Lovers and Liars (33 page)

He mentioned the man now. ‘Funny that, you knowing Michael from before.’ Archie had asked about him many a time, but had always been given the same old brush-off. Now he tried again. ‘What did he do before? How did you know him? What made him turn out the way he did? Was it to do with a woman? It usually is.’

Taken off-guard by Archie’s barrage of questions, John tried to make little of it.

When, some time back, after Michael had cleaned himself up and John had recognised him, the man had pleaded to be left to sort out his own problems. He asked if John would mind not telling the others about his past and the shocking manner in which he had deserted his family.

John had readily done as he asked, for he knew that the man had suffered a complete breakdown, and he was sympathetic, as well as respectful to Emily’s father for her sake as well as for Michael’s. He did, however, inform Michael of Emily being happily wed, with child and all. It was cheering news to Michael, who was unaware of John’s heartbreak. He knew of the friendship between Emily and John, yet had left Potts End before it had developed into love.

‘Michael was a neighbour.’ John gave Archie the same answer as always. ‘As for his private business, I don’t reckon it’s anything to do with us.’

‘You know more than you’re letting on.’

‘D’you want to see what I’ve done to the cottage or not?’

Archie good-naturedly took the hint. ‘Go on then,’ he said, and gave him a push forward.

Beyond the working area was the site of the cottage. With a screen constructed all round it, the building was hidden from view and no one – not Rosie, Archie or anyone else – was allowed inside – apart from the delivery men, who were too tired and preoccupied with their jobs to notice what was going on right under their nose.

‘Mind you don’t walk that muck into the cottage,’ John warned as he led Archie over the rubble. ‘And don’t say a word until you’ve seen everything,’ he ordered, ‘upstairs
and
down. I want you to look properly, and then tell me what you think after we’re done.’

‘I should have thought Rosie would be the one to see it before me,’ Archie pointed out. ‘I mean, it’s her who’ll live here with you.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘Or am I invited into the happy home as well?’

John was horrified. ‘Good God, man! Don’t you think I’ve suffered your company long enough? Harriet and I have put up with your snoring, sleep-walking and smelly feet, and now she and the other lodgers can have you all to themselves. So, no! You’re definitely
not
invited to share the cottage with me and Rosie.’

‘Ah, go on. You’ll miss me really,’ Archie said fondly.

‘Yes, I will, even though you’re a crafty old bugger. Now then, shipmate – inside with you, and like I say, don’t utter a word until we’ve gone all over. After that, I’ll want your honest opinion.’

‘What if I don’t like it?’

‘You will.’

‘Mebbe, but what if I don’t? Have I to say so, or would you rather I pretend?’

‘I want the truth, Archie. Whether you like it or not, I need you to tell me the truth.’

‘All right. Lead on.’

John entered the cottage first, with Archie treading carefully behind. As John had instructed, he took note of everything as they went from room to room.

‘Good Lord above!’ The old chap was flabbergasted. ‘However did you do all this by yourself? I can’t believe it. Since when were you a builder and decorator?’

‘Since I set my mind to it,’ John replied. ‘Once you get started, it all seems to fall into place.’

Pointing to the sitting-room floor, Archie was about to speak, when John stopped him. ‘Not a word, remember?’ he warned. ‘Until you’ve seen it all.’

Archie duly clamped his mouth shut and followed John upstairs, growing more and more amazed as he went. The last time he had been in this place, it was shabby and neglected, complete with crumbling walls, dipping floors you tripped over, and ceilings that sagged to a dangerous low. But now it was as pretty as a picture. Every wall and floor was straight as a die and made good; the floors had new floorboards and colourful rugs; the walls were finished in soft, subtle colours, and at each and every window were hung curtains of dainty floral fabric.

There were four fireplaces throughout the cottage; small, beautifully tiled ones in each of the three bedrooms, and a larger one in the sitting room. As with the other three, this one was newly fitted; blackleaded to a bright shine, and with a marble hearth surrounded by a smart brass fender – though unlike the other three, this one had a slipper-box at each end of the fender. The fireplace itself was a grander feature as this was the room where they would do their living and entertaining, if any.

The furniture had been chosen to complement the warm, homely character of the place: a deep brown horsehair sofa, matching armchairs and a delightful, honey-coloured deep-drawered dresser beneath the sitting-room window.

