‘I know,’ came an answering murmur out of the darkness.
The moment Wyn and Diana informed his father they were fulfilling his wildest dreams by getting married, the old man began organising the event from his invalid bed. Not even the news of the baby Diana was carrying (discreetly mentioned by Wyn at an opportune moment when he and his father were alone) upset him. In fact, if anything, he drew strength from the potentially scandalous revelation. As he frequently insisted on repeating to Myrtle to her ever-increasing embarrassment, it meant that his line wouldn’t end in a dried-up old spinster and her barren bachelor brother.
Although Wyn insisted on getting a special licence which would enable him to marry Diana within three days, their idea of a swift, quiet wedding with no fuss was quickly scotched by his father, who insisted on a reception after the registry office ceremony. The first people he invited were the chapel minister and his wife in the hope that they would lend some religious significance to his son’s union. And while Wyn saw to the important things, like papers and certificates, and the old man fussed over trivial details, harassing a flustered and hard-pressed Myrtle about the fare for the wedding breakfast he expected her to organise and provide, Diana drifted through the intervening days and nights like a sleepwalker; far more preoccupied with the German advance into France than the clothes that were to be worn and the food that was to be eaten on her wedding day.
Apart from demanding that the number of guests be kept to a minimum, she showed no interest in the arrangements. Haunted by newsreel images of the hordes of goose-stepping Nazis her brother and the other volunteers were facing in France, she simply refused to think about flowers, lace and veils, and the domestic details of the new life she was about to embark on.
With every bulletin released through official channels, and the lurid, generally baseless rumours that swept through Pontypridd like wildfire, Megan grew gradually paler and more withdrawn. Diana helped her mother to plot the German advance on a map in her uncle’s atlas, but the exercise wasn’t the reassuring device she hoped it would be. Even the place names were the same ones that had sounded so many death knells in the last war. Amiens, the Somme … slowly, inexorably the line crept towards Paris.
The day before the wedding, Bethan insisted on dragging Diana, Megan and Myrtle off to Cardiff to buy wedding clothes, but despite all of Bethan’s efforts, including a sumptuous lunch in Howell’s, they remained a cheerless group. They looked at linen, china and household goods as well as shoes, dresses, handbags, hats and lingerie. Diana dutifully tried on the various costumes, dresses and hats Bethan picked out for her, acknowledged they were ‘very nice’ and attempted to walk away. If it hadn’t been for Bethan’s persistence, neither she nor her mother would have bought anything new, and the serviceable dark green coat and matching skirt she ended up with as a bridal outfit were much more Bethan’s taste than her own.
On the rare occasions when Diana thought of her wedding in the days leading up to the event, she considered it in Wyn’s term of a partnership. Neither the barbed congratulations from people she had a nodding acquaintance with, nor the bewildered expressions on the faces of those she knew well, disturbed her trancelike state. Once the letter came from William telling them that he was no longer in transit but ‘somewhere in France’ she could think only of him, what he was going through, whether he was alive or dead, and – God forbid – what his death would do to her mother.
Even the sincere, enthusiastic welcome Myrtle and Wyn’s father extended to welcome her into the family and the look on Tina’s face when she told her she was marrying Wyn Rees, failed to jolt her out of her numbed state; and in the meantime there was still the shop to open, stock to hunt down, packing to be done, and her mother to care for and constantly reassure that Will would be all right – even when she didn’t really believe it herself.
The evening before her wedding Diana was lifting the kiosk shutters into place at the end of the night’s trading when a shadow fell across the counter. She looked behind her to see Alexander standing in the foyer.
‘I’ll take those.’ Hardened by weeks of swinging picks and shovels underground, he lifted one of the shutters and slotted it into place as though it were made of nothing more substantial than cardboard. After sliding down the bolts that held it in place, he crouched down next to its partner. ‘You’ve been avoiding me lately?’
‘Just busy,’ Diana replied truthfully.
‘Your uncle mentioned that you’re getting married tomorrow.’
‘I hope you and Luke don’t mind not getting invitations, but it’s going to be a very quiet wedding. Just the immediate family and the minister.’
‘I was amazed to hear that you’re marrying your boss after what we talked about the other night.’
