Our Lizzie (31 page)

“It's a lovely colour, that,” Eva said admiringly. “I don't think I've ever seen you look as well.”

Polly beamed at her with over-bright eyes. “It's ever so smart. The nicest thing you've ever had.”

Lizzie considered herself in the fly-specked mirror over the chest of drawers. Her mother had jeered at her when she'd brought the suit home, saying only a fool would buy a skirt with lighter material at the bottom, where muddy splashes would be bound to stain it. But the outfit came with extra material to re-do the hem as it got worn, and anyway, Lizzie didn't intend to wear it on rainy days. Only—she hadn't counted on her wedding day being so wet and windy.

She stared down at her thin legs, wishing, as she often did, that she wasn't so scrawny. Still, her high-heeled bar shoes did make them look more curvy. “I wish it wasn't raining. My hem will get splashed and so will the backs of my legs.” She was glad now that she'd decided against wearing cloth gaiters, popular though they were. They'd have shown up the splashes even more.

Eva picked up the hat, holding it at arm's length to admire it. Given the chance, Lizzie had good taste in clothes, something which had surprised her sister. “Nothing we can do about the weather, except decide not to let it get us down. Here, put this on.”

Lizzie lifted the hat carefully on to her head. It was of black felt, with a narrow brim turned up at the left side, and a band of green grosgrain ribbon around the crown. She had bought the ribbon especially to match the outfit and Polly had sewn it on for her. A large black feather curved along the right side of the brim. She would no doubt change the ribbon again in future to match other outfits, because you didn't buy hats like this very often. It had cost a whole pound.

Sam had taken her to choose it at a shop on York Road, an establishment she normally wouldn't have dared patronise. He had insisted she must look really special today, which just showed how much he loved her, even if he didn't say the actual words. He said the hat looked good with her heavy mass of hair showing underneath at the back, and it did. So long as the wind didn't blow it off. So long as her hair didn't fall down. So long as they didn't get too wet today.

She turned to her sisters, who were both dressed in grey, with matching pink blouses and cossack hats. “You look lovely, too.”

“We don't matter,” said Eva, in her usual calm tone.

“It's your day,” Polly said softly. “Oh, Lizzie, I do hope you'll be happy.”

“It won't be my fault if I'm not.” She banished the doubts that had bedevilled her dreams for the past week and looked out of the window again, hoping the rain would ease off. Instead, it seemed to have grown fiercer, with squalls beating against the panes of glass and wind howling around the houses. She shivered and hoped she'd be warm enough in the church. She didn't want to spoil her smart appearance by wearing a heavy winter coat.

“We'll have to call a cab,” Eva said, in the decisive tone of voice she'd developed since becoming a teacher. “We can't walk to church in this downpour.” There was a knock on the bedroom door and she went to open it. Percy stood there, looking very smart in his best suit.

“I'm going to call a cab,” he said. “We can't walk to church in this downpour.”

They laughed that he should echo Eva's words and the tension was broken.

Even as he went back downstairs, a vehicle drew up outside and someone knocked on the front door. When he answered it, he found Peter Dearden on the doorstep holding a huge black umbrella with difficulty as the wind threatened to turn it inside out.

“Hello, Percy lad. My mother thought you might welcome a lift to the church.” He gestured to the delivery van. “There's shelves in the back you lot can sit on and Lizzie can ride with me in the front.”

Percy beamed at him. “Eh, come in, lad. That'll be wonderful. Mebbe it'll have eased off by the time we've married our Lizzie off. If not, I'll get a cab to take us on to the pub afterwards.” He knew, they both knew, that it'd be no use Peter staying to offer Sam a lift after the wedding.

There was a noise on the stairs and Meg began to walk down, very self-conscious in her new finery.

Percy, who had seen his mother's outfit before, gulped audibly. Peter sucked in a long, slow breath. Meg looked raddled and sallow, a caricature of a figure in the new brightly coloured blouse. And her expression was as crazy as the rest of her, the coy expression that of a flirtatious young girl in a wrinkled, monkey-like face.

“Well?” she asked brightly as she reached the bottom, pirouetting to show herself off. “Do you like it?”

