The Leaving Of Liverpool (14 page)

She’d still felt sick on the tramcar home while nursing the velvet box containing a lovely pearl necklace and earring set that Aunt Maggie had given her for her birthday and, in her bag, two pounds for her and Tom to buy a wedding present. ‘You’ll know best what you’ll want for your new home,’ her aunt had said. Tom had been allocated a police house in Allerton.

Finn and Hazel were giving them a canteen of cutlery that Finn would bring tomorrow when he came in a taxi to take her to the church, and a bottle of scent called
La Vie en Rose
for her birthday.

Somewhere in town, Tom had gone for a drink with his mates. She only hoped he wouldn’t end up feeling as sick as she did, or their marriage would get off to a really bad start.

 

Irene came into the bedroom the next morning with a cup of tea. ‘Ah, you’re up, girl. It’s not much of a day, is it? Still, there’s still plenty of time for the sun to show.’

Mollie got back into bed and accepted the tea, the last she would have in bed as a single woman. ‘I feel desperately odd, Irene,’ she confessed.

‘And what girl doesn’t feel odd on the morning of her wedding?’ Irene scoffed. ‘It’d be even odder if you didn’t. Oh, and Happy Birthday, luv.’ She’d already had Irene’s present: a pair of white gloves to wear with her going-away outfit, which was a blue and white polka-dotted frock and her white hat.

‘Ta. I never dreamed I’d be married when I was only seventeen. I hadn’t even had a boyfriend before I met your Tom.’

‘Well, he’s never had a girlfriend, so you’ll be learning things together.’ Irene sat on the edge of the bed. She wore a voluminous flannel nightdress that made her look like a child with an old woman’s face, a face that suddenly turned red with embarrassment. ‘You know about “things”, don’t you, luv? Like the things people do together once they’re married. Did your mammy tell you before she died?’

‘No, but I worked for the Doctor, didn’t I?’ Mollie felt equally embarrassed. ‘I know how babies are made.’

‘That’s good.’ Irene squeezed her foot through the bedclothes, clearly relieved to know Mollie was already fully aware of the facts of life. ‘It can come as a bit of a shock to a girl if she doesn’t know what to expect. Well, I’ll love you and leave you, Moll. The girls’ll be along in a minute to help you get dressed.’ By ‘girls’, she meant her daughters-in-law, although Mollie couldn’t understand why she should need three grown women to help her put on her wedding gown and do her hair.

She discovered the reason later when she found all her fingers had turned to thumbs and she couldn’t fasten her new brassiere. Lily had to do the hooks for her before she put on the long white petticoat that made a hissing noise as it fell to her feet. Gladys helped roll on the silk stockings Roberta had given her along with an extra week’s wages when she’d left the shop for good the day before, and Pauline folded her brown hair into something called a French pleat. ‘It’s a bit more sophisticated than a plait for your wedding day,’ she said. Mollie couldn’t have plaited her hair to save her life.

Agatha arrived with the plum, sequinned frock in a parcel under her arm. The girls looked a trifle shocked when she unfolded it.

‘It’s not exactly a bridesmaid’s frock, is it, luv?’ Lily remarked with a disapproving sniff.

‘I said she could wear whatever she liked,’ Mollie put in, ‘on condition I can do the same when
she
gets married.’

Pauline, who had a knack with hair, piled Agatha’s frizzy mop into a pile on top of her head and secured it with hairpins, then arranged the tiara so the missing diamonds wouldn’t show.

Every now and then, everything would stop, Irene would make yet another pot of tea, and Pauline and Lily would have a ciggie before they started work again. Mollie’s nails were painted with clear varnish that made them shine;
La Vie en Rose
was dabbed behind her ears and sprinkled on a new white hankie; the pearl necklace from Aunt Maggie was clasped around her neck and the earrings clipped to her ears.

There was a knock on the door: the woman from the florist’s had arrived on her bike with the bridal bouquet - six white roses surrounded by a frill of fern - a little posy of forget-me-nots for Agatha, and a dozen buttonholes.

It was all very unreal. Mollie was beginning to feel rather like a tailor’s dummy as she stood in the middle of the parlour, allowing people to turn her round, do things to her hair, her ears, her nails, sit her down, make her stand. The girls worked mainly in silence, issuing occasional commands. They looked extremely serious and hardly smiled at all, not even red-haired Gladys who was a terrible giggler. Irene said they didn’t get on all that well together, but today they worked in perfect harmony.

