The Unknown Bridesmaid (3 page)

Miss Cass looked surprised. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t call her shy.’

‘What would you call her, then?’ Julia asked.

There was a long pause while Miss Cass thought, and frowned. Disappointingly, she then said she was unable to describe accurately Honor’s attitude, but she repeated again, quite emphatically, that the girl certainly did not give the impression of shyness. Julia switched tack. She asked the
teacher if Honor was a satisfactory pupil in other ways, was her schoolwork good, was she obedient? Miss Cass said Honor’s work was average, that she didn’t lag behind but nor was she outstanding in any way. She wasn’t
dis
obedient but there was always a certain reluctance about following instructions. She would do everything slowly and slightly resentfully. The minute Miss Cass had used the word ‘resentfully’, she took it back. ‘What I mean,’ she said, ‘is that Honor never seems to enjoy cooperating.’ Then she looked anxious, as though about to retract even that innocuous statement, so Julia quickly said she thought she understood what Miss Cass meant. ‘Do you have any of Honor’s written work available for me to see?’ she asked. Miss Cass said she had an exercise book containing work of Honor’s which she was currently marking, but she would have to ask Dr Richards for permission to show it to Julia. Julia nodded, and said she would ask herself after their fifteen minutes were up.

They almost were. Miss Cass had taken so long replying to Julia’s simple questions that the time passed quickly. Julia looked at her watch. ‘One final thing,’ she said, ‘have you met Honor’s mother?’ There was an immediate change in the teacher’s attitude. This was something she was happy to discuss. Mrs Brooks came in every day demanding to see Honor’s form teacher and every day she had a list of complaints about how her daughter had allegedly been treated. Miss Cass was astonished at the list of what Mrs Brooks called ‘assaults’ which Honor was supposed to have suffered. She was said to have been pinched, scratched, pushed and to have had her hair pulled so viciously that she now had small bald spots all over her scalp where hairs had actually been yanked out. This was bullying, Mrs Brooks claimed, of the worst kind. Honor was defenceless against the ganging up that was going on. She didn’t pay the fees she did to have her daughter treated like this.

Now the fifteen minutes were definitely up, but Miss Cass
had warmed to her subject and indignation made her forget the time. It was Julia who reminded her. She stood up, held out her hand, and thanked the teacher for being so helpful. Miss Cass, though, hadn’t finished. She was eager to emphasise that Mrs Brooks was mistaken. Far from Honor being bullied, she was the bully, and Dr Richards had spoken to her after this tirade from the mother had been reported to him. Miss Cass had been so upset by the allegations, horrified that she might have missed observing Honor being tormented, and she had carried out a full investigation. The most trustworthy children in her form had assured her that no one bullied Honor Brooks. They were all much too frightened of her.

Dr Richards said yes, Julia could look at Honor’s English exercise book, but in his presence, in his study. Julia didn’t mind in the least where she looked at it, or in whose presence, but she was amused at Dr Richards’ self-importance and suspicious nature. The exercise book was produced by Miss Cass and laid on Dr Richards’ desk. ‘Might I pick it up?’ Julia solemnly asked.

‘Of course,’ Dr Richards said, suddenly apparently aware of Julia perhaps mocking him, and pushed it towards her.

Nothing written there was particularly revealing. Honor’s writing was neat. Her sentences were, for the most part, properly punctuated. The content of the various pieces of work was unremarkable, though there was one essay entitled ‘My Saturdays’ which offered a glimpse into Honor’s life. ‘On Saturdays,’ it began, ‘I see my cousin.’

But her mother had said Honor had no cousins.

Julia and her mother went straight home after the wedding, though they had been invited to stay. Going straight home meant catching an evening train, the last one that stopped
at Penrith. Julia fell asleep as soon as she was seated and slept the whole way. Her mother had to shake her awake ten minutes before the train arrived at Penrith. It only halted there for a couple of minutes and so she and her mother had to be standing ready at the door. Julia swayed with fatigue and half fell out of the train. Her mother dragged her along the underpass and out into the dark windy night, and pushed her into the taxi she’d arranged to pick them up. Julia slept again, and had to be shaken awake when at last they reached home. She had no memory of climbing the stairs and getting undressed and into bed but when she woke up and saw where she was she realised she must have done. If it had not been for the bridesmaid’s dress draped over a chair the whole wedding would have seemed a dream.

