“I do wish you would stand still, Julie!”
My mother’s exasperation was palpable. Okay, all mothers are allowed to be a bit nervous on their daughter’s wedding day, especially when it happens to be their only child who is leaving the nest. However, I wouldn’t be. Leaving, that is. That was the problem.
++++++
It seemed so long ago now, since Mum had moved the two of us down from Scotland to the south of England. A man had been passing the house just as I managed to drop the box of books I had been carrying across the pavement. He helped me repack them, his raised eyebrows the only indication that he had noticed any of the titles.
“They’re my mother’s,” I explained, shrugging.
He stood up and carried the box to the open front door.
“Where do you want these?”
I pointed to the hall table and waited outside while he put them down. It was the first time he had entered the house, and I had no premonition then that my life had turned a corner.
++++++
They say ‘those who can’t, teach’ but then, ‘they’ had obviously never met Stuart. It would be difficult to find a less compatible couple than he and I, at least on paper. He was everything my mother wanted me to be. A teacher of English and Drama at the local secondary school since qualifying eight years ago, he had what she considered a ‘proper’ job for a woman. It was Stuart who had overcome my objections that I wasn’t a teacher and would make a mess of things, and persuaded me to start story readings in the public library for the local children.
Stuart had taken the lead in the city amateur dramatics group and insisted I come along. He knew I would be hooked and would eventually end up painting scenery and making costumes, with my mother’s supervision.
++++++++++
My mother got into the taxi with scarcely ten minutes to spare before the ceremony was due to begin. I would be ‘fashionably late’ - whatever that was supposed to mean.
I waited in the hall. Dressed, made-up, bouquet in hand. I was going to arrive at the church on the ancient fire engine the brigade kept mainly for display and for charity events. It was my colleagues’ gift to me, this outlandish and unconventional mode of transport, for what they considered my ‘happy’ day.
The warning bell on the engine clanged loudly out in the street. I opened the door and walked carefully down the front path on the arm of my chief. There were appreciative glances and a couple of wolf-whistles from the lads as they helped me climb aboard.
“Calm down, you lot. Anyone would think you didn’t know I owned a dress.”
The chief smiled warmly. “Ready lass?”
I forced a smile.
++++++
Stuart had proposed not, as I had always dreamed, on one knee in some quiet romantic place. He had casually slipped it in between the main course and dessert during dinner with my mother and myself one wet Friday.
“I do hope you will marry me, Julie, as soon as your mother and you can organise things.”
I was disappointed. It was so matter of fact. Smug. Not expecting refusal. I felt a numbness spread in my mind as I realised I would be spending the rest of my life with him, if my mum had anything to do with it. I had been expecting the proposal, of course. It had been obvious to me for weeks that someday soon he would be making a move in that direction.
Before I could think of a way to stall him without giving a reply, my mother had grasped his hand and started to cry.
“How wonderful! Stuart you have made me very happy indeed to know you will be looking after my Julie.”
I blinked. I hadn’t agreed to anything.
It seemed like a waking dream over the next few weeks. Stuart and my mother organised everything. I added an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or non-committal shrug when asked whether I liked this shade of oyster satin or had a preference for any particular flowers.
I had dreamed of marrying, of course. Doesn’t every little girl? But then I had grown up. My mother had been disabled and in a wheelchair for the last five years. I had found my niche, to her chagrin, as a firefighter in the local brigade, as soon as I had finished college. She didn’t consider it a suitable occupation for a young woman. The fact that it gave me ample time to see to her needs, whilst giving me the freedom to do the job I had come to love, was immaterial to her. The canker of disapproval stayed dormant much of the time and would burst out into the open if we argued over anything. It was my own fault. I hated confrontation, and felt guilty about being well when my mother had lost her vitality. So many times I lay in bed thinking disloyally of running away. But I couldn’t abandon her. I was still trying to please her, despite years of failing miserably to do so.
Stuart shared her views, much to my disgust. He was happy to ‘empower’ women on his own terms, and talked me into fitting into his life quite cleverly.
The crunch had come the day before, when we finally had our first row. He had asked whether the brigade had given me a farewell send-off. I looked at him, puzzled, uneasy at the question.
“Well, you won’t be returning to work after the honeymoon.”
I raised my eyebrows. This was getting out of hand. “I have every intention of returning after the honeymoon!”
He frowned. He paced up and down, at great pains to explain his view of how my life would be from our wedding onwards. I would have no need to work, since he would be caring for that side of things. I would have far more time to care for my mother, and him, naturally. And we would be able to start a family straight away, since my mother’s house was large enough to accommodate a sizeable family. After about ten minutes of this, I silently stood up and left the room. I desperately needed to think.
++++++
As the fire engine drove sedately in the direction of the church, the Chief’s mobile phone rang. He answered it. Then he turned to me.
“Sorry Julie, we’ll have to make this snappy. There’s a fire at the shopping centre.”
It took me less than a heartbeat to respond.
“Anyone got a spare uniform? Let’s go!”
He looked a bit startled. I grinned broadly back at him.
He nodded to the driver. We sped past the open church with the bell clanging. To the astonishment of my guests milling in the sunshine in the churchyard, I threw the bouquet of pink roses over the hedge towards them. I didn’t care who caught them. I’d never liked them anyway….
