The War Widows (36 page)

‘Not so fast, Miss Winstanley We have a little something from us to you,’ said Diana, producing a parcel from behind her back.

‘It needs a bit of explanation,’ said Queenie.

They pushed forward a large box wrapped in brown paper and string. Lily tore it open. Inside was a leather suitcase with safety straps and brass buckles. It was a work of great craftsmanship. She fingered it with astonishment. ‘It’s beautiful. How thoughtful.’

‘Well, not exactly…We know how you want to travel abroad. It’s not exactly modern, but pre-war. My hubby knows someone in the tannery who buys up bits of leather and sews up bags. This is one he had made up out of pre-war hide. I got him to have it embossed with your initials but the daft happorth forgot you were getting wed and put L. W on it. I hope Walt won’t mind it’s not L. P.’

‘It’s perfect,’ Lily sniffed. ‘You shouldn’t have…’

‘Hey, none of that! We’ve got a supper to eat, come and see.’

It was all too much, the table groaning with pies and salad greens. There was a bowl of home-grown strawberries, trifle and a homemade sponge cake.

‘We thought we’d do English this time, in honour of the bride,’ Maria laughed. ‘No olive oil or garlic when we’re off dancing. Ana got eggs from Billy to make a proper sponge.’

Queenie sat down at the piano, playing a selection from ‘Bless the Bride’, and they all sang while Lily smiled through a veil of tears. She was too churned up to eat much.

What was going on? It felt like standing at the top of a huge cliff and the time to jump was nigh. But why must she jump off? This was where she belonged, right here, right now, not stuck on a moor miles from her friends.

For one brief second she wanted to stop the clock, unwind the hours, forget all the plans for the future. Why get wed when everything she wanted was right here? Oh, heck. She was going crazy. Nothing was making any sense.

Ana produced a handkerchief made of lace, and wild poppies from her allotment were pinned into Lily’s hair. ‘In Greece we dress up the bride-to-be like this,’ she laughed.

Tonight she would be paraded around the town. There was nothing to be done but to grin and bear it. It was only a bit of tradition, after all. No one begrudged a bride-to-be a little fun and games before her big day. You do this only once, she sighed, so make the most of it!

The arboretum in King’s Park was strung with fairy lights. There was an avenue of plane trees lining the walkway festooned with banners left over from VE Day. Crowds thronged up towards the entrance to the sports field where the last remnants of Zion Chapel Brownie pack, those not away on holiday, were scampering towards the racing tracks to compete in the fun sports. In the distance a brass band was playing a Souza march. It was going to be a hectic evening.

There was no escaping from Lily’s gang of giddy minders as they marched her up to the gate. Someone pinned a card to the back of her cardigan saying: ‘Here comes the blushing bride.’

‘I’ve got to see to the races and cheer the girls on first,’ she insisted. This was her ploy to get rid of all the dressing up, but the others were sticking to her like limpets. Diana was searching the crowds, hoping to gather in all the stray Olive Oils. Maria wanted to watch her Santini nephews racing for Our Lady of Sorrows
School, before she dashed off with Su to dress Joy and Rosa for the fancy dress tableaux when Joy’s dancing costume would be on show; hoping for first prize, after all those months of work, for her Burmese headdress. Ana pushed Dina along to watch the show in the very pushchair that had started their friendship all those months ago. Soon she would be old enough to join in the class.

No one could miss the fact that since Sylvio had left Grimbleton, all the sparkle had gone out of Maria’s eyes, and the fire from her face. Her skin was drawn over her cheeks and her black shirt and skirt hung loosely over her frame. Her hair was scraped back in a widow’s bun. They were all worried about their friend, whispering their concern behind her back.

Rosa sensed the atmosphere and whined for attention but Maria was lost in her own thoughts, pushing the go-chair grimly on.

Su looked like an oriental princess in her festive
longyi
skirt of printed flowered cotton edged with a rich emerald border and neat boxed jacket. Diana was in her Guide uniform, busy rounding everyone up like a sheep dog, pushing Lily ever forward into the crowds. It was going to be a long evening.

The sports races were duly run, the Brownies dispatched to their parents, and then it was time for the dancing display. Queenie was standing thumping out the tunes on the piano as turn after turn of Liptrot tinies cartwheeled and somersaulted over the grass in an exhibition of formation acrobatics and solo turns.

