Helpless (22 page)

I
told Bob that I had been to see my mother and that we were welcome to call in the following Saturday. He gave me a warm smile. ‘Good for you, Marianne. Now I want you to take Friday off and don’t you be booking any overtime this weekend – I’ve got something special planned.’

‘What? ‘I asked, for I hated being kept in the dark and I didn’t want to lose a day’s pay unless it was important. But he just gave me a teasing smile and told me I would have to be patient and I’d find out soon enough.

‘Just be ready by nine sharp because we’re going to London,’ was all he would say, and I had to be content with that. Although London was quite close, I rarely went there and I was excited at the prospect.

On Friday morning I was up, dressed and ready for my outing even before Bev and her husband were up.

Something told me that, whatever Bob had planned, it was going to be something special.

We drove part of the way there until we reached an underground station, where we parked the car, then took the tube into London. Rush hour was dying down but I still held Bob’s hand tightly as he marched through the crowds. After about an hour and one change of trains, we arrived at Hatton Garden.

‘You’ve never been here before?’ Bob asked. Then he laughed when I told him I didn’t know where we were.

He took my arm until we reached a small shop. He rang a bell and an old man wearing black clothes opened the door.

‘If we are going to meet that dad of yours I think you had better have something to show him, don’t you?’ Bob said as he ushered me in front of him. The next thing I knew trays of sparkling rings were being placed in front of me.

I was speechless – a ring was something I hadn’t given any thought to. Just the fact that Bob wanted to marry me was more than I had dreamt of.

I tried on one after the other; they were all lovely and each one seemed as beautiful as the next. Then my eyes alighted on one that was quite different. It was a simple gold band with a small cluster of diamonds. I slid that one onto my finger, but to my complete disappointment it was too big.

‘If that’s the one you like, it can be made smaller,’ the smiling jeweller assured me, and I felt my face break out in a wide smile when he assured us that it would be ready in an hour.

‘Come on, Marianne,’ Bob said, ‘let’s do a bit of sightseeing and then we can come back and collect it.’

We strolled around the streets and looked at some of the wonderful old churches in the area. I felt as though I was floating on air. We returned on the hour and I tried the ring on for size. It was perfect for my small hand. ‘Not yet, you don’t,’ Bob said laughingly, as he put it back into its velvet-lined box and stowed it securely in his pocket. We found a small cosy Chinese restaurant nearby and sat down to order some lunch. That was when Bob took the ring out of its box and placed it formally on my finger. I felt I would burst with happiness.

‘We’re going round to my parents this evening,’ Bob told me. ‘They want to celebrate with us.’

I gulped at the thought of that for I had only met his well-spoken parents once. I thought of the big semi he had grown up in with its comfortable furniture, family photographs, in silver frames on the mantelpiece, watercolours of landscapes hanging on the walls and shelves full of books, and then thought of my parents’ home.

As though reading my mind, Bob squeezed my hand. ‘It’s you I’m marrying, Marianne,’ he said, ‘and my mother’s delighted I’m getting out of her hair and settling down. So stop fretting.’

He was right; his parents greeted us at the door with huge welcoming smiles, and my engagement ring was much admired. Bob’s father shook his hand rather formally but his mother reached up on tiptoes and hugged and kissed her son proudly. I was kissed warmly on the cheek and Bob’s mother cried a bit whilst his father opened champagne and they toasted us. He made a formal little speech about how pleased they were that I was going to be part of their family.

That night I could hardly sleep for excitement ‘Please,’ I said, ‘if there is a God and you’re listening, don’t let anything spoil this happiness.’

The next day was Saturday and Bob and I drove to my parents’ house for tea. On the drive I twisted the engagement ring nervously round and round on my finger. If Bob noticed, he made no comment; he just kept chatting to me about where we were going to live once we were married. ‘Buying is better than renting,’ he said and I, happy to agree with whatever he said, just nodded my head.

We reached my parents’ house too soon for my liking. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I remembered the last time I had seen my father. How was he going to greet us? I wondered what he was going to be like with Bob.

