Canada; functions of the lungs). The room smelt of the onions in the corned beef hash bubbling on the top of the range for supper. Peggy was sitting in her dad’s chair, sewing, surrounded by huge swathes of old sheets, much patched and darned. She looked tense and tired, not a bit like a bride only days before her wedding.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Making cot sheets. These are all Mother’s old sheets that she was keeping for tea towels, but I think I can manage to cut a few cot sheets out of them.’

‘Gosh,’ I said, ‘are cot sheets that expensive to buy?’

Peggy laughed. ‘You don’t
buy
cot sheets. What a waste of money that would be. Mind you, I think I’ll be hemming sheets in my sleep. What have you got there?’

I pushed the old sheets out of the way and placed the big box ceremoniously on the table.

‘For you.’

‘For me?’

‘Yes. Open it.’ I grinned and Peggy giggled and looked years younger. She stuck her needle carefully into the small cot sheet, put it down on the table, stood up wiping the stray bits of cotton off her, and picked up the box.

‘It’s from Adcocks!’

‘Yes.’ Peggy unfastened the string and opened the box to reveal a cloud of tissue paper. She removed it carefully, putting it on the table to be folded and used again.

‘Oh! It’s a jacket!’

‘Yes, it’s a jacket. What’s more, it’s a jacket for you to wear on your wedding day. I just hope the colour’s right.’

Peggy carefully took the jacket out of the tissue paper and looked at it. Oh God, I thought, she doesn’t like it … Quite the opposite. ‘It’s beautiful!’ she said.

‘Try it on.’

Even over the old jumper and shapeless skirt she was wearing, the jacket looked good. We took it upstairs and tried it against the dress.

‘It goes perfectly,’ said Janice, who had followed us up.

Janice stroked the jacket and looked in admiration at the big button, the silky lining. ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ she said, almost in awe. ‘Very special.’

‘Here Janice, you try it on for a second,’ said Peggy, and popped it over Janice’s scraggy gymslip and threadbare cardigan, where it hung like a clown’s coat. Janice looked at herself in the mirror and her eyes widened. Her hands, I noticed, were spotlessly clean and her nails looked pink and cared for. She’d soon have her nail varnish from Peggy.

‘It would be lovely to have clothes like this all the time. It would be like a fairy tale, wouldn’t it?’ said Janice. After another long look, she solemnly handed the jacket back to Peggy, who was nearly in tears.

‘Oh Rosie, I’ve never had anything as posh as this. It must have cost a fortune. Thank you.’

‘It’s your wedding day. You deserve to have something new. It’s a special day.’

‘Yes it is, isn’t it?’ she said, looking determined. ‘It’s the start of my new life. With George. It will be a good life, Rosie. I promise I’ll do my best. It will be worth celebrating.’

Mr Brown obviously thought so too. He came home later and said he’d booked a table at The Fleece for us all after the ceremony.

‘But I was just going to do something for us here,’ said Mrs Brown.

‘It’s our only daughter’s wedding. We’ll do it properly, or at least as properly as we can,’ he said firmly.

We could have walked to the register office, but Mr Brown insisted on a car to take us. When Peggy came downstairs in the altered dress and the new jacket, he walked towards her and wrapped her in his arms. ‘My little girl,’ he said, ‘you look lovely.’

She did too. Very smart. Though I say it myself, the jacket was a triumph. I was so pleased. Best of all – from Mrs Brown’s point of view – was that you couldn’t really see that Peggy was pregnant, especially when she held her bouquet in front of her.

‘Something old, something new – that’s the dress and jacket,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Something borrowed. Something borrowed! Quick, Peg, borrow something.’

‘Here,’ I said quickly, ‘borrow my hanky!’ It was one of the little lace ones I’d found in the trunk the day I arrived.