Authors: Catrin Collier
‘Good luck, Miss Evans. Reverend Slater
is
a lucky man.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And that is probably the last time anyone will call you Miss Evans.’ Her father lifted her veil and held it carefully when he helped her into the back of the car. When she was sitting down he folded it and the skirt of her long dress around her legs, away from the door.
‘I’ll always be your girl and I’m sorry for disappointing you, Dad,’ she whispered when he sat behind her.
‘You didn’t disappoint me, Edie. I disappointed myself. Your mother made me see that the dreams of college were mine, not yours.’ He took her right hand in his. ‘I wish you and Peter every happiness. Let’s make this day a new beginning for both of us.’
Choked by emotion, she could barely whisper, ‘Thank you.’
‘No tears, they’ll spoil your make-up, and your mother and sisters will think we’ve been quarrelling again. And that’s something I don’t want to do, ever again.’
‘Me neither, Dad.’
He looked at the gate and laughed. ‘You’re about to find out what it feels like to be royalty. I think everyone we know in the town who isn’t actually sitting in St Catherine’s has walked up the hill hoping to catch a glimpse of you. You’d better wave as we drive past.’
All the doubts and concerns that had troubled Edyth for the past few days dissipated when she walked down the aisle holding on to her father’s arm, with her pageboys, flower-girl and bridesmaids walking behind her, because standing in front of the altar, his arm outstretched towards her, was Peter.
She recalled the wish she’d made at her sister’s wedding, just a few short weeks before; that one day a man would look at her with the exact same look of love and adoration that Toby had Bella. And now it was actually happening.
She and Peter were going to be happy – she just knew they were. Maggie took her bouquet, she relinquished her hold on her father’s arm, stepped up and stood beside Peter, hoping he could see the smile beneath her veil.
The Bishop moved in front of her, Peter and the congregation, but she only had eyes for the man she loved and, afterwards, the only words she remembered hearing were Peter’s vows.
‘Mother, Aunt Florence, this is my –’ Peter smiled self-consciously, ‘– wife, your daughter-in-law and niece, Mrs Peter Slater – Edyth.’
Edyth had to squeeze past Micah Holsten and her sisters to greet Peter’s mother and aunt. The wedding party had retired to the vestry to sign the register, but the room was far too small to accommodate the three officiating clergymen, four bridesmaids, matron of honour, best man, groomsmen, immediate family and three small children who felt they had been good pageboys and flower-girl for quite long enough and it was time to play hide and seek between the grown-ups’ legs, even if it did mean tripping them up.
‘I am so very pleased to meet you at last, Mrs Slater, Mrs Beynon.’ Edyth had exchanged letters with Peter’s mother during her brief engagement. And, after answering a congratulatory note from his aunt, they had also entered into a short correspondence. Peter had told her that Alice Beynon was six years older than his mother. She had married a wholesale butcher who had died of a heart attack on his fortieth birthday. Before he had gone to an early grave he had amassed a considerable fortune that he had wisely invested in commercial and residential property in Swansea, and the rents enabled his widow – and the sister she had taken into her home – to live in luxury.
He also mentioned that his aunt was childless, and had no relations other than him and his mother on whom to lavish her love, attention and money.
‘Peter has told me so much about both of you.’ Edyth wished Peter had taken the trouble to differentiate between them. Both were elderly, but she found it impossible to decide which was older. And, although they were sisters, there was little resemblance between them.
One was taller than her. Broomstick-thin, with a hooked nose and piercing brown eyes, she looked severe, and unsmiling, with iron-grey hair scraped back in an old-fashioned bun at the nape of her neck. The only concession she made to her age was a silver-topped walking stick, and she stood determinedly, almost painfully, upright. Her wide-brimmed, black silk hat had been fastened low on her forehead with jet-headed hairpins to accommodate her hairstyle and she was wearing an ankle-length, black silk dress, which had probably been the height of fashion thirty years ago. She looked formidable and intimidating, and it didn’t help that Edyth’s most disliked teacher at school could have been her twin.
But she was undeniably and instantly recognisable as a ‘lady’. Edyth knew the type. They never went further than the garden gate without being correctly dressed, and that included hat, gloves and handbag. Dozens of them lived in and around Pontypridd, the wives and widows of men they were careful to describe as ‘office workers’, instantly placing themselves in a class above that of the miners and their families.
To mark their superiority, they wore expensive if unfashionable clothes to church on Sundays and for their ‘constitutional’ in Ynysangharad Park afterwards. They also met in flocks to drink morning and afternoon tea with scones in the rarefied atmosphere of St Catherine’s café in Pontypridd Co-op arcade.
‘Edyth, as you said, at last we meet.’ She proffered a pale, dry, cheek, as wrinkled as a prune. Edyth kissed her and breathed in a peculiar mix of lavender water, carbolic soap, and mothballs.
‘We were so excited when Peter wrote and told us that he had fallen in love with the girl of his dreams. You are exactly how I imagined. Pretty as a picture, and fresh as a daisy. And only eighteen. Welcome to the family, my dear. Oh look at me!’ The second lady dabbed her eyes with a scrap of handkerchief that was more lace than cotton. ‘Crying like a baby. But then, what’s a wedding without a few tears? That’s what I always say.’
