She holds the hand that holds her down...
(Lyrics from Daughter by Pearl Jam, Vs. album, track 3, 1993)
The Only Way To Die, continued…
“Susan, will you marry me?”
If the blistering effect of tea on her tongue hadn’t raised Susan out of her postprandial stupor, then this should have been a wake-up call and no mistake. But Susan was beaten. She glanced over at Lucy and Alf who were almost out of their seats in anticipation, with a shared expression of hopeful and excited expectation. What was a girl to do? This was all too sudden. She wanted a husband, didn’t any girl? She liked Earl, terribly. But what would her parents say? This first venture into courting proper, in the absence of her controlling father, had wearied her beyond comprehension. Finally, all she could do was to remember her manners.
“Yes, Earl I will. Thank you very much.”
The ring wasn’t a perfect fit, requiring Earl to manipulate Susan’s resisting finger, as if her anatomy knew this was a bad move. Then the Randals were once again all about her, Lucy crying and laughing and hugging her daughter in law to be, Alf slapping his son’s back and shaking his hand, then awkwardly patting the tiny girl on the shoulder.
Relaxed now Susan had tripped his perfectly delightful snare, Earl stood back to admire the profits of his scheming. For a moment he imagined the head of his quarry mounted above the fireplace of their parlour, dew drop earrings framing a startled smile, while Maria busied herself in the kitchen and Ruth dropped the needle on Chet’s “My Funny Valentine” before settling in beside him on the sofa.
The pop of a champagne cork snapped Earl from his ideal home show, and he joined the others in the room in a toast to the future happy couple.
Three glasses later, Lucy effervesced more than the bubbly. She demanded
“I know it’s not tradition but I must be involved with the preparations.”
“Susan, your figure is ideal for a dress cut like Holly Golightly’s in Breakfast At Tiffany’s but in white, obviously.”
“Alf can get one of the limousines from the base to take you to the church, and maybe organise a fly past and gun salute, couldn’t you dear?”
“Then there are the relatives in the States to organise, can we barrack them at the base darling?”
“And are you planning a spring wedding, or perhaps you should hold out until the summer when fair weather was as good as guaranteed and there’d be a better selection for the bouquet.”
“You will have lilies won’t you? The trumpet ones, not the lilium, they’ll ruin your dress. The men will have roses as buttonholes, blood red to match your lipstick.”
Giddy from the champagne and the Gatling gun inquisition, Susan sank steadily into the sofa, offering the occasional yes by way of participation.
Earl and Alf were sidelined, an audience of the mother-in-laws wedding preparation soliloquy. Lucy had rehearsed this since the morning she’d removed Earl’s brace to release a perfect smile into the world. His tender trap.
Having moved on to Alf’s bourbon and downed three sizeable, sharp slugs, Earl was revisiting his version of domestic bliss, hardly aware of his surroundings until Susan stood bolt upright.
The sudden thought of her father’s questioning was sufficient reveille to bring her to attention and request an immediate dispatch home, although she remained entirely unsure of what she’d signed up to with Lucy.
Jim Bean had worked his magic on Earl who, with inebriate’s coordination, made the simple task of assisting Susan into her coat as complex as erecting a tent in a gale. Lucy intervened, volunteering Alf to drive Susan home where he could arrange a dinner date for the families to meet. After a brief fumigation from Earl on the doorstep and a warm embrace from Lucy, Alf soon had Susan removed from the anxiety of one dilemma and destined for the stresses of another.
Homeward bound, Alf offered small talk which Susan barely noticed as she tried to formulate a strategy to appease her father but knew it was pointless. She’d agreed to marry someone she liked but knew little of, had only today met his family and was going home to announce a wedding with full military honours. As thrilled as she was, her misgivings peaked as Alf drew alongside the neatly trimmed privet that clearly demarcated Susan’s home from the rest of Fairleigh Grove.
They were parked in a new development, an ordered alignment of semi-detached respectability, slightly more packed than the developer’s brochure had suggested. After the quiet of the journey Susan released another seemingly involuntary eruption in the direction of Alf.
“Please don’t come in.”
“I’ll tell them myself.”
“It’s better from me.”
“We’ll visit next Sunday.”
“I’ll let Earl know.”
“Goodbye then, Mr. Randal.”
And before Mr. Randal could say please, call me Alf, the passenger door was slammed shut and she was through the sunrise gate and into the house. Alf was uncomfortable abandoning the girl to her parents; it was obvious she was the same bag of nerves going home as she’d been as their guest, yet his only option was to engage first gear and leave.
