If the actual wedding happening or not wasn’t enough to worry about, a sneaky fifteen minutes at lunch on the internet hadn’t exactly put her mind at rest about debt problems either. If anything it had made it worse, some of the horror stories she’d read about old people losing their homes and never being able to get a credit card again.
Worst of all, it was weird not being able to spill it all out to her mum, like she normally would. Lauren couldn’t remember ever having some major problem and not being able to come home, burst into tears and tell Bridget everything. Now she was fighting to keep everything inside because she didn’t want to add to her worries – which were all her fault anyway.
It was so bad, she could barely concentrate on her steps and she trod on her dad’s toes twice during the first few bars of their social foxtrot practice.
‘Don’t be doing that at your wedding, Laurie!’ he joked as they tried to dance to some old-style tune she didn’t know. ‘Or you’ll be having me in tears as well as your mum!’
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. Great – she couldn’t even dance any more. Now she wasn’t going to have her gorgeous dress and first dance, she was going to go back to being Lauren the lanky klutz, knocking everything over.
A fat tear slid out of her eye and ran down her cheek.
‘Close those feet, Lauren!’ shouted Angelica from the other side of the room. ‘Or else Frank’ll be tripping over them!’
‘What’s up, love?’ said her father in such a kind, comforting voice that Lauren felt about seven years old again.
‘Nothing,’ she managed.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Frank, gently, holding her a little bit closer, so her forehead could rest on his shoulder. ‘Your old dad knows when something’s up.’
Lauren struggled not to cry, but Frank seemed intent on making her howl.
‘I’ve seen you moping around the place these last few days,’ he went on, in the same well-meaning murmur, ‘and you know, if you’re having doubts about marrying Christopher, then you just say. Don’t be worried about your mum and me being upset – all we care about is your happiness, love. You’re married a long time, and if you’re not going into it a hundred per cent . . . Well, it’s not fair on Christopher, is it?’
Lauren couldn’t say anything. It was typical of her dad to assume it would be
her
having doubts, not Chris. Chris, in his eyes, was bloody lucky to be marrying Lauren in the first place.
‘And better you say something now,’ Frank said, ‘before the invitations go out, eh? Give him the chance to save some face. You’ve got to be honest . . .’ He turned them round a corner, although they were doing such small steps that Baxter whisked past them with a surprised-looking Katie. ‘Your mother and I have always been upfront with each other, right from day one. No secrets.’
If only Dad knew, Lauren thought desperately, that Mum’s got a
huge
secret, for the first time in their lives, and it’s because of me!
‘You know, I’m an old romantic,’ said Frank, warming to his theme, inspired by the sentimental music, ‘when you set out to get married, you have to think, I’m only going to do this once. You have to be sure that this is the man you’re going to have by your side for the rest of your life. You’re setting off on a journey, and you’ve got to go down the same roads, together, even when those roads get rocky and you’re fed up. When one of you’s ill, or you have children, and money’s a bit tight. I know you don’t think about those things when you’re picking out your dress and the flowers, but that’s what hitching yourself to another human being’s all about.’
That sounds good, thought Frank, making a mental note to add it to his Father-of-the-Bride speech.
‘The wedding’s only one day, but you’ve got to think what’s on the other side of that. The rest of your lives. It’s why I’ve always thought I’m the luckiest man in the world, with your mother. If you and Chris are as happy as we are in forty years’ time . . .’
Lauren gulped. Forty years? Suddenly she had a flash of understanding, about what Chris had been getting at. The rest of her life. Already.
She let out a loud, shoulder-shaking sob, and Frank stopped in shock.
‘Lauren?’ he said, holding her at arms’ length. ‘Lauren, love, what have I said?’
‘It’s nothing you said!’ she sobbed, as he cuddled her into his shoulder.
I don’t want to be married yet, was all she could think. I’m not ready for this to be it for the rest of my life.
‘Lauren?’ Now Bridget had come rushing over, anxiously peering up, pulling Lauren’s long hair out of her face so she could see her properly. ‘What is it, darling?’
‘I’m sorry, Mum!’ wailed Lauren. ‘I’m sorry!’
