On Mother Brown's Doorstep (34 page)

At five minutes to twelve, with the church waiting for the arrival of the bride, Boots got up and walked along the side aisle to the open doors. The three bridesmaids were there, with the vicar. In their cerise pink, all three girls looked enchanting. Sally, suffering a crush on Boots, blushed as he smiled at her.

‘Daddy, it can’t be all over,’ said Rosie, ‘Aunt Susie hasn’t arrived yet.’

‘I’ll tell your Uncle Sammy that,’ said Boots, and spoke a few words to the vicar while looking around. He’d noticed a policeman outside the church, a uniformed constable. He was still there. A few people were at the gates, waiting to see the bride. Boots felt the constable was a safeguard for Rosie, and rejoined Sammy.

Mrs Rachel Goodman sat in a pew with Mr Greenberg, and neither felt out of place in this Christian church simply because they did not feel out of place with a family of gentiles whom they had known for years and had come to love. Rachel wore a midnight blue costume and hat, as close to black as she could get in letting Sammy see she was in mourning for the imminent loss of his bachelor status. Mr Greenberg, in handsome grey, looked a figure of solemn and august maturity. A nephew of his had charge of the pony and cart for the duration of the service.

Rachel wondered why Polly Simms wasn’t present. She knew she’d been invited. She also knew the brittle and amusing Polly was incurably attached to Boots. They’d both served in the war, and they had a shared experience of its horrors. But Polly would never get Boots. Rachel knew the family so well she was absolutely certain none of Chinese Lady’s diverting sons would indulge in an affair. And Boots had fine steel beneath his easy-going exterior. Was Polly not going to attend the wedding because she could no longer stand being on the outside of the family?

The church was buzzing, not only in anticipation of the bride, but because of newspaper headlines. A man was being held in custody over the murder of a young girl in Bermondsey and two right here in Walworth. Horrible. Still, Mrs Brown didn’t look too upset about it.

Susie was punctual. She had made up her mind not to be late for her wedding. At two minutes past twelve, the organist turned his head. Sammy and Boots came to their feet,
and
the whole church rose as the Wedding March began to peal out. The vicar, the Reverend Edwards, a rosy-faced and gentle man of God, entered in the van of the bridal procession. Susie was on her dad’s arm, and her dad, gammy leg and all, looked as if the Queen of Sheba couldn’t have made a better bride than his Susie. Her gown of white silk was soft, shimmering and flowing, her little circular headdress of white silk roses supporting a full veil. Slowly she floated, Sally behind her, Rosie and Annabelle following, all bridesmaids holding little bouquets, circlets of pink silk roses adorning their heads. Sammy, Boots and Ned had covered the expense of outfitting the bridesmaids.

Mr Greenberg, turning his head, beamed at Susie. Rachel emitted a little sigh. Emily, watching the advance, thought of her own wedding, a wartime one, when Boots was still blind and she had had to be his guide and his mainstay. They had had a good marriage, hadn’t they? She hoped so, even if she was in doubt of herself sometimes. Needing reassurance, she received it from him, and unfailing affection too, to help her through her illness.

Mr Brown brought Susie to her bridegroom and relinquished her, not without a little throaty swallow.

Sammy whispered to the bridal veil.

‘Is that you in there, Susie?’

‘It’s me, Sammy.’

‘Bless you, then.’

‘Bless you too, Sammy.’

Boots smiled. Sammy and Susie were always going to be a star turn together.

The ceremony over, the photographer posed the principals and their retinue outside the church and in the bright sunshine. Susie had her veil over her head, her eyes a
bright
sparkling blue, her bouquet colourful against the white of her gown. Sammy’s smile was that of a businessman who had just signed the most valuable contract of his life, never mind the crippling overheads. The forecourt was crowded with people, and there were others outside the church gates.

Henry Brannigan, on his way home from his Saturday morning’s work, checked his measured stride and took a look at the scene on the forecourt. He saw scores of people in their glad rags, and a shimmering bride with a lovely laughing face. A ruddy wedding. Still, they weren’t in his way. He eyed the newly-weds on the church steps and listened to the shouted remarks of amateur comics. He took in the enchantment of the young bridesmaids. He gave them their due, they were sweet-looking right enough, but he’d bet they took their turns every day to get in people’s way. All kids did. Still, he had to admit girl kids could look like angels as bridesmaids. They didn’t always grow up like angels. One or two did. Come to think of it, Madge wasn’t far short of being an angel of cheerfulness. Good company, she was, not moody, like his wife had been at times.

