The Wedding Dress Read online

  Then Max had a light-bulb moment. Oh yes, yes yes yes. She searched on the internet and found what she was looking for. She rang the telephone number and found it was free that day. She booked it and smiled then rang through to her PA and asked for a celebratory cup of coffee.

  ‘You want us to wear what?’ said Bel.

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Violet.

  ‘Yes, I am sure,’ said Max.

  Bel put her glass down on Max’s coffee table. ‘Well, I’m never drinking again – it’s obviously giving me hallucinations.’

  Max chuckled. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’

  ‘That you need a CT scan?’ said Bel. ‘It’s just . . . well . . . something I didn’t expect. It’s . . . it’s . . .’

  ‘Alternative over the top?’ suggested Violet.

  ‘That’s a good way of putting it,’ Bel replied, topping up her wine.

  ‘Thought you weren’t drinking ever again,’ smirked Max.

  ‘Every time I’m with you I have to turn to drink,’ said Bel. ‘You tip my head upside down.’

  Max smiled. ‘Anyway, that’s not my only news. Stuart’s going to be a dad,’ she said.

  Bel drew up a long whistley breath. ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  ‘It changed a few things for me,’ Max said.

  Violet leaned over and gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Like what?’

  ‘I can’t explain really. Put a full-stop on things, I suppose.’

  ‘You weren’t holding out hope of him coming back?’ Bel gasped. Luke was by far the better prospect. He and Bel were a two-piece jigsaw.

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ said Max. ‘It made me think how much of a stranger he was to me. If I bumped into him in the street I wouldn’t know what to say. I’d have to cross over to avoid him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Bel. ‘I’d kick him in the bollocks as we passed.’

  Max smiled at her friend’s loyalty. ‘It wasn’t all his fault, Bel. I’ve done a lot of thinking since we split up. I’m really ashamed at how stubborn I was. And selfish.’

  ‘You and Luke are much better suited,’ said Violet. She liked Luke very much. She noticed how he looked at Max with real admiration and pride in his eyes that she was his. He adored her, that was evident.

  ‘I think he’s master of the house now. I emasculated him.’

  ‘People colour other people,’ said Violet. ‘If you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ nodded Bel, thinking of the woman she had been eighteen months ago, full of spitting hatred and mistrust. And now, because she was treasured and respected, she felt more confident and sexy than she ever had done in her twenties. And Violet, who had always looked so sad and jumpy when they first met, was smiley and relaxed with a bright light in her bluebell-coloured eyes. Her life had changed more in the past eighteen months than both Bel’s and Max’s put together.

  Her wedding day had arrived. Max opened her eyes and prayed that when she opened the curtains she’d see a hint of sunshine at least. So far spring had been rubbish – months-worths of rain in days, floods, arctic temperatures; it was like living in the Old Testament. There would have been plagues of locusts for sure had it not been so bloody cold that the locusts refused to fly over.

  She counted to three and then threw open the curtains – to find a lovely bright day. One with sunshine and no wind. One with blue skies and wispy clouds.

  ‘Oh God, thank you,’ she said, blowing a kiss heavenward.

  A text bleeped its arrival.

  ARE YOU UP, YOU LAZY COW? SEE YOU IN 2 HOURS. BEL.

  Then another text which made her heart bump excitedly around in her chest.

  SEE YOU SOON, DARLING. I LOVE YOU AND CAN’T WAIT FOR TODAY.

  Dear Luke. All those years he had been under her nose loving her and she hadn’t seen it. Yes, life could be a bugger for change, but sometimes those changes were for the better.

  ‘I see you’ve been at the San Maurice self-tan,’ said Bel when she arrived with Violet in the taxi.

  ‘If I can’t use my own products who can?’ Max replied.

  ‘It’s a beautiful day. The gods are smiling on you,’ said Violet. ‘What time is your hair and make-up woman arriving?’

  ‘She’s already here,’ said Max. ‘Coffee, anyone?’

