Family of Women (27 page)

They reassured her.

‘Rita’s made your hair look lovely,’ Linda said.

Violet was touched by this moment of warmth from her daughter. The one she now thought of as difficult, strange to her.

‘And aren’t you two a picture? Linda – you’ve done it all a treat!’ Linda also had style, she saw suddenly, a knack for making things look right.

The two of them had new frocks as well, both pink. Their hair was brushed out and Linda had pinned little pink and white paper flowers at the side. They both looked so lovely: Linda with her dark looks and also smiling, for once, and Carol, oh, sometimes the way those brown eyes looked at her, those bright, soulful eyes, she almost gasped. His eyes, Roy’s eyes. For an instant, just for seconds, she was awash with longing. She forced those thoughts away. She seemed to be so full of emotion today!

‘Joyce still titivating?’

‘She says she’s not coming down because it’s bad luck if anyone sees her,’ Carol said.

‘I’ll go and see your dad,’ Violet whispered. ‘You stay here, eh? Let him be quiet.’

Harry was sitting in the back room, the window open on to the garden to let the smoke out. The saucer he used for an ashtray was on the arm of the chair. Outside, Molly was still barking.

‘Shut up, see Qent, in te say a picyou blasted hound!’ they heard from Mr Bottoms over the fence.

‘You going to be all right, love?’

‘I don’t know, do I?’ Harry mumbled. ‘For Christ’s sake stop mithering me, woman.’ His sweet pliability on waking had now disappeared.

With agonizing slowness he pulled himself forward in the chair, each movement costing enormous effort. Violet looked away, out of the window. Harry found any change difficult. He needed things to be the same: the daily routine, fags,
Evening Mail
and the
Daily Mirror
, music on the radio, bits of meals that he could manage, then the dogs inside later in the afternoon so he could get a walk round the garden with his stick without them jumping up at him.

‘A puff of wind blows him over,’ Eva Kaminski observed sometimes. Violet and Eva had become close over the years.

‘He’s very sick,’ Eva often said. ‘He looks terrible. He’s not going to last for ever.’ She was never one to mince her words, but she was a relief to Violet, someone who didn’t pretend things were otherwise.

Violet supported Harry by the elbow and helped him haul himself up, a pathetic, gangling figure. Taking his arm, she helped him towards the door.

‘All right, love? Need the lavvy again?’

‘No – I’m all right.
Christ
.’ He patted his pockets to make sure his packet of Capstan was in place.

A horn pipped out in the road.

‘He’s here, Mom!’ Linda ran to the front door. The rest of the family followed, painfully slowly, Carol on her crutches now. She could manage on those for short periods. My family, Violet thought. And just look at the state of us – talk about the walking wounded!

Danny’s dad, a hulking great figure, had just drawn up in his white Austin, wide face grinning out through the window.

‘All right, Linda!’ he called, his beefy arm resting along the edge of the open window. ‘Nice day for it, eh?’

Linda nodded, smiling. It was a beautiful May day, a deep blue sky, the estate bathed in sunshine, front windows open all along the road. Bessie had said, ‘You ought to have a May wedding – you can have orange-blossom. And you’ll get it over with before the Coronation.’ So, of course, Joyce obeyed.

‘Blushing bride ready, is she?’

‘Think so.’

‘Don’t let anyone see me!’ Joyce shouted, all in a tizzy at the top of the stairs. ‘It’s bad luck!’

‘Well, stay there and they won’t, will they?’ Linda called up to her.

‘Tell her it’s not too late – I can run her to the docks instead if she wants to get away!’ Mr Rodgers joked, his barrel figure coming up the path.

Harry made a wheezing sound, his attempt at a laugh. Violet had her arm through his, which felt thin and hard as a broom handle. Between them she and Mr Rodgers helped Harry shuffle out to the car. He was all wrapped up as if it was December, scarf and all. The walk made him pant.

‘All right, mate?’ Mr Rodgers opened the passenger door for him and helped him sink slowly on to the seat. Other men were always gentle with him, Violet saw.

‘Oh – Vi –’ Harry gasped before the door closed. ‘Get us my cushion. Them church pews’re hard as hell.’

