‘How do I look?’ Joan asked Tilly, performing a shy twirl for her on the attic landing. She was wearing flats to Alice’s wedding because she didn’t own a pair of heels, and hoped nobody would think any the worse of her for not clopping along like an unsteady horse on this special occasion, which was how she usually felt when walking in heels. But she’d taken up the hem on a pretty yellow and white dress that Selina had given her when she left, saying it was too long to be fashionable and had never suited her colouring anyway. The dress might not be practical for work on a farm, but it did set off Joan’s dark hair nicely and was surely perfect for a summer wedding.
‘Smashing,’ Tilly said enthusiastically, and did a quick twirl of her own, grinning. ‘What about me? I haven’t been to many weddings, so I wasn’t sure what to wear.’
‘You look lovely.’ Tilly was wearing a simple green dress that hugged her figure and brilliantly complimented her red hair and green eyes. But, with pearls about her throat and bold scarlet lipstick, she looked quite the thing. ‘I always feel so awkward in a dress these days. It’s being a Land Girl, I suppose. You get used to those horrid mustard breeches, don’t you think?’
‘I loathe the colour but I do love wearing trousers,’ Tilly admitted. ‘Even if a man in the village did mistake me for a boy the other day. But I was striding along, whistling, hands in my pockets,’ she added. ‘So maybe he had a point.’
They both snorted with laughter, but turned as Caroline came stiffly out of the end bedroom. She was barefoot and still in her slip, looking pale and gaunt.
Tilly gave her an anxious look. ‘Are you all right, Caro?’
‘I feel awful,’ Caroline complained, wrapping her arms about her waist. ‘I wish I didn’t have to dress up and look smart today. I’m not in the mood. Do you think Violet would be very angry if I wore my Land Girl uniform to the church?’
‘Yes,’ Tilly said frankly, and propelled the other girl back into the attic bedroom they shared. ‘Right, let’s lay everything out on the bed so you can try things on in turn. Then we’ll choose which outfit looks best on you. Now, don’t scowl … It’ll be fun, just like a fashion show.’
‘Must I?’ Caroline groaned.
Joan would have left them to it but the other girl looked truly miserable. ‘Come on,’ she said encouragingly, and started dragging clothes out of Caroline’s drawers and tossing them to Tilly to lay on the bed. ‘It’s either this or face Violet’s wrath.’ She lowered her head, bunched her brows together, and glared at the other girl for all she was worth. ‘Is that what you want? The Violet Postbridge stare?’
Caroline burst out laughing. ‘Oh, when you put it like that … All right, so what should I try on first, Tilly? Because I don’t have a clue.’
It took half an hour, but finally they picked out a suitable outfit for Caroline to wear, which was an earthy brown skirt that just skimmed her knees, coupled with a frilly white blouse. Some of Tilly’s borrowed jewellery and make-up made the ensemble less plain, but it was clear that Caroline’s wardrobe was extremely limited when it came to party clothes.
‘I look like a waitress,’ Caroline moaned, staring at herself in the mirror.
‘In that case, I’ll have a bottle of Champagne and a slap-up dinner,’ Tilly announced in a faked posh voice. ‘Hurry up, my good woman, and bring us a tray of cocktails while you’re about it.’
Caroline tried to look cross but failed miserably, and all three of them fell about laughing. Until they heard Violet shouting up the stairs.
‘Are you girls ready yet? We’re all waiting down here. You need to get to the church before us, because Joe and I will be waiting here with Alice until it’s time for her to leave. The bride always needs to get there last, see?’
They hurried downstairs and found George Cotterill waiting by the car with all its doors open. ‘Hop in, girls,’ he told them briskly, ‘I’ll be driving you down to the church, then coming back for Alice and her dad.’
Everyone else seemed to have left already. There was no sign of Alice, who was no doubt still with her gran, enduring last-minute adjustments to her dress.
When they reached the church, they found villagers milling about, hoping for a glimpse of the bride, and mixing with the wedding guests, who were all dressed very smartly in hats and suits, standing about in the sunshine, chatting. The Reverend Clewson was already ushering people inside to take their seats, while everyone was doing their level best to ignore his breathless pleas.
Caroline gave a sudden cry and lurched forward at the sight of Selina waiting near the church. ‘Selly,’ she breathed, her blue eyes wide, shimmering with tears again. ‘I … I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.’ She threw her arms about her friend and the two girls hugged. ‘I’ve missed you so much. Thank you, thank you for coming.’