  Max’s dad arrived at his daughter’s house, spasms of nervous trepidation zapping his heart. He wondered what his daughter had got in store for him this time. He’d only just stopped waking up in a sweat after the last wedding when she announced that she was attempting to get married again and his anxiety levels shot up sky-high.

  When he opened the door and saw Max in her wedding gown his eyes rounded to the size of dinner plates. She’d done it again – she’d made his head feel all strange.

  ‘Well?’ said Max, coming over for a kiss. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘In all my wildest dreams, I didn’t expect that,’ said Graham McBride. ‘Have you any brandy? I think I need a glass. Eh, Maxine. You are a one-off.’

  He stood quietly looking out of the window, sipping at his drink whilst Max and Bel did their final primpings in the mirror.

  ‘What do you think so far?’ asked Bel quietly.

  ‘Well, this is Max we’re talking about. If she can’t go for a shock factor, no one can.’

  ‘Luke might run off,’ giggled Bel. ‘He’ll think she’s been taken over by an alien.’

  ‘Maxine, what’s that coming down the road . . .? Oh my, you haven’t booked one of those, have you?’ said Graham, looking gobsmacked.

  ‘Ah, yes that’s for us. Our carriage awaits, girls,’ Max announced. ‘Let’s get on it before my dad’s legs give way.’

  The old Yorkshire Traction bus ferried the bridal party down past Marian’s fish and chip restaurant which Max had hired for the afternoon. Graham was smiling and relaxed, knowing he wouldn’t be looking bewildered at a shelled lobster and wondering how to get into the bloody thing. And, after years of running the local bus company, he was in seventh heaven that his daughter had given him a sneak peek down memory lane. There was even a conductor in a traditional uniform distributing tickets from an old ticket machine slung around his shoulder.

  In the church, Luke waited on the front pew. This time he was groom at Max’s wedding, not the best man to Stuart. The two men were no longer close, despite having been best friends since school. In fact, Luke had only bumped into Stuart a couple of times in the last eighteen months and the conversation had been strained. Feelings weren’t defined, he knew; ghosts of feelings hung around like phantom limbs after legs had been surgically removed. Stuart might have moved on but an old part of him still huffed that his ex-fiancée was with his once best friend. Just as he knew Max had been hurt to hear about Stuart becoming a father. Those ghost-feelings faded eventually but they took time because they were the heart’s desperate way of trying to keep their familiar status quo intact.

  He smiled to himself that Max was his now – big, beautiful, barmy Max. He wondered what he was going to turn around and see at the head of the aisle today – a giant meringue in fluorescent pink, a puffball in lime green with Max and Bel behind her in harlequin costumes. Then the organ music changed to the familiar tune and he turned and there she was . . . and boy – he really and truly hadn’t expected that.

  Bel and Max, looking beautiful in their simple pale pink dresses, followed the subtly tanned Max down the aisle, Luke had never seen her looking as beautiful as she did then. No one expected to see ‘make-up and hair done by Maxine of Barnsley’ – her own dark red hair too, piled up as always but with the addition of a short white veil and the tiny silver heart clips which she had bought from Angelique – that’s why everyone was so delightfully shocked. No one expected to see her in a gorgeously understated white dress with no frills or underskirts. No one expected her to be carrying a simple posy of spring flowers. No one expected her to arrive at the church by bus or have a fish and chip reception.
Less was so much more on this occasion – Max’s wedding was so stunning that she stunned them all.

  Even the cake was a revelation – a simple heart, just enough to give everyone at the wedding a slice each – although that outer white icing disguised a super-rich chocolate and rum cake. Max wasn’t that boring to have a mere fruit cake and yukky marzipan.

  Luke fed his wife a spoonful of apple pie and cream.

  ‘You amaze me so much, Mrs Appleby,’ he said, watching her lovely mouth close around the spoon. He wanted to kiss that mouth badly – and he would be doing so very shortly. ‘This has been the best wedding of yours I’ve ever been to.’

  Max chuckled heartily. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, because it’s my last.’

  ‘I thought you were going to have a twenty-five-foot train and a cake you could walk through.’

