Two Penn'orth of Sky (2 page)

Beryl was the youngest of a large family, most of whom had left home long before Emmy’s birth. Despite the difference in their ages the two girls had
always got on well, Beryl being protective towards the blue-eyed, blonde-haired scrap from the first moment Emmy had managed to toddle out into the court, attracted by the presence of so many other children.

‘Here we are then, Emmy,’ Mrs Dickens said, as the car drew up in front of the church. ‘Today you are starting a new life; a wonderful life which will give you all the things you want and deserve. Peter is a fine young man, though I’m afraid his parents think we are . . . rather ordinary, but after seeing you today they’ll be bound to realise how very, very special you are. Why, if your father could see you now, his heart would burst with pride.’

The car had halted and the chauffeur came round to open the nearside door for them. One of Peter’s fellow officers, clearly deputed for this task, came forward to help the three women out of the car. He was tall and handsome, though not as handsome as Peter, Emmy reminded herself quickly. Peter was six foot tall, with thick, tawny hair and eyes of exactly the same colour. He was very tanned and had a crooked grin which showed off his white teeth, and he had a charm to which most females were susceptible, and an air of command and of knowing exactly what he wanted, which had been lacking in all Emmy’s previous admirers.

Walking slowly up to the church, Emmy remembered how they had first met, though it was an uncomfortable recollection, for she had been with Johnny at the time. They had gone to the Daulby Hall, as they often did on a Saturday night, and had been twirling around the floor when a young man had tapped Johnny smartly on the shoulder, given both of them a brilliant smile, and said, ‘Excuse me,’
in a deep, amused voice. Johnny had opened his mouth to argue – not seriously, just in fun – but by then she was already in the officer’s arms. After the ‘Excuse me’ dance had finished he had asked if he might walk her home, and when she began to explain that she was with Johnny he had suggested she might like to give him her name and address.

She had laughed and complied, and from that moment on she had been swept off her feet into a whirlwind courtship, because Peter had only taken a fortnight’s leave of absence and had told her, on their very first date, that he meant to have her promise to marry him before he returned to sea. She had laughed again but had felt her pulses flutter with excitement at this frank avowal and, very soon, Peter filled not only all her time, but all her thoughts as well. He was so romantic, so different from shy, unassuming Johnny. He made her laugh, paid her the prettiest compliments, took her to theatres, and to dances in smart hotels, and invited her to dine in restaurants she had not known existed. He hired a motor car and they had a long weekend touring Wales. Despite having lived in Liverpool all her life, she had never before seen the glories of Snowdonia, or visited the beautiful coastal resorts of North Wales and the Lleyn Peninsula. They had spent the nights in small hotels or guest houses and Peter had been a perfect gentleman, never even kissing her good night when they parted outside their separate rooms.

At the end of his fortnight’s leave, as he had promised, Peter asked her to marry him and when she accepted gave her a beautiful sapphire ring because he said the stone was the same colour as her eyes.

Now, Emmy entered the church on her mother’s arm with Susie holding up her long, silken train.
Ahead of her she could see Peter, incredibly smart in his uniform, with his best man, Second Officer on board SS
Queen of the South
, standing beside him. Emmy glided forward, reached Peter and turned to smile up at him. It was no longer a dream. This was really happening; the wonderful life which Peter had promised her was about to begin. She handed her bouquet to Susie and just touched Peter’s fingers. He gripped her hand warmly, reassuringly, and the two of them moved forward to where the priest in charge waited.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here, in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honourable estate . . .’

Emmy listened to the words which would make her Peter’s wife in a daze of happiness. He was the best, the nicest man she had ever known and they were going to be the happiest couple in the history of the world. When the time came for her to make her vows, her voice rang out, as clear and confident as his. ‘I take thee, Peter Albert, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.’

Peter took the ring from the bible, and placed it on Emmy’s finger. ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship . . .’

