CHAPTER 47
That left us caught between two stools: whether to celebrate the arrival of Enid, or to explore Alice’s problems further. She steered us neatly away from that one with a seemingly flippant comment about water under the bridge, and we got on to planning the disposal of a sizeable proportion of her worldly goods.

I had a thought.

“Alice, how close is Pat to your size?”

“Not far off. You thinking of inviting him to have a trawl through?”

“Not exactly, I was thinking of asking Janet. Women dress men better than they do themselves”

“He tends to work in uniform, Sar”

“Yeah, but the cassock’s left at the office!”

I phoned Janet to check his sizes, and to no great surprise on my part she already knew them, and apart from shoes they were a close enough match. Alan had always been very dapper, meticulous in his appearance, so there were a number of suits that would work for Pat even with the odd collar he wore. Janet asked for the shoes as well, though.

“We give them to Shelter, there’s always a need for shoes at this time of year”

‘We’. I felt for her then, for them, two lovely people trapped by something I could never understand. He could have followed the same route as Father Charlie, but he was too sincere in his beliefs. She obviously loved him enough to respect that, and the result was a stalemate. Give me that old time religion.

Time went by, as it does when you are distracted. Tony organised a removal firm to clear the old Harwich place, but he seemed a little out of sorts when we went up to oversee some of the packing, leaving Jim with Alice for the weekend.

“What’s up, love?”

“Oh, nothing really, Sar, I know it makes sense for Mum to move, but this was our home, Dad’s place, and it seems so odd to leave it.”

He sighed, and I realised he was actually crying. “This was Annie’s place too, Sar.”

I took my great bear into my arms, and he wept. There were no complications in my thoughts, just then, as I comforted the real love of my life as he mourned another woman. Annie was part of who he was, Annie was Jim, she was part of my own world and life. I could see that to Tony this meant cutting off his past.

“Tony, my love, you know that she will always be with us. Jim is there, Jim is Annie”

Enid walked in on us, and over his shoulder she just mouthed the name, and I nodded slightly. She walked back out, and five minutes later returned with a tray of tea, and took her big, hurt boy from my arms into her own.

That was a moment that shook me, a little, the realisation that there would always be another woman in our life. I had always known that, of course, but Tony’s tears brought it home to me. had my own guilt, the knowledge that I had gained my happiness only from the death of another, from a man losing his wife, a son his mother. Guilt, but determination. I loved Tony, deeply, and if I was going to gain from his loss, then I would repay it. Pat’s proxy sermon, ‘be the best you can’. I would be the best wife, the best mother I could be. I could never stop the hurt, but he would never bear it alone.

It was an important moment for me. I knew I loved him, and Jim, I knew they loved me. We shared and we laughed, and when we made love, well, Alice knew what he did to me. But just then, with his pain, I really knew that I loved him, and that tiny little Sam voice that had always whispered ‘you’re not real’ faded into silence. He loved me, he loved me so much that he shared his tears for his dead wife with me. That said everything.

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The house sale went quickly as there was no chain to worry about and the place was empty. In the meantime, Alice’s place at Eythorne filled up with clutter and clothing and occasional small boy and dog. I would ride out there with Jim, through Guston and Whitfield on back lanes, after pushing the bikes up the ferociously steep Connaught Road to the barracks. He was getting used to the gears, and really coming along with his riding, particularly in accepting that a hill isn’t to be rushed. I simply enjoyed the rides with him, as my fitness slowly returned after my enforced time off. Often, as we sat sipping hot chocolate at the top of yet another short climb, he would talk about camping trips and going abroad, and I would promise that when things got warmer we would either go to another rally or, if he was good, take our bicycles and tents across the water to Holland or France.

“Don’t forget, though, you have Pie to think of. We either have to stay here in Britain, or he has to stay at home while we are on holiday”

“I could carry him n a rucksack”

I laughed. “Pie will soon be nearly as big as you! No, love, it will be nice to go on holiday somewhere special again, but till he’s grown a bit he needs you with him. Now, where would you like to take the bikes?”

He looked at the hill we had just climbed, an alp for a small boy, and grinned. “Somewhere flat, Mum!”

“How about Holland then?”

“Are there birds there for you to look at?”

“Oh yes, and windmills and cheese and canals!”

“When Pie is bigger, then?”

“Yes, love, when he’s bigger. Race you down this hill?”

And time did go by, as it does, and one day in March we were queuing on Belgrave Road as I waited for the nice lady’s eyes to go back to their normal size so she could get on with issuing my replacement passport, with that lovely little ‘F’ in it.

All decks finally cleared. I looked at Tony as I held my little burgundy-covered jewel. “Shall we ask Pat?”

“As soon as possible suits me, love. A big one, or just the family?”

“Na, there are too many people we can’t leave out. And before you ask, I am not going as a meringue. White, yes, flounces no. Got that?”

“Yeah, but you’ll want me in a monkey suit”

“Morning suit. Of course, it’s my wedding, I get to say”

“I’ll warn Steve. He’ll need time to get something to fit him.”

“Doesn’t he have some Scot in him somewhere?”

That was a thought. Thor in a kilt….eyes off, girl, he belongs to Arris!

“So, that’s the four kids sorted. My sister and sis in law, and Arris as bridesmaids…Alice as matron of honour...Shit”

“What’s up, love?”

“A den of Papist idolatry for the wedding of a Chapel girl. My parents will be less than happy”

“Would they be happy for Pat to perform the ceremony, though?”

“Oh god yes, they like him, even if he is a left-footed Mick papist, or whatever.”

“Well, perhaps there is somewhere else he could do it. All sorts of places are licensed these days”

I looked at him. “Silly question, love, but you do still want to marry me?”

He kissed me, and a passing cabby hooted. Where to have the wedding?

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Pat was, of course, more than happy to officiate, but also a little put out at our suggestion that we go away from his church.

“Pat, that’s the problem, a wedding is for everyone else, not just me and Tony. We just need to find somewhere that is acceptable to all comers. If we had an Anglican church, my parents would probably be OK, they just get a bit frisky with all the statues in a Catholic place. They’re very Welsh”

Pat sighed. “I know the vicar of Saints Peter and Paul, that’s an Anglican place. I can ask!”

Just round the corner as well. That left me with one major event in addition that needed planning. Chelsey and Aleishya had been right: there was need for a hen night. My liver had been having too easy a life lately.