  ‘I was,’ said Max, ‘but then I heard that Stuart was going to have a baby.’

  Luke’s eyebrows dipped in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’

  Max put her hand on Luke’s cheek.

  ‘I didn’t need to stamp all over that last wedding with bigger and better and louder things,’ she began to explain. ‘That wedding was all about me with no thought for anyone else. It was even more important than the groom. I didn’t want to lose sight of what was important this time. I wanted my dad not to suffocate in a stupid carriage; I wanted to be able to walk to you down the aisle without scarring myself for life from the weight of that dress. I couldn’t even link Dad’s arm last time because there was no room for him to walk at the side of me. I wanted everyone to remember this wedding for all the right reasons. Stuart was correct – a wedding is about the people. It’s about a couple pledging their vows first and foremost. I know he’s as happy as we are, and I’m glad about that.’

  Luke leaned over and kissed her softly. ‘Well, I kind of thought that you’d be having a big flash do so I er . . . tailored the honeymoon to fit in with that.’

  ‘No little cottage in Cornwall then?’ said Max, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘Nope. A three-week Caribbean cruise. Shall I cancel it?’

  ‘On your way to the divorce court, maybe. There’s always a place in my world for bling,’ said Max, keeping to herself for now the fact that she’d had a diamanté-studded swimming cossy made. She smiled to herself, knowing in her heart that she had found her real Mr Right – and that her future had every chance of being as sparkling as her secret wedding night vajazzle.

  The Dressmaker

  Out of the kitchen window, Rusty watched the men climb from the back of the van in their uniforms. The farmhands, Reg Tucker and Billy Wardle, were also watching, leaning against the garden wall with Rusty’s husband, Leonard, their faces full of laughing sneers, as usual. They never seemed to get tired of watching the prisoners of war arrive in their ridiculous brown suits with bright orange circles sewn on the back to work the land of the South Yorkshire farm.

  Leonard swaggered over, enjoying his status as farm-owner, big and brawny. But for the first time there was a worker who not only matched him for physique but who beat him hands down. A new addition. Rusty stopped washing up in order to study the man. He had such different colouring from all the Italian prisoners of war. His shoulders were huge, the brown suit struggled to fit him; in fact he had extra panels crudely sewn into the sides and on the hems of his trousers. His hair was short and golden, his eyes blue as a summer sky. Rusty watched as Leonard beckoned him over and then handed him a spade. Her eyes followed the new man as he caught up with the workers – and stayed on him until he was out of sight. She felt winded, unsettled, though it wasn’t clear why. Her heart was booming in her chest in a way that it never had done before.

  Rusty felt ridiculously shaky inside as she and June, who helped her on the farm, handed out the sandwiches and boiled eggs, mugs of tea and thick slices of caraway cake to the men. She knew it annoyed Leonard that she insisted on feeding the enemy but she also suspected part of him was secretly pleased that his farm was the one the POWs liked working on the most. It had the reputation of not only being the biggest farm in the area but, thanks to Rusty, the most hospitable. In any case, they could afford to give out food like this and Leonard liked it being known that he was a wealthy man with money to throw about.

  Rusty noticed how big the new man’s hands were when he took the mug of tea from her. He was sitting on the grass, his back against the cow shed, his long legs straight out in front of him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and raised his face to hers. He had the most beautiful light blue eyes she had ever seen, with lashes so thick and dark that a woman would have killed for them. He looked pleasantly shocked as she passed him the wrapped packet of sandwiches and cake.

  ‘You’re new,’ she said slowly, suspecting that he might not know any English. He surprised her with a fluent reply.

  ‘Yes, I am. My name is Vincent. Thank you for this food, it’s very kind of you.’

  He held out his hand to be shaken. Rusty looked around and saw that Billy Wardle was watching her, so she didn’t take it. Billy would have scuttled straight back to Leonard with news that his missus was fraternising more than she should be.