‘I couldn’t have missed Alice’s wedding,’ Selina said, laughing as she disengaged herself from Caroline’s embrace. She was looking remarkably swish in a navy-blue dress cinched at the waist by a broad belt, with silvery earrings that dangled and immaculate make-up. She’d had her hair cut since leaving the farm, and seemed much older and more serious. But then, Joan considered, she’d lost her sister recently, and such a brutal loss could make people grow up quickly. ‘You look very pretty, Caro,’ she was telling her friend. ‘And you’re wearing make-up. Good show.’
‘The other two helped me,’ Caroline admitted with an embarrassed air, patting her blonde locks, which they’d smoothed back for her and fixed in place with one of Tilly’s decorative hair combs.
Joan hugged Selina too. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I say, who’s that with you, Selina?’ Tilly whispered, eager curiosity in her voice, and Joan’s gaze shot to the young man at Selina’s elbow. He was tall, probably in his late twenties, and rather good-looking, with thick dark hair flopping over his forehead and deep-set, intelligent eyes that roamed about their group and the churchyard, taking everything in.
Selina turned to her companion with an awkward smile. ‘I’m sorry, I should have introduced you all. This is Cameron – I mean, Mr Bourne, a neighbour of mine. He was kind enough to drive me over here today. I feel bad about it, in fact, as I hadn’t realised what a long drive it would be.’
‘Good God, no need for that,’ the young man insisted, grinning. ‘It was a perfect excuse to see what the car could do on the long straights. Helen never lets me drive that fast,’ he added with a self-conscious laugh, and then glanced at them. ‘Helen’s my sister, you understand.’
Joan almost smiled at this telling explanation. Her mind had indeed leapt to the possibility that Helen was his wife, and that Mr Bourne had very improperly agreed to drive Selina to the wedding on his own, despite being a married man.
Now Selina was blushing, clearly tongue-tied. It was all very interesting.
Joan held out a friendly hand, saying, ‘Well, we’re very grateful to you for bringing us Selina. As you can see, she’s been sorely missed. I’m Joan, by the way. And this is Caroline and Tilly.’
He shook hands with them all, and would have said something more, except the vicar pounced on their group and chivvied them into the church. ‘Sorry to hurry you, but the bride’s arriving,’ Reverend Clewson hissed before dashing away.
As the others moved inside as ordered, Joan hesitated in the shade of the church porch, glancing over her shoulder. Violet and Joe were walking quickly towards her with Sarah Jane toddling between them and Mrs Newton puffing behind in the sunshine. The farmer winked at Joan in passing but Violet told her sharply, ‘Alice and Ernest are on their way, my girl. You’d best find a seat.’
‘I’ll be right behind you,’ Joan agreed.
But catching a glimpse of George Cotterill’s black car pulling up outside the church again, she waited curiously and soon saw Alice emerge, shaking out the folds of her lovely, full-skirted wedding dress.
Her father came round to take his daughter’s arm, also looking very smart in a dark suit and tie, and the two smiled at each other. Witnessing the intimate look they exchanged, Joan felt an immense sadness, thinking of everything she’d lost with her father’s early death. But there was also a great sense of joy welling up inside for Alice, who was looking absolutely radiant. As she ought to on her wedding day …
Several latecomers brushed past Joan into the church, and as she flattened herself against the wall with a muttered apology, she spotted a lone figure lurking in the churchyard, half hidden behind a vast wych elm.
It was Arthur Green.
Seeing that she’d spotted him, he raised a hand and grinned.
Joan found herself smiling back at him, and even risked a quick wave. She felt a sudden urge to dash across and say hello to him. Not wanting to spoil Alice’s big moment though, she slipped into the church instead.
She was surprised though. Arthur had insisted he wouldn’t be coming to the wedding, not having been invited, but perhaps he had stopped out of curiosity to see the bride arrive, as so many other villagers had done, clustered about the grassy churchyard as Alice and her father made their way into the church.
It was a lovely wedding service. Joan, who rarely went to church, found herself enjoying the ritual of it all, the prayers and time-honoured words, and the beautiful hymns they sang. Mrs Newton sobbed throughout, quite noisily at times, which made young Tilly bite her lip and giggle in little stifled gasps until tears ran down her cheeks. Violet wept too, but more quietly, while Joe merely looked proud and a little uncomfortable in his best suit.