She was a full head shorter than her sister, plump and overdressed in a bright blue satin gown and matching coat and hat. Far too young a style for her, it showed every bulge of her tightly-corseted body. Her make-up was thick and inexpertly applied, especially her rosy cheeks, one of which was lower than other. Her perfume was exotic, oriental, and too heavy for day wear, and her blue-black hair, which clearly owed its colour more to artifice than nature, was permanently waved in an elaborate style Edyth had seen the Hollywood star Lillian Gish wearing on screen. To complete her ensemble she wore so many rings, bracelets and brooches that she shimmered like a tinselled Christmas angel.
She was the embodiment of the proverbial mutton dressed as lamb, but her brown eyes sparkled with undisguised warmth, her wide smile was sincere and her good humour and determination to be pleased with everyone and everything around her infectious.
Edyth kissed the cheek of the shorter woman. Hoping she’d made the correct choice on the flimsy grounds that she suspected it would be easier to make friends with her than the tall, frigidly polite lady, she said, ‘Thank you so much for all your letters, and generous wedding present. I haven’t seen the furniture yet, but Peter told me that it has been delivered to the vicarage.’
Peter caught her elbow. ‘Edyth, this is Aunt Alice, not my mother.’
‘Did you hear that, Flo?’ Alice dug her sister in the ribs and cackled loudly. ‘She thinks I’m you.’
Peter’s mother screwed up her mouth as through she were sucking a slice of lemon.
‘I am sorry, Mrs Slater,’ Edyth apologised. ‘Peter did show me a photograph of you, but it was only a snapshot.’
‘If it was the one that was taken when he was three years old, I can understand your mistake.’ Her voice was soft, carefully modulated, with no trace of the Welsh lilt. It reminded Edyth of the elocution teacher who had visited the Grammar School twice a week to give the sixth formers lessons designed to ‘Anglicise’ their speech and make it more acceptable to English colleges.
Failing to detect a hint of warmth or proffered friendship in the comment, Edyth’s heart sank. She had desperately wanted to make a friend of Peter’s mother.
‘That was the snapshot, Mother,’ Peter confirmed. ‘It’s the only one that was taken of all three of us together. You, me, and father, remember?’
‘I remember, Peter.’ Florence Slater studied Edyth, making her feel as though she were goods on sale in a shop, and shoddy goods at that. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t have time to get acquainted before the wedding, but Peter’s career has to take precedence over family and social life. He is dedicated to his vocation, just as his father was before him.’
‘I know.’ Determined to give Peter’s mother no cause for complaint, Edyth forced a smile. ‘I helped Peter with the drama society and youth club when he was curate of St Catherine’s –’
‘So both you and Peter wrote me,’ she cut in.
‘I do hope that we will become good friends as well as mother-in-law and daughter-in-law,’ Edyth added.
‘We will.’ She gazed adoringly at her son. ‘After all, we both love Peter and want the best for him.’
‘We are so glad that you decided to honeymoon in Swansea,’ Alice said enthusiastically, taking advantage of the momentary lapse in conversation.
‘It was very generous of you to make the booking in the Caswell Bay Hotel and meet our expenses,’ Edyth said gratefully.
‘Hopefully, it will be a wedding present you will remember for many years to come. When are you leaving?’
‘On the half-past three train out of Pontypridd,’ Peter answered.
‘You must come and see us the moment you can spare some time. We breakfast at eight, take tea at eleven, lunch at one, take tea again at four and dine at seven. Cook always makes plenty so don’t feel that you have to stand on ceremony. Drop in anytime, anytime at all.’ She shook in unsuppressed excitement, sending her bracelets and bangles jingling. ‘I simply
love
having young people around my barn of a house.’
‘And we’d love to visit. Thank you so much for inviting us, Mrs Beynon,’ Edyth smiled.
‘Call me Aunt Alice, like Peter.’ She stood on tiptoe, planted a damp kiss on Edyth’s cheek and immediately scrubbed it with her handkerchief. ‘Now look what I’ve done; I’ve covered you with lipstick. There, it’s all off now.’
‘Thank you.’
She grabbed Edyth’s hand, looked at her wedding ring and giggled like a schoolgirl. ‘Aren’t weddings thrilling? Yours reminded me so much of my own. We are going to be great friends, Edyth, I can feel it.’
‘Edyth, Peter, you’re needed to sign the register,’ Micah Holsten called over a sea of heads.
‘You, too, Mother,’ Peter reminded. ‘We decided that Edyth’s father and you would be the most suitable witnesses, remember? I wrote to you about it.’
‘So you did.’ She smiled at Peter but when she turned to Edyth her eyes were glazed with frost. ‘Edyth, you must call me Mother, as Peter does.’
‘Thank you – Mother.’ Edyth couldn’t help feeling that Florence Slater wouldn’t have made the invitation if it hadn’t been for her sister’s insistence that Edyth address her as Aunt Alice.