Emmy felt the warm blood steal across her face and, for the first time, she remembered that weddings are followed by parties and parties by honeymoons. Tonight, she and Peter would share not only a room, but a bed. For a whole week, they would live in a
smart hotel, sharing everything. Yet now that she thought about it, she had only known Peter for a few short months, and most of that time they had been separated by many miles of ocean. Loving him was all very well, she told herself, but what would living with him be like? They had kissed, and even cuddled, but he had never seen her with her hair hanging loose down her back, never seen her in her brand new white lawn nightgown with its low neckline threaded with pale blue ribbon, and its tiny sleeves made of creamy lace. Heavens, would he expect to see her out of it?

Suddenly, Emmy wanted to turn and run. Peter was wonderful, of course he was, but he was unfamiliar country. His upbringing had been totally different from her own; his parents seemed to despise her own mother, and his home was actually called Epsley Manor and was situated in the village of Epsley, somewhere on the South Downs. She glanced wildly to right and left, aware of the cold of the gold ring on her finger, feeling suddenly lost, alone.

Then the priest ushered them away from the altar and into the vestry where they were to sign the register, Emmy using her maiden name for the last time, and suddenly it was all right. Peter was exuberant, beaming at everyone. His parents were smiling, his mother telling Emmy in a stage whisper that she looked truly beautiful, that Peter was a very lucky man. Peter’s father harrumphed and nodded in agreement and Emmy’s own mother simply smiled and smiled. Emmy felt proud of her. She was wearing a well-cut grey jacket and matching skirt over a blouse so white and crisp that it dazzled the eye, and the black court shoes on her feet shone like glass.

‘Well, Mrs Wesley? How does it feel to be married to my old friend Peter, eh?’

Emmy turned to smile at the speaker. It was Carl Johansson, Peter’s best man. She had met him only once before, but with his thick fair hair and slight foreign accent he was impossible to forget. ‘It feels wonderful, Mr Johansson,’ Emmy said, predictably; after all, he could scarcely have expected her to say anything else and besides, she now realised that it was true. All her silly fears had fled. She might not have known Peter for long but she felt she knew him better than almost anyone else in her life, apart from her mother.

Presently, when all the signing and official business was over, the bridal entourage formed up and re-entered the church to the swelling chorus of the Wedding March. Emmy and Peter began to walk towards the west door, smiling and nodding to friends and relatives as they passed them.

In the very last pew, Johnny Frost sat alone. She thought he was going to ignore her, to continue to stare straight ahead, but at the last moment he turned towards her, giving her a brilliant smile. Beneath his breath, as she drew level, he whispered: ‘You look beautiful, queen, and I wish you everything you wish yourself.’

Emmy felt tears prick her eyes but banished them resolutely and whispered, ‘Thank you, Johnny,’ praying that he had heard her above the crashing chords of the Wedding March. She thought, remorsefully, that she had underrated her old friend; he was kind and generous, for she knew she had treated him badly and did not deserve the forgiveness which was implicit in his words.

But then they were out of the church and into the
June sunshine. Above them the bells were pealing out their message of happiness and hope. All around her were smiling faces and Emmy saw a large group of girls from the big department store in which she worked, friends from school, neighbours from the court . . . even the wife of the butcher who had made all the pies and pasties for the wedding feast, wearing her best blue hat with the feathers, and beaming as though Emmy were her own daughter, instead of just a good customer.

And then they were throwing rice and Peter was pretending to threaten reprisals as it caught in his thick mop of hair and fell down the neck of his uniform jacket. Laughing and shaking the clinging little pieces out of her veil, Emmy climbed into the waiting car and pulled Peter in after her. Everyone else would walk because it was really only a step, but the car would drive three or four times round the block so that everyone could see the bride and groom, and to give everyone involved in the catering a chance to get back to the court and set out the long tables with white paper cloths and all the food and drink to which practically every woman in the court had contributed in some way, though the actual cost had been largely borne by Peter’s parents. They had insisted upon paying for ingredients and so on, since they were in no position to help with either shopping or cooking, and Mrs Dickens had been very grateful. It had enabled her to spend some of her carefully hoarded money on kitting her daughter out for married life in a style which, otherwise, would not have been possible. Silk stockings, filmy underwear – including such items as camiknickers and camisoles – drawers decorated with pink and blue ribbon. And there were dresses in poplin and
cotton, with the new double sleeve, and a white muslin gown with a long front panel and a pink sash, which would be donned on special occasions. There were pleated skirts and bright woollen jumpers which could be worn under an overall when she was doing her housework, or with some colourful beads, or a scarf round the neck, when entertaining.