‘Sorry about what?’ asked Frank, bewildered. ‘I don’t know what I said. We were fine a moment ago, weren’t we?’ His face creased like a worried bloodhound. ‘Weren’t we, Lauren?’
‘Is everything OK?’
Angelica stopped the CD, leaving Lauren’s sobs to resound around the carved oak rafters of the Hall. Katie and Chloe came over, offering hankies, stroking her back. Peggy, Baxter and Trina hovered, not sure what to do for the best, but looking sympathetic nonetheless.
‘I’m fine!’ hiccuped Lauren, unconvincingly.
Bridget and Frank exchanged worried glances, but it was Angelica who took charge of the situation with brisk compassion.
‘Now, Bridget, why don’t you take Lauren outside into the vestibule, and help her calm down? Hmm? That’ll be better, won’t it? There now.’ She put her arm round Lauren and began leading her out, with Bridget following. Their heels clicked on the polished floor, punctuated by heaving gasps.
‘What’s that about?’ Chloe mouthed to Katie, who shrugged and raised her eyebrows.
‘Is she all right?’ asked Trina, not bothering to drop her voice beneath the usual dull roar. ‘Is she up the duff or something?’
‘No!’ said Katie and Chloe, even though neither of them had the faintest idea.
Angelica came clicking back into the Hall, a wide dancing smile on her face. It didn’t disguise the concern in her eyes. ‘OK!’ she said, brightly. ‘Let’s carry on. And this time, shall we put a promenade step into that social foxtrot? I know you all remember the promenade step. Baxter, if you could partner Chloe this time, and who was dancing with Bridget?’
The music started up again and the dancing resumed as if nothing had happened.
Outside in the tiled vestibule, Lauren sat on a bench beneath the plaque listing the names of the Longhampton Fallen 1939–45, with Bridget’s arm round one side of her, and Frank hovering next to them, until Bridget waved him back into the Hall.
‘Just you and me, now, Laurie,’ she said, tenderly, and the floodgates opened.
‘I don’t know what to do!’ she said finally, for the fifth time.
Bridget put her lips against Lauren’s hair. ‘This hasn’t got anything to do with . . . what I told you about paying for the wedding, has it?’
Lauren shook her head. ‘No, I promise. It’s about . . . I just don’t know. But then I think that you and Dad were the same age as we were, and you’ve done all right, so I
ought
to know . . .’
‘Laurie,’ said Bridget, slowly. ‘I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. And I’m only telling you, because I don’t want you to feel that you’re under pressure to do
anything
you’re not ready for.’
Lauren raised her head, and realised her mum was gearing herself up to be very honest. Her heart sank. She wasn’t sure she’d got her head round the credit cards yet.
Inside the Hall, Angelica had moved the class on to a vigorous cha-cha, loud enough to drown out any potential crying. The Latin rhythm clacked and shuffled through the glass doors, with Angelica’s voice yelling instruction over the top.
‘Move your hips, Trina!’ she bellowed. ‘Your hips! Don’t your knees bend at all? You’re too young to have replacements!’
‘Your dad and I very nearly eloped, on my twenty-first birthday,’ Bridget began. ‘We’d been planning it for months – he had the ring, and the licence, and we were going to go up to Gretna Green on the bus. I even went out and got myself a white mini dress and matching knee-high boots. It was
very
romantic and secret, because your grandad wasn’t very keen on your father, you see – thought his hair was a bit long, because he’d not done National Service. Dads don’t change, do they?’
Lauren shook her head.
‘Anyway,’ sighed Bridget, ‘I don’t know why we’d got it into our heads that we
had
to be married, but in those days people didn’t live together like they do now. Not round here, anyway. So the day started getting nearer, and we’d come up with our clever cover stories as to where we’d be, and then I woke up the day before my birthday, and I thought no. I can’t get married yet. I haven’t met Paul McCartney.’
‘What?’ Lauren stopped gazing at her feet and looked up at her mother. ‘Were you
likely
to meet Paul McCartney in Longhampton?’