‘Go on, they need you to sign your independence away.’ Alice pushed Edyth gently forward. ‘This is your and Peter’s day, we won’t monopolise any more of it. We have all of next week to get acquainted.’
‘Mother?’ Peter offered his mother his arm.
Edyth stood back and watched her husband escort her mother-in-law to the table where Reverend Price had laid the parish register on a drawn threadwork linen cloth that must have taken many hours of Mrs Price’s life to make. Peter patted the hand his mother had hooked into his elbow, and leaned towards her to catch what she was saying. She smoothed his hair away from his face. Her touch was intimate, possessive, and Edyth felt not only slighted, but uneasy.
It was as though Peter’s mother was deliberately trying to exclude her from the family circle. Surely she couldn’t be jealous of her own mother-in-law? If so, that was mean and ridiculous of her. Peter had told her that he and his mother were close. It was only natural they should be, considering how young Peter had been when his father had died.
‘Edyth?’ Peter called to her over his shoulder. ‘You have to sign the register, too.’
‘It’s too late to change your mind,’ Micah Holsten quipped. ‘The Bishop has declared you man and wife. There’s no breaking the contract now.’
Edyth joined in the laughter that followed. But when Peter’s mother continued to hover next to him, separating her either by accident or design from her new husband, Edyth was very glad that Florence Slater lived in Swansea, a good forty miles from the vicarage in Tiger Bay, and that the demands Peter’s parish would make on both of them wouldn’t allow for frequent visits – either way.
Micah Holsten finished his best man’s speech, looked along the flower-decked top table to where Edyth’s younger sisters and Harry’s sister-in-law Martha were sitting, raised his glass and toasted, ‘The bridesmaids.’
Chairs scraped back over the wooden floor of the blue and silver dining room of the New Inn. The guests rose to their feet and lifted their drinks. The toast echoed. Then Mary reeled and Harry dropped his glass. It bounced twice before shattering into shards alongside his chair. He fell to his knees, catching Mary just before she would have hit the floor. Toby left Bella’s side and ran to open the door so Harry could carry his wife out of the room.
David picked up Ruth and diverted her with a sip from his glass of champagne while Sali and Lloyd rushed outside only just ahead of Bella and Edyth.
‘Go back inside, Edie, you can’t leave your guests on your wedding day,’ Harry ordered abruptly when he saw her dash out behind Bella on to the first-floor landing.
‘But Mary –’
‘I’m fine,’ Mary murmured vacantly, although she was clearly anything but.
‘You are not fine,’ Harry snapped, concern making him terse.
‘My car’s parked in the yard at the back. Give me two minutes and I’ll drive it around to the front door.’ Toby hurtled down the magnificent antique staircase, startling two elderly matrons who were heading for the residents’ sitting room on the ground floor.
‘Lloyd, fetch my handbag and make my apologies for me, please. I’ll go back to the house with Harry and Mary and telephone the doctor.’ Sali hovered over Mary who was lying in Harry’s arms. ‘Shall I ask one of the waiters to get you a glass of water, darling?’
‘No, Mam.’ Mary opened her eyes and tried to focus on Sali. ‘That was a stupid thing to do. The room was hot, that was all. I’ll be fine. And please, don’t come with us. Stay and look after Ruth. She loves parties and her cousins. She doesn’t often get the chance to be with other children.’
‘You don’t have to worry about Ruth, Mary. People are fighting to look after her. So far your brother David has won the battle.’ Megan had slipped out of the room and joined them.
‘But Joey’s making plans to kidnap her.’ Rhian, who had followed Megan outside, glanced from Sali to Harry. She couldn’t decide who looked the most concerned. ‘What can we do?’
‘Go back in,’ Mary begged. ‘Please, the way things are going there’ll be more people out here than in the dining room and there’s nothing any of you can do that Harry can’t. There’s no need to telephone the doctor. Just the midwife.’
‘You’re in labour?’ Harry exclaimed.
‘It’s the early stages, and you know how long it took for Ruth to put in an appearance. Harry, put me down, I’m fine now.’ She grimaced in pain.
‘I will not.’ Harry tightened his grip.
‘Please, all of you,’ Mary reached for Edyth’s hand, ‘go back inside. I’ll never forgive myself if you allow me to spoil your wedding day. Put me down, Harry,’ she repeated irritably in a stronger voice when the pain receded. ‘I’d much rather walk down the stairs than risk you tripping and falling on top of me and the baby.’
‘She’s right, Harry,’ Sali said quietly. ‘Come on, I’ll help you take her down to Toby’s car.’
‘And then you go back to the reception, Mam,’ Mary insisted. ‘Please, I wouldn’t be happy if you left here to come back to the house with us.’
‘If you insist,’ Sali agreed reluctantly.
‘I’ll call in and see you when I go back to the house to change.’ Edyth gripped Mary’s hand.
‘If she’s fit to be seen.’ Harry was paler than his wife.
‘Enjoy the rest of your day. I’m only sorry I won’t be there to see it.’ Mary gasped as another pain tore through her. After it ebbed, she smiled at Harry, who remained grim-faced. ‘It’s wonderful to have wedding memories to look back on.’