It took Julia a long time to remember the present for Iris which Reginald had given her, and when she did she panicked in case she had lost it. But no, it was still in the pocket of her dress, the wrapping paper intact except that the tiny bit of white ribbon tied round it had come loose from its bow. Julia retied it carefully. Then she held the little package in her hand and wondered what she should do with it. She ought to have given it, as instructed, to Iris ‘afterwards’. But there had been no opportunity straight after the church ceremony and then at the reception Iris was surrounded by people, and Julia resolved to wait. Reginald had said his present was a secret and so it could not be given in front of others, or that was how Julia reasoned. She would slip it to Iris when the two of them were alone. But they never were, and the truth was that Julia, during the meal and the speeches, eventually forgot what she’d been entrusted to do. It was hard to admit it to herself, but it was true, she simply forgot until the following morning, and then was overcome with guilt.

She didn’t dare tell her mother. It was not just that her mother would make a fuss but that Reginald had said his present was a secret, and a secret it must remain. Julia felt
quite clear about that. Forgetting to give her cousin the gift was one thing, betraying Reginald’s trust another. But how could she get the present to Iris? Iris had gone off with her new husband anyway and when she and Reginald came back from their short honeymoon (only forty-eight hours) they wouldn’t be at her parents’ house for long. After that, Julia had no idea what their address would be. Tears came into her eyes just thinking of the impossibility of getting the present to Iris. What would Reginald think? He would think Julia had either lost it or stolen it. Then Julia really did cry.

Her mother heard her. She came into Julia’s bedroom and said this was what she’d expected. The travelling, the wedding, the rich food had all been too much, and this was the result she’d anticipated: ‘hysterics’. She didn’t once ask why her daughter was crying because in her opinion she knew the answer. She told Julia to wash her face and come down to the kitchen and get some wholesome food into her and then, together, they would take a brisk walk to the village shop and that would sort her out. ‘And hang that dress up,’ Julia’s mother said, ‘and put it on a padded hanger. You won’t ever wear it again, but I might be able to make something useful out of it.’ As soon as her mother left the room, Julia again checked the pocket of the dress. Reginald’s present was still there. She took it out and put it into the drawer holding her underwear, tucking it right at the bottom, covered by a vest she rarely wore.

Should she post it? But she only had her Aunt Maureen’s address, and her aunt might open any package that arrived. The worry was making her feel sick. Downstairs, forced to nibble at the toast her mother provided, she risked asking the question to which she already felt she knew the answer.

‘When will we see Iris again?’

Her mother laughed, that scornful laugh of hers containing no merriment whatsoever. ‘See Iris again? Well, she doesn’t visit us, does she? Oh no, we have to visit them. That’s how
it’s always been, we get
summoned
when it’s convenient. It took a funeral to bring them here, remember that?’

Julia only remembered it vaguely. She’d been barely five when her father was killed, how could she be expected to remember? A lot of people crying in their house, that was all she thought she remembered. She didn’t remember her father himself all that distinctly. There were several photographs of him round the house but these didn’t summon up any real memories.

Julia managed to finish the toast and the boiled egg put in front of her, and then risked another question.

‘When do you think we will be summoned again?’ She kept her voice low and light so as not to enrage her mother more than was necessary.

But her mother was instantly provoked to attack. ‘Why are you suddenly so keen on that lot? What’s that family to you? What do you think you are to them? Iris might have asked you to be her bridesmaid, but has she ever shown any real interest in you? Even after your father was killed? Has she ever sent you anything for your birthday or a little something for your Christmas stocking? No, she has not. I’d be ashamed if I were them, ashamed.’

There was a long silence. Julia didn’t dare to point out to her mother that this tirade was not a reply to her question. The best thing to do was keep quiet and hope that eventually her mother would realise she hadn’t answered and would go into another reply which might be more informative.

‘Summoned?’ she queried after a good few minutes. ‘Summoned, did you say?’

‘You said it,’ Julia said, her tone cautious, the accusation of being cheeky hovering in the air. ‘You said we only see Iris when Aunt Maureen summons us.’