‘You promised you’d never bring that up again,’ she cautioned in a whisper as the manager walked into the foyer.
‘How can you think of doing this?’ He followed her into the blacked-out kiosk where she picked up the money bags and the keys.
‘Because I’m fond of Wyn, because he’s kind …’ she searched her mind frantically for a plausible reason that wouldn’t involve any mention of the baby, ‘and safe,’ she finished lamely.
‘Safe!’ Alexander exclaimed in amazement. ‘How can you even use that word when the Germans are practically on our doorstep?’
Ignoring the question she locked the door, walked through the foyer and stepped out into the street. Walking on the inside of the pavement she headed back into the town towards the bank and the night safe.
‘I’ll buy you a coffee in the café,’ Alexander offered as he caught up with her.
‘Not tonight, I’m going straight home, I’m tired.’
‘You still haven’t told me why you’re marrying Wyn.’
‘I told you. You just didn’t listen.’
‘I mean the real reason.’
‘What else do you expect me to say? Because he asked me and no one else is likely to.’
‘I don’t believe that either. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear the other night. All of this – coming here, working in the pits, living in your uncle’s house – has been a culture shock. I needed time to adjust, time I wish now I had devoted to you.’
‘To me?’ She stood and stared at his silhouette in the uncertain light of the moon.
‘I thought I made it clear the other night that I was interested in you.’
‘Interested?’ she repeated caustically. ‘We’re used to plain speaking in the valleys. What exactly does “interested” mean in English crache terms? You’re missing all that free love you were telling me about, and you thought you’d train a working-class girl to fill the gap in your life?’
‘What I’m trying to say, and saying very badly is that I’d like to spend time with you, get to know you … what’s the word Tina uses to describe Gina and Luke’s relationship? … “court”, that’s it. I’d like to court you.’
‘It’s courting, not court, and I don’t think we’d make a very good couple.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re used to best pork fillet and I’m used to tripe. Because you talk posh and I speak with a valleys accent. We’re poles apart, Alexander. You might be bored and missing your free love now, but when the war is over you’ll go back to your English museum and crache ways, and I’ll stay here.’
‘Would you want to come with me?’
‘No more than you’d want me to.’
‘Diana …’
‘You’re pinning an awful lot on one kiss, Alexander, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve already made my decision,’ she said firmly, trying not to think about what might have happened if she’d been in a position to begin courting him. ‘I don’t know what people do where you come from, but in Ponty it’s customary to wish the bride and groom luck.’
‘How can I, knowing what I do about the groom?’
‘You know nothing about Wyn.’
He looked around. They were in the bank doorway, there wasn’t a sound or a soul in the street. ‘I know he’ll never kiss you like this.’ He swept her confidently into his arms, bowing his head to hers he kissed her; no chaste, brotherly peck this time, but deeply, thoroughly, with a savagery he hoped would make her realise what she was giving up by marrying a man like Wyn. Parting her lips with his, he pushed his tongue into her throat and unbuttoned her coat. There was none of the gentle tenderness there had been on the mountain, only the same brute passion and selfish disregard first Ben, and then Tony had shown her.
Diana’s head began to swim, then it came again, that sickening sense of self-loathing that culminated in a bout of mind-spinning, stomach-churning nausea. When she finally managed to struggle free from Alexander’s clutches she reeled against the door before lurching into the street. Bending over the gutter she retched violently, backing away from him as he walked towards her.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …’
She pushed him aside as he walked towards her. ‘If I ever needed confirmation that I was doing the right thing in marrying Wyn, you’ve just given it to me,’ she muttered hoarsely when she could speak.
‘I’ll walk you home.’
She heard the shame and contrition in his voice but she still shook her head. ‘I’d rather go alone. I really would.’
‘To the happy couple.’ Huw Davies had proposed the toast in the parlour of Wyn’s house, cleared of all the sickroom paraphernalia for the first time since Wyn’s father had taken occupancy; even the bed had been folded away and pushed under the stairs for the occasion. Wyn’s father, looking more skeletal than ever in a shiny dark suit and boiled shirt and collar several sizes too large for his shrunken figure, radiated pride as he lay propped on a chaise-longue, his legs covered by a red and green tartan rug.
