The Factory Girl (15 page)

‘Anthony should have told us much earlier about you. The first we knew of this association was a week after he was engaged. It wasn't good enough. Would you like a piece more cake with your tea, my dear?' The unkindly remark was softened by an immediate display of etiquette so that she wasn't sure if it was unkind or not – an accomplished way of putting her down as she a moment ago had been put down.

Tony must have sensed the small drama being played out by his mother. He came and put a hand on her arm – Geraldine couldn't imagine him putting an arm about her shoulders as Wally did his mother, Mum giggling and after leaning towards him, straightening to give his cheek a playful slap before telling him not to be so sloppy.

‘I've promised an old wartime chum of mine to be my best man,' Tony said lightly. ‘Better than having four cousins at each other's throats because I'd chosen one above the others. I thought it best to be neutral.'

No one smiled at his little joke, and after a while Tony's mother reluctantly asked whether they would be staying for dinner normally served at eight, thus making it late for them getting back to London. If ever there was a broad hint that they wouldn't be staying the night, this had to be the one, thought Geraldine, glad when Tony said they had plans to eat at The Stag, the village inn they'd passed and that they'd stay there overnight and leave for London in the morning.

This was accepted without protest accept for a compressing of his mother's already thin lips as she envisaged them booking only one room and cared not to contemplate what that meant. But Geraldine couldn't have cared less what she thought, only too relieved that they hadn't been invited to stay. She couldn't have borne another hour under this roof.

She decided to be blunt as they took their leave of his parents. No point beating about the bush. She hoped never to see these people again.

‘I don't like your people much,' she said, and was surprised but happy to hear his reply, ‘Neither do I, much.'

When Geraldine finally came downstairs followed by Mavis her chief bridesmaid and Evie her other bridesmaid, it was to a house seething with relatives. At the sight of her, the buzz of voices ceased and instead came gasps of wonder while she, all smiles, gazed down at a sea of upturned faces.

‘You look lovely, dear.' Dad's sister Lydia was first to break the spell. Instantly everyone began pushing out of the two downstairs rooms to get into the narrow passageway to see how lovely she looked. It was Mum who had to start ushering the bride back up the stairs.

‘You shouldn't of come down yet, Gel. And you should of known better, Mave, letting 'er come down. Yer know it's unlucky for a bride ter be seen before she gets to the church.'

‘That's the bridegroom, Mum,' said Mavis. ‘It's 'im what can't see her.'

‘Well, it don't matter, just you three get back up there. We all 'ave ter leave first. Then the bridesmaids, then yer dad'll escort yer to the bridal car.'

‘Cars!' Geraldine heard someone say almost scathingly as she turned to retrace her steps. ‘Fancy!'

And another voice in a whisper, but audible to her, ‘Posh, ain't it?'

And yet another, obviously not caring who heard: ‘Funny not seein' a weddin' breakfast laid out ready ter come back to. Bit silly if you ask me, 'avin' it in an 'all instead of in yer 'ome. Waste of money if yer ask me.'

Mum, who'd followed her daughters up to her own bedroom where they'd been getting ready as it was the largest, closed the door firmly.

‘Don't take no notice of them,' she said. ‘It's your day, Gel, you do what yer want.'

Now came the anxiety of waiting, with little else to do but prink herself while Mavis fiddled with the veil, making sure that the low circlet of wax orange blossom was sitting correctly just above her eyebrows, that the white satin skirt of her dress was falling properly just above her ankles, the scalloped hem of the tunic part lay just right, low on her hips, and that the V-neck wasn't revealing too much bosom, though that being as flat as the present fashion dictated would not cause too many problems.

Slowly the hubbub from downstairs died away as one by one the guests left. Mum came up to collect the bridesmaids who left before the bride. Now, with only Geraldine and Dad left to wait for the bridal car, the house had fallen silent.

