“And you’re sure the paper chains aren’t too much?”
Five days later, Bunty and I were walking towards our platform at Paddington station. We had a march to go to and then a wedding, but she was having an attack of doubts.
“Not at all,” I said confidently. “The whole room looks beautiful. The holly is lovely, we have the biggest bunch of mistletoe I’ve ever seen in my life, and the paper chains make it a proper Christmas wedding reception.”
“Newspaper, though, Em,” said Bunty “I’m still not sure.”
“Bunts,” I said, “when’s the last time you saw green and red crepe paper? Even if we had a thousand pounds, we’d have struggled to find any. Anyway, I like the newspaper chains. It’s topical. And by the time Roy and Fred have set up the music, and Thelma and Kath have put out the buffet, it will look like a palace. Everyone has been wonderful. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you all.”
Bunty looked happy. “Everyone wanted to,” she said. “Although I do slightly question Fred’s recipe for a punch. It sounds revolting.”
“It does,” I agreed. “But that’s the whole point of punch, isn’t it? According to Mrs. Croft’s Festive Special in What’s in the Hot Pot? we can throw any old thing in there and it will be fine.”
“What if someone chokes? Is this our platform?”
“Father’s a doctor. Yes, it is,” I said, looking up at the Departures Board. “With Daddy, Roy and Fred, Charles’ army chums, and Jack if he can get leave, we’ve almost all the services covered. There isn’t much that can go wrong that one of them won’t be able to sort out.”
“The upside of war,” said Bunty, shaking her head.
We showed our tickets at the barrier and began to walk down the platform. People who had managed to get time off at Christmas were crowding towards the edge so they could be first on the train. In normal years they would have been laden down with packages and nice-smelling things from London shops. You might have even seen a big ham sitting in the overhead storage nets.
Now, though, it wasn’t nearly as ostentatious. It was the third Christmas of the war, and the shops had had very little to offer. Home-made gifts were saving the day, and I wondered how many people at the station carried crocheted and glued-together presents in their cardboard suitcases and hatboxes.
I hadn’t thought as far as Christmas. Having scrambled to get everything ready for the wedding, as well as trying to keep up with the plans for the march through daily letters and phone calls to and from Anne, I hadn’t had time for anything—even stage fright—until now. Bunty and I had planned the day as meticulously as we could. We would be back and at the church well before three o’clock. We had to be.
“You’ve gone quiet,” said Bunty. “What is it?”
“I can’t quite believe that by the end of today I’ll be married,” I said, not mentioning any jitters about timing. “Here we are on a platform, me with my notebook, you with your camera, and in a few hours’ time we’ll be in a church. It doesn’t feel real. I’m actually marrying Charles.”
Bunty laughed and put her arm through mine. “It feels real to me,” she said. “Under this great thick coat, I’m wearing the fanciest dress ever. My best friend made it for me and it’s gorgeous.”
“Aren’t you freezing?” I asked.
“I’ve got a woolly on and thick knickers,” she said. “If only William was here, he’d be mad for me in these.”
She smiled.
“Oh, Bunts,” I said, squeezing her arm.
“I do want you to know, I’m all right,” she said. “And I’m going to enjoy every minute of today. Even if I am wearing knickers meant for a granny.”
Before I could say anything, a harassed-sounding lady carrying several bags and trailing two children in school uniforms pushed past us in an effort to secure a good spot.
“Father Christmas knows exactly where Aunty Flory lives,” she said crossly. “He’s very clever like that, but you have to remember he’s run out of fruit.”
Bunty and I tried not to laugh, especially when the bigger child asked why Father Christmas couldn’t have stocked up.
“Here it comes!” shouted the smaller one as he heard the first sound of the train puffing its way into the station. Smoke rose up into the heights of Paddington’s enormous domed roof, and Bunty and I stepped aside so that the little family could get in first. Despite the number of people leaving the city, the train had lots of carriages and we were confident we would get seats.
We helped them with their bags, and as doors began to slam shut along the train, Bunty climbed in.
“Mind your camera,” I warned as its case threatened to swing out from her shoulder and bash itself on the side of the train.
“Gosh, yes,” she said, turning around as she was halfway in. Then she stopped, looked down the platform, and started waving so frantically she almost fell out. “WE’RE OVER HERE,” she shouted. “IN THIS ONE.”
I turned round to see what was causing the fuss.
There, tearing down the platform, in his army greatcoat and cap, was my lunatic of a fiancé.
“Nothing to do with me,” said Bunty, still waving.
As people hauled up the last of their bags into the carriages and the remaining doors were closed, I stayed on the platform, holding ours open as wide as it would go.