In front of the fireplace was the loveliest peg-rug of browns and greens, with a splash of cream round the edges. Hung on the wall above the hearth was a picture of a ship in full sail, and covering the mantelpiece, a tasselled cream-coloured velvet runner set the whole thing off to perfection.

The bedrooms, too, were furnished in the same simple but attractive manner.

‘Well? What do you think?’ Eager to know what somebody else made of his handiwork, John could hardly wait for the verdict.

As they came out, Archie closed the freshly painted front door behind him. ‘I can’t believe what I’ve just seen,’ he answered quietly, shaking his head.

‘What?’ John’s disappointment was etched on his face. ‘You don’t like it, do you? Rosie will hate it – that’s what you’re saying?’

Smiling, the old man put him out of his misery. ‘I think it’s the prettiest little palace I’ve ever seen,’ he said proudly. ‘You’ve done wonders!’

John laughed out loud. ‘So, you think Rosie will like it, do you?’

Archie had no doubts whatsoever. ‘She’ll love it!’ A thought occurred to him, though. ‘How did you know what colours she liked? And what about the furniture – did she tell you what she wanted? Is that how you went about choosing it all?’

‘I haven’t even asked her.’ John was made to think at Archie’s observation. ‘I just listened and watched and made mental notes when we were out and about. I saw how she’d furnished her father’s cottage, and I got a sense of what she might like.’

‘Hmh!’ Archie thought he was a brave man. ‘Women can be funny about such things.’

John was really worried now. ‘I should have asked her, shouldn’t I?’ he groaned. ‘I should never have done it without talking to her first.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Archie snorted. ‘Rosie knew all along that you were doing the cottage up.’

‘Yes, but she didn’t know I was furnishing it and everything.’

‘Oh, don’t start worriting, man! Any woman would give her right arm to have that cottage. Trust me, she’ll be over the moon.’

What Archie had said touched John deeply. ‘Any woman’? And John couldn’t help but wonder if Emily would have liked this place, too.

As though he had read his thoughts, Archie said gently, ‘Don’t go upsetting yourself about things you can’t change, lad. The past is the past and this is your future – yours and Rosie’s. You remember that, and you’ll be all right.’

John nodded. ‘You’re right. The past is the past, and there’s no going back.’ He slapped Archie on the shoulder. ‘You’re the best mate I’ve ever had, did you know that?’

Archie made light of it. ‘Does that mean you might still let me come an’ live here too?’

John laughed out loud. ‘Nice try, but no. And think how poor Harriet would miss you!’

Archie had noticed something else as he went through that delightful little cottage, and he told John now. ‘You put an awful lot o’ work into that place. For somebody who claims not to be getting wed for the love of it, there seems to have been a lot of time and care in the choosing of things.’

Taken aback, John swiftly put him right. ‘That’s because I was spending good money and I wanted it to be right for Rosie. She’s a good woman, as you well know. What! If it hadn’t been for her, I doubt we’d have a business at all.’

Archie had his own thoughts on that but he brushed them aside, as he asked hopefully, ‘I know it’s early, and I know it’s Sunday, but there’s a friendly landlord who might just serve us with a pint of good ale, to celebrate the forthcoming nuptials. What d’you say to that?’

John liked the idea. ‘I say we should pay this friendly landlord a visit.’ And that was exactly what they did.

The wedding took place on 1 March, at St Peter’s Church in Liverpool. It was a cold day, but with a welcome smattering of sunshine. The church was packed, and it seemed that everyone the couple knew had turned out to wish them well.

There was Archie as best man, all done up ‘like a penguin’, as he aptly put it. Then Rosie’s family: her father, Lonnie, a large-boned man who hid the pain of his physical disabilities behind a warm, proud smile, and her older sister, Rachel, who with her long fair hair and brown eyes looked uncannily like Rosie, but without the smiling eyes and sense of mischief.

Harriet Witherington was a guest of honour, looking grand and very overcome, her hankie at the ready for when the emotion of the occasion became too much.

Michael Ramsden lingered at the back of the church, his mind on his own wife and family, and the need to go home becoming stronger with every passing day.