Never in her whole life had Geraldine known it as quiet as this. At night when the world fell silent, the house never was, Dad snoring audibly through the thin walls, the occasional cough, Evie and Mavis breathing heavily next to her, sighing, stirring, the bed shaking whenever they moved in their sleep, springs faintly creaking, low, muffled tones from Mum and Dad whenever he was obliged to get up to relieve himself, Mum muttering, he replying, his voice deep and resonant. Even when everyone was out, there were always sounds from next door, but not even that today. In the silence she heard her stomach give a tiny gurgle. She hadn't been able to eat breakfast, but now she felt hungry.

The sun peeped out from a September cloud and shone suddenly as brilliantly as at any time in the height of summer. Geraldine glanced at her dad and smiled a little warily. He returned the smile equally as warily. They hadn't yet quite got over their differences of these past few weeks, but now he felt for and took her hand, his palm feeling calloused and hard against hers.

His light-brown eyes, faded now, but once, so Mum had told her, the most attractive thing about him, gazed into hers.

‘You orright, Gel?'

She nodded without speaking and he looked down at the linoleum-covered bedroom floor.

‘It's goin' ter be strange, not 'avin' you around – just Evie, Wally and Fred left. Funny not 'earin' your sewin' machine goin' any more. Used ter drive me ter drink cold tea, that thing rumblin' away over me 'ead. Goin' ter be very strange.'

‘I ain't goin' far, Dad,' she told him. ‘I'm only down the road. Hardly miles, is it?' But he shook his head.

‘It don't 'ave ter be miles what takes people away.'

For a second she felt a chill like a cold flat shaft of metal go softly through her body. Why did Dad always have to put the kibosh on things? He'd never been much of a talker, but when he opened his mouth it was almost always some observation that for all its truth tended to provoke annoyance or evoke discomfort. What he'd just said, intimating that married she'd be too well off and fancy-free to have time for them, dispelled all of the fondness she'd been feeling towards him, and she had to force herself to be cheerful.

‘Come off it, Dad, you'll 'ave me in tears in a minute.' But she still needed to get in a dig of her own. ‘You won't miss me one bit, you and me's never seen eye to eye for years.'

‘Probably miss that too,' he said in a low voice, then looked up almost in relief as a car's horn hooted down below. ‘Right, then!' He surprised her by giving her a sudden, brief kiss, his face as hard to the touch as his hands had been. ‘Come on, Gel, you knock 'em in the aisles, eh?'

Not much was said in the car. It was such a short journey to the church that a car was hardly necessary, but it seemed to take ages, the driver not rushing so that the neighbourhood got a good view of the bride. Geraldine could imagine the conversation spoken through pursed lips even as they waved to her: ‘Showin' orf in a posh car – what's someone round 'ere want a posh car like that for? Ain't even five minutes walk from 'ere ter the church?'

Mavis on her wedding day had walked, same as most brides around here, unable to afford anything else, and Geraldine felt a little guilty knowing how much her wedding was costing Tony. It made her stand out like a sore thumb and she wished he hadn't done it.

There at last, Uncle Bert, Dad's brother, took a snap with his Brownie box camera of her on Dad's arm, then rushed back into the church ahead of them and to his pew. Mavis and Evie were in the porch waiting to receive her for a last-minute prinking of her headdress and she began her walk on her father's arm to the swelling of organ music while her heart thumped like an unevenly beaten drum inside her.

The air in the church felt cold on her skin. Faces looked up at her, smiling as she passed slowly by them. She recognised those of her family but couldn't truly see who was and who wasn't there, except to note vaguely that while her side of the aisle was full, Tony's seemed sparse of people. He didn't have the large family she had, but his parents had to be there.

At the altar rail she could hardly turn to see as Tony moved to stand beside her. He seemed very calm, confident. He felt for her hand, squeezed it, and as she managed a peek at him he smiled. She smiled back, feeling better. In half an hour this man would be her husband and all the earlier altercations between him and her family, her and his, would be over.

The service went smoothly. She could hear her mother's tearful sniff once or twice, and the rustle of wrapping paper – guests bringing their wedding gifts in with them – and once Mavis standing behind her gave a subdued little cough. Tony fumbled in putting the ring on her finger but his voice rang clear as he repeated his vows at the vicar's bidding. Her vows had not been half audible enough but her throat had gone dry.