“It's a—a really pretty outfit, Mam,” Percy managed.

“Very striking colour,” Peter added.

“Well, I felt one member of the family had to look good today, at least.” She went to simper at her reflection in the hall mirror.

The two men exchanged glances, then each concentrated on his feet.

From upstairs Polly called, “We're ready.” Then she stepped back and let Lizzie lead the way down.

Self-conscious yet proud, she walked slowly, flushing slightly as she saw the two men watching her. She knew she had never looked as good.

Peter's breath caught in his throat. Somehow she seemed different from the cheerful lass who had worked beside him for so long. Today she seemed—not beautiful, exactly, Lizzie would never be that—but lovely. Her happiness and innocence were shining out of her. Oh, hell! How could her family let this delicate creature marry that twisted sod? And why, why, why had he never before realised how lovely she could look?

His thoughts in a turmoil, he stepped forward to hand her down the last two steps. “You'll make a beautiful bride,” he said softly.

Her smile was luminous in the dark hallway. For a moment they seemed to be alone together, staring into each other's eyes, then Meg's voice, sharp with irritation, broke the spell.

“Well, aren't we going to make a move? We don't want to be late. He might not wait.”

Percy jerked to attention. “Lizzie, Peter's brought the van round to give us a lift to the church so that we won't get wet.”

“Oh, how kind!”

“Smashing!” Johnny said from the kitchen doorway, and rushed to peer out of the front door. “Better than a rotten old horse cab.”

“Good.” Meg followed her younger son to the door. “I'll ride in the front with you, Peter.” She gave him another of those coy smiles.

“Sorry, Mrs. Kershaw, but the bride rides in the front today,” he replied firmly.

“But—”

Lizzie opened her mouth to say she didn't mind riding in the back, but Percy nudged her with his elbow and shook his head. Let alone this was Lizzie's day, he didn't want his mother paraded through town in the front of that van. In fact, he didn't want anyone to see her today, so foolish did she look. “Mutton dressed as lamb” folk called it. Her face was thickly made up, too. Like an actress. Or a clown.

Polly went over to their mother and linked arms with her. “What a lovely colour that blouse is, Mam! I do like pink.”

Eva picked up her small bouquet from the hall stand and took her mother's other arm. “Three beautiful women riding in the back.”

For a moment, Meg hesitated, scowling at the bouquets, jealous that she hadn't got one, or even a flower for her buttonhole. Then she cast a scornful look at Lizzie and nodded. “Yes. We three will go in the back.
She
can ride alone in the front. Go and get the van doors open, Percy love. We'll have to make a dash for it or we'll be soaked.”

“Don't forget your bouquet, Lizzie!” he called over his shoulder, winking at her.

Peter escorted her to the passenger seat, holding the umbrella over her as well as the wind would allow, and then went round to sit beside her. A partition separated them from the rear and they seemed to be all alone in the cab as he drove slowly into town. He cleared his throat. “Sam's a lucky man. Very lucky.”

She nodded shyly and stared down at her bouquet. She had never felt shy with Peter before but she did today, and when she peeped sideways and saw how warm his glance was, the blush deepened and she concentrated on the flowers as if her life depended on it.

“Ma sends her love,” he said as he eased the van round a corner, not daring to drive at more than a snail's pace on these slippery roads.

“Tell her thanks.”

“And…” He hesitated, but he had to say it for he had no faith in Sam Thoxby making her happy. “She told me to tell you—and I agree absolutely—that if you ever need anything, need help in any way, well, you can come to us. We're almost like family after all these years.”

Tears were brimming in her eyes. “Oh, I'm going to miss you all so!”

“And we'll miss you, too, Lizzie love.” The new shop assistant was a quiet older woman, without Lizzie's sparkle. The place just didn't seem the same. Sometimes, it seemed, you didn't appreciate what you'd got until you lost it.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, but Peter stole several more glances at her. And she at him. She wished Sam had dark hair. She still didn't like ginger, especially with a red neck. Peter's skin was nicer, coloured a little by the sun but not clashing with his hair. And his body was nice, too, tall but slim. Then guilt surged through her. Fancy thinking that sort of thing on her way to marry another man. Honestly, she didn't know what had got into her!