My mother’s exasperation was palpable. Okay, all mothers are allowed to be a bit nervous on their daughter’s wedding day, especially when it happens to be their only child who is leaving the nest. However, I wouldn’t be. Leaving, that is. That was the problem.
++++++
It seemed so long ago now, since Mum had moved the two of us down from Scotland to the south of England. A man had been passing the house just as I managed to drop the box of books I had been carrying across the pavement. He helped me repack them, his raised eyebrows the only indication that he had noticed any of the titles.
“They’re my mother’s,” I explained, shrugging.
He stood up and carried the box to the open front door.
“Where do you want these?”
I pointed to the hall table and waited outside while he put them down. It was the first time he had entered the house, and I had no premonition then that my life had turned a corner.
++++++
They say ‘those who can’t, teach’ but then, ‘they’ had obviously never met Stuart. It would be difficult to find a less compatible couple than he and I, at least on paper. He was everything my mother wanted me to be. A teacher of English and Drama at the local secondary school since qualifying eight years ago, he had what she considered a ‘proper’ job for a woman. It was Stuart who had overcome my objections that I wasn’t a teacher and would make a mess of things, and persuaded me to start story readings in the public library for the local children.
Stuart had taken the lead in the city amateur dramatics group and insisted I come along. He knew I would be hooked and would eventually end up painting scenery and making costumes, with my mother’s supervision.
++++++++++
My mother got into the taxi with scarcely ten minutes to spare before the ceremony was due to begin. I would be ‘fashionably late’ - whatever that was supposed to mean.
I waited in the hall. Dressed, made-up, bouquet in hand. I was going to arrive at the church on the ancient fire engine the brigade kept mainly for display and for charity events. It was my colleagues’ gift to me, this outlandish and unconventional mode of transport, for what they considered my ‘happy’ day.
The warning bell on the engine clanged loudly out in the street. I opened the door and walked carefully down the front path on the arm of my chief. There were appreciative glances and a couple of wolf-whistles from the lads as they helped me climb aboard.
“Calm down, you lot. Anyone would think you didn’t know I owned a dress.”
The chief smiled warmly. “Ready lass?”
I forced a smile.
++++++
Stuart had proposed not, as I had always dreamed, on one knee in some quiet romantic place. He had casually slipped it in between the main course and dessert during dinner with my mother and myself one wet Friday.
“I do hope you will marry me, Julie, as soon as your mother and you can organise things.”
I was disappointed. It was so matter of fact. Smug. Not expecting refusal. I felt a numbness spread in my mind as I realised I would be spending the rest of my life with him, if my mum had anything to do with it. I had been expecting the proposal, of course. It had been obvious to me for weeks that someday soon he would be making a move in that direction.
Before I could think of a way to stall him without giving a reply, my mother had grasped his hand and started to cry.
“How wonderful! Stuart you have made me very happy indeed to know you will be looking after my Julie.”
I blinked. I hadn’t agreed to anything.
It seemed like a waking dream over the next few weeks. Stuart and my mother organised everything. I added an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or non-committal shrug when asked whether I liked this shade of oyster satin or had a preference for any particular flowers.
I had dreamed of marrying, of course. Doesn’t every little girl? But then I had grown up. My mother had been disabled and in a wheelchair for the last five years. I had found my niche, to her chagrin, as a firefighter in the local brigade, as soon as I had finished college. She didn’t consider it a suitable occupation for a young woman. The fact that it gave me ample time to see to her needs, whilst giving me the freedom to do the job I had come to love, was immaterial to her. The canker of disapproval stayed dormant much of the time and would burst out into the open if we argued over anything. It was my own fault. I hated confrontation, and felt guilty about being well when my mother had lost her vitality. So many times I lay in bed thinking disloyally of running away. But I couldn’t abandon her. I was still trying to please her, despite years of failing miserably to do so.
Stuart shared her views, much to my disgust. He was happy to ‘empower’ women on his own terms, and talked me into fitting into his life quite cleverly.
The crunch had come the day before, when we finally had our first row. He had asked whether the brigade had given me a farewell send-off. I looked at him, puzzled, uneasy at the question.
“Well, you won’t be returning to work after the honeymoon.”
I raised my eyebrows. This was getting out of hand. “I have every intention of returning after the honeymoon!”
He frowned. He paced up and down, at great pains to explain his view of how my life would be from our wedding onwards. I would have no need to work, since he would be caring for that side of things. I would have far more time to care for my mother, and him, naturally. And we would be able to start a family straight away, since my mother’s house was large enough to accommodate a sizeable family. After about ten minutes of this, I silently stood up and left the room. I desperately needed to think.
++++++
As the fire engine drove sedately in the direction of the church, the Chief’s mobile phone rang. He answered it. Then he turned to me.
“Sorry Julie, we’ll have to make this snappy. There’s a fire at the shopping centre.”
It took me less than a heartbeat to respond.
“Anyone got a spare uniform? Let’s go!”
He looked a bit startled. I grinned broadly back at him.
He nodded to the driver. We sped past the open church with the bell clanging. To the astonishment of my guests milling in the sunshine in the churchyard, I threw the bouquet of pink roses over the hedge towards them. I didn’t care who caught them. I’d never liked them anyway….
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