‘Sit down a minute, Moll, while I put your shoes on,’ Lily said, or it might have been Pauline or Gladys. The girls’ faces were beginning to merge into one.

Mollie obediently sat down and stuck out a foot.

Irene said, ‘I gave them shoes a good scrubbing with a soft brush and they’ve come up a treat.’

Mollie stuck out her other foot.

‘The soles and heels hardly look worn,’ Irene continued. ‘I bet someone only wore them the once.’

‘Stand up, Moll, and we’ll put your dress on.’

Apparently, it required all three girls to hold the frock and ease it gingerly over Mollie’s head, put her arms into the sleeves, pull it gently so it lay smoothly on her hips and fell until the hem rested on the toes of her shoes. ‘It feels like a glove,’ Mollie said.

Mrs Brophy’s veil fell over her like a cloud and the girls circled around, tugging it a bit this way, then the other, until they judged it was perfectly even. Then the wreath was placed on her head, the bouquet put in her hands, and someone said, ‘Fetch the mirror out the hall so she can see what she looks like.’

Mollie looked in the mirror, but the young woman who looked back couldn’t possibly be her. She was too tall, too slim, too beautiful. ‘It’s not me,’ she said, shaking her head, at exactly the same time as the young woman in the mirror shook hers. ‘It’s someone else altogether.’

‘Of course it’s you, Moll,’ Agatha assured her with a catch in her voice. ‘You look really lovely.’

‘I think I’m going to cry,’ Mollie sniffed.

‘You
can’t
!’ several voices said at once.

‘Your eyes’ll turn all red and you’ll get spots all over your frock,’ Irene warned.

Mollie took a deep breath. ‘All right, I won’t.’ She took a final look in the mirror and turned to the girls, who were admiring their handiwork. ‘Thank you, I don’t know what I’d’ve done without you.’ Preparing the bride for the ceremony was almost as big an occasion for them as it was for her.

There was another knock on the door. This time it was Finn with the taxi that would take her to a place where her life would be changed for all time. There were tears in his eyes as he lifted the veil and kissed her softly on both cheeks. ‘You look marvellous, Moll. If only Mam were here to see you now.’

‘And Annemarie,’ Mollie whispered.

Finn nodded. ‘And Annemarie.’

 

There was a gasp of admiration followed by a cheer when she stepped outside to discover the sun had come out and half the street had gathered to see her off.

‘Ooh! Doesn’t she look lovely,’ the women sighed.

‘Good luck, girl!’ cried the men.

Mollie, who had thought no one liked her, was stunned. She shook a few hands and patted a few small heads, until Finn helped her into the taxi, followed by Irene and Agatha, who raised a few cheers of her own in her sequinned dress and diamond tiara. The girls were making their own way to the church: it was only a few minutes’ walk away.

It seemed no time before she was inside the church, holding Finn’s arm, floating up the aisle, seeing Tom waiting for her and watching her with an expression of such adoration that it made her want to weep. Then Finn stopped, removed his arm, and there was only her, Tom and old Father Fitzgerald, who was about to make them man and wife.

 

‘Well,’ Tom said after they’d boarded the Blackpool train, and he’d put their suitcase on the rack overhead, and sat beside her, ‘that was a reception and a half, that was.’

‘It was indeed,’ Mollie agreed. ‘It was wonderful. Your family and mine really got on well together.’ The reception would continue for hours yet and probably end up even rowdier than it had been when she and Tom had left.

‘Your Aunt Maggie’s the gear. I really liked her, and Hazel, too. Patrick’s a proper little charmer. Me mam was really taken with him. But,’ he said, frowning slightly, ‘I don’t think your Finn likes me all that much.’

It was hard for Tom to accept that he wasn’t universally liked by everyone he met. ‘He’s probably just worried about me, that’s all,’ she assured him. ‘I mean, he hasn’t had the opportunity to get to know you properly, has he?’

The frown disappeared. ‘That’s probably the reason.’

‘Aunt Maggie’s going to stay at the George the night before she goes back to New York, so I’m going to see her. We didn’t have much time to talk. You can come with me if you’re not on duty.’

