Liverpool Gems

by Anne Baker

Genres: Family Life; Siblings; World War II; Sagas

Synopsis

It is 1935 and as Carrie Courtney watches her twin sister, Connie, marry the man of her dreams, Carrie longs to find a love of her own. Having lost their mother at an early age, the girls were brought up by their maiden aunts and, with Connie leaving home, Carrie is desperate to spread her wings. Using her skills as a book-keeper, Carrie gets an exciting new job but her stunning beauty soon attracts the wrong kind of attention. And romance is the last thing on her mind when her beloved father finds himself caught up in an illegal jewellery business that threatens to destroy them all…

Release date: February 11, 2016

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 308

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

Saturday, 4 May 1935

Caroline Courtney was only half awake when from the folds of sleep came the feeling that today was an extra-special day. As she struggled to open her eyes, her bedroom door opened and Aunt Prudence, already dressed, said in a stage whisper, ‘Carrie, it’s six o’clock, time to get up. We’ve a lot to do this morning.’

‘Yes, of course!’ She yawned and sat up obediently. Today was her twin sister Connie’s wedding day. Aunt Prue had decided they would cater for the reception and it would be held here in their home.

‘Let the bride sleep on; you can bring her a cup of tea later.’

All she could see of Connie was her mop of wild pale blond curls on the pillow of the bed alongside her own. Carrie had exactly the same hair, exactly the same everything really; they were identical twins. The family had always called her Carrie; that was Connie’s first attempt at saying her name.

She dressed in her everyday clothes as quickly and quietly as she could. The main road outside led down to the Liverpool docks, and the house shook as a heavy wagon loaded with goods for a foreign port thundered past. There were fewer of those since the Depression had tightened its grip.

Downstairs, Aunt Maud put a cup of tea into her hands and Prudence called from the living room, ‘Carrie, come and help me move the dining table into the middle of the room. It’ll be easier for people to serve themselves if they can walk round it.’

‘Will one large tin of sliced peaches and one of pears be enough?’ Aunt Maud was tipping the fruit into Grandma’s cut-glass bowls.

‘Yes, we have two trifles as well. Could you start whipping the cream to decorate them next?’ Prue started arranging the food on the dining table.

Carrie set about washing lettuces, bunches of spring onions and radishes. The wedding was to take place at eleven this morning, and Prue’s lined cheeks were already flushed. She’d worked all the family hard for the past few weeks, cleaning and cooking.

Carrie could feel an air of excitement in the bustle of preparation. She knew she should be pleased and happy for her sister, but she felt on edge and even a little sad. Connie was not here beside her and she’d be seeing a lot less of her from now on. Connie had been her constant companion and they’d done everything together until she’d started going out with John. Carrie had already felt the bonds that bound them loosening, and she knew she was really going to miss her twin.

Their mother had died when they were six months old, and Aunt Jennifer, their mother’s widowed sister, had taken them to live with her. But only eighteen months later, Jennifer had been rushed to hospital needing a major operation, and had never recovered enough to look after them again.

Archibald Alan Courtney, their father, had not been in the country at that time. He’d fought in the trenches during the war and afterwards had found work in South Africa. Without being asked, his elder sisters Prudence and Maud had taken the girls in, and had brought them up on a strict timetable of regular churchgoing, frugal meals and hard work. Times had been hard, but at least, Carrie mused, she and Connie had always had each other.

They had left school at fourteen and their father had arranged for them to have a two-year course at Skelly’s Secretarial College, where Connie had excelled at typing and shorthand; she was now a secretary for the council. Carrie had preferred bookkeeping and was now working in that capacity.

Connie came down in her dressing gown. ‘I’ve had my bath and I’ve come to help. I don’t like being up there by myself. I could hear you all chatting and laughing.’

‘If you really want to help, butter those scones and ice the cupcakes Maud baked yesterday,’ Prue told her.

Uncle George arrived. He was Prue’s favourite brother, who lived in Preston and ran a hire-car business; he’d offered to ferry guests to and from the church. ‘I’ve brought some beer, Prue.’ He staggered in with a crate of bottles and lowered them on to the kitchen table. ‘It won’t do to run short today.’

Prue was indignant. ‘Don’t leave them there in everybody’s way. Put them on the larder floor; you won’t be wanting them until later. You can make yourself useful.’

‘What d’you want me to do?’

