A Winter Bride (8 page)

Nell had said she did.

‘I like men. They’re handy. I like a man in my bed. But I don’t like them in my kitchen when I’m cooking. They always want to know what I’m making. And they hang about watching me and nibbling at things. I like a clear run between the sink, the chopping board and the cooker. And I don’t like men to see my mistakes, like if I drop something on the floor and pick it up and put it on the plate. Men don’t like that. Men are afraid of two things—’ she’d held up two fingers encased in orange Marigold gloves ‘—bossy women and germs. Remember that.’ She’d started washing the cutlery. ‘When we’re done, I’ll show you my family albums. And leave them glasses. I’ll dry them myself. They’re precious.’

Before looking at the albums, May had beckoned Nell upstairs. ‘Come, I’ll show you my collections.’

She’d led Nell into her bedroom. A massive four-poster bed complete with thick floral drapes had been centre stage and the carpet had been white shag. ‘I love this room. This is where I come to find peace. I just sit by the window and relax,’ she’d said, crossing to the floor-to-ceiling louvred doors on the wall opposite the bed ‘Look. My precious shoes.’

Nell had gasped. There had been rack upon rack filled with shoes – all colours, all styles.

‘I love shoes. Never could resist a pair I like. Got over five hundred pairs.’

It had been plain to Nell that quite a few of them hadn’t been worn.

‘Then there’s my handbags. Got one or two of them. Always good to know there’s something in the cupboard to match whatever I’m wearing.’ She’d opened another door. Handbags had been neatly stacked side-by-side from carpet to ceiling. ‘Got quite a few now. Nothing lovelier that a soft leather handbag. Beautiful to touch.’

Nell, proud owner of three pairs of shoes and one handbag, had been impressed.

Then they’d gone back downstairs to the dining-room, where May had brought out many family albums, all stuffed with photos of Alistair and Johnny.

‘You know what people are going to be like from the minute they are conceived,’ May had said. ‘Harry and me were drunk the night I copped it with Johnny, so he’s the wild one. But we snipped up to bed one quiet Sunday when we both wanted a bit of a cuddle and that’s when Alistair came along. He’s the quiet, thoughtful one. Hardly kicked at all in the nine months I carried him. He was too busy sitting in there thinking.’

On the drive home, Alistair had said, ‘Christ, she asked you to help with the washing-up. She never does that. She must like you. What did she talk about?’

‘Men. Then she got out a bottle of brandy and poured us both a huge glass and showed me the family albums. Pictures of you naked on a rug when you were a baby, and the like.’

‘Christ.’

‘Have you taken many girls home to meet your folks?’

He shook his head. A small thrill buzzed through Nell. This must mean he was serious about her.

She asked him what happened on Thursday evenings, as May had said Thursday nights were family nights and Nell was never to expect to see him then.

‘Me, my brother, mother and father all have a big meal and talk business. We discuss how to make money, then discuss how to make more money.’

Nell had said, ‘Gosh.’ When her family got together with relatives they mostly discussed the price of coal. She leaned back, smiled to herself and asked what was in the locked cupboard in the kitchen.

‘Don’t ask,’ Alistair had said. ‘It’s another of her collections; her most important one.’

It only took a few weeks for Nell to be fully sucked into the dazzle of Rutherford life. They called her name when she stepped over the front step. ‘Hey, it’s Nell.’ She was thrilled by their welcome. It made her feel special, and this was new to her.

In time, she started to stay over with them at weekends and slept in the spare room. She’d lie listening as the house slipped into silence, waiting for Alistair to pad barefoot along the corridor, down the stairs to her room and into her bed. Telling him to keep his freezing feet away from her, she would slide into his arms. This was perfect, so much warmer and more comfortable than making love in the car; no more steamy windows. In the morning, Harry would wink at them. Of course he knew what was going on; his son was only doing what he would have done when he was his age, if he’d had the chance. It was natural, he thought. It never occurred to him that Alistair might, like his brother, make his girlfriend pregnant and have to wed. Alistair was the cautious one. And Johnny was simply a casualty of passion. That’s what happened. It was life.

And even though Johnny’s mischievousness had led to him and Carol having to get married, Harry knew that each man was responsible for his own actions and that it wasn’t his place to warn Alistair from making the same mistake as his brother.