  ‘Your farm is very nice,’ Vincent called to her as she moved onto the next POW, the very comical round and short Guido, who was eagerly awaiting his fill of freshly baked fare.

  Rusty tried not to look behind her at the handsome Vincent with his eyes as bright and pale as spring sunshine. But she was warmed by them because she knew that they were following her.

  Rusty never tired of watching the men arriving for the day’s work. There was a great camaraderie between them all and they were laughing and joking with the guards. The jolly atmosphere helped to soothe the pain of estrangement from their families, wondering if they were safe and all right.

  This morning she waited for Vincent to climb from the van. There he was, ridiculously tall and strong as a tree, and she felt herself sighing at the sight of him.

  At her shoulder, June was also watching the men. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘The German one.’

  Rusty tried to sound casual. ‘Yes, he’s quite good looking.’

  ‘Single as well so I hear, though I’m not that bothered if he isn’t.’ June made a low lecherous growl. ‘Give me half an hour with him and—’

  ‘June!’ exclaimed Rusty.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t be the first, nor the last, to have a bit of fun in the war.’

  These were golden days for June. She was young and pretty and relished the attention she received. She wasn’t blessed with brains, but she did have the compensation prize of a pretty face and a very nice figure, gifts she appreciated far more than being able to add up sums or read a book from cover to cover. She didn’t care that she had a reputation. She wouldn’t have swapped her life for one of the girls who stayed virgins until their wedding night and missed out on dances with Italians and adventures with men experienced at sex. She would move to another town after the war and pretend she was as pure as the driven snow.

  ‘That eye looks nasty,’ said June, glancing at Rusty while loading sandwiches onto a plate.

  ‘It’s my own fault for leaving the cupboard door open and then walking into it.’

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Rusty. Not that June was paying attention really. She was too interested in the POWs.

  Rusty watched June swaggering outside, her chest pushed out and her stomach pulled in. She was wearing four pair of her auntie’s large knickers, she said, to give her a shapely bottom. By comparison, Rusty felt a mess – inside and out. Inside because she ached to speak to Vincent; even a hello from him would carry her through the day. And outside from the punch to the face that Leonard had given her last night when she refused to give into his sexual demands. He had taken her anyway.

  Rusty couldn’t work out why the back wheel on her bike had suddenly stopped working. There didn’t seem to any rhyme or reason to it. S
he was so engrossed in prodding and poking the working parts of her usually reliable Runwell bicycle that she didn’t hear anyone approach. She jumped when the deep non-English voice asked, ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Goodness, you scared me half to death,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ said Vincent, dropping to his haunches so he could examine the wheel. ‘Let me see.’

  Rusty took a step backwards and watched him roll each wheel in turn. His shoulders were so broad, his back so large.

  ‘I haven’t seen you for some time,’ he said, eyes fixed on the bike. ‘Have you been ill?’

  ‘I had an accident. I fell rather heavily,’ she lied, instinctively touching her face. There was just the hint of a yellow bruise on her cheek now. She healed quite quickly these days, as if her body had become used to the violent interludes.

  ‘The others say you fall quite a lot.’ He rolled the back wheel hard and a stone flew out. ‘That’s the problem.’

  So the POWs had been talking about her? They all knew? She didn’t know if he meant the problem was the stone or that she was so ‘accident prone’.

  ‘I’m just clumsy,’ said Rusty. ‘Always have been.’

  ‘I think it is okay now.’ He pulled himself back up to his great height and turned to see her blushing with shame.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, keeping her head down and taking her bike from him.

  ‘Real men don’t hit women,’ he said to her back as she pedalled away.

  She thought she might never face any of the POWs again.

  It was dark when Vincent came home from the cinema in town. The guards in the camp were used to the POWs coming back after curfew and turned a blind eye to it. Sometimes the guards even sneaked off and one of the POWs borrowed their uniform for appearances’ sake and would pretend to patrol the others. But one of the guards was a notorious power-monger and Vincent knew he was on duty that evening. He would have to sneak under the wire of the fence or be thrown into solitary confinement for two days and not be allowed on the farm.