Alice’s older sister Lily was seated in the front pew alongside her husband, her brother- and her sister-in-law, both women struggling with a child throughout the service. Demelza’s baby girl cried lustily from time to time, while young Morris, sitting on his mother’s knee, cooed and pointed and exclaimed. Violet’s daughter, two-year-old Sarah Jane, also sitting beside Lily, was surprisingly well behaved on this occasion.
The church was full, but by some miracle everyone stayed respectfully still and silent while the happy couple recited their vows, the ladies sighing with happiness when the groom bent his head to kiss the bride. Though he didn’t have to bend it far, Joan thought with an inner smile, for Alice was almost as tall as her bridegroom.
To her amazement, as a glowing Alice and Patrick made their way to the vestry to sign the register, Joan tasted salt and realised that she too was crying. The church organist was playing a stirring tune, however, and she did love music. So she put her sudden extreme happiness down to that, not wanting to admit even to herself that she’d been moved by the wedding ceremony.
‘I suppose they’ll be going back to London now,’ Tilly whispered beside her, waiting impatiently for the bride and groom to re-emerge. ‘They only came back to Porthcurno so all their friends and family could come to the wedding.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, Alice’s family, at least.’
‘Patrick’s family are here too,’ Caroline said, leaning forward. She nodded towards the other side of the aisle, where most of the villagers were sitting. In the second pew back, they could see a stern old gentleman and a small, grey-haired woman also waiting for the bride and groom to finish signing the register. ‘They’re not his parents though,’ she explained in a whisper. ‘He was orphaned, Alice said. So those must be distant relatives. Or maybe the people who brought him up? I’m not sure. Sad though, isn’t it? Alice has such a big family, and he only has those two.’
‘But he has Alice now,’ Joan pointed out, and again blinked away a tear. Her eyes seemed to be watering quite copiously. Maybe it was all the dust she could see spinning in the soft beams of sunlight that crisscrossed the old church.
Alice and Patrick finally re-emerged, walking hand-in-hand down the aisle and out into the bright day. Her maid of honour was Penny, a former Land Girl at the farm who’d come over specially that morning from Bude, where she lived with her husband, John. It seemed only yesterday that Joan and the others had driven over to Bude for her wedding. Now she was her friend Alice’s maid of honour.
Too young to be a bridesmaid, Sarah Jane had been made a flower girl instead, and with her cousin Lily’s help, the little girl tottered out behind Penny and the bride and groom, hauling a wicker flower basket almost as big as herself.
‘Oh, will you look at that? Too, too sweet …’ Selina whispered along the pew, her voice cracking as she dabbed at damp eyes with a hanky. ‘Honestly, I don’t have a clue why I’m crying … How ridiculous.’ Her mascara was running, Joan noticed.
‘Me neither,’ Joan admitted in a croaky voice, and rummaged for her own hanky. No doubt her make-up was a mess too. Though she hadn’t put any mascara on, thankfully, as it wasn’t really her thing.
‘I know. She’s just a … a … a flower girl,’ Caroline gasped in agreement, her own eyes overflowing.
Tilly jumped up with a wild laugh. ‘Oh, come on, you bunch of watering pots, or we’ll miss the photographs.’
But Joan could tell by the younger girl’s brimming eyes and flushed cheeks that she too had been blubbing.
Outside in the sunshine, everyone was clustered about the bride and groom, throwing rice and congratulating them, while George Cotterill manfully tried to herd everyone together for family photographs. He had recently bought a smart-looking Box Brownie and so had been designated chief photographer for the event. Undercover of this chaos, Joan discreetly slipped away to speak to Arthur, who was still leaning against the giant wych elm at the back of the churchyard.
‘How was it?’ he asked, straightening up.
‘I thought I’d be bored stiff,’ she admitted, putting away her hanky before he realised she’d been crying. ‘But it was rather lovely. And such a pretty church.’
‘I used to go brass rubbing when I was younger,’ he told her. ‘Before the war, you know. I’d cycle around all the churches between here and Penzance, and some of them are quite charming. Though I’ve never been much of a churchgoer myself either.’
‘I didn’t think you’d still be here when we came out,’ she admitted.
‘Do you mind?’
‘No, I’m glad,’ she said shyly. ‘Does this mean you’ll be coming back to the farm with us once the photographs have been done?’
Arthur thrust his hands into his pockets, watching the wedding party over her shoulder. ‘I was just waiting to talk to you. I’m not sure I’d be welcome up at the farm. The Postbridges don’t think much of me, you said.’
