‘So, this is what it feels like to be on honeymoon,’ Polly whispered into Tommy’s ear when she woke up the next morning.
Tommy smiled, his eyes not yet open.
‘So, this is what it feels like to be married,’ he whispered back, pulling his soon-to-be wife close and kissing her.
Pushing a strand of hair away from her eyes and kissing her again, this time chastely on the nose, he looked at the woman he loved more than anything in the entire world. This was the image he would take away with him to war. He resolved there and then that if he were to lose his life out in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea or at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean – if he had time before death claimed him – then he would imagine Polly’s face just as it was now, and in doing so he would die with love in his heart instead of hate.
He brushed aside another wisp of Polly’s hair.
‘Would Mrs Watts like a cup of tea to start off her John Street honeymoon?’ he asked, a smile playing on his lips.
Polly kissed the smile. Taking hold of her soon-to-be husband’s hand, she placed it on the small of her back and pressed herself against him.
‘Mrs Watts would love a cup of tea.’ She paused, kissing lips that were now becoming more serious.
‘But not quite yet.’
The first two days of their honeymoon were spent in a blur of making love, chatting and drinking tea. They managed a quick and rather blustery walk around Mowbray Park, stopping to kiss under the outstretched but now rather bare arms of their favourite old oak tree. They had a cup of weak tea and a scone in the museum’s little cafeteria, followed by a stroll around their favourite exhibition room, which was filled with scaled-down models of ships – those made from metal and those from wood – all built on the banks of the Wear. They had an even windier walk along the south docks, passing the Diver’s House, and reminisced about the evening just over two years ago when Tommy had proposed.
They never talked about the future, however.
This honeymoon was about basking in their love. Past and present.
Along with most of the Elliot household, they’d gone to see Reverend Winsey and had the required rehearsal in a bitterly cold St Ignatius Church.
Lucille, as the only bridesmaid, loved being the centre of attention. The anticipation of a visit from Father Christmas – on the same day as her aunty’s wedding – was sending her into a fever of excitement. And to top it all, Bing Crosby’s crooning about a white Christmas had the knock-on effect of making Lucille and all her little friends obsessed with a need for it to snow on Christmas Day.
Agnes had managed to put her concerns about ‘mortal sin’ to one side after she had gone to see Beryl. Agnes had stomped next door, spitting nails, the night Polly had left for her new temporary home. Her fury had practically rocketed through the roof when her best friend had not been equally incensed by Polly’s shameful behaviour. Instead, Beryl had told Iris and Audrey to go to their rooms, before shutting the door to the kitchen and letting rip at Agnes, telling her that if there was a God up there, he would not give two hoots if Polly and Tommy were living together – especially when it was just a matter of days before they officially became man and wife. Beryl had gone red in the face trying to keep her voice down. Her own worries about her husband and sons had flicked to anger and that anger had turned itself on her best friend.
‘I think the good Lord – ’ Beryl had sucked in air ‘ – will just be counting his lucky stars that Tommy, and men like him, are risking life and limb to do battle with the Devil himself.’ She’d glared at Agnes. ‘Never mind that your daughter is working herself to the bone building bloody ships day in, day out.’
Agnes had been shocked by her friend’s reaction. They had always – always – agreed with one another. Been there for each other through thick and thin.
She’d left Beryl’s house feeling like she had been physically shaken.
The next day she had got up and told Bel to go to the Major’s flat to tell Polly and Tommy that they were expected round for Sunday dinner.
When her daughter and her live-in lover had arrived, Agnes had been relieved that Polly didn’t seem to be holding a grudge.
Agnes could see that her daughter, for now at least, was blissfully happy.
Before they’d sat down to eat, Agnes had taken Tommy aside.
Knowing that they would not be able to afford one gold band – never mind two – she had given him Harry’s wedding ring.
‘Well, will yer look at that!’ she’d exclaimed when Tommy had tried it on. ‘Talk about made to fit.’
Realising the reasons for Agnes’s actions were more fiscal than sentimental, Arthur had gone into his room and returned with Flo’s wedding ring, knowing that, like the engagement ring, it too would be a perfect fit.
Agnes’s mood had also been lifted no end by Lily and George’s gift of a wedding. Lily might not be most people’s idea of a fairy godmother, but she had granted Agnes her lifelong wish for her daughter to have a proper wedding.
It also meant that neither she nor Beryl would have to worry themselves silly over how they would put a decent dinner on the table on Christmas Day.
Instead, the mother of the bride dragged Beryl into town and they each bought themselves a new outfit – complete with hat. They were the first new items of clothing either woman had bought themselves for many, many years.
The women welders, naturally, talked about nothing else apart from Polly and Tommy’s Christmas wedding.
Or rather, Dorothy and Angie talked about nothing else. Rosie, Gloria, Martha, Hannah and Olly hardly managed to get a word in edgewise.