‘To the happy couple.’ The toast was taken up by Evan, Phyllis, Bethan, Megan, Myrtle and the minister and his wife.
‘And absent friends.’ Wyn, who knew exactly how worried Diana, Megan and Evan were about William and Eddie, raised his glass a second time.
‘May all the boys be home soon,’ Evan echoed, thinking of, but making no mention of defeat.
Diana raised her glass along with the others. ‘The boys.’ She couldn’t wait for Eddie and William to come home, but there was also Tony. What if he suspected that he was the father of her baby? Would he confront her? Make a scene? If he did would he believe her when she told him Wyn was the father of the child? If only she could stop thinking about him and concentrate on Wyn instead. It would be so much easier if Tony continued to ignore her as he had done the last few days he’d been home when there’d been nothing left between them except mutual misery and humiliation.
Forcing a smile, she looked at her mother, absently complimenting her for the third time that day on how well she looked in her new navy blue costume and serviceable black hat. Megan hugged and kissed her in return as conversations were resumed with everyone being too determinedly cheerful, and talking just that little bit too loudly. Despite the toasts and sumptuous buffet that had claimed so much of Wyn’s father’s money and so many hours of Myrtle’s time, Diana could sense strain in the atmosphere.
Bethan was smiling indiscriminately at everyone and everything. Her Uncle Evan who had given her away, and her Uncle Huw who had served as best man, were drinking the beer and whisky chasers they had provided as their contribution to the wedding breakfast far too fast for the minister’s liking, and Wyn who was balancing unsteadily on his plaster cast, artificial leg and crutches, wasn’t far behind them.
Myrtle, desperately anxious to please and dressed in a pale blue dress and hat that didn’t suit her, was offering everyone plates of cakes, sandwiches and sausage rolls, oblivious to the fact that they’d all eaten their fill. Swept along on a tide of sudden sympathy, Diana left Wyn’s side and went to Myrtle. Taking a plate from her hand she laid it on the table.
‘Is the bride allowed to propose a toast to her new sister-in-law?’ she asked the room in general. ‘This wonderful buffet was all her work, and I think you’ll all agree it was magnificent.’
‘Hear hear!’ Huw Davies’s shout drowned out the minister’s hesitant agreement.
Megan touched Wyn’s arm. ‘Just look after my girl,’ she said. Intended to be a light-hearted comment, it sounded like a threat.
‘I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy,’ Wyn assured her gravely, ‘and I really appreciate you moving in with Myrtle and Dad so Myrtle can look after the shop. Diana and I would never have managed to get away otherwise.’
‘It’ll give me something to do instead of moping around listening to the news from France.’
‘Diana’s warned you about my father?’ he murmured leading her to one side.
‘That he can be difficult?’ Megan smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve coped with enough difficult men in my time. As long as Myrtle can manage the shop, we’ll be fine.’
‘Taxi’s here.’ Huw, who could never quite manage to forget he was a policeman, had commandeered a vantage point in the bay window that looked out over the street and the approach roads. ‘You see to the bride, Wyn, I’ll see to the cases.’
Diana kissed the women goodbye first, then the men, even risking a peck on her father-in-law’s cheek. Wyn shook hands with her uncles, kissed her mother and Myrtle and picked up his coat and hat from the rack in the hall. He pushed his hat down on to his head, draped his coat over his shoulder, opened the door and stared down at the steep flight of steps that led to the street.
‘Here, I’ll help you, Wyn.’ The minister stepped forward.
‘No!’ Diana’s voice rang out clearly in the warm, spring air. ‘Wyn can manage fine, thank you.’
The minister stepped aside, but Wyn sensed several pairs of eyes boring into his back as he put his crutches together and leant on the iron handrail screwed into the stonework. After three or four steps he fell into a rhythm, swinging his artificial leg alternately with his crutches and plaster cast. Gaining the street he stood next to the car, a small smile of triumph on his face as he held out his arm to Diana.
‘Bride has to throw her bouquet,’ Bethan reminded them as Diana reached him. Diana glanced down at the small posy of early spring flowers. She turned and looked at the people assembled on the steps, tossing the bunch towards Myrtle. It was neatly intercepted by her Uncle Huw, who presented it to Myrtle with a flourish.