THE COLD AND THE BEAUTY AND THE DARK
Chapter 5: Off to Morecambe
Evelyn got the scissors from Mam, without anyone noticing, after the ceremony, and on the short walk from the registry office to the Co-op Rooms she turned to Stan and told him what she intended to do. He said she was daft but agreed to stand still while she, laughing and with trembling hands, snipped off a few strands of his hair and secured them in the locket. She had already got Daphne to write their initials and the date in minute writing on a tiny piece of paper, and she had set that in the locket, too. She was too excited about getting married to see clearly to do it herself.
It was a grand day, for late February. There was a gleam in the air although the sun didn’t quite come out, as Stan’s mother grumbled. But as Daphne said, it was shining away up there really, behind the clouds, it just couldn’t be bothered with poking through. As one of the witnesses, she had got herself up as fine as you like in an ochre wool dress with matching gloves and her mother’s fox fur. She hated wearing hats and had fixed a spray of artificial carnations in her wiry hair. The other witness was Stan’s uncle, his mother’s brother. He was no end of a swell in his double-breasted suit and spats, with his greying hair slicked down and sliced in a razor-sharp, off-centre parting. He owned three shops and had a car and a house in St. Helens. When Evelyn told Daphne this, she giggled and whispered he looked the part, all right. He certainly did, Evelyn thought. He was wearing a generous amount of a heavy cologne that smelled to her like burnt cake and he had pink, immaculate hands. He had come alone. It was known that his wife didn’t keep well.
The tea was a wonder. There were sandwiches galore: ham, egg, and tomato, and dainty bridge rolls filled with fish paste. And thanks to Mam and her squad of helpers drawn from family and neighbours, there was an array of cakes and pastries that brought oohs and aahs from everyone. Urns were filled and emptied, the windows steamed up, and by half past three Evelyn was feeling she’d had quite enough excitement for one day.
But there were still the speeches to hear. Stan’s uncle went first, addressing the “blushing bride” and saying, with a sly wink that really did make Evelyn blush to the roots of her hair, that he hoped their union would be blessed with a houseful of little Ashworths.
Then Stan made a halting speech, thanking Mrs. Leigh for the grand spread and then, goaded by the assembled company, led by his beaming uncle, he finished hesitantly with, “And we are right pleased you could all come today. Right pleased we are, I and my wife.” Afterward he went outside for a smoke. He needed a breath of air after such an ordeal.
Stan’s uncle took them all the way in his car to the railway station in Manchester. Daphne came, too, clutching Evelyn’s bridal posy that she’d managed to catch, mainly because the bride had thrown it firmly in her direction. Daphne and Stan’s uncle seemed to have hit it off and he had invited her along just for the spin and to wave them off.
There were more high jinks at the station. Instead of just leaving them at the entrance, Stan’s uncle marched them into the high, echoing ticket hall, poked his nose at the window, and demanded in a very loud voice and waving his arms, “Two first-class tickets to Morecambe for Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Ashworth! And a nice cosy private compartment, if you please, for the newlyweds!”
His voice boomed all over the ticket hall. Daphne burst out laughing but Evelyn was so embarrassed she wished the ground would open and swallow her up. Stan looked extremely uncomfortable, too, though he smiled when his uncle drew his wallet from his jacket and with a flourish paid up for their tickets. Not content with that, Stan’s uncle turned to Daphne, who, Evelyn noticed for the first time, was holding a brown paper bag, which she handed to him with a smirk.
“Time to do the honours,” he announced, and with a loud laugh he pulled from the bag a bottle of whisky for Stan and for Evelyn a box of Fry’s chocolates. Evelyn had never seen, let alone been given, such a splendid box: the “Antony” assortment, it said on the lid.
“That’s one of the finest assortments from one of the finest names in the confectionery trade, “ Stan’s uncle told her. He tapped on the box.
“That’s not cardboard. That’s a proper lacquered box, that is. Unique to Fry’s. It’s meant for keeping your hankies in after. Or your whatnots, your little bits and pieces, eh? You ladies’ve all got your bits and pieces!”
While Evelyn stammered a thank you, Daphne touched Stan’s uncle’s arm and said, wide-eyed,“What a lovely box of chocs. That’s right generous of you, Mr. Hibbert.”
“Oh, there’s plenty more where that came from, pet,” Stan’s uncle said, winking at her, “if you play your cards right. And call me Uncle Les.”
Evelyn didn’t hear what Daphne had to say to that, because just then Stan announced that they’d miss their train if they didn’t hurry.
Evelyn’s first thought on arriving at The Haven on the seafront was that it wasn’t exactly posh. They had walked from the station and run into trouble finding it, so it was after six o’clock when they knocked on the door. The landlady smelled of lard and talcum powder. She pointed out, sniffing, that they were too late for high tea but she had left them a flask in the parlour. She made it clear that she was doing them a favour and at great inconvenience to herself.
But at least their room overlooked the front. That was what you were paying for, a proper sea view, Evelyn supposed aloud to Stan, who replied that that was a bit rich when there was bugger all to see except the sea. Evelyn laughed and went to the window. Of course it was drafty, being Morecambe with the breeze straight off the sands. It was strong enough to stir the curtain. Maybe Stan had a point about the view. The daylight was fading and the sea was just the same dark grey as the sky.
She shivered. “It is a bit draughty, Stan,” she said.
“No good moaning to me, it weren’t my idea to come here,” he replied.
“Oh, don’t be so grumpy, Stan!” Evelyn cried. “Not today!”
Stan grunted. “What d’you expect? There’s only a pane of glass between you and the ruddy Atlantic and the ruddy putty’s dropping out, by looks of it.”
Evelyn laughed. “So you’ll just have to cuddle me tighter to keep me warm, then,” she said. “Come on, let’s go down and see what the old harridan’s put out for us’ supper, shall we?”
It wasn’t much. A flask of tepid tea and a few soft biscuits, most of them broken, in a tin. At bedtime Evelyn was overcome with shyness and went along to the bathroom to change into her new nightgown. Stan was already in bed, sitting up drinking from the whisky bottle, when she got back. It was considerate of him, really, not to undress in front of her, she thought, though she had hoped he might ask her which side she preferred. She climbed in nervously at the other side. She was cold, but Stan didn’t offer her a warming sip of whisky, or a cuddle.