‘All the same, I’m game if you are.’ She gave him an encouraging smile, though her heart beat faster at the thought of Violet’s reaction. Perhaps it would be better to forget it, but then she wouldn’t enjoy the afternoon as much, not if Arthur couldn’t be there with her. What did that mean? That she had a crush on him? She felt her cheeks warm under his searching look. ‘It’s your choice, of course. If you’d rather go home—’
He shook his head.
‘So come up to the farm,’ she said lightly. ‘I think we’re all walking up. And if Violet gives you the cold shoulder, we’ll just slip away somewhere … Take some sandwiches and beer, and sit on the cliffs. They can’t stop us seeing each other,’ she added, ‘and we shouldn’t let them try.’
Arthur caught her arm as she turned away. ‘Joan, wait. When you say, seeing each other, d-does this mean … What I’m t-trying to ask is …’ He winced with frustration at his own stuttering. ‘Good grief, I can’t even say the simplest thing.’
‘Does this mean what?’ she prompted him.
‘That you and I are … walking out together?’ He pulled a face at his own hesitancy. ‘Courting? However you want to put it.’
Her blush deepened. ‘I suppose it does, yes. Assuming you aren’t averse to the idea?’
Now it was her turn to wince. Goodness, how pompous that had sounded, Joan thought. But he didn’t seem to notice, shaking his head.
‘No, of course not.’ He smiled, nodding over her shoulder. ‘Look, the bridal party is heading back. We should probably go.’
Walking together, she and Arthur followed the other wedding guests on foot through the village and up the steep hill towards Joe’s farm. It was quite a trek, and since they were talking the whole time, they soon fell behind. By the time they reached the farm, celebrations were already going on noisily inside. Someone had brought a fiddle and was scraping away with a lively tune. Through the windows she saw people dancing and could hear Mrs Newton singing at the top of her voice.
She hesitated on the threshold, glancing back at Arthur, who was clearly reluctant to go inside.
‘It’s rather crowded in there. Shall I fetch us beer and something to eat?’ she asked, smiling, ‘That way, we can sit in the field until later.’
‘You mean, once Violet and Joe have drunk so much they won’t notice me among the guests?’ His look was ironic.
Joan couldn’t help laughing. He seemed to have a direct link into her thoughts. She ought to have been alarmed by that, for she was a private person and rarely shared her opinions with other people. But there was something about Arthur … She sensed that her most secret thoughts would be safe with him. Perhaps that was fanciful. But she couldn’t help feeling it.
‘Wait here,’ she whispered, and slipped into the kitchen.
Unfortunately, it was some time before she was able to escape the party again. Weaving her way through wedding guests, Joan was twice snatched into an impromptu dance, once with Ernest Fisher, who whirled her around the kitchen table like a Dervish. Then Alice herself inexplicably drew Joan into a dance with her new husband. ‘How are things?’ Alice shouted over the music, swaying as she tried to dance with both Joan and Patrick at the same time. Her face was flushed, her blue eyes rather too wide. But then, it was her wedding day. Why shouldn’t the bride be enjoying herself? ‘I meant to sit down with you last night … but there were so many people. Are you Land Girls happy? Joe told me he’s been struggling with only three of you. He’s hoping our boys will come back from Europe soon. But Dad says he’s living in cloud cuckoo land. Dad says the soldiers won’t be demobbed for ages. Too much rebuilding to be done out there, he says. Whole cities in turmoil, everything bombed to hell. So it looks like we’ll need you girls out on the land for a few years yet.’ She shouted all this in Joan’s ear, who was desperately racking her brains for an excuse to slip away. She didn’t want Arthur to think she’d abandoned him.
‘I’m happy enough,’ she told Alice, raising her voice to be heard above the incredible noise in the kitchen. ‘So I don’t think Joe has to worry. Congratulations, anyway.’ She hugged Alice and Patrick, and joined their hands together. ‘You too should be dancing together, not with me as a spare wheel. You make a lovely couple and I wish you all the best.’ With that, she grinned and dashed away.
Finally she battled her way out of the kitchen with some provisions and a cloth tucked under her arm that they could use to protect themselves from the grass. Arthur helped her carry the beer bottles and small hamper she’d grabbed.
In a good spot, where the field was fairly even and free from stones, Joan spread out the cloth, only then realising it was too small for the two of them unless they sat close very together. She blushed, meeting his eyes. ‘Sorry.’
‘Not to worry, we’ll just squeeze up,’ he said, after a tiny hesitation.