The pair’s excitement doubled, if that were possible, when Rosie asked them if they wouldn’t mind bringing George’s uniform round to Lily’s on Christmas Eve.
Dorothy and Angie somehow managed to keep their near-on hysteria under wraps until they were walking home from work.
‘“Would you mind”!’ Dorothy bellowed out.
‘Yeah,’ Angie laughed out loud, sounding more than a little deranged. ‘As if we’re gonna “mind”!’
‘This is going to be the best Christmas ever,’ Dorothy declared, grabbing her best friend’s arm and squeezing it until Angie shouted out in pain.
‘Sorry, just a bit excited,’ Dorothy apologised, trying unsuccessfully to rein in her exuberance as they turned into Foyle Street.
‘Cor,’ Angie said, rubbing her arm, ‘just think, we’re going to see inside – ’ she dropped her voice as they neared their flat ‘ – a bordello.’
‘I knoooow,’ Dorothy said, again reaching for her friend’s arm.
Bel was easily as excited as the squad’s ‘terrible two’, but, unlike Dorothy and Angie, was managing to keep a veneer of decorum in place.
She was, after all, the matron of honour.
Bel felt akin to the swans she had seen during a rare trip to Barnes Park, who had seemed to glide serenely on the lake while all the time paddling manically under the water. She had a hundred and one things to do to make her sister-in-law’s wedding the best ever.
There was no doubting the reception at the Grand would beat any other wedding hands down, but she needed everything else to be equally wonderful.
When Marie-Anne dared to suggest that Polly should perhaps ‘pitch in a little’, Bel had gasped – that everyone knew a bride is ‘never to be disturbed on her honeymoon, unless absolutely necessary’. Marie-Anne thought that, deep down, Bel was quite happy Polly was out of the way so that she could be the bride by proxy right up to the morning of the wedding.
Bel had gone through the wedding list so many times she reckoned she could probably recite it in her sleep. The list consisted of quite an eclectic mix of guests: Maud and Mavis the sweet-shop owners, shipyard bigwig Harold and his wife, Jimmy the head riveter and his motley crew, along with their significant others. The men’s wives, Polly had told Bel, were apparently getting a little tetchy about their husbands’ friendship with the women welders. Polly had thought it would be the perfect occasion for everyone to meet. Bel personally wondered about the wisdom of this, but followed instructions all the same.
Polly had also asked Bel to invite Alfie, and to tell him to bring his aged grandmother.
Rosie had asked if she could invite her next-door neighbour Mrs Jenkins and her husband, Kenneth. Polly thought it was because Rosie felt guilty about her lack of neighbourliness. Bel thought it was because Rosie felt sorry for the woman as she seemed rather lonely, had no children and rarely went out.
Polly had said ‘of course’, although Bel thought that her sister-in-law would have said ‘of course’ to inviting the whole of the east end, which she wasn’t far off doing already.
During it all, Pearl had sidled up to Bel and pointed out that as Bill had been prepared to give up half the pub for Polly and Tommy’s ‘first wedding’, it would be rude not to invite him to this one. Bel knew Polly would agree, but when her ma suggested that it would also be rude not to invite Ronald as he was their neighbour and had provided them with a fair few bottles of whisky over the past couple of years, Bel had hesitated. Her ma was, as usual pushing boundaries. She’d have to ask Polly.
Bel had given her ma strict instructions to stay as sober as possible on the day. She was also to find herself a dress to wear that was appropriate for her age. Pearl had muttered something about going to see Kate, at which point Bel had told her that Kate was probably up to her ears in wedding dresses and party frocks and not to bother her. She knew, though, that her ma wouldn’t take a blind bit of notice. She also knew that Kate, for some unknown reason, had a soft spot for her ma and would sort her out.
In addition to her many duties, Bel had also had to convince Mr Clement, the photographer, to give up a few hours of his Christmas Day. He had said he would if he could bring his wife and three children to the Grand.
Bel had acquiesced, but only if Mr Clement, in turn, agreed to defy ration regulations and use every bit of photographic paper he possessed. She knew from her own wedding that the government had stipulated only two photographs could be taken per wedding. She was determined this was not going to be the case for her sister-in-law.
‘I don’t care how you do it,’ Bel had told the wiry, grey-haired photographer, ‘but there’s going to be lots of photos. And at least one photograph has to be ready the next morning.’ Tommy was going to return to war with more than just a picture of Polly in his head.
‘And there’s the whole wearing something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue,’ Bel had lamented to Marie-Anne. As Polly had seemed totally unconcerned about this particular wedding tradition, Bel had made the decision on Polly’s behalf that the dress would be ‘new’, the ring ‘old’, and Polly would borrow her ma’s gold cross and chain.
‘Blue’ would be the garter, once, that was, she’d had the chance to get one.