Prue pointed to the large piece of boiled ham and the tongue that she’d cooked yesterday. ‘Carve them and set them out on these platters.’

George came to get the carving knife and fork from the drawer near the sink. ‘Carrie, my dear, when can we look forward to your wedding?’ he asked. ‘We all enjoy occasions like this.’

‘I have no idea,’ she said with a rush of impatience. She’d had that question fired at her dozens of times since Connie and John had become engaged. She’d heard it phrased in many different ways, all of them hurtful, because she didn’t even have a boyfriend, which Uncle George knew very well. She’d never had a real boyfriend, but she was not going to let that upset her, not today.

‘Never mind dear,’ Aunt Prudence said consolingly. ‘There’s no need to be jealous, your turn will come.’

‘I’m not!’ Carrie was indignant; the last thing she felt was jealous of her twin.

‘Well, envious then.’

Carrie shivered; perhaps she did feel a touch of envy. She too wanted someone special to come and sweep her off her feet.

Maud said briskly, ‘You’ll not have any trouble finding a husband. You’re just as beautiful as Connie. Many people can’t tell you apart, can they?’

They were indeed identical, with the same mass of tight curls, emerald eyes and lovely fair skin, but Carrie felt there had always been more spark behind Connie’s face. She was very outgoing, had more to say to strangers and was full of fun. Carrie, twenty minutes older, had always felt towed along behind her twin sister.

At fourteen, Connie hadn’t been interested in boys. She’d worked hard at school, learned the piano, and sung in the school choir. Everybody fussed over her; she’d always taken the limelight. At sixteen she had John Bradshaw as a special boyfriend. The aunts considered him suitable because they knew his father, who had played football with their brothers.

Connie buzzed with enthusiasm for one craze after another. She and Carrie had joined a cycling club some years ago, and rode for long distances on most summer Sundays. That was where they’d met John.

‘You’ve plenty of time. You’re only nineteen, after all. Connie is a very young bride,’ said Aunt Prue. ‘Personally, I think it better to wait until you’re older. It gives the groom a chance to establish his career and so be better able to support a wife.’

That was a dig at John, Carrie thought. He was articled to a firm of accountants and not yet qualified, but he was twenty-one and had come into a small legacy from one of his maiden aunts, and was thus able to make his own decisions.

Aunt Prue went on, ‘They should wait and get to know each other better. Save up, and not rush into marriage.’

‘Connie reckons she knows him well enough after three years, and anyway, she’ll carry on working,’ Carrie said.

‘She’ll have to, won’t she? It won’t be a traditional marriage.’

Carrie knew that Connie was in love with John, and that he adored her. They’d be happy in any sort of marriage; the last thing they wanted was to wait.

Carrie longed to have a boyfriend of her own who thought about her the way John did about Connie. It didn’t seem too much to ask; it was what every girl wanted, but for her, that special someone didn’t come. She was beginning to fear he never would.

He hadn’t come for their aunts. Both had strong features and must have been quite good-looking in their youth. They had the wild family hair, though it had turned iron grey now and tended to frizz. Aunt Prue was tall and stringy; she had thin pursed lips and was a bit of a disciplinarian. She was a retired secretary and managed the housekeeping and just about everything else. Maud was eight years younger and a little stout, and Prue kept her very much under her thumb.

Maud was still teaching in a primary school, though she was looking forward to retiring next year. She had a wider social life than Prue, often going out with her fellow teachers to concerts and theatres, and occasionally going away on holiday with one of them. She also had a beautiful voice and sang in a choir, often singing solos, and that took her out and about too.

She spent more on clothes, and even a little on cosmetics, and looked smarter and much younger than Prue. She often brought home little treats such as books, board games or chocolate, and during the school holidays she’d taken the twins out and about, and always to the pantomime at Christmas.

Maud knew how to enjoy herself and have a really good time, but sometimes Carrie had seen her look disappointed with her life. She found her more approachable than Prue, and always turned to her first when in difficulties.

She had heard that Maud’s boyfriend had been killed in the Boer War, but nobody spoke of him. When Carrie had asked about him, her aunts turned the conversation to how few jobs there were for those who had fought and survived.

It had taken years of struggle for the country to get back on its feet; then a further economic downturn had started in America in 1929 and quickly spread round the world. In Liverpool, output in heavy industries had plunged, and unemployment in the country had burgeoned to three million, while in most trades profits had shrunk to about half. They had been difficult years for everybody.

