earlier in the summer when their mothers began talking to Clara, Fifi didn’t dare contact them now, in case the same thing happened again. But maybe they could have a little party later on at the flat, so they could all get to know Dan.
She’d always imagined getting married in church, bells ringing, the organ playing and Patty as her bridesmaid. But she was so excited about leaving home for good, making meals for Dan and having a little home of their own, that the lack of wedding presents, a honeymoon and all the other trappings just didn’t seem important.
There was a nip of autumn in the air now; the leaves on the trees were beginning to change to gold and russet. She couldn’t wait to be snuggled up by the fire with Dan instead of walking around the streets or sitting in a smoky pub.
On the morning of 20 September, Fifi sat and ate her cornflakes for breakfast as if it was any other work day. Her father was sitting on the other side of the kitchen table reading his paper, and her mother was rushing about as she always did in the mornings, making toast, feeding the cat, opening mail, now and then going out into the hall to shout to Peter and Robin to make them hurry up. Patty had already gone to work.
Fifi had thought of nothing but this day ever since they booked the wedding at the registry office. But now it had come, and she knew she wouldn’t be coming back this evening, she was scared. Everything suddenly seemed to be so dear to her. The larder door covered in old photographs, some right back from when she was a toddler. The drying rack up on the ceiling, as always full of drying or airing clothes. She knew that if she were to lift the lid of the three-tier cake tin it would hold flapjacks, gingerbread or maybe a Victoria sandwich. In future she’d have to make her own breakfast, wash and iron her clothes and Dan’s too. Everything from toothpaste to washing powder would need to be bought by her.
She glanced at her mother. As always she was fully dressed, right down to proper shoes; she never slopped around in slippers and a dressing-gown. She was looking in the larder, making a list of things she needed from the grocer’s. She had probably already decided what they would be having for the evening meal tonight.
Fifi wondered if she’d cry when she got the call to say her daughter was now Mrs Reynolds and wouldn’t be coming home any more. It was odd that the thought of her mother being angry didn’t bother her at all, but she couldn’t bear the thought of tears.
‘You’d better get a move on, Fifi, or you’ll be late,’ Clara said, for once without her more customary sharpness. ‘You look a bit pale this morning. Are you feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Fifi replied, drinking the last of her tea and getting up. ‘Thank goodness it’s not raining this morning, I’ve got to work wet every day this week.’
She felt guilty now. She wasn’t going into the office at all. First she was going to the hairdresser’s, then to pick up her corsage of flowers, finally to the flat to change into her wedding clothes and wait for the taxi she’d ordered to take her to the registry office in Broadmead. Her father ought to be in that taxi with her, and Patty too, wearing a new dress. Could she really do it all on her own?
‘I’m going to make a steak and kidney pie for dinner tonight, so for goodness’ sake come straight home instead of hanging around to meet that worthless article.’
At that spiteful order from her mother Fifi snapped out of her sentimental mood. ‘Why did you have to spoil the day by saying something so nasty?’ she asked.
Clara looked at her contemptuously. ‘You spoil every day for me by lusting after a piece of filth like that. But believe you me, the moment you tell him you’re carrying his child, you won’t see him for dust.’
For a second Fifi was tempted to slap her mother’s face. But she resisted; what she intended to do later would hurt her far more.
She’d always imagined getting married in church, bells ringing, the organ playing and Patty as her bridesmaid. But she was so excited about leaving home for good, making meals for Dan and having a little home of their own, that the lack of wedding presents, a honeymoon and all the other trappings just didn’t seem important.
There was a nip of autumn in the air now; the leaves on the trees were beginning to change to gold and russet. She couldn’t wait to be snuggled up by the fire with Dan instead of walking around the streets or sitting in a smoky pub.
On the morning of 20 September, Fifi sat and ate her cornflakes for breakfast as if it was any other work day. Her father was sitting on the other side of the kitchen table reading his paper, and her mother was rushing about as she always did in the mornings, making toast, feeding the cat, opening mail, now and then going out into the hall to shout to Peter and Robin to make them hurry up. Patty had already gone to work.
Fifi had thought of nothing but this day ever since they booked the wedding at the registry office. But now it had come, and she knew she wouldn’t be coming back this evening, she was scared. Everything suddenly seemed to be so dear to her. The larder door covered in old photographs, some right back from when she was a toddler. The drying rack up on the ceiling, as always full of drying or airing clothes. She knew that if she were to lift the lid of the three-tier cake tin it would hold flapjacks, gingerbread or maybe a Victoria sandwich. In future she’d have to make her own breakfast, wash and iron her clothes and Dan’s too. Everything from toothpaste to washing powder would need to be bought by her.
She glanced at her mother. As always she was fully dressed, right down to proper shoes; she never slopped around in slippers and a dressing-gown. She was looking in the larder, making a list of things she needed from the grocer’s. She had probably already decided what they would be having for the evening meal tonight.
Fifi wondered if she’d cry when she got the call to say her daughter was now Mrs Reynolds and wouldn’t be coming home any more. It was odd that the thought of her mother being angry didn’t bother her at all, but she couldn’t bear the thought of tears.
‘You’d better get a move on, Fifi, or you’ll be late,’ Clara said, for once without her more customary sharpness. ‘You look a bit pale this morning. Are you feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ Fifi replied, drinking the last of her tea and getting up. ‘Thank goodness it’s not raining this morning, I’ve got to work wet every day this week.’
She felt guilty now. She wasn’t going into the office at all. First she was going to the hairdresser’s, then to pick up her corsage of flowers, finally to the flat to change into her wedding clothes and wait for the taxi she’d ordered to take her to the registry office in Broadmead. Her father ought to be in that taxi with her, and Patty too, wearing a new dress. Could she really do it all on her own?
‘I’m going to make a steak and kidney pie for dinner tonight, so for goodness’ sake come straight home instead of hanging around to meet that worthless article.’
At that spiteful order from her mother Fifi snapped out of her sentimental mood. ‘Why did you have to spoil the day by saying something so nasty?’ she asked.
Clara looked at her contemptuously. ‘You spoil every day for me by lusting after a piece of filth like that. But believe you me, the moment you tell him you’re carrying his child, you won’t see him for dust.’
For a second Fifi was tempted to slap her mother’s face. But she resisted; what she intended to do later would hurt her far more.
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