They sat hip to hip, gazing down on the farmhouse and the green valley of Porthcurno beyond. Music drifted up towards them, along with bursts of laughter and conversation. It was an idyllic summer’s afternoon with not a cloud in the sky, only a few seagulls circling overhead. Joan kept a wary eye on them, fearing one might suddenly flap down and seize their sandwich triangles.
‘This sausage roll has real pork in it,’ Arthur commented, blinking as he bit deep into crumbling pastry. ‘Mmm.’
‘Joe sent one of the pigs to slaughter.’ She caught his horrified expression and added quickly, ‘Not any of the young piglets or their mother. It was one from the last litter. Alice nicknamed him Macbeth.’
He swallowed his mouthful. ‘Funny name for a pig.’
‘Yes, he was a bully. Never really fitted in.’ She devoured her own sausage roll with pleasure. Throughout the war they’d been forced to eat such horrors as ‘mock turkey’, and although rationing was still in place, some of the regulations had recently been relaxed and her joy in eating was coming back. ‘Though he’s making up for it now.’
Arthur stared at her, then flung his head back with a bark of laughter. ‘You’re a dark horse, Joan.’
She bit her lip and then giggled too. She’d made the joke without really thinking. Thankfully, he seemed to share her sense of humour.
‘I wish Joe and Violet knew you better,’ she said impulsively. ‘I’m sure if they did, they wouldn’t be so—’
‘If they knew me better, they’d be even less likely to want us courting.’ Arthur removed the caps from the beer bottles. ‘Drink?’
She took the proffered beer bottle. ‘But why?’ She couldn’t understand what he meant. ‘You told me you had nightmares. That’s hardly a criminal offence.’
He looked across the valley. ‘But sometimes I get the nightmares when I’m awake.’ Catching her puzzled expression, Arthur bent his head, playing with the beer bottle. ‘It’s hard to explain. But this … Us being friends, I mean. Or more than friends. We shouldn’t be doing it.’ He turned his head and she was mesmerised by his gaze and the way his chest gently rose and fell as he breathed. ‘It’s unfair of me to be spending time with you. Because it can’t last.’
‘But if you like me and I like you, where’s the problem?’
‘Oh, Joan …’ Putting down the beer bottle, he touched her cheek. The world seemed to hold still, the distant sea a whisper drowned out by the roaring in her ears as he leaned forward and set his lips against hers. Her eyes closed instinctively, and she sat in a trance as Arthur kissed her.
His mouth was firm and persuasive, and he pulled Joan closer, holding her tight. Her heart was pounding by the time he lifted his head. But it was nothing like the last time she’d been kissed. Now, she felt safe and loved.
Neither of them spoke for a moment, staring at each other. Then she said huskily, ‘Goodness.’
Arthur smiled.
They sat together like that, cuddling and talking in murmurs, until the afternoon had slipped into evening and Joan began to feel cold. Arthur shrugged out of his jacket and placed it about her shoulders.
‘It’s late. You should go inside.’ It was full dark and the music was not so loud now.
‘But Joe said there’d be fireworks. I want to see them.’
‘Fireworks?’ Arthur looked uneasy.
‘It’s all right, he moved all the livestock to the top field or shut them in the barn so they wouldn’t be upset by the noise and lights. Look, there’s Alice’s dad coming out now. It must be time.’
She could see Ernest Fisher, his face lit up by a torch beam, moving carefully about the farmhouse garden to check the pots of earth where he’d placed fireworks earlier that day. Guests began piling out to watch the display.
‘Come on,’ she urged him, jumping up. ‘Let’s get closer. Don’t worry, nobody will recognise you in the dark.’
Arthur followed her reluctantly down past the farm buildings to the edge of the watching crowd.
She gasped with delight, clapping her hands as the sky was lit up with bright cascading colours, silvers and golds and shimmering reds, starbursts of light that illuminated the whole farm.
‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ she cried above the deafening pops and bangs.
When Arthur didn’t answer, but gave a horrible groan instead, she ran back to him in alarm. He was clasping his head, bent almost double, and making such a bloodcurdling noise, she thought he must be ill.
‘Arthur? Are you all right?’
But he didn’t seem to know her anymore. At her voice, he straightened and bared his teeth. ‘You,’ he said hoarsely, and swore at her, glaring. ‘You’re torturing me … You want me to kill them. To kill them all. But I won’t do it, do you hear? I won’t bloody do it anymore.’ His nostrils flared, eyes wide with fear as he suddenly recoiled, staggering violently. ‘Get away from me!’
Then Arthur fell to the ground, writhing in the dirt and gurgling deep in his throat as though he were dying.