Look at the kids there. Little terrors they probably were, but look at them now with their clean faces. Madge was keen on kids. She hadn’t given herself much of a chance to have any.

He walked away, his mood thoughtful. Ruddy hell, he was treading on lines. He adjusted his step. Too late now, though. He’d have to watch out for bad luck. Wait a tick, no bad luck had caught up with him after he’d trodden on that line outside a baker’s shop the other day. Far from it. Not only had he been made foreman, but this morning the works manager had told him he’d already proved himself and the job was his for good. On top of that, when he was
up
a ladder an hour later to gauge the best way for the gang to tackle a dismantling piece of work, one of the sods had kicked the ladder from under him. Accidental, of course, you bet it wasn’t. He might have broken his neck, but he didn’t even bruise himself in the fall. If that wasn’t a large slice of good luck, what was? He’d spoken to the ganger, he’d delivered himself of a few choice words, and he knew it wouldn’t happen again.

Life had turned round for him. He reckoned that was all due to Madge. His lucky charm, that’s what she was.

Henry Brannigan began to tread on lines with careless abandon.

The photographs had been taken, and Mr Greenberg, having received permission from the vicar, drove his sleek pony and polished cart into the forecourt. The guests made way for him and he pulled up outside the church doors. Lifting his hat, he beamed down at Susie.

‘Vhy, ain’t it Mrs Sammy Adams, I presume?’ he said.

‘Hello, Mr Greenberg,’ smiled Susie.

‘Might I have the pleasure of cartin’ you and Sammy off to the place of reception? My vord, Susie, vhat a pleasure, ain’t it?’

‘Oh, it’s a handsome offer, Mr Greenberg,’ said Susie.

Boots, his hand on Rosie’s shoulder, watched as Sammy helped his bride up into the cart. Sammy looked at Emily, all huge green eyes that seemed a little moist. Leaving aside Chinese Lady, Emily was first among the wives. Boots was the first of the brothers, and Sammy and Tommy acknowledged he had always worn his seniority with distinction. That made Emily the first lady of the family, again leaving aside Chinese Lady.

‘Emily, up you come too,’ said Sammy, ‘and Boots, and the bridesmaids.’

‘In the cart?’ cried Rosie. ‘Oh, spiffing! Come on, Annabelle!’

Boots lifted the two girls, one after the other. Sally moved forward.

‘Might I lend you a hand, Miss Sally Brown?’

Sally turned, and there was Ronnie from the Camberwell offices, all togged up in his best suit and wearing an admiring grin.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said.

‘What a peach,’ said Ronnie, ‘I can’t wait to shake a leg with you later.’

‘Not if I see you comin’,’ said Sally, and then she was up in the cart too. So was Emily, and so was Boots.

‘Full cartload, Eli,’ said Sammy, ‘so don’t gallop. There’s no hurry.’

‘Vhy, that there ain’t, Sammy,’ said Mr Greenberg, ‘so I’m cartin’ you all the vay round, through the Valvorth Road and down Browning Street, and so on, ain’t it?’

‘Blessed saints,’ said Rosie, ‘what a palaver, ain’t it?’

They were all perched on the narrow side seats, Sammy and Susie, Boots and Emily, and the three bridesmaids, much to the uproarious delight of the guests.

‘It’s a lovely weddin’, Jim,’ said Mrs Brown to Mr Brown.

‘Our Susie, eh?’ said Mr Brown. ‘Ain’t you proud of her, Bessie?’

‘That I am, Jim.’

‘Sammy’s got himself a lovely wife in Susie,’ said Vi to Tommy.

‘I’ve had one for a few years meself,’ said Tommy.

‘That’s funny,’ said Vi, ‘I’ve had a nice husband a few years meself.’

‘Good on yer, Vi.’

‘Good on you too, Tommy.’

‘Who’s goin’ to be on top out of those two?’ asked Lizzy of husband Ned.

‘Well,’ said Ned, ‘if Sammy does what comes naturally—’

‘I didn’t mean that, Ned Somers,’ said Lizzy. ‘Honestly, your mind, if I don’t straighten it out I won’t be able to take you anywhere.’

‘Not even to church?’ said Ned.

‘You’re not goin’ to dodge that,’ said Lizzy, ‘There, they’re off.’

Mr Greenberg drove the pony and cart out through the gates, turning left for the Walworth Road, and after the cart went the younger guests who, of course, began to sing.