To my surprise it was my father who flung the door open, his hand stretched out to shake Bob’s.

‘Come on in,’ he said, and I realized he had already had a few drinks, enough to put him in a jovial state, but not enough yet to make him turn unpredictable.

‘Not going to drink bloody cups of tea when my daughter’s honoured us with a visit,’ he said, as he brought out bottles of beer for himself and Bob. He then poured two glasses of sweet sherry for my mother and me.

My father said he was happy for us and admired the ring. I knew he would be thinking about what it cost rather than how pretty it was on my finger. My mother showed little emotion and nodded her approval, but I could sense her nervousness.

‘Where are my brothers and sister?’ I asked, and was told that the elder ones were at their friend’s house and the younger one was with Dora.

Suddenly my father looked over at me, and I saw the good humour fade from his face. I braced myself for the inevitable.

‘So, Marianne, what have you told your intended about the baby, then?’ The room went silent for a second and thoughts of my father telling Bob about both of my daughters flashed into my mind along with the picture of being asked to return my ring. Then Bob spoke calmly but forcefully.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I want you to get this completely straight. I am not interested in Marianne’s past. The only thing that matters to both of us is our future together. She’s the woman I love and want to marry and we will do it with or without your blessing. I intend to cherish and take care of her for the rest of my life.’

He stood up then and drew himself up to his full considerable height, crossed to where I was sitting and placed his arm protectively around my shoulders as he looked unsmilingly at my father. ‘So you needn’t worry about her or,’ and here he paused to give his words more impact, ‘ever mention that subject again.’

At his words, tears of love and fear formed in my eyes. Oh, my God, I thought, what is Dad going to say now? But my father said nothing, nor in the future did he ever risk Bob’s wrath by bringing that subject up again. I turned to Bob, looked up at him and mouthed the words ‘Thank you’.

That was the last time my past was ever mentioned.

Eight months later we were married.

A
few weeks after we had been to Hatton Garden and become officially engaged, Bob told me that he had another surprise for me. He bundled me into his car one afternoon after work and we drove to a road I did not recognize. He pulled up outside a bungalow that had a ‘For sale’ sign in its front garden.

I looked at him quizzically and he told me that he had put in an offer on it, subject to my approval. Only if I was sure that I wanted this house to be our home would he go ahead and buy it.

‘It needs a bit of work, Marianne,’ he said, ‘but we could do it up at weekends – painting and redecorating together will be fun. I’m not a bad carpenter so I can put in cupboards and a new kitchen too if you like.’

As I walked through the rooms I visualized them painted in light, bright colours with pretty curtains hanging at the windows.

Bev would make those for me, I thought, as I visualized their presence already.

As soon as we had the keys we spent nearly every evening there working on the house. Bob did the heavy work like sanding down woodwork and I helped him painting walls and scrubbing, then sealing the beautiful wooden floors. We had decided that the bungalow was where our honeymoon was going to be spent and we wanted everything ready for us to move into the day we were married.

Bob told me he disliked hire purchase and insisted that, apart from the mortgage, we didn’t want to start married life in debt. As we were going to pay for our wedding ourselves, we decided to get married in a registry office instead of a church.

Bob’s parents were a bit disappointed that there was not going to be a big church wedding but they understood that my parents were not in a position to pay for it. They offered to break with tradition, but Bob and I were adamant that we wanted to pay for our own wedding; after all, we were both working. When this was explained to them his mother said laughingly that it was a good thing that she had planted carnation seeds the day we told her we were getting married. She thought they would be ready for us to have as buttonholes on our wedding day!

His father simply said that he knew what he would be doing at weekends, rolling up his sleeves and helping get the house ready for our wedding night.

Flat packs of new furniture were bought and assembled at weekends. New cupboard doors, painted a glossy white, replaced old peeling green ones on the kitchen units, shiny white tiles were laid in the bathroom and Bev’s sewing machine worked overtime as matching curtains were made for every room. ‘Wedding present,’ she said when we thanked her. I was given the task of choosing fabrics and paint for our bedroom. I had told Bob that when I lived at home I had dreamt of having a bedroom to myself. ‘So you choose exactly what you want, Marianne. I hope you don’t mind sharing the bedroom with me, though!’ he said laughingly, and I blushed at the thought of our wedding night.