‘You girls’ll be all right, won’t you?’ Violet said anxiously, hurrying in to get the old blue cushion from Harry’s chair. Linda was outside with Carol, who was perched on the doorstep. ‘Mr Rodgers’ll be back for you girls, soon as he can. Don’t come without Carol’s crutches and for God’s sake be patient with
her
.’ She rolled her eyes up in the direction of the bedroom, where Joyce was shouting something about her lipstick. No one took any notice.

‘It’s all right, Mom,’ Linda said, and Violet saw suddenly how grown-up she was. After all that sulking about school, just for today it was as if the sun had come out and she was a different girl. ‘You go – we’ll be all right.’

For a moment Violet felt like a child, sitting in the car, with its special smell, being waved off by the two girls, all in their pink.

‘Beautiful,’ she heard Harry mutter, as if he was seeing everything differently today. Even Carol. The cuckoo child, whom he was prepared to call beautiful as if she were his own. Violet’s eyes filled with tears. It was one of those days when the gruelling, lonely struggle of it all was lifted into something bigger, some pattern which made sense of her life. You’re a good man, Harry, she thought. I married a good man.

The church was only a mile away. Mr Rodgers chatted to Harry. Violet could see his good-natured face in the little mirror. They passed people doing their Saturday things and it seemed astonishing to Violet that to them it was such an ordinary day. Then she wondered if they all smelt of dogs and surreptitiously sniffed her sleeve. She couldn’t tell. Linda said people at school complained that she stank of dogs.

When they reached the church, Harry murmured, ‘There’s the old battleship. What’s up with her?’

‘Harry!’ But Violet smiled.

Bessie was standing outside, smoking, grim-faced. She and the others had come from Aston on the bus. She had on a capacious frock, mauve with white swirls on it, and a straw hat. Her expression was grim. Beside her, Marigold had on a similar dress in pale yellow, covered in pale blue polka dots, and a dark brown hat that didn’t match. Violet looked at her sadly. Poor old Marigold. She wouldn’t have thought of asking for anything better. For a moment she thought of Rosina. She would always have asked! You wouldn’t have caught Rosina going to a wedding in a hat that didn’t match her frock! She ached for Rosy for a moment, or at least the eighteen-year-old Rosina she remembered, and sighed. You felt it on days like this.

Clarence, a stgn= Pgooped figure beside them, had on his old Sunday suit, which he could only just do up round him, and which for some reason now seemed to be too short in the legs. The remaining wisps of his hair were combed over like strands of seaweed on a rock. Of the three of them he looked by far the most cheerful.

‘We’ve been here close on an hour already,’ Bessie complained, as soon as Violet set foot out of the car.

‘Well, you knew it started at twelve,’ Violet said mildly. Her mom was always at her most aggressive when out of her usual home and street. ‘Why don’t you go in and sit down?’

Bessie eyed the church door warily. Marigold stood, impassive as ever, though Violet could sense an excitement in her. Anything different was a treat for Marigold.

‘Let’s go in, Bess,’ Clarence said in his quavering voice. ‘My knees’re killing me.’

‘
You
go in then,’ Bessie snapped, stubbing her cigarette out on the wall. ‘And take
her
off my hands, will you?’ She nodded dismissively at Marigold. ‘
I’m
going to see the bride arrive.’

Bessie had always liked Joyce, who did all the right things in her eyes.

Violet and Mr Rodgers helped Harry into his pew at the front of the church, settling him on his cushion.

‘No sign of Tom yet?’ Harry asked.

His brother, Uncle Tom, was to stand in his place, giving Joyce away.

‘He’ll be along. I ought to go and watch for him, see a few people,’ Violet said, patting the back of her hair, agitated.

‘I’ll be all right.’ Proud, he sat up as straight as he could. ‘Leave me be, woman.’

Some of their friends and neighbours had walked over. Joe and Eva Kaminski were just coming in. Eva, dressed in bright emerald green, kissed Violet.

‘This is a good day. A good day,’ she pronounced, in her spiky way.

Behind them was Edna Bottoms, in a sober little navy blue outfit. She smelled sweetly of talcum powder.

‘I wanted to come.’ She was all flustered. ‘Reg wanted to as well, only . . .’

‘It’s all right,’ Violet said, knowing Edna was covering up for him. Imagine Reg Bottoms coming to Joyce’s wedding! ‘It’s nice of you, love.’

She was distracted by seeing Uncle Tom arrive at last, striding up the road. The sight of him always gave her a pang. He was so like Harry! All Harry could have been in looks and physical strength.