*   *   *

Sam watched in annoyance as the Dearden's van with its distinctive gold letters on maroon coachwork drew up outside the church. When his old enemy got out, he found his fists clenching. What was that sod doing here today?
He
wasn't invited to the wedding.

As Peter helped Lizzie out and held an umbrella over her while they dashed towards the church door, anger began to burn inside the bridegroom, but it faded as she waved her thanks and scurried into the porch without a backward glance at
him
. Suddenly Peter bloody Dearden didn't matter, because Lizzie's glowing face was lifted towards her bridegroom.

“Oh, Sam, did you ever see such a day? And wasn't it kind of Mrs. Dearden to send Peter with the van?”

Oh, so it had been the old lady's idea, had it? That didn't seem as bad, somehow. “Very kind. Thanks.” He nodded stiffly at Peter, who nodded back just as stiffly. Sam held out an arm to his bride and escorted her into the back of the church, out of that bastard's sight.

Percy shepherded his mother and sisters inside after them and Peter hovered in the porch for a moment longer, watching as the women adjusted their clothes and straightened each other's hats, wishing—he didn't know what he wished. He turned and walked slowly out to the van, umbrella not up, heedless of the rain in his face, heedless of everything but the memory of Lizzie's happy face as she rushed towards her bridegroom.

*   *   *

Sam had booked a private room at the Hare and Hounds for a wedding meal, but they were late getting there. The photographer had turned up at the church, as planned, but had not been able to take any photographs in such a storm, so they'd had to get two cabs to go to the studio—more sodding expense!—and have the photographs taken there. By that time, Sam was starving hungry and badly in need of a pint.

He had never found old Mrs. Kershaw so irritating as he did today; not only the stupid, embarrassing way she was dressed, but the way she kept pushing herself forward. At one stage, when no one was near, he said in a low voice, “This isn't your wedding, missus, and if you make one more nasty comment about
my wife
, you'll be out of that door so fast your feet won't touch the ground.” He felt intense satisfaction at being able to use the words “my wife” at last.

After that Meg sat quietly enough, just scowling at Lizzie sideways from time to time.

The meal was good, nice piled plates of steak pie and mash, and after three pints of best bitter, Sam began to feel happier. When Percy banged on the table and said, “Charge your glasses, everyone!” he asked the waiter for a double tot of rum, impatient now to get the fuss over with and Lizzie back home.

Percy cleared his throat. “Before I propose a toast to our Lizzie—the new Mrs. Thoxby, I mean—I'd—”

Everyone except Meg laughed dutifully and Lizzie beamed at her husband.

“—I'd like to welcome Sam to the family and express a hope that the two of you will have many happy years together.” He turned to his friend. “Look after our sister, Sam.”

He nodded.
My wife
now, he thought, not so much your sister.

There was a chorus of “Hear, hear!” from Eva and Polly.

“So without more ado—let's drink to the bride: Mrs. Samuel Thoxby.”

Sam raised his glass of rum and grinned at Lizzie as he took a good sup.

She nodded and watched them all drink her health. It had been such a funny day. So cold. So wet. And yet it hadn't prevented the wedding. And now she seemed to have lost all her doubts and worries. She had done the moment she saw Sam waiting for her with that eager look on his face. She caught her sisters' eyes and beamed at them.

The best man stood up self-consciously. “And now, I'd like to ask you to drink to the bridesmaids. You look very pretty, ladies—very pretty indeed.”

When Josh leered at Eva, she stared glassily back at him, because he'd already pinched her bottom and she had threatened to empty her glass over his head if he touched her again. And she meant it, too. After a moment, he looked away and gulped down the rest of his beer.

A few minutes later, Eva looked at the wall clock and got up. “I'm afraid I have to leave now to catch my train. Lizzie, Sam, I wish you a long and happy married life! 'Bye, everyone!” She began to walk towards the door.

“Don't you even say a proper goodbye to your own mother?” Meg called out shrilly, making her daughter stop dead in her tracks, back rigid with annoyance. “I
am
still alive, you know, however little attention anyone pays to me.”