‘I say, look at that, Emmy!’ Peter’s voice sounded genuinely delighted. ‘They’ve decorated the arch; doesn’t it look grand? They must have done it whilst we were in the church.’ Emmy smiled, but said nothing. Peter had not visited the court before going to the church because it was not the done thing, but in fact Emmy had joined practically everyone else to help with the decorating very early that morning. It was June, and flowers were relatively cheap, so the previous evening they had bargained cheerfully with the stallholders and flower ladies in Byrom Street and Clayton Place, and the boys and young men had trekked off into the country – or, more likely, into the local parks – and helped themselves to leafy branches. These, and the flowers, had been fastened on to the grimy brickwork, turning the arch into a thing of real beauty. The flowers and foliage had been sprayed with water so that they would stay fresh, and Emmy knew that the court itself was decorated likewise, with even the poorest families making some sort of show, since everyone, from the oldest grandfather to the youngest child, would partake of the wedding feast.

The car drew to a halt and Emmy and Peter climbed out, Emmy holding up her skirts, for though the court had been cleaned down and whitewashed the pavement outside was as filthy as ever, and she had no desire to walk around for the rest of the day
in a gown with a stained hem. Susie, who had arrived well ahead of them, rushed forward to pick up Emmy’s long ruched train, and the small procession moved into the court. Beside her, Peter bent his head to whisper into her ear. ‘What would have happened, sweetheart, if it had rained? There’s far too much food – and far too many people – to cram into any of the houses.’

Emmy giggled. She had wondered the same herself, wondered it many times when she had attended as a guest on similar occasions, but for some reason weddings seemed to be especially blessed, so that even if the sun did not shine, neither did the rain fall. She said as much to Peter, adding that her mother had once told her that the church hall would have to be hired if it rained, which was probably why, when someone in Nightingale Court married, they chose to do so in late spring or summer.

‘I see,’ Peter said gravely. ‘And I thought this weather was a special dispensation from above to show us that God and all his angels think we’re doing the right thing.’

Emmy laughed again. ‘Who’s to say you’re not right?’ she said, rather challengingly. ‘I suppose God – and the priests – must want people to marry instead of living tally, so that’s why we get the good weather.’

Peter’s eyes widened in pretended surprise. ‘Living tally indeed? It’s called living in sin where I come from, so don’t you forget it, young lady. My mama would be shocked to hear such an expression on your lips.’

Emmy glanced at him suspiciously, not sure whether he was joking or serious, but then her mother came over and led the young couple to a beautiful bower of lilies. ‘You must greet your guests now, my
dears,’ she said instructively. ‘And you must introduce everyone to Mr and Mrs Wesley, though Peter will have to perform the introductions for his shipmates, since you can’t possibly know them all.’

‘They’ll just want to meet the pretty girls,’ Peter said, grinning. ‘Carl, my best man, has already got his eye on Susie.’

But Mrs Dickens had already bustled away to fetch the Wesleys to take their place in the receiving line. The first guests began a rather awkward, shuffling approach, but Peter soon put them at their ease and presently Mr Cubley, who was presiding over the beer barrel, began to hand out foaming mugs of ale and the covers were ripped off the food. Immediately, shyness was forgotten. The adults picked up plates from the pile laid out ready and began to move slowly along the laden table, helping themselves as they went. Soon everyone was seated, the children carrying their plates to the various doorsteps, the adults taking their places on the long wooden benches. Emmy chuckled; the court had been positively raucous until the food was served, but now a comfortable hush fell on the company as they enjoyed the sort of food which was not often seen in Nightingale Court.