The fancy dress parade, on a British Empire theme,
drew admiring crowds as the Union Jacks fluttered and each country of the Empire was represented by a little girl in costume-Britannia with her shield, South Sea island girls in grass skirts, an Indian wrapped in a sari and many other gaily dressed children in kilts and Welsh hats paraded past them. They cheered loudest when little Joy shuffled across the stage and struck her
pwe
pose in her sequins and silk, a tiny figure dwarfed by the other contestants, smiling and waving from the podium.

‘Already she is bright star,’ Su sighed.

‘Why is no Greek girls? We have nice costume,’ sniffed Ana.

‘You are not Empire. I am a British Empire citizen,’ snapped Su.

‘If they have countries of Europe then Ria and me, we dress the girls, and you can watch for a change.’

‘No squabbling in the back there, you two. We’re all citizens of the world now,’ Lily said.

Was it possible those two could ever be friends? They’d always be rivals after what her brother did to them. Yet in a funny way that’s what united them against the world. Who else understood just what they’d been through? Not even Maria, who was treading her own lonely path, could imagine their plight or the secrets that bound them together.

Ana and Su were chained together by memories and promises betrayed, but also by their golden girls, Dina and Joy, who’d never know they shared the same father.

No Winstanley must ever tell them. Esme insisted on that. What would become of them in the future?
That’s why she had to live close by, to help them through. They were family no matter what Walt said. He could like it or lump it. Hark at me: a right Bolshie these days, Lily smiled to herself. A far cry from Doormat Lil.

After the fancy-dress parade, the judges walked around with their clipboards deliberating. This was holiday time and no one must be disappointed so all the children were given sixpences in little brown envelopes. Su was not impressed.

‘They are all winners,’ Lily tried to explain. ‘It’s the taking part that counts.’

‘Someone must get the cup. It should be my Joy. She is beautiful,’ Su insisted.

What was it with every mother that she thought only her child was the best, the most deserving? If ever she had kiddies, Lily decided, she would not want to brag about them all the time.

The cup was given to Britannia and her retinue, and everyone cheered.

‘That’s not fair!’ Su grumbled.

Lily walked away in frustration to listen to the madrigal singers who were fal, lah, lahing and trilling to everyone’s enjoyment in the evening sunshine.

It was almost like a pre-war summer fair, but Merry England on the green was now shabby and full of make-do-and-mend clothes. Candy floss and ice cream, hot pies and peas, crisps and pop were in short supply. The summer frocks on display were darned and tired, faded with washing, but who cared when the sun shone?

Lily kept thinking about the Winstanley outings of the past and memories of happier times: Freddie and Levi in the wheelbarrow race and the three-legged run, Mother and Dad strolling together, arm in arm, admiring the bedding plants made into a clock with plant dials. It was the little details long forgotten that tinged this event with sadness.

No amount of persuasion would make Esme come and join them. In the past they brought Neville to displays, but he was banned from contact with Lily until the wedding. She was still not sure if Levi’s family would turn up, having moved out of Division Street in a huff and a puff, but already the atmosphere was lighter.

Walt said he and his mother were expecting company bringing wedding gifts. He ought to be by her side too, sharing the jollifications, but since the last clearing-up session at Well Cottage, the night of her failed seduction effort, there was coolness between them that was troubling.

No wonder you did this wedding malarkey only once, Lily reflected. What an expense and palaver for just one day. So many decisions to make about catering and flowers and hymns, what to pack for the honeymoon and whether they’d scrape together enough coupons to furnish the cottage with curtains and bedding.

Feeding the five thousand at the wedding breakfast in the church hall was going to be a nightmare. Princess Elizabeth in her palace wouldn’t be going through this rigmarole when it came to her nuptials. There’d be no counting slices of ham for her.

Tonight was to be a night off, so why was it feeling
like an endurance test: how to get through it without making an utter fool of herself and weeping into her sleeve?

It was as if the whole of Grimbleton was strolling through the park: young and old, old schoolfriends, now married and pushing prams, brothers in army uniforms on leave, members of Zion Chapel, linking arms and giving their children piggyback rides. The world and his wife was out that night, but how lonely it could be in a crowd.