Her aunts had never left their mother’s home and had changed very little in it since they’d inherited it. Carrie loved the spacious semi-detached villa, which had been built in 1902, pebble-dashed and with high eaves. It had a front room they called the parlour and which they used only at Christmas and on occasions like this.

The dining room was used as a living room because Prue thought it wasteful to light two fires, and the kitchen at the back covered the width of the house. The twins had spruced the place up for the wedding; they’d even whitewashed the back yard walls and grown a few flowers in tubs. It looked like being a sunny day, and the guests would be able to spill out through the kitchen.

Only the two families had been invited, with a few neighbours and one or two of the girls Connie worked with. ‘We can manage perfectly well, providing we limit the number to twenty-five,’ Prudence had told them. It had crept up to thirty-two since then.

At nine thirty, they all sat down in the kitchen to the breakfast Prue had made. It was what they usually had: tea with boiled eggs and bread and butter. ‘On schedule,’ she said, looking at the clock.

Afterwards, Carrie and Connie went upstairs to get ready. There were three generous bedrooms, a box room, and a bathroom with a large bath on legs that was developing green water stains in the enamel. Carrie only needed a wash, as she and Maud had been urged to have their baths last night so that there’d be hot water for the bride and for Aunt Prue this morning. Connie was in her bridal gown by the time she returned from the bathroom, and the only help she needed was to fasten the buttons down the back.

It took longer to remove the frizz from her overabundant curls and make them shine with a little brilliantine, a trick learned from Uncle Bob, who had similar hair. Connie looked radiant in her demure white gown, with faux orange blossom woven into her hair and her veil clipped in place.

Carrie, who was to be the only bridesmaid, quickly slid into her gown of primrose satin. Connie interrupted her application of face powder to button her into it. Carrie used brilliantine more lavishly on her own hair; it was the only thing that tamed it and made her curls shine, but neither girl admitted using it to their friends. Brilliantine was meant for men.

‘Right, are we both ready?’

‘I am,’ Connie said, ‘but I’m beginning to feel butterflies in my stomach.’

‘I’m feeling more than butterflies,’ Carrie said. ‘Up to now we’ve spent our lives together sleeping in this room, but you won’t be here any longer.’ She looked round at the twin beds, the shared dressing table and the framed photographs of their mother and father hanging on the wall. Auntie Maud had hung them there years and years ago, and Prue had said, ‘Just like the photographs of royalty in the town hall.’

‘They’ll want to know what their parents looked like,’ Maud had retorted.

It was a good full-face studio portrait of their mother, but the image of their father had been blown up from a snapshot. He was sitting in sunlight that was brighter than any they’d ever seen, and the buildings behind him looked exotic. He was wearing slacks, and an open-necked short-sleeved shirt with a sunhat. They’d never seen him dressed like that. It made him seem a stranger.

‘I’ll be on my own from now on,’ Carrie said, biting her lip.

‘No you won’t. I’m not going far and we’ll see each other often,’ Connie told her briskly. ‘I don’t want to lose touch with you. Anyway, Dad is back for a while, so you’ll have his company.’

That cheered Carrie, but only briefly. ‘Yes, but you and I are close, and I hardly know him.’

‘He’ll want to take you out and about, won’t he? Come on, let’s go.’

‘Do you want your veil down now?’

‘No, I can’t see much through it. I don’t want to trip up.’

Carrie found it quite difficult to hold up Connie’s train as well as her own long skirt to negotiate the stairs. Another goods wagon thundered past outside, but in a moment of quiet when they were halfway down, Connie asked, ‘What’s that strange ticking sound?’

Carrie listened: something was going tap, tap, tap, tap. ‘I don’t know.’ The ringing of the front doorbell interrupted them and she ran to let the newcomer in. ‘It’s Dad,’ she called.

‘Hello, love. I daren’t hug you now you’re in your finery,’ he said, pecking at her cheek.

Carrie had not seen much of her father. He’d come home every three years or so and he’d always made much of her then, but she didn’t feel she knew him well. He was still a handsome man at forty-nine, having acquired a good tan and just enough greying hair at his temples to make him look distinguished. He’d always been very generous to both of them, and had provided Connie with enough money not only for the wedding but to launch her into married life.

‘There you are, Connie. You look a picture; you make a beautiful bride.’ He took both her hands in his and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. ‘Do you want a drink?’