May took Nell under her wing, and bought her gifts: a new handbag; a watch; a cashmere jersey. ‘I saw it and thought about you,’ she’d say. She’d regularly turn up at the shop where Nell worked. ‘Just passing. Thought you might like to go out for a spot of lunch.’ Nell was flattered. She’d never been taken out to lunch in her life. Her family never ate any meal out, ever. May would take her arm and together they’d walk to the North British Hotel, a plush, expensive and comfortable place where May’s face was known and always welcome. ‘Table for two for Nell and me,’ May would say. No matter how busy the place was, she was never denied. Waiters bowed their heads, pulled out their chairs, fussed round them with menus and the wine list. Nell had her first taste of being important – one of the privileged people – and she loved it.

‘You would think your mother would be careful with money considering her childhood,’ Nell said to Alistair once. It was late. They were in bed, speaking quietly in the dark. ‘I thought people who’d known real poverty saved a lot, in case it ever happened to them again. They want to feel secure.’

Alistair had agreed that she had a point. ‘My ma loves money. She likes to keep it close. She loves cash and hates banks.’ He’d sighed, ‘That’s what she keeps in the green cupboard in the kitchen. A stash; thousands of pounds.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t tell her I told you. It’s a secret. A secret stash.’

Nell promised not to tell.

‘She loves to spend money because for years and years she never had any. She didn’t have friends at school on account of how she looked. Not exactly raggy clothes, but pretty close. Now she loves to buy things for people. Probably she’s buying their love and friendship, but I don’t like to think about that. And she can’t resist buying things for herself and for the house. She gets a kick out of splashing cash around. She loves that shop assistants fuss round her. Plus I don’t think she can quite get over the fact she can afford to buy whatever she wants. She sees something. She likes it. She buys it. She’s happy.’

Nell said she still thought May should save for a rainy day.

‘Oh, there’s plenty in the green cupboard for a rainy day. There’s money enough in there for years and years of rainy days,’ Alistair had told her.

In time, Nell was allowed into the inner sanctum. May let her into the kitchen when she was cooking. Nell learned to chop, slice and mix ingredients, and, as the room filled with the aroma of garlic and onions hitting hot olive oil, she listened to May’s opinions on men, love, money and the family.

‘Nothing is more important than family. Romantic love, pah.’ May had flapped her hand wafting it away. She’d told Nell how she thought romance was an annoyance. It made your heart beat too fast. It disturbed your sleep. It stopped you thinking straight. ‘It’s nothing; lasts a year, maybe two. Then you’re left with affection and companionship if you’re lucky. Money matters, of course, but only if you use it properly. It can buy you lovely things and that’s fine. Mostly you should use it to buy respect. Make no mistake, money can buy you happiness, but family should be the heart and soul of your life.’

Chapter Seven

The Second Saturday
in January at
Two O’clock

By November 1961, Nell was nineteen and content. She hadn’t forgotten the vow she’d made on the night she’d first met Alistair over two years ago. She still planned to marry him someday. He had exceeded all of her expectations. When he’d graduated she’d smiled when she’d given him a Parker pen on the day of the ceremony, thinking of the promise she’d made on the first night he’d walked her home. He was working as a lawyer but wasn’t earning a huge amount. Though Nell knew that would come eventually. Meantime, she could eat and sleep in his comfortable family home, and she did so often that the drab two-bedroom council house where she’d been brought up became a stopping-off point for her. Her mother made the occasional pointed comment but that didn’t stop Nell. Her old home soon became the place where she kept her clothes and where she slept on the nights she didn’t sleep in the Rutherford’s spare room. This convenient arrangement went on for almost two years.

Carol, now mother of a one-year-old and a self-proclaimed expert on relationships, had suggested to Nell that she and Alistair were in a rut. But Nell had denied it. They were a couple, she’d said, and this was how couples behaved. They went to the cinema, had the odd drink together in their favourite bar, and ate out now and then, trying new restaurants. ‘We’re comfortable,’ Nell said, and then quoted May, ‘Romantic love, pah. It disturbs your sleep. Stops you thinking. What you want in the end is affection and companionship. Alistair and I have that.’ Still, it bothered her that she was knocking on and hadn’t achieved her goals. She should get engaged this year. She should be getting married the year after next. There was no sign of either of these things happening. Perhaps she should mention this to Alistair. But she didn’t want to upset him. Magazines and movies were full of the dire things that happened to women who were too pushy.

