Faded Glory (13 page)

“You’re a lucky man,” Lenny murmured as Wendy floated majestically down the aisle.

Speechless, Danny could only nod in agreement.

Reaching Danny’s side, Wendy looked into his eyes and smiled. Their love was clear for all to see.

Possibly because of the time pressure of the upcoming christening, the vicar’s stammer grew worse as the service got under way. It really came to prominence when he tried to pronounce “Wendy”.

“Do you, Wa-wa-wa,” said the vicar. “Do you, Wa-wa... Do you...”

On the third attempt, Wendy got the giggles. Danny followed. The pressure of the occasion had got to them both, and like a pair of naughty children, they were soon uncontrollable.

A stern look from Mr Bristow restored some sense of order. The probably-too-happy couple managed to confirm their vows with just the odd snort of laughter, much to the relief of both vicar and congregation. Then the vicar invited the witnesses to the back of the vestry to sign the paperwork. As Albert had not made the wedding, Danny pushed Lenny into taking his place.

And at last, with the register signed and the organ in full swing, the church bells rang out with a vengeance, heralding the emergence of Mr and Mrs Danny Watson.

*

Back in his bedsit, Albert could hear the church bells ringing in the distance. Rocky did her version of Irish dancing on her favourite perch, a treat she reserved for bell-ringing occasions.

Rocky was happy, but Albert felt a sadness. He had wanted to be there, but socialising with Cohen and Costa was something he couldn’t stomach. Although Danny’s betrayal still hurt, he felt he had let the boy down.

He looked out of his window towards the church just a few streets away.

Perhaps he had overreacted; perhaps he should have honoured his commitment to be best man. He had asked Lenny to look after Danny on his behalf, but he was full of mixed feelings. He’d had a right to be there, much more than the new duo trying to muscle in on Danny’s boxing career.

He picked up the photo of his son from the sideboard, stroking his fingers over the young Tommy’s face. Tears filled his eyes. Danny had helped to fill the void left by his Tommy’s death and it hurt Albert to think he was not present at the boy’s big day. But as usual, Albert’s principles, coupled with his stubbornness, had made the decision for him.

If he had gone, any word out of place from Cohen and Costa would have led to an awkward and possibly physical outcome. Albert was no longer young, but his reflexes and punches were still sharp, and to cause a commotion at the wedding would certainly spoil the day. Danny’s day. So his decision to steer clear was best for all.

The bells stopped ringing and Rocky stopped dancing. Albert wondered if Danny’s mother had been at the wedding. He’d never been introduced to her, but felt he knew her from all of Danny’s stories. He thought of Lenny decked out in his cream suit, looking worried when Albert had delegated his best man duties on to Lenny’s reluctant shoulders.

Feeling like an outsider, Albert looked through his window at the Trinity Church steeple. Not sure if it was wanting to be a part of Danny’s day or just curiosity, he grabbed his coat and hat and went out into the street.

Simon was downstairs, wrestling with a set of Victorian drawers outside his shop.

“Present and correct Albert, off to the wedding?” he asked. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Will do,” Albert replied, and quickly made off before Simon could interrogate him further.

Making his way towards the church, he stood a safe distance away. He could see the confetti-covered newly-weds posing for photographs, the stately horses and carriage, people getting in cars to make their way to the reception. None of them noticing the scruffy figure standing alone on the corner.

As Albert stood and watched, he thought how good Danny and Wendy looked together, how happy they were. But the smile on his face soon faded when he saw Cohen and Costa warmly shaking Danny’s hand, congratulating the couple with all the smarmy good wishes they could muster. The promoters got into their expensive cars: Cohen in his white Jaguar and Costa in his black Mercedes. Not even noticing Albert, they drove away to the reception. Albert felt invisible and helpless, and he didn’t like it.

He gave himself a stern talking-to. What right did he have to stand in Danny’s way? Why should he feel bad about the boy he had mentored wanting to better himself? Cohen and Costa had money and power. He just had a faded glory that few remembered.

Perhaps it was time to let bygone be bygones. He would talk to Danny. And if, as he had said, he still wanted Albert to be involved, then so be it.