‘No she does not,’ Prue said indignantly. ‘Not until after the ceremony.’

‘There’s tea if you want it,’ Maud said from the kitchen. ‘I’m just cutting another plateful of bread and butter. I was afraid there wouldn’t be enough. After all, it’ll be lunchtime, everybody will be hungry.’

Carrie filled two teacups. ‘It’ll spoil our lipstick, but we need it,’ she said.

Connie peeped into the dining room. ‘Aunt Prue, it looks a magnificent spread.’

The feast was all set out on the table. The wedding cake took pride of place on the tea trolley in the corner. Prue had baked three fruit cakes in special tins borrowed from Gladys, their next-door neighbour, who had spent her life working in the bakery she had inherited following her husband’s death. She had iced and decorated them, making a thoroughly professional job of it.

‘Thank you, everybody,’ said the bride with a quiver in her voice. ‘It all looks beautiful.’

Gladys was buxom, bordering on rotund, and often complained of feeling hot. Her cheeks were scarlet and always wreathed with smiles. ‘We all want to do you proud,’ she said.

Bob and Dilys came out of the kitchen to greet him. Bob was her father’s favourite brother. ‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ Archie told him. ‘You look quite athletic.’ Carrie knew Bob was the only brother her father had kept in regular touch with, and there was a lot of hugging and back-slapping.

‘I’ve got to keep fit in my job,’ Bob said; he was a police constable. ‘So I can chase after the lads when they nick things.’

‘Not like George, who’s running to fat now that he rides round in his taxi all day.’

‘How long are you staying?’ Dilys wanted to know. ‘You must come to Sunday lunch. You look really well, Archie. Life in those foreign parts must suit you.’

Archie Courtney had started his working life in the Lancashire coal mines, but after the Great War, he had gone out to South Africa to seek his fortune. He’d found work in the gold mines of Pretoria, where he said life was good. Carrie had dreamed of joining him there one day, but it seemed that was not to be. Dad had arrived home the other day for Connie’s wedding, but was being vague about his future plans. He said he might stay for a while; he might even settle here for good.

As the time went on, Carrie could feel the tension building. Prue was making sure their relatives and neighbours left for the church on time. Archie had bought himself a car, and today Bob was going to drive it. John’s father had also offered the use of his car, which along with George’s taxi gave them three cars to ferry thirty-six people to the church and back.

Bob had already taken two carloads. ‘Wherever is he?’ Prue worried. ‘He ought to be back by now if the wedding is to start at eleven.’

‘Here he is now,’ Maud reported from the parlour window, and Prue ushered the remaining family out.

The house seemed suddenly quiet when they’d gone and only the bridal party remained. Connie was renewing her lipstick in the hall mirror.

Carrie said, ‘Dad, Aunt Prue says you’ve taken a house in Allerton.’

‘Yes, I’ve rented a furnished place. It’s got most of what I need, but it’s a bit bare at the moment. You must come and see it.’ Since he’d told them he would be trying to make his living in this country, Carrie had been half expecting him to ask her to move in with him. Perhaps she wouldn’t miss Connie so much if she had a different life herself.

‘Dad, could I come and live with you?’ she asked. It shocked her to see from his face that he’d never thought of it and didn’t want it.

‘Why?’ he demanded.

She felt rebuffed. ‘Well, children usually live with their parents, don’t they?’

‘But Prue and Maud have brought you up. I’m afraid it might upset them if you were to leave now. Besides, love, it would mean a longer journey to work for you.’

Carrie worked in central Liverpool and travelled in by tram; she’d checked and found it would take two or three minutes longer from Allerton but was equally convenient. She felt disappointed, but she made herself smile; she mustn’t be anything but happy today. ‘There’s that ticking noise again,’ she said. ‘It sounds like a clock.’

‘Ah, here’s George coming back for us,’ her father said. ‘Come on, Connie, let’s get you to the church.’

Carrie slammed the front door behind her and climbed into the back of the car beside her sister. Connie reached for her hand and Carrie knew she was feeling nervous. This was her big moment; she was about to move into an exciting and very different life. Dad was sitting in the front talking cricket scores with Uncle George.

‘We’re going to be five minutes early,’ Carrie said, ‘and the bride is supposed to be five minutes late.’ She wanted everything to be perfect for her sister.

‘I’ll drive round again,’ George said easily, only momentarily taking his mind away from the cricket.