The congregation kept arriving: the eight men who had been given work by John and who had come to admire and respect both him and Rosie for the honest and good people they were; and with them they brought their families, who also felt a need to wish the happy couple well on their special day. Two public-house landlords turned up, expressly to witness Archie in his unlikely role as ‘best man’. They were followed by many other townsfolk, who packed the church. Everyone loved a good wedding, and they all knew of John Hanley’s story – how he beat the big boys and bought the derelict site at auction, then turned it into a thriving place of work.

The bride looked very fetching in her long white gown, with its high buttoned neck, tiny waist and swirling hem, and pretty tight sleeves culminating in an extravagant lace frill at the wrist. Her long fair hair was piled on top of her head and loosely draped in a veil of silk, cascading from a mother-of-pearl headdress.

Everyone agreed that Rosie looked beautiful. But the most beautiful part of all was her smile, for she had come to love John very deeply, and this was the day when, in the eyes of God and the world, he would take her as his wife: ‘To love and to cherish from this day forth, till Death us do part.’ Strong words, for a strong love. She knew John had loved before, and she had long suspected that he still felt great affection for Emily Ramsden.

When they first became good friends, before the friendship turned to love – at least on her part – John had begun to confide in her; not all of it, but enough for Rosie to realise that for whatever reason, he had walked away from the girl he adored. Once he and Rosie had decided to get married, he would not be drawn on the subject. So because she needed to, Rosie came to believe that he had finally got over that first, special love. She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know what the answer might be.

Keeping her gaze on the man who was about to become her husband, Rosie walked slowly down the aisle, pacing herself with the man who walked arm-in-arm with her – her father, of whom she felt so proud. Her hero.

Leaning ever so slightly against her as he took each careful step up the aisle, Lonnie Taylor was determined to walk his daughter right up to the altar where her future husband waited. Situated at the top pew to reassure him was his bath-chair, where he would sit during the service.

Behind them came the older sister, Rachel, dressed as maid of honour in a pale blue gown and carrying a pretty posy of pink and white tulips, to match those of the bride.

And right there in pride of place next to Harriet, was Lizzie.

Having travelled up from Salmesbury and spent a couple of nights at Harriet’s, getting to know her, and rejoicing in John’s company, she was refreshed and smart in her new outfit of long coat and matching hobble skirt that finished at the ankles and allowed the merest sighting of her brand new, black boots. The only problem was, the left one pinched so badly that she had to keep wiggling her toes to keep the blood flowing. ‘Take it off!’ Harriet whispered. ‘I’ll bend it about a bit. It’ll be all right then.’

Hoping no one could see, Lizzie unhooked the half-dozen buttons with the button-hook hidden in her little reticule, slipped it off and, true as her word, Harriet ‘bent it about a bit’. When Lizzie surreptitiously eased it back on again, it was much more comfortable, and she was able to watch the service in relative comfort, though she secretly vowed that the minute she got back to Harriet’s, she would exchange the boots for the comfy old shoes she had travelled up in.

Harriet herself was looking neat and tidy in an oyster-grey skirt, the wide belt with its silver buckle emphasising her considerable bosom. The bushy iron-grey hair was scooped up and rammed out of sight beneath a straw boater with an oyster-grey silk band and huge jet hatpin. Archie’s eyes had gone out on stalks at the magnificent sight of her!

The service was conducted by a frocked priest who, when it was over, blessed the newlyweds and led them to the vestry, where they signed the register as man and wife.

Afterwards, when they emerged into the bright March daylight, everyone shouted and laughed and threw rice, before setting off on foot or climbing into their carriages to be whisked off to the grand inn on King Street, where the celebrations were soon under way, with the invited and the uninvited mingling to drink to the couple’s happiness, and dancing until late.

In the ornamental garden at the back of the inn, hung with Japanese lanterns for the occasion, Rosie told John how happy she was. ‘You do love me, don’t you?’ she asked nervously. The feeling that he would rather be somewhere else was haunting her.

John thought she looked lovely and told her so. He took her in his arms and kissed her softly, and whispered in her ear, ‘Of course I love you.’ And he did. But not in the same way he had loved Emily – though he didn’t tell Rosie that much. He was too fond of her ever to hurt her. That would be too cruel. She was his wife now, and he would care for her and look after her.