London, 1929
The last few weeks before the wedding passed in a blur of activity. There was an outbreak of measles in Streatham and Alice visited many a home to examine spots of varying size and number. Tragically one of her patients, a tot of two years, developed such a high temperature he had convulsions and died. This made her more determined than ever to keep an eye on the sufferers and she carried the loss of the child as a failure on her part.
‘You care too much,’ Fergus told her when he showed up after evening surgery to find her sitting by the fire staring sadly into the distance. ‘How can you help people if you’re upset yourself?’
‘It’s the random nature of it. I brought that child into the world and today I couldn’t save him.’
‘I agree, it’s sad, but you did your best.’
‘Did I, Fergus? If I’d gone to him earlier in the day. . .’
‘Then there would have been others you didn’t see. Don’t take on so.’
She sighed, stood up heavily and reached for an envelope on the mantelpiece. ‘Gwen has sent me the seating plan. I suppose we’d better see what she’s done.’
Fergus cast his eye over the diagram without interest and handed it back. ‘I’m sure it’s all right. I hardly know any of the names.’ His parents, as expected, had declined their invitation. Their excuse was that Mrs O’Hagan was too unwell to travel and her husband didn’t like to leave her, but Alice privately wondered whether it was to do with the ceremony being in an Anglican church. Fergus insisted that it wasn’t.
‘I can’t have Barbara sitting next to your friend Richard. In her odd state she’ll eat him for breakfast.’
‘Leave it, she’ll be good for him. He needs to meet a woman he can’t order around.’
‘She might frighten him off marriage for life.’
Fergus laughed. Then he said, ‘Oh, one thing. What are you doing about the plaque on the front door? You’ll need to change the name on it.’
‘Will I?’ She had dreaded him raising this issue.
‘It says Dr Copeman, dear, but you won’t be Copeman anymore, will you?’
‘I’ve been thinking, Fergus. All my patients know me as Copeman. There’s no reason to change it. I thought it would help me keep my professional life separate. I would be Mrs O’Hagan when I’m not working.’
She was taken aback by the outrage that crossed Fergus’s face. ‘I can’t live here with “Dr Copeman” on the door. People will think we’re not properly married.’
‘Rubbish,’ she said as firmly as she could, but she felt herself quail under the force of his disappointment.
‘Are you not proud of becoming my wife, Alice?’
‘Of course I am, but I’m also proud of my work, and my work is not anything to do with being married to you.’
‘People will expect you to change your name. Have you not thought how embarrassing it will be to me?’
‘Don’t be angry with me, my love.’
It was their first proper tiff and horribly close to the wedding. Coming on top of her young patient’s death, Alice felt like crying. However, her professional name was an issue she felt strongly about, so she held her ground.
*
Alice was so busy during this time that she hardly saw Barbara. They met at the dressmaker’s in Bond Street a week after they’d had dinner together and Barbara seemed more like her usual self. The wedding dress was perfect. She consulted her appearance in the long shop mirror and admired the way the lace hung in a fashionable uneven hem and the tiny ivory buttons on the cuffs. She was to wear her mother’s veil that Gwen had found for her. This would be the ‘something old’. The dress itself was the new and Gwen had offered to lend her the diamond pendant and earrings that Alice’s father had presented to his second bride. It would upset both of her parents to refuse this kindness, so she’d accepted. ‘I’d rather have worn Mummy’s pearls, to be honest,’ she told Barbara.
‘Take the diamonds. Pearls are terribly bad luck on a bride.’
‘I suppose they’ll be the something borrowed, then.’
‘And I’ll be your something blue,’ Barbara said with a bitter smile.
‘Oh, you daft thing. Let’s add some blue flowers to the bouquets – no, they won’t go with your dress. Oh dear.’
Gwen had wanted Barbara in burgundy, but the girls had ignored this and chosen a pretty apricot colour to show off Barbara’s hair. The dressmaker remarked crossly that they’d both lost a bit of weight since their previous fitting, and stuck pins in with great ruthlessness to mark the necessary adjustments.
I’m thinner because I’m happy and Barbara because she’s sad, Alice thought to herself as she carefully stepped out of her prickly garment. As they each had to return to their place of work they did not have time to speak further, but merely kissed each other goodbye and went their separate ways.