It was after the signing of the register, the triumphant rising of organ music bringing them from the vestry to walk back up the aisle followed by the congregation, that she noticed the absence of Tony's parents. Glancing at him she saw a tightness on his face and knew he was thinking the same thoughts as she, only with more regret and bitterness. She wanted to comfort him but all she could do was walk beside him to the din of music meant to glorify their union.

Someone who looked very much like Tony, no doubt his sister, had been there with a man and a small child. Tony had said his sister was six years older than him and had a daughter five years old. Geraldine found herself wondering if Fenella's husband had been in the war – an idle thought that served to blot out the empty pew where Tony's parents should have been.

Outside for photographs, the sun now behind thin clouds but the air warm, Fenella came up to them during a lull in the congratulations and confetti-throwing. She was tall like her brother and angular like her mother but the angles were softer, revealing the beauty their mother must have been at her age, both she and Tony very like her in looks. Leaning forward she kissed first his cheek then Geraldine's, the kiss warm and friendly, the grasp of her arms conveying genuine delight for them and Geraldine felt instant friendship flow between them as Fenella introduced her husband Reginald and daughter Stephanie.

Waiting in the church hall to welcome their guests, Geraldine asked about the absence of Tony's parents only for him to snap, ‘Later – I'll tell you later, darling.'

She knew even before he produced the telegram arriving moments before he left for the church that they had backed out. She felt angry for him, sad for him, knowing how he must feel, and through a dull ache made herself smile as people came to wish them lots of health, wealth and happiness. The anger stayed with her all through a day that should have been her happiest, but no one noticed as she laughed and chatted and danced to a tinny piano and a neighbour's accordian providing music.

The lack of Tony's guests was unmistakable. Her family, close workmates and friends, even Alan Presley, now established as a friend of the family, entirely swamped Tony's few friends from past years, who, with Douglas his best man, his wife and two small children, his sister and her family, were all there were. It was embarrassing in a way and she felt deeply grateful to Fenella for turning up, in some way making up for his parents.

As to her parents all differences of opinion seemed to have vanished, which was gratifying and she hoped it would continue. More worrying were most of her uncles getting drunk, and several aunts tipsy. She prayed there'd be no arguments breaking out as so often happened at weddings. It had happened at Mavis's – something one sozzled uncle had said that had displeased another, aunts having to separate them, something they had laughed over afterwards, as ever. But would she feel like laughing if Tony or Fenella or any of his nice friends saw such goings on to her lasting shame? Fortunately, with her lot probably being well behaved in the presence of a different class to themselves, there wasn't one squabble.

In fact there was a tension about the whole day that put Geraldine's nerves on edge, everyone trying to be at their best. But at least their send-off was enthusiastic, perhaps her own sort feeling relief that it was all over and the posh lot would go home, having to travel, while they lived only in the immediate vicinity and could go back and finish off the evening with a bloody good knees-up without feeling awkward.

With gales of laughter and shouts to the departing couple not to get carried away and that they had all their lives to ‘do it', confetti was showered over them, a fine rain now making it stick to everything.

Wally and young Fred were thumping the groom heartily on the back, Mum cuddling the bride to her, telling her to take care of herself and make him take care too – ‘Don't want ter start 'avin' babies too quick, give yerselves time.'

Fenella came forward to say not to lose touch and that they could meet in the West End sometimes for coffee. Aunts and uncles and friends took their turn to kiss the bride, Alan's slightly more lingering than she would have liked (it came to her that he must still be in love with her, a thought she brushed quickly away with a sort of sad feeling in her heart); the men to shake the groom's hand; and Dad who came forward, kissed her cheek and held her tightly to him for a moment, something very unusual for him to do, and in doing so managed to spoil it all by muttering in her ear, ‘Don't distance yerself too much from us, understand?'

She was so hurt and shocked by the tone that she couldn't even whisper in return, ‘Of course I won't, Dad,' the filial words sticking in her throat.