‘No, I mean, I hadn’t been to London.’ Bridget widened her eyes as if it was perfectly obvious. ‘Paul was the only Beatle still not married, and I hadn’t had a chance to go to London and bump into him in a pub in St John’s Wood and be swept off my feet. If I married your dad, that would never ever happen. Obviously, yes, it was a bit of an outside chance, me bumping into Paul, and him not minding the fact I’ve a tin ear, but I still didn’t want to rule it out. I was terrified of hurting your dad, though. I didn’t want to tell him, but I knew I couldn’t marry him. Not yet.’
God, thought Lauren, I’m seeing a whole new side to Mum this week. Paul McCartney! Of all people. And she’s not been to London my entire life so it’s not like it made much difference.
‘So how did you tell him?’ she asked, curiously.
‘Well,’ sighed Bridget, spreading her hands on her knees, ‘I didn’t need to do anything, in the end. I made myself so sick with worrying that my mother had to call for the doctor, and I was told to stay in bed for three days, no visitors. Your dad came to pick me up – although we’d had a code for that, I mean, talk about planned like a James Bond film – and my mum told him I’d got bad nerves and he should come back at the weekend.’
‘And did he?’
‘Oh, yes. But we never spoke about eloping again. I think he’d gone off the idea as much as I had. Not that he ever said as much. No, it was the planning that was so lovely, you see. Having a secret just the two of us knew.’ She sighed again. ‘They were more innocent days. But happy.’
‘But you got married in the end?’ Lauren pressed her. ‘You did want to?’
‘Of course! Well, we had to. I found out Billy was on the way. But the funny thing is, it wasn’t a case of
having
to – soon as I knew I was pregnant, Paul McCartney didn’t so much as cross my mind.’ Bridget held her daughter’s hands and looked hard into her eyes. ‘That’s what I’m trying to say, not very well, I know. I just knew your dad was the right man for me, for ever. But it was because I was ready. Our wedding wasn’t anything like the big romantic plans we’d made – we arranged the whole thing in about a week. Then Billy was late, thank God, by over a fortnight, so it didn’t look so bad.’
‘Oh, is
that
why Gran looks so lemon-faced in the photos?’ asked Lauren, as the penny finally dropped. ‘Not because of your dress at all!’
Bridget nodded, then her wicked grin turned serious. ‘Now, your father doesn’t know any of that. I don’t think he’d want to anyway. But you know what I’m saying here, don’t you?’
‘If a part of me still wants to marry Justin Timberlake then I shouldn’t marry Chris just yet?’
‘I’m not sure I know which one Justin Timberlake is, but yes, that’s the gist of it. And,’ Bridget went on, patting her hand, ‘turns out I got the better of the two in any case. I don’t see your dad dyeing his hair, do you?’
Lauren laughed, then bit her lip and looked up at her mum, her eyes wide with fresh distress. ‘But what about the money?’
‘I keep telling you, Lauren, we’ll worry about that later. The main thing is you. Your happiness. Now, I think you and Chris need to have a proper conversation – not about the wedding, not about the house, just about what you two feel.’ She squeezed her hand again, feeling how slender Lauren’s fingers were. ‘Be honest with each other. It’s the only thing that matters in the end.’
‘I know,’ said Lauren, getting to her feet, and wobbling like a newborn giraffe. ‘I’m going to ring him now. I think we can wait a while.’
They paused for a moment, enjoying the bubble of tenderness that surrounded them. It made Bridget’s heart lurch, seeing how much like Frank Lauren was: his pointed nose, his kindness, his reassuring solidity. She adored Billy and Dave, but Lauren was her little girl, still. I’d have given up
all
of the Beatles to have my beautiful daughter, she thought with a fierce tug of pride.
Next door, Angelica instructed everyone to change partners and locate their sense of rhythm before she came round and started bending their knees for them.
‘I won’t get to dance at my wedding,’ said Lauren suddenly, in a small sad voice. ‘If Chris and I call things off, I mean.
If
we do.’
‘You’ll get to dance at the social night instead!’ said Bridget, trying to sound more cheerful than Lauren’s crestfallen face made her feel. ‘With your dad, and all the other chaps lining up to dance with you. And you’ve got to admit, Chris could do with a bit of extra practice before he does anything in public . . .’