When he finally pulled up outside the church, Carrie could feel the bride shaking slightly. She helped her out; once in the porch, she pulled down her veil and straightened the folds of her gown. Maud was waiting for them and went forward to signal their arrival and take her seat next to Prue.

The organ had been playing softly but paused now for a moment. ‘I wish you every happiness,’ Carrie whispered and squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘Both of you.’ The organ struck up in joyful proclamation and Dad led Connie forward. Carrie fell in behind, blinking hard; she had a lump in her throat.

Auntie Maud was smiling up at them from under her new navy straw hat with cherries on the brim. Prue still looked stern and fraught. Carrie didn’t miss the way John turned to smile at his bride as she drew level with him.

They made their vows in the age-old tradition. Carrie could hear Aunt Maud’s lovely voice soaring above those of the rest of the congregation. The service and hymns heightened the emotions. It was a fairy-tale wedding.

As John slid the ring on to Connie’s finger, her eyes were like stars. After they’d signed the register, the newly married couple led the way back down the aisle while the full-throated organ crashed out the triumphant notes of the Wedding March.

Carrie found herself out on the church steps in the sunshine, tears in her eyes, trying to smile at the photographer. She thought it couldn’t have been a more romantic wedding.



CHAPTER TWO

Prue was herding Carrie with Maud and Dad back to George’s car. ‘Bob is going to bring the bride and groom. Gladys will come with me. We need to get home first and be at the front door to greet the guests,’ she said.

When George dropped them at their gate, Carrie still felt in a romantic haze. Prue took charge. ‘Archie, I want you to open the two sorts of sherry, sweet and dry, and Carrie and Gladys will help you fill up the trays of glasses that I’ve set out. Maud, if you would—’

‘I need to spend a penny first,’ said Maud, rushing upstairs to the bathroom.

Prue went on. ‘John’s father will push as many as he can into his car and he’ll not be far behind us.’

Carrie followed her father to the kitchen; she’d poured only one glass of sherry when she heard Maud shrieking at the top of her voice. She stopped, cold shivers running down her spine. ‘Something terrible must have happened,’ she said.

‘What could it be?’ Beside her, Dad put down the bottle he was about to open and turned to go upstairs, but Maud was already hurtling down.

‘Water . . .’ She could scarcely get the words out. ‘Coming through the ceiling. All over the landing.’

‘What?’ Prue’s mouth had dropped open.

‘Water! Everywhere is soaked.’

Archie shot upstairs and was down again in an instant. ‘I think something’s leaking in the loft. The stopcock? Where is it?’

‘For heaven’s sake, you and Bob fitted a new sink for us once.’ Prue was impatient.

‘That was ages ago. How am I supposed to remember?’ Nevertheless, he went straight to the kitchen and opened the cupboard under the sink; moments later he was frantically turning the water off.

The front doorbell rang, ‘We should all be lined up to greet the guests as they arrive,’ Gladys said.

At the same moment, Prue screamed, ‘The dining room! Oh my goodness!’ Her face was purple with stress.

‘It’s all right,’ Archie assured her. ‘I’ve turned the water off.’

‘No it isn’t! Don’t be so stupid! Everything’s spoiled. What a mess,’ she wept.

From the doorway, Carrie surveyed the damage. The once crisp white tablecloth now drooped and dripped water, the plates of bread and butter were awash, the cream was lifting off the trifles, revealing curdling custard and small pools of water collecting on the layer of jelly. Dad came to stand behind her. ‘Oh my God!’

The doorbell rang again, and Carrie went to let the guests in. There were gasps of horror and dismay all round.

‘We can’t eat this food,’ Prue wailed. ‘It’s all ruined.’

There was a wet patch on the ceiling, and water was still dripping on to the table. Maud and Carrie dragged it out of the way against the wall.

Archie went out to the wash house in the yard for the ladder, and one of the guests helped him carry it upstairs. Meanwhile, the rest of the family crowded round the dining table trying to salvage something from the feast. Plates of neatly cut bread and butter were drained over the sink and the residue was heaped on top of the six-foot yard wall for the birds. Bowls of sliced peaches were tipped straight down the lavatory in the wash house.

Carrie returned to the tray of glasses and began filling them; they were all going to need a drink after this. John took the tray and handed the sherry round.

Archie came downstairs. ‘The cold-water tank has sprung a leak,’ he reported. ‘We need all the bowls and buckets we have up on the landing; I can’t stop the tank emptying.’