*

Mr Bristow’s contacts with the local Conservative Club had led to them making a considerable effort for the wedding reception. There was still the smell of stale beer and tobacco, but there were also balloons, tables nicely set out and a banner saying “Congratulations to Danny and Wendy!” in the claret and sky-blue colours of the boxing club and local football team. All in all, a good effort.

The guests started to arrive and find their places. The bride and groom, the Bristows, Rosie and Ricky were all on the top table. In Albert’s absence Lenny had been promoted to the top table as well. Luckily he had not been seated next to Ricky, as Ricky’s distaste for “choc ices” could have become tricky.

Cohen and Costa, looking distinctly out of place, sat on a table with Wendy’s elderly relatives, and were doing their best to be charming. Patsy had been placed next to the seat which should have been Lenny’s, but now remained empty.

Looking over at the empty chair, Danny thought about Albert. The letter had said he wasn’t feeling well, but it hadn’t rung true. No matter how ill Albert felt, he would have been there, even if it had meant crawling there on his hands and knees. No, Danny knew better. He knew how strong-minded Albert was, and he knew exactly why he hadn’t come.

Mr Bristow struck a wine glass with a spoon to make an announcement. When no one took any notice, he struck it again, this time a little harder. The glass promptly shattered, most of it straight into Mrs Bristow’s lap, which did the job.

“Welcome one and all, to our wedding breakfast to celebrate Wendy and Danny’s marriage,” Mr Bristow announced. “I’d like to propose a toast to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second!”

Danny wasn’t sure why it was called a wedding breakfast. It was four-thirty in the afternoon. Surely it should be called tea or dinner? Whatever its name, the celebratory meal consisted of rubbery chicken and overcooked veg. The revellers revelled manfully through it. Close on the heels of the beige chicken dinner came a decent trifle that reminded Danny of little Jimmy Ramsbottom.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr Bristow. “I give you... the best man!”

Without Albert, the best man berth was still wide open. Lenny looked like making a speech was the last thing he wanted to do. Danny breathed an apprehensive sigh of relief as Tommy Costa stood up to to fill the void.

“My lords, ladies and gentlemen,” Costa began. “I’ll make this short. I have known the groom for a while now. He’s a good boy with a big future in boxing who ain’t punch drunk just yet. You only have to take a look at his new wife, the beautiful Wendy, to see that.”

Wendy smiled and turned pink with embarrassment.

“So please join me,” Costa went on with a grin, “in toasting the bride and groom.”

“The bride and groom!”

Glasses clinked around the room as Mr Bristow took over, welcoming Danny into the family, thanking bridesmaids, the cake maker and as many folk as he could remember. As the applause died down, Wendy gave Danny a nudge.

“Your turn, Danny,” she whispered. “Say something.”

Danny reluctantly got to his feet. “Thanks for coming,” he managed. “Time to cut the cake.”

The three-tier cake was pretty impressive. It had been made by Wendy’s Great Aunt Madge, a chain-smoking lady from somewhere north of Watford, who looked on proudly as Danny and Wendy posed for photographs next to her masterpiece.

With the cake cut and a chilling scream from Danny’s mum to ward off evil spirits, a three-piece muzak-style band called Sid and the Melody Kings began to play. The line-up consisted of a chubby drummer who looked about fifteen, a clarinet player who looked about one hundred and fifteen, and the band leader, Sid, a thin grey chain-smoker who tinkled the ivories on his electric piano.

Tables and chairs were moved to the sides of the room and Danny and Wendy took to the floor for the traditional first dance. Wendy’s choice –
Love Me Tender
by Elvis – was a good one, but with Ricky crooning along in his best Elvis impression, a little of the romance was lost.

Wendy and Danny cruised around the dance floor. Danny’s footwork was a little suspect, but Wendy managed to guide him round in a forceful but loving way, with only a hint of a grimace when Danny stepped repeatedly on her pretty open-toed white shoes.

With a round of applause, Danny’s ordeal was over.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried Sid, the band leader. “We invite you all to join the happy couple on the dance floor!”

Mr and Mrs Bristow took up the invitation, followed by Wendy’s excited young second cousin, who slid on his backside on to the dance floor just a little too close for Mr Bristow’s liking, cramping the magnificence of their sedate Viennese waltz.

“Thanks for the invitation, Danny,” said Cohen. “We gotta get going.”

