The House of Brides by Jane Cockram

Author:Jane Cockram
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

28

“Nice ears.”

Max’s breath was hot in my own ear, his face close to mine. It took me a moment to register that he was talking about the children’s reindeer ears, bobbing about onstage in front of us as the whole school belted out a rousing rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

“Two quid,” I said, feeling proud of myself for both my use of the local vernacular and my frugality.

“Bargain.” He moved his face away, and I let myself breathe again.

We were all in a row, the happy family from Barnsley. Sophia, on the aisle, there under sufferance and only just managing to disguise her disdain; Mrs. Mins in a fawn shearling jacket that I felt sure she wouldn’t have been able to afford on her wage, not if it was anything like mine, anyway; and Max, jolly and proud, and proving that you don’t need your wife or alcohol to have fun. He oscillated between Mrs. Mins and myself, unable to keep still. We were all in a row. Everyone except for Daphne.

It was hot in the hall, and despite this, Max wore a large overcoat buttoned up to his neck, enormous boots sticking out underneath. Even with him rugged up like that, I could feel the approving gazes of many of the surrounding mothers; if he was trying to disguise himself, it wasn’t working. I took my jacket off and jammed it under the seat, next to an enormous carryall Max had also insisted on bringing.

Mrs. Mins swatted him on the thigh with a rolled-up program, and I turned away, determined not to witness any more. I concentrated on the stage. Agatha, at one end, her wheelchair defiantly decorated in tinsel and stars cut out from foil. A little girl, not much taller than the wheelchair, stood behind her and clung protectively to the handles. She was taking her task very seriously. Farther down the row, and up a small bleacher, stood Robbie, wholeheartedly singing along and following the actions, despite the many boys around him who were doing neither.

“What else did you find when you were up in the attic?” I felt Max’s words before I heard them. A strange sweetness in his breath. Deliberately timed during a rather raucous moment in proceedings, at a point where others around were unlikely to hear. I pretended not to, either.

He tried again soon after, repeating the question, placing his hand briefly on my arm to claim my attention. “Did you find anything interesting when you were in the attic?”

“Interesting” was an understatement. There had been all sorts of things in the attic. In fact, I had spent half a morning up there. Trunks of old fabric, seed catalogues, Daphne’s cookbook collection, which, I was surprised to see, included plenty of the clean-living titles I used to find so inspiring. A great deal of time had been lost paging through them, remembering my days of bliss balls and açai bowls. There had been dozens of photographs of racehorses as well as a full jockey kit.

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