Julia’s mother nodded, inexplicably pleased with this explanation. ‘Well then, there you are. We’ll get summoned if there’s another wedding or a funeral.’

Julia sat thinking about this. How could there be another wedding when Iris was an only child, just as she was, and she was already now married? And who would a funeral be for? Who was likely to die? But then her own father hadn’t been likely to die. He’d had an accident involving a chainsaw which had slipped (Julia had been spared the details). She’d heard him described by people as having been the strongest, most fit man they’d ever known. So maybe Aunt Maureen or Uncle Tom would have an accident of some sort and there would be a funeral and she and her mother would be summoned and she would see Iris again and give her Reginald’s present.

Julia agonised over what to do for another three days, then decided she would have to tell her mother. It was silly to wait for a funeral and a summons that might not come for years. Reginald would have found out by now that Iris had not been given the secret present and he would want to know what Julia had done with it. Over breakfast Julia tried to catch her mother’s attention.

‘Mum,’ she said, and at that moment the telephone rang.

‘Get that, Julia,’ her mother said, ‘though I don’t know who can be ringing at this time of the morning.’

Julia obediently answered the phone. It was her Uncle Tom, his voice hoarse, as though he had a terrible cold. He told her he needed to speak to her mother. Julia relayed this message, and saw a peculiar expression cross her mother’s face as she dried her hands and turned from the sink to go over to the alcove where the phone rested. Julia had never seen this look on her mother’s face before and couldn’t quite interpret it. Excitement was there, and eagerness, but also something else. Dread? Julia didn’t know.

After that, things happened quickly. Julia was told to pack her nightdress and a change of underclothes in a bag, and then put her coat on and stand at the window watching for the taxi.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘Manchester, to your aunt and uncle’s, now hurry up.’

Julia fairly skipped up the stairs, delighted to be returning to Manchester. All the problems about Reginald’s present would be solved. She put the present in her bag and resolved to slip it into Iris’s room as soon as she got to her aunt’s house. She’d remembered her aunt say that Iris would be returning, after the brief honeymoon, before going to live in the married quarters of Reginald’s regiment. She had a lot of stuff to sort out and take, and Uncle Tom was going to drive her there. Julia was smiling and humming with relief as she put her coat on and took up her position at the window.

‘Take that silly grin off your face,’ her mother snapped, ‘we’re going to a house of mourning.’

Julia put off writing her report on Honor Brooks for as long as possible. There seemed so much doubt about so many aspects of the case and she hadn’t been able to resolve them to her own satisfaction never mind to other people’s. Honor was an enigma. Her mother, on the other hand, was not. There was no need to wonder what part she had played in all this, or what she thought about Honor. She was absolutely sure that her daughter was guilty and had fully intended to do what she had done. She wanted Honor ‘dealt with’, as she put it. ‘There must be places where they treat girls like Honor,’ she said, and added, ‘she isn’t safe, mixing with normal children, I mean the other children aren’t safe, not after what she’s done.’

But that was the point: what had Honor done? The baby was dead. That was indisputable. Honor had been the last person known to have touched her. That was admitted by her. She went into the baby’s room because she heard her crying and she picked her up, trying to comfort her, and she
cuddled her. Cuddled? The word and its meaning had been gone over and over. How hard had the three-week-old baby been cuddled? How had Honor held her? Over her shoulder? Tight to her chest? And for how long? Till she stopped crying, at any rate. Then Honor put the baby back in the cradle and went downstairs where her mother and her friend, the baby’s mother, were talking. ‘Is the baby asleep now?’ the friend, the mother, had asked, and Honor had not replied. She walked straight out into the garden and kicked a tennis ball lying on the grass. This was made much of by Mrs Brooks. The ignoring of the enquiry about whether the baby was asleep and then the kicking of the ball were in her opinion proof of guilt.

In all Julia’s experience, she had never come across any mother who did not attempt at least some sort of defence of her child. Most mothers were aggressively defensive, no matter how damning the evidence. It troubled Julia a great deal that Mrs Brooks was so antagonistic towards her own daughter. Why? Where were the seeds of this buried?