“You look beautiful, Mrs Watson,” Costa added. “Like a princess.”

“Please accept these small gifts as a token of our admiration,” said Cohen as Costa handed over a nicely wrapped wedding gift.

Wendy unwrapped the box. Inside were two identical watches, one for a lady and one for a man.

“Goodness,” said Wendy. “This is ever so generous of you.”

Danny felt a little dazzled by the sight of the watches. The pots, pans and cheap tea sets from the other guests were no match for this extravagant gift.

“Here’s to our future together,” said Cohen with a wink.

“Together we can take on the world,” said Costa.

The men shook Danny’s hand, grabbed a bit of wedding cake and made their retreat.

“They’re so nice,” said Wendy, turning her wrist to admire her new gift.

“Yeah,” said Danny. “They’re all right, aren’t they?”

The wedding was beginning to warm up now, helped by the beer and spirits on tap. More people took to the floor in a sparsely supported but spirited Gay Gordons.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Sid, “please take the floor for the twist!”

The Gay Gordons were forgotten as the floor was immediately jammed. It seemed everyone had their own particular moves, all based on Chubby Checker’s hit. Ricky and Rosie led the way. Ricky’s legs seemed to be having an out-of-body experience as he sang at the top of his voice in a key that was very different to the Melody Kings’ rendition. Sid and his Melody Kings did their best to keep up. They weren’t the perfect combination, musically, for a bit of rock ’n’ roll, but they were effective enough.

Lenny danced like a demon and was the centre of attention. Ricky’s furious legs were no match for Lenny’s natural sense of rhythm, and he retired to the side of the dance floor to glower.

“They’re good at that, the darkies,” he told Rosie glumly. “Must be jigging about to those jungle drums.”

The wedding day was perfect. No fights, no family feuds and a good time had by all. A special day to remember for Danny and Wendy.

THE morning after the wedding saw Danny once again the worse for wear. Not being a drinker, he’d had more than his fill over the weekend, and was suffering.

Wendy, on the other hand, out of respect to the unborn baby, had only sipped one glass of champagne during the whole function and nothing else. She had been up bright and early, packing for their honeymoon and raring to go.

Mr and Mrs Bristow had kindly rented the couple a caravan for a week at Clacton-on-Sea. That, plus the whip-round from the boys at the boxing club totalling a generous twenty-one pounds and ten shillings, meant the honeymooners had a week of leisure ahead of them and money in their pockets to spend.

Gingerly washing and shaving, Danny thought about the events of the previous day. It had gone well, he thought, but he still had Albert and his absence nagging at the back of his mind.

There wouldn’t be time to talk to Albert before he left for his honeymoon. It would have to wait till he got back. Any liaison with Cohen and Costa would have to wait too.

Wendy banged on the bathroom door. “Danny, hurry up, we’ll miss the train!”

“Won’t be long!” he called back, and quickly got dressed.

The honeymoon was an exciting prospect. A train ride and a week by the sea, a welcome change from the East End streets.

“It would be nice to bring up the baby in the fresh country air, wouldn’t it?” said Wendy as they watched the countryside roll by out of the train window. “Now Mr Cohen and Mr Costa are going to help you make all that money, Danny, we could buy a nice house with a garden.”

“We don’t want the baby talking like a country bumpkin,” Danny joked, still trying to circumnavigate the Albert conundrum in his head.

Rolling down to the Essex coast, the train pulled into Clacton-on-Sea station. Baskets of flowers hung along the platform.

“Ain’t it nice!” cooed Wendy.

There was the smell of the sea in the air and seagulls circled noisily in search of any fish or chip they could nick from a unsuspecting holidaymaker.

All was right in the world as Danny and Wendy found the bus to the Happy Valley holiday camp and climbed aboard.

The camp wasn’t quite as impressive as the station. Dragging their suitcase into the wooden cabin marked , Wendy and Danny found a surly man with long sideburns waiting inside.

“Name?”

“Mr and Mrs Watson,” Wendy proudly announced.

Danny grinned at her. It felt good to hear her say that.

“One week,” stated their host. He handed Danny the key. “Row four, third berth down.”

Wendy and Danny tracked down their love nest after about ten minutes: an ancient caravan called “Dream Days” which had obviously seen better days.