‘That’d be nice, luv.’ He glanced at the other occupants of the compartment, a man and a woman both staring vacantly out of the window at the other end, and gave her a quick kiss. ‘I love you, Mrs Ryan,’ he whispered.

‘And I love you, Mr Ryan.’ She removed a glove and stared at the plain gold ring on the third finger of her left hand. ‘I can hardly believe I’m a married woman.’

‘I’ve got a certificate in me pocket to prove it.’ He picked up her hand and kissed that, too.

She nestled her head against his shoulder. ‘I know you have.’

‘This is going to be the best marriage that ever was, Moll.’

‘I know that an’ all.’

But only a matter of hours later, it seemed as if their marriage was already over.

 

They arrived at the boarding house just in time for dinner. The sharp-faced landlady looked at them suspiciously when they signed in. ‘You don’t look old enough to be married,’ she snapped at Mollie, and Tom had to produce their wedding certificate to prove they were man and wife.

‘We’re on our honeymoon,’ he said importantly. ‘We only got married this morning.’

The woman softened slightly at the news. ‘You’re on the second floor, room eight. If you’d like to take your things upstairs, I’ll set a place in the dining room. What sort of soup would you like? There’s oxtail or tomato.’

‘Oxtail,’ said Tom. Mollie chose tomato, but it turned out to be very watery and she wished she’d asked for oxtail.

The roast beef that followed was as tough as old leather, the roast potatoes looked nice enough but were underdone, as were the carrots and the peas. But Mollie and Tom were on their honeymoon and didn’t give a damn.

Afterwards, they went for a walk along Blackpool Pier, arm in arm, aware only of each other and hardly noticing the jangling music and crowds of holidaymakers with their strange accents and funny hats. It was a magical evening, the sun still warm in the sky, the sands scattered with courting couples lying in each other’s arms, children paddling in the silvery water, the girls with skirts tucked in their knickers, men with their trousers rolled up and a hanky with the four corners knotted shielding their heads. The women were packing away buckets and spades, empty lemonade bottles, dirty clothes and towels. A man was leisurely collecting deck chairs and putting them on a cart.

After a while, Tom announced he was hungry. ‘That dinner wasn’t up to much, was it, Moll?’

‘I don’t think it was, no,’ Mollie agreed. ‘Do you fancy some fish and chips? There’s a stall over there.’

The fish and chips bought - it was Tom’s favourite meal - they sat on a bench and listened to the water swirling against the iron supports underneath. Mollie couldn’t tell if the tide was coming in or going out, and Tom said he couldn’t tell either and, what’s more, he didn’t care.

By now, the sun had disappeared and dusk fell upon them. Only the courting couples remained on the sands. The moon appeared, almost full, the lights were turned on, and the entire waterfront glittered like a million stars. The big wheel was spinning like a top and the music on the pier was getting louder, the crowds more raucous, the air a little colder.

‘I think it’s likely to get a bit rough here any time soon.’ Tom stood and reached for her hand. ‘We’d best be getting back. Shall we stop and have a cup of cocoa on the way?’

‘Yes, please.’ She took his arm with a slight feeling of trepidation. Very soon, she and Tom would become as close as a man and woman could possibly be. She wasn’t dreading it, but nor was she exactly looking forward to it. She was more impatient for it to be over so that tomorrow they could make love in an entirely natural way, all the awkwardness and embarrassment of the first time behind them.

 

They were soon back in their room where the moon provided just enough illumination to see by.

Tom said casually, ‘I won’t bother lighting the gas mantel, luv. There’s no real need.’

‘I can see perfectly well without it,’ she said, relieved they were undressing in the near dark. She removed her clothes, put on her new nightie, which cost two and elevenpence in Blackler’s and was far inferior to the pretty, handmade ones in the suitcase she’d been taking to America, and slid into bed. A few minutes later, Tom joined her. They lay in silence for a while, until he tentatively slid his hand around her waist.

‘Can I kiss you, Moll?’

‘Of course, Tom.’ She turned to face him and suddenly they were kissing each other with an eagerness that quickly turned to passion and Tom’s hands were touching her breasts through the nightdress, then underneath the nightdress. Just as suddenly, Mollie had nothing on and neither had Tom, though she had no idea where the clothes had gone. And now they were making love. It wasn’t quite as thrilling as she’d expected, but gave her a lovely, satisfied feeling that she and Tom were joined together as one.