There were gasps of alarm from some and sympathy from others. Carrie went out to the shed to fetch the baby bath that Prue used to wash sheets. Gladys went next door to get containers from her house and, puffing hard, took them straight upstairs.

Prue was going from room to room trying to assess the damage. ‘The landing and the dining room below have caught the worst of it,’ she wept. ‘We should never have pulled the table to the middle. The twins’ bedroom is wet too.’ The ceiling had a big wet patch spreading from the wall. The guests who had followed her were pushing the beds away from the drips. ‘What are we going to do?’

Carrie took the baby bath into her bedroom. Connie’s bed was damp, but she wouldn’t need it tonight; thankfully her own was still dry. Water was pinging into containers; the whole house was in chaos.

Her father rapped on one of the buckets for quiet. ‘Does anyone know of a plumber? Preferably one living nearby. Someone who would come round now?’

One of Connie’s friends said, ‘I have an uncle with a plumbing business. He lives in Allerton, not very far.’

‘He’s on the phone?’ She nodded. Dad was sorting pennies from the change in his trouser pocket; he pushed them into her hand. ‘George, can you run this young lady to the nearest phone box? Tell your uncle I’d be very grateful if he’d come and sort us out.’

He brought out his wallet. ‘While you’re out, George, get a few bottles of white wine and some more beer. We’re going to run out at this rate. I knew Prue wouldn’t buy enough.’

‘Everything’s ruined. Everything’s a write-off.’ Prue sounded quite hysterical. ‘We’ve worked so hard to make a good wedding breakfast for Connie and John, and now look at the mess! There’s nothing left fit to eat. What are we going to do?’

Gladys put an arm round her waist. ‘You mustn’t worry, Prue. Archie is doing all he can. He’s getting it under control, it’ll be all right. Come and have a glass of sherry.’

‘No, I couldn’t possibly drink anything,’ she wept, but Gladys pushed a glass into her hand and Prue ended up gulping down two glassfuls, after which she collapsed, morose and silent, on to a dining chair. She looked as though she might slide off, so Carrie took her upstairs to lie down on her bed.

‘Prue is highly strung,’ Dad was telling everybody, ‘but underneath she’s as strong as a horse. She’ll be fine in fifteen minutes.’

John was carrying small tables out to the yard. ‘Could everybody help to bring out the plates and any food that’s still edible?’ he shouted. ‘It must be possible to salvage some of it.’

‘Prue would hate to see all this wasted,’ Maud said. ‘It’s clean water; it was heading straight for the cold tap.’ She began scraping cream and water off the trifles. ‘We can open a tin of evaporated milk to go on these.’

‘No!’ Connie was shocked. ‘No, Maud, it’s come through two ceilings and the landing carpet. There are specks of dust and dirt on everything, little hairs too. We don’t want to poison people.’

Carrie hugged her. ‘I’m so sorry it’s spoiled your wedding breakfast.’

‘It’s all right.’ Connie had a little giggle. ‘Nobody is going to forget my wedding, are they? But it’s lunchtime and we’re all hungry. You could wash the salad again. That lettuce would be fine.’

‘The water’s off,’ Dad reminded her, but Gladys was struggling in with a bucketful from her house.

Guests were patting food dry with tea towels and eating it. George returned with more drink and began distributing it. Fortunately, he had not carved up all the joint of ham, and there was a piece of tongue left too. Dad set about slicing them up. Everybody seemed relieved that the flood had been dealt with and the party could begin. Soon they were laughing and making jokes about the predicament.

Carrie went upstairs to see how Prue was. She was lying flat, staring up at the ceiling, looking decidedly morose. ‘Come down, Prue, everything’s going well now.’ The buzz of conversation could be heard up here. ‘It would be a shame to miss this after all the work you put into it.’

Later on, her father rapped on a table for silence. ‘I had prepared a speech for this occasion,’ he said, ‘but it’s gone completely out of my mind. Anyway, I have to apologise to you all for the shortcomings of the wedding breakfast, and to thank you for buckling to and helping us.’ George rushed round refilling glasses. ‘So all I’m going to say is let’s raise our glasses to the bride and groom, and as well as wishing them happiness, let’s hope this is the worst disaster they’ll have to face in their married life. All the luck in the world to Connie and John.’

Maud wheeled out the trolley with the wedding cake to applause. It was still in its pristine state an