“WAIT! PLEASE WAIT FOR HIM,” I yelled at the guard, who was looking at his fob watch and coming towards us in a predatory way. “WE’RE GETTING MARRIED,” I shouted for extra weight.
“We’re nearly a minute over,” said the guard, who clearly wasn’t a romantic.
Charles was now at the next-door carriage, red-faced but keeping up a very impressive sprint.
“EM,” he shouted as he ran, “KEEP THE DOOR OPEN.”
“I’m getting out,” declared Bunty.
“Bernard, Larry, don’t move,” said the lady with the children as she got off the train as well. “THEY CAN’T GO WITHOUT ME,” she bellowed at the poor guard. “How exciting,” she said to Bunty. “Love’s young dream.”
“Darling!” gasped Charles as he finally made it and hurled his arms round me, kissing me passionately and then, less romantically, declaring he had given himself a stitch. “Thank you,” he panted at the guard.
“ALL ABOARD,” shouted the man.
“Not yet,” said Charles, recovering himself well. “He’s nearly here.”
“WAIT,” came a voice, rather more faintly than everyone else. “Good grief.”
Mr. Collins was running at a decent pace, his hat rammed down onto his head and his coat flapping behind him to reveal a very smart suit.
“Goodness,” said the lady.
“His brother,” said Bunty, filling her in. “Half-brother, really. He’s a lot older,” she added, politely lowering her voice.
The guard was very nearly at the end of his tether. “ALL ABOARD,” he shouted unnecessarily loudly.
“YOU CAN DO IT, SIR!” shouted either Bernard or Larry, who were both hanging out of the door.
Mr. Collins finally staggered up to us, breathing heavily. “You’re very kind,” he managed, speaking to the guard. “So sorry. Shall we? Ladies first.”
Bernard and Larry’s mother nodded prettily and chivvied the boys back into the carriage as the guard blew his whistle and more or less pushed the rest of us in.
“Not that it isn’t utterly lovely to see you,” I began, feeling rather thrilled and turning to Charles as we all took our seats, “but what on earth are you both doing here?”
Charles put his arm around me.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you to get back on time,” he said. “It’s just that I thought you might need a little assistance should anything go wrong. You know, if you have to steal a car or something to get back.”
Bernard and Larry’s eyes nearly popped out of their heads.
“I can steal my own car,” I said in mock indignation.
“Yes, but you don’t actually drive,” said Charles. “Yet. I know. Are you all right, Guy?”
“I’m too old for this,” said his brother, getting his breath back and looking as if he was enjoying himself. “May have burst a lung. I’ve brought a spare camera,” he said, turning to Bunty. “I thought it might be useful if you run out of film.”
He handed it to her, and Bunty gave a squeak. “I say, it’s a rangefinder,” she said. “That’s heaps nicer than mine.”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Collins. “Have a look and see what you think.”
As Bunty and Mr. Collins began to talk about photography, Charles turned to me and smiled.
“I’m so pleased you’re here,” I said quietly.
“Are you sure?” said Charles. “I did umm and ahh over it. That’s why we nearly missed the train. I know you don’t need me with you, darling, but I just thought if something did go wrong or held you up, I’d rather be with you missing the wedding than us being apart.” He patted his breast pocket gently. “I have the ring with me, but as far as I’m concerned, I don’t care. After today, we’re married, legally or not.”
“Me too,” I said. “Although it’s supposed to be awfully bad luck seeing each other before the ceremony.”
Charles pulled a dramatic, mock-horrified face and I laughed.
“You do know I’m on a serious journalistic assignment, don’t you?” I said.
“Absolutely,” replied Charles. “That’s why I’m proud of you.” He dropped his voice. “You’ve got a dreadful boss, though.”
“I heard that,” said his brother.
“So did we,” said Bernard and Larry. “Miss, might you show us your camera, please?”
As Bunty began to show the boys how to look through the viewfinder, I sat back happily and leaned into Charles. He was right that Bunty and I were more than capable of going to the march and getting to the wedding in time, but I was delighted that he had come to show his support.
Now my thoughts turned to Anne Oliver and the Chandlers women.
There was so much riding on this morning, and it most definitely wasn’t without risk. I was pleased to bring two more people who would be on their side. I just hoped other people outside the town hall would feel the same way.
While Betty and the others had made extra efforts to keep this morning’s march secret, we all knew that there was a good chance Mr. Terry would have found out. I had no idea what he was likely to do if that happened, but I would put money on the fact he would not play fair.
All we could do now was get there and see.