Even the gang around her were distracted by their own troubles, whispering them in her ear as if she didn’t have enough of her own.

‘What do we do if Daw Esme decides to sell Waverley House, Lily?’ whispered Su.

‘I’m that worried about Maria,’ whispered Queenie.

‘Should I write letter to Sylvio? I not know what to do, Lily,’ whispered Maria.

Sometimes it felt as if everyone wanted a piece of her, pulling her loyalties in one direction and then the opposite. Walter wanted his old Lily back. Mother wanted sensible Lil. These women all wanted a listening ear.

The only bit of her life not complicated was the new job with the Crumblehumes. In the office she was just Lee, the new assistant. There was so much to learn about the travel business but she was enjoying every minute.

She never knew who was coming through the door or where they wanted to go. The other day an old man had thrown a bagful of five-pound notes down in front
of her. ‘I want to go to China to walk the Great Wall and I want to go by train!’

The thought of giving up work to raise a family was now a serious headache, not a joy. She wanted time to enjoy being wed before being tied down by nappy buckets, but at the ripe old age of twenty-nine she must just buckle down quickly and have a go.

Reverend Atkinson had given them both such a talking to about how there was no better calling for the modern woman, now the war was over, than to bring up a family and support a husband in his work. Lily’s heart hadn’t stopped fluttering since.

What’s wrong with you, Lily Winstanley? Get a grip. This is your night out with the girls, one last night of freedom before…what? When the cage door shuts, what then?

She dawdled behind the others, trying to lose them and slip off home but, turning down a path through the bushes, Queenie was quick to halt her.

‘Where’re you sneaking off to now? There’s the big band from the Astoria doing some numbers. It’s dancing time for you.’

‘Oh, no, not for me. It’s been a long day…’

‘The night’s still young. Come on, where’s your spirit of adventure?’ Queenie insisted. ‘If an old married codger like me is up for it, then the bride-to-be must polish the floor with her slippers and let her hair down.’

‘No, I’m not much of a dancer, really. I ought to be on my way. Walt wouldn’t like me to—’

‘What Walt don’t know won’t hurt him, duckie. Enjoy yourself. Don’t be a spoilsport. Time enough for sitting
down with the old man when the wedding cake’s gone mouldy.’

There wasn’t much choice but to tag along and try not to yawn. Dancing was not their forte. Between the two of them, they had four left feet when dancing at the church socials, tripping over each other, apologising and laughing. Walt had no sense of rhythm, and with his backache they were both nervous in case sudden jerks might set it all off again. He was such a martyr to his back.

It wasn’t that swing music wasn’t exciting, but the church didn’t play that sort of stuff and Esme didn’t like it on the wireless. It was common and too lively for chapel tastes, but Maria was always playing music in the café and it always got Lily’s toes tapping. Just because your parent didn’t like something didn’t mean you had to go along with it too.

It was so easy to slip into old habits, she thought. Doormat Lil might be stuck with the Home Service on the wireless but Lee Winstanley would be up for the Light Programme and the big band beat.

The Joe Crombie Orchestra was letting rip on the makeshift dance floor, which looked more like a boxing ring than a cabaret. There were fairy lights hanging down from the trees and the moon was lighting up the purple orange sunset. There was still heat in the evening sun. ‘Very continental,’ said Maria, looking up wistfully as dancers were drifting across to a slow foxtrot. They were playing Glenn Miller and it brought back such vivid memories of the GI and that shameful episode
in the park. Everything was conspiring against her at the moment.

‘You look tired out,’ said Lily, touching her elbow. Rosa was fast asleep. ‘Go and sit down. I’ll watch her.’

‘Grazie…
’ What would she have done without her friends? But if they knew the truth…Since Marco’s death she had not stopped for one minute, cleaning, cooking, visiting Nonna, sewing-anything to take her mind off what was going to happen.

At first she thought it was all the strain that had stopped her period. It had happened before but she couldn’t recall when she had last had to buy sanitary pads. In the aftermath of her grief her body seemed to be floating six inches from her head. The sick feeling and tiredness was only to be expected, but suddenly her breasts were so tender and full, and she couldn’t bear the smell of the tea urn. It made her want to throw up so it wouldn’t take a soothsayer to tell her what she already knew deep in her heart.