‘Everyone’s asking me what presents they should get the bride and groom,’ Bel had gasped in exasperation to Marie-Anne, who had made the fatal mistake herself and been curtly told to ask her mother for ideas.
Bel had not been able to tell Helen to do the same when she had started badgering her as to what to buy Polly and Tommy. Not only because Helen was her boss, but because she couldn’t imagine Helen’s mother giving up a second of her precious time to think up a present for a woman welder – never mind one who was close friends with her husband’s lover.
The problem was solved during a chat in their lunch break about Hope’s ‘totally adorable’ flower-girl outfit that Helen had bought for her. Bel already knew from Gloria all about the ‘adorable’ and also very expensive dress. The chatter, however, had led to Helen asking Bel about Polly’s wedding bouquet and if there were going to be any flowers in the church.
When Bel had told Helen that Arthur was going to get what he could from the allotment, Helen had not even tried to hide her disdain.
But then her face had lit up.
‘That’s it! Flowers! John and I will gift the wedding flowers.’
Bel had made a mental note to tell Polly that it would seem Helen had apologised to the good doctor, and it would also seem that she had been forgiven.
During the conversation Helen had told Bel, between puffs of her cigarette, ‘You really remind me of someone. I just can’t think who it is.’
Helen had scrutinised her and Bel had got paranoid that she might somehow work it out, but she’d dismissed the idea.
It was preposterous.
Helen would never guess in a million years.
The only part of the wedding that Polly had told Bel she wanted to take an active part in was the cake.
So, on Wednesday morning Polly and Tommy collected Arthur from Tatham Street and the three walked to the café in High Street East, sank a pot of tea and devoured three huge bacon butties.
Arthur reminisced about days gone by when Tommy had been just a lad, and the two of them would meet Jack at the café before work for a bacon bap breakfast.
They talked briefly about the latest war news. The newspapers were full of reports coming back from Stalingrad that Germany’s Sixth Army was trapped.
The trip also gave Polly the chance to apologise to Arthur for being such a nightmare during what she called her ‘week of madness’, and to ask if the old man was still willing to give her away.
‘Dinnit be daft, pet,’ Arthur told her. ‘Like I said to yer afore, yer making an old man very happy.’ He reached out and patted Polly’s hand. ‘I don’t think there’ll be a prouder man on this planet, come Friday.’
His words made Polly want to cry, but she stopped herself. This was not the time for tears.
Spotting Rina in the kitchen on her own, Polly went to see her.
She gave her a hug.
‘Thank you, Rina.’
Once again, she pushed back tears.
Polly didn’t have to say why she was offering her thanks, nor did Rina have to ask.
Just before they all left, Polly caught Vera and told her to do whatever she wanted with regards to the wedding cake. The old woman muttered something under her breath about having to make all the decisions herself, but she wasn’t kidding anyone. She was pleased as punch that she and Rina had been given carte blanche to do exactly what they wanted. And, moreover, that the Grand were providing the ingredients.
Despite all the running around and never-ending chores, Bel had to admit to herself and to Joe that she was loving every frantic second of organising her best friend’s wedding.
‘It’s so exciting, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is. Very,’ he said, deadpan.
Joe had been tasked with making sure that Arthur’s suit was clean and pressed, as well as his own 7th Armoured Division uniform. He’d also been told to go out and find a Christmas tree, which was easier said than done, as, like everything these days, they were in scant supply. It was imperative, though, Bel had said. Christmas wasn’t Christmas without the decorating of the tree. She was determined her daughter’s Christmas was to be as magical as possible.
Neither of them said anything, but they both crossed their fingers that Jerry would want the same for their children and that there would be an unofficial Christmas Day amnesty.
Or, at the very least, no air raids.
Realising that Bel was run ragged, although trying her hardest not to show it, Rosie had offered Charlotte’s services as she had now broken up from school.
‘To be honest,’ Rosie said, ‘you’ll be doing me a favour if you give her something to do. She’s bouncing around the house like a rubber ball. She’s already done all her homework for the whole of the Christmas break and she’s been to see Marjorie in Newcastle. I’m struggling to keep her occupied. I was hoping she might have made some friends at school – that she’d want to go around to their houses and do things girls her age normally do.’ Rosie sighed. ‘But it would seem not.’
Bel reassured Rosie she would happily keep her busy.
It was why she was now heading into town, having got the afternoon off work to meet Charlotte and give her a list of last-minute presents and bits and bobs to buy for the wedding.
If Charlotte wasn’t able to get them all today, there was always tomorrow – Christmas Eve.
As Bel hurried to catch the tram, she looked up at the pewter-grey clouds.
They looked heavy.
Bel kept her fingers crossed they forecasted snow.
It would make her daughter’s Christmas even more special and it would be the cherry on the cake for a perfect Christmas wedding.