The door of the kitchen was ajar so Susan’s call of “I’m home, it’s me” as she slipped into the hall was an unnecessary alert for her parents. She kicked off her shoes and aligned them neatly below the coats. Her mind was treacle thick from reasoning – surely, I can’t go ahead with it, dad won’t allow it. But I must, I must, don’t you see? It’s all happening to me. I’ve no control. It’s always for dad or mum and now Earl, but I do like him so why not?
Chairs scraped over lino and two heads popped comically above each other at the doorframe.
“Where’ve you been love, I were worried sick?” dad began.
“Oh, leave off her for a moment can’t you Derek,” her mother interjected.
“She’s only just got in. Now love, how did you get on? Come and sit down and tell all while dad makes you a nice cup of tea. Did you have a nice time?”
Susan wasn’t quite sure but she reflected that she must have, now that she was engaged to be married. But how to tell them? Must she tell them? Couldn’t she play Pinocchio to her father’s Giuseppe? It was not an option her conscious would entertain, so she simply ignored her situation hoping it might deliver bliss. She would tell them later. Mum first, so she could then work on dad. It was not a fail-safe strategy but the best she could muster under the circumstances.
“I had a lovely time, really lovely. They were ever so friendly, Alf and Lucy, his mum and dad, they insisted I used their first names.”
“There was so much to eat, I was fit to burst.”
“They’re American but have lived here for ages. His dad works for the RAF, flew for them in the war, then he trained pilots but now he’s involved with recruiting or something.”
Lucy is a dentist off the Headrow in town. I’ve never heard of that, have you mum, a lady dentist? They’ve all got lovely teeth mind.”
Amy was so pleased for her daughter. They sounded just the sort of family she’d wanted Susan to marry into and was about to settle into a mother and daughter tet-a-tet, when Derek clattered the teapot and cups between them.
“Well why didn’t he come in?” he demanded.
“You’ve been up there for a feast and we’ve yet to meet this boyfriend, never mind the rest of them. It’s rude if you ask me.”
Susan went to mollify him.
“It’s not like that dad. Mr. Randal dropped me off and I said I was fine coming in alone. Anyway, you’ll get to meet them next weekend as we’ve all been invited over for dinner or lunch or whatever suits us.”
She thought better of mentioning that Earl was shamefully half-cut on a Sunday, and a liability walking let alone driving. The news of the invitation was well received by both parents, particularly Amy who itched to get her daughter hitched and saw this as step one on the path to marriage. Susan had dated a couple of boys in the last year, an evening at the cinema and a dinner-dance, but neither were suitable groom material, at least in Amy’s opinion. She’d done her utmost to protect this delicate, flighty girl, but it was in Susan’s best interest to be on her own nest with strong supportive in-laws. The Randal’s appeared the perfect coup, one to posit with the gossips at the post office. Plus, the weekend fixture represented a perfect excuse to indulge her wardrobe.
“Oh, Susan that’s marvellous, really, isn’t it Derek” Amy offered.
He had to admit the invitation was what he expected from a decent family. This belated adherence to protocol ensured that once again he was comfortably outflanked by his wife.
Derek placed his exquisite, porcelain daughter on a pedestal, not on some stall at a country fair for any chancer to shatter with and handful of wooden balls. God knows the hairline cracks had started to appear in Susan but he was her protector, at least until she was settled. Derek remained concerned at not having been introduced to this boyfriend on his terms and territory, to indulge his own interrogation.
Susan had said little of Earl, other than he was someone from work who’d surprised her with treats and had twice dropped her at the bus station on a Friday night after work. They hadn’t even been on a date like she had with the two other scrutinised-suitors. Earl asked her straight out to come for Sunday lunch, which she knew would meet with dad’s approval, and she said yes straight back. Until today she knew little of him herself. Now she was almost sure she’d made the right decision. Certainly, his profile qualified him as ‘suitable material for marriage’ on the lists she regularly studied in the women’s weeklies which advised on grading a date.
Once her parents knew, everything would fall into place and her next sixty years would be sorted. She relaxed a little. Until that moment Susan had been cautious with the ring, concealing the offending finger behind her back then dropping her hands into her lap at the table trying not to fidget with it. She’d hoped to slip it off in the hall but was thwarted by that awkward knuckle. Another time she might have thought it sweet, the unyielding ring a sign that this union was her destiny. As she lifted the china to her mouth to enjoy a well-earned cuppa her mother squealed and flew at her.
“Oh Susan! You’re engaged!”
“Derek, she’s engaged, look, an engagement ring! Isn’t it wonderful!”
“Oh Susan you clever girl! Why didn’t you say!”
New handbags and glad-rags alert! Or will Derek have the wedding-works spannered…?