It was bitterly cold outside, rain streaming down the window. Nell and Alistair were curled up, entangled on the living room sofa watching
Casablanca
, their favourite movie. They could speak along with it, and usually did. ‘Of all the gin joints …’ Alistair was saying, when May bustled in.

‘Brought you something to keep you going till supper time.’ She put a tray with a couple of mugs of hot chocolate and some almond cake on the coffee table in front of them. They both thanked her, and took a mug, cupped it in their hands.

Nell sipped the hot, sweet drink and smiled up at May. ‘Just the thing on a day like this.’ She had a thin chocolate moustache on her upper lip.

‘Look at the two of you,’ said May, critically considering them and folding her arms. ‘You’re like a couple of teenagers, huddled up watching a daft film.’

Alistair protested it wasn’t daft. ‘It’s a classic.’

‘I don’t care what it is,’ said May. ‘I think you should be doing more than just sitting watching TV. You’re a grown man now. A lawyer working with Hepburn, Smith and Rogers, you’ve got your own office with a desk and a telephone. You shouldn’t be living with your mother and father.’

‘But the food’s good here,’ Alistair said. And winked at Nell.

‘No matter. Strikes me that you two are too comfortable. You’re being waited on hand and foot, getting everything done for you. You’re getting up to all sorts in that spare room. Don’t deny it. I know what goes on under my own roof. It’s time you both grew up and settled down.’

Both Nell and Alistair looked embarrassed but neither said anything, though they knew this was true.

‘So,’ said May, ‘since it doesn’t look like either of you are going to do something about moving on with your lives, I’ve done it for you. I’ve booked the church for the second Saturday in January, two o’clock. The reception’s in the George Hotel. You’re getting married.’ Arms folded, she bustled out.

The film played on, but Alistair and Nell had stopped watching. ‘She’s joking,’ said Nell. ‘Tell me she’s joking.’

Alistair shook his head. ‘That wasn’t her joking face.’

‘But she can’t do that. She can’t arrange our wedding without asking us first.’

Alistair said. ‘She’s just done exactly that. Do you mind?’

‘Yes, I mind. If I’m going to get married, I’d like to choose when and where.’

‘And to whom, presumably,’ he said. He was mortified. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Nell. ‘Well, will you?’

‘Will I what?’ she said.

‘Marry me on the second Saturday in January with a reception in the George organised by my bossy mother?’

It was probably the almond cake that did it. It was awfully good. Taking a bite, feeling it melt in her mouth, Nell realised that if she said no, she was saying goodbye to the good life: the food; the gifts; this fabulous family. She couldn’t do that. Besides, she’d become accustomed to Alistair. She liked his quiet ways; his thoughtfulness. He made her laugh. So she said, ‘Why not. Yes, I’ll marry you on the second Saturday in January with a reception in the George. Why not? I’m not doing anything else on that day.’

He put down his cup, reached for her and kissed her. ‘I was going to ask you. I just hadn’t got round to it. I took too long thinking about it.’

It wasn’t the proposal she’d imagined. She had fond notions of the question being popped over a candlelit dinner, or perhaps as they strolled along the shores of a tranquil lake bathed in moonlight. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen. He’d been thinking about it too much to actually propose. He was behaving the way his mother said he behaved ever since he’d been in the womb.

He took her hand. They returned to the film. Then he kissed her fingers and whispered, ‘Thank you.’ They watched a few more minutes of
Casablanca
before they both started to giggle. In the circumstances, it seemed the only sane thing to do.

Two days later they bought a ring. After that, the wedding plans rolled on. May was in charge. Nell and Alistair let it all happen.

But Nancy McClusky wasn’t happy. She took the news badly. ‘January? Nobody gets married in January. It’s not lucky. Married in January’s hoar and rime, widowed you’ll be before your time. And, don’t you know about winter brides? A winter bride always goes back.’

Nell laughed. ‘Back to where?’