I had the walls painted a very pale cream, light-blue curtains covered the windows and out of my savings I went to the newly opened Habitat store in London and bought a duvet and a set of blue and yellow covers, pillowcases and sheets. This would complete our bedroom beautifully, as would the new pine double bed that Bob’s parents had given us as a wedding present.

The weeks flew by as we prepared the house. We celebrated Christmas and then it was time to put the final plans together for the wedding.

Bob’s niece and my sister were the bridesmaids, and once again Bev’s sewing machine had been hard at work making them blue velvet dresses, trimmed with white fur.

I had already searched the shops for my outfit and finally I found just the thing, a cream knee-length dress and a white fluffy jacket.

Finally, in the middle of February, the big day arrived. I was up at the crack of dawn getting ready. Make-up was carefully applied with Bev’s help, and large foam-covered rollers were removed from my hair, which had been carefully washed the night before. I stepped carefully into my dress and a big white flower was pinned into my hair. Finally, my feet slipped into white high-heeled shoes, and I was ready.

Bob and I were to travel in the same car to the registry office.’ It’s the day we are going to start our journey through life,’ he had said to me the night before, ‘so we might as well start as we mean to carry on – together.’

When the car arrived Bob got out of it to help me in and I gulped at how handsome he looked with his dark hair sleeked back and his broad shoulders filling out his suit jacket.

I held my posy of tiny white flowers, in a hand that shook with both nerves and excitement, tightly all the way to the registry office. I still could not quite believe that this day had finally come.

My wedding day is now a blur of happy memories – of being so overcome that I could hardly say my own name, friends kissing me and Bob calling me Mrs Marsh.

We left the registry office hand in hand and laughingly half-ran, half-walked through a cloud of confetti to the waiting cars. Bob’s parents had booked a restaurant and were taking the entire small group who were at the registry office for lunch.

That day I was pleased to see my parents had made a special effort to look nice. My mother was in a new dress with her hair pinned up, while my father wore a white shirt under a slightly too tight suit jacket.

I can’t remember what I ate for that lunch. I can remember champagne being poured, speeches being made and everyone laughing at the best man’s jokes. Then it was over and it was back to our house.

Friends had organized a buffet while we had been at the registry office and out for lunch. All I had to do was change and come down to the party, which started as soon as the first person rang the bell. Friend after friend turned up clutching wedding presents of household gifts until there was enough piled up in our spare bedroom to ensure that I had no need to shop for china, saucepans or towels for a long time.

Records were placed on the turntable: Elvis with his latest hit ‘It’s Now or Never’ was followed by new group The Rolling Stones’ faster music. As the evening wore on the records changed until Bob and I danced to Frank Sinatra’s ‘The Last Dance’.

Gradually our friends left until it was just the two of us in our new home. The fire was burning and the new curtains were drawn against the world. As Bob had said, that day was the beginning of our journey together.

Over the years our marriage became a partnership where every decision was a joint one, every holiday was taken together and, when our two sons arrived, childcare was shared. It was a perfect marriage, a marriage built on trust; only marred for me by the secret that I carried for so many years. Every Christmas when I looked at the happy faces of my two sons I remembered that other one when a group of girls had sat with their babies trying to pretend they were part of a family.

Oh, so many times I had wanted to tell Bob, but I never found the courage to admit that it hadn’t only been one mistake.

‘And now you’ve written,’ I said to the invisible presence of my daughter.

When the law changed, allowing adopted children to trace their birth parents once they turned eighteen, I knew that this day might come. And, as I whispered those thoughts in the empty living room, I knew that I had reached the day when the decision about what I was going to do could no longer be put off. I thought of the happy years of marriage that lay behind me. I pictured our two sons, grown men now, who, like their father, stood at well over six feet.

I thought then that it was not just my husband I had deceived all those years but both of them as well.