Soon after, Mr Rodgers drew up with the three girls, Carol in the front and Linda with Joyce at the back. The few left outside all stood back to admire as Joyce climbed out of the car, full of herself, fussing over her dress and making Linda rearrange her veil. She beamed regally at everyone. Violet was aware of the special, pitying sIt& Peenmile people gave ‘little Carol’ as she struggled up the steps with her crutches.

At last they were all settled inside and Joyce paraded along the aisle, Linda and Carol behind. Joyce, holding her bouquet of blossoms, tried to look solemn but couldn’t contain her grin of delight.

Danny turned to greet her, looking constrained and uncomfortable in a suit, the collar too tight and cutting into his plump neck. He was very like his dad and just as jolly. Violet watched Carol anxiously, but she was managing perfectly well.

As Joyce and Danny stood in front of the vicar, waiting to make their vows, Violet couldn’t contain her emotion and the tears ran down her cheeks.

‘You’re so young,’ she’d said to Joyce. ‘Just leave it for a bit. What’s the rush? You’re hardly old enough to know your own minds.’

‘
You
got married when you were seventeen!’ Joyce argued fiercely. ‘And anyhow, Danny’s nineteen. We’re old enough to decide and you’re not going to stop us. If you won’t let us, we’ll run away and get married somewhere else!’ There was no budging her.

All Harry said was, ‘She’s right, Vi. She’s no younger than you were.’

As she watched them standing there she was back at her own wedding day, Harry beside her as he was now, but then upright and strong, full of urgent male energy. She skipped past this painful thought. What about her own family on that day? Bessie had been approving all right. Had she married to please Bessie, or to escape her? Marigold had been there, just the same, like a sealed jar, its contents ageing in airless secrecy. And Rosina, her lovely bridesmaid. How she longed for her.

‘I never knew why she took off like that,’ she said sometimes. But she knew really. She was the one who got out from under Bessie.

Back in the winter they had heard from her for the first time in years. There was no special reason they could make out that prompted her to write. This time she gave an address though, in London.

Dear Mom and all of you,

I feel I want to write to you, Christmas coming up and everything. There’s too much to tell you though, to catch up over the years. We’ll do it one day. I hope you’re all doing well. These are my children, Clark and Vivianne. Clark’s nine now and Vivianne seven. They’re doing well and I wanted to show you them. Clark’s really one of us, isn’t he?

Love to you all – Charlie, Vi, Marigold – I’ve missed you.

Rosina.

Clark was very like her: the definite brows and the delicate, handsome features. The girl’s colouring was lighter and she was round-faced and sweet-looking, with long, curling hair. With her, Violet didn’t immediately feel the same sense of recognition, of affinity that she did with the boy. My nephew, she thoughne Pi,wt.

Once again the picture was propped on the mantel in Bessie’s house.

‘So she’s remembered we exist,’ Bessie said. Her tone was very hard. ‘Does she think we’re all going to go rushing down there now she’s spawned a couple of brats?’ She heaped scorn on anything to do with Rosina.

But I might, one day, Violet thought. I might see her. Rosina was her one proper sister. There was Marigold of course, but you couldn’t really talk to her, her an
d her love songs and her closed-off life. Violet was never close to Charlie. He was always just there – Gladys, his kids, beer. You didn’t get much out of him either. We’re a family of women, she thought. The men are like shadows.

Light streamed in through the high windows. Violet looked at Joyce’s slim back in her shiny dress. And Danny.
He
was no shadow though. He had a lot of life in him, and the two of them really did seem to love each other. When they kissed after the vows, she heard a big sigh from behind, everyone going ‘Aaah’, especially Bessie. Joyce turned round, blushing and looking very pleased with herself.

She’s done it, Violet thought, wiping her eyes. Our Joycie – married. I might be a grandmother soon!

Joyce clung on to Danny’s arm, laughing, and Violet could feel the pleasure of the moment in the people round her.

‘She looks very lovely,’ she heard Eva Kaminski say behind her.

Then she saw Joyce’s face change, a sober enquiring expression come across it as she looked down the church, seeing something behind them all. She squinted, trying to see clearly, to make something out, and then as if uncertain, puzzled, her eyes met Violet’s.

Violet turned and saw as well. Seated near the back of the church, a slim, smart figure in a large, peach-coloured hat with a sloping brim, from under which looked dark, defiant eyes. As if Violet’s thoughts had winged her there.