‘
My old man said follow the van
…’

Susie waved her bouquet at everyone the cart passed in Larcom Street. Emily remembered her own wedding, her own ride in the cart with Boots and others. She slipped her arm through his.

‘We did this,’ she said. It had been nearly ten years ago.

‘So we did,’ said Boots, leaving alone the fact that he’d been blind at the time. He watched the street. He wondered if Ponsonby knew of the wedding. The man knew his name. Inspector Grant had mentioned it in the man’s presence. Ponsonby had lodged only a few doors away from the Browns and would have known, as everyone in the street did, that Susie was engaged to Sammy Adams. The man was clever enough to make the right assumptions and to ask questions that would turn assumptions into fact. He’d have to ask those questions of people in the neighbourhood. He was on the loose, unless the police had caught up with him again. Boots was willing to take his chances with the man, but in no way was he going to leave Rosie at risk. Tim at the moment was with
his
cousin Bobby, Lizzy and Ned looking after him. But Boots felt that if Inspector Grant was right, Ponsonby would be after Rosie or himself, or just Rosie. The vicious lunatic had a fixation on young girls.

‘Boots, it’s a lovely day,’ said Emily.

‘Specially arranged by Sammy, Em.’

‘Well, it’s gladsome, don’t you think?’

‘I’d say so, Em.’

Rosie, utterly delighted with everything, with her place in the cart, with waving to people in the Walworth Road and with the singing young people following the cart, whispered, ‘Mummy, are you and Daddy having happy talk?’

‘Well, it’s a weddin’ day,’ said Emily. ‘Oh, lor’, I forgot about Tim. Who’s lookin’ after him?’

‘Aunt Lizzy and Uncle Ned,’ said Rosie.

The bridal cart nearly stopped the traffic, especially when the young people began to sing to the bride.

‘
If you knew Susie like I know Susie, oh, oh, oh what a girl
…’

Boots noticed then that the uniformed constable was following.

Inspector Grant was obviously convinced that Ponsonby would make an attempt to strike.

ST JOHN’S CHURCH
Institute was by no means unattractive, with its stage at one end and a gallery at the other. Cloakrooms were accessible on either side of the stage, as were kitchen amenities. The local Boy Scout Troop used the hall, made their Friday evening cocoa there and sang camping songs around the piano on the stage.

Today, the two families and their guests sat down to the wedding breakfast at large trestle tables covered in white cloths and placed together to form an open-ended rectangle. The top tables were occupied by the bride and groom, their families and two friends who were rather special, Rachel and Mr Greenberg. Sammy and Susie had both agreed that to have put them elsewhere would have put them among strangers for the most part. Rachel was touched, Mr Greenberg beaming. There was kosher food for them.

There were over seventy guests and the caterers served an excellent meal. Susie, looking around and taking everything in, remembered the years of desperate poverty, when the best her dad could do for his family was a cheap flat in Peabody Buildings in Brandon Street, and she never seemed to have any frock that hadn’t already outlived its time. The occasional rat poked about around the dustbins of Brandon Street yards, and the numerous cats enjoyed active nights hunting mice. She would never forget the day when, in her sixteenth year, Sammy gave her a job helping to run his market stall. She’d been a shabby and hungry-eyed waif at the time. The memory
made
her put a hand on Sammy’s knee and squeeze it.

‘Hello, who’s doin’ that?’ he asked.

‘Me,’ said Susie.

‘I hope it’s not goin’ to cost me,’ said Sammy.

‘Say a tanner, Sammy.’

‘Make it a tiddler, Susie.’

‘Fourpence,’ said Susie, laughing. Sammy gave her two pennies. ‘That’s only tuppence,’ she said.

‘I’ll have to owe you the rest, Mrs Adams,’ said Sammy, ‘it’s been a ruinous week.’

‘Uncle Sammy, what’re you doing?’ asked Annabelle.

‘No idea,’ said Sammy, ‘it’s been like that for a year, Annabelle.’

‘You’re funny, Uncle Sammy.’

‘Point is,’ said Sammy, ‘will I recover?’

It was like that all around the hall, and the breakfast turned into an exhilarating affair, riotous with laughter. There was beer for the rousing cockney element, such as old friends and neighbours like Mr and Mrs Blake, Mr and Mrs Higgins, and Mr and Mrs Pullen, as well as Sammy’s factory friends Gertie and Bert. There were soft drinks for the children and wine for those adults who fancied it. Ned, who now had a very good job with a wine merchant of Great Tower Street, had supplied the wine.

Susie caught Will’s eye. She framed words.

‘All right, lovey?’

‘Fine.’