To Love and Be Loved(8)
‘Sports jacket!’ Merrin and Ruby finished his sentence, laughing and pointing at each other on cue. He had been moaning about his hired attire since they had collected it from the shop in Truro two days ago, keen to point out he had a perfectly serviceable navy sports jacket that had only been worn a handful of times in the decade he had owned it.
Merrin watched as her mum stood, arms outstretched, willing as ever to help the man she loved, walking over to him with her head on a tilt, as if he were a child that needed placating. She loved how they interacted and relied on each other, knowing it was something she and Digby would build for themselves too.
‘Come here, love, and don’t go getting in a tizz.’ Her voice bore the soothing tone she reserved solely for him and her girls when they were a little under the weather. Ruby and Bella smiled as they looked on. Ben getting in a tizz and his wife having to calm him down was a standard occurrence. They seemed to thrive on it.
By the flustered look on her dad’s florid face, Merrin knew her mum’s work was not yet done. With deft movements, Heather plucked the collar stiffeners from her husband’s palm and inserted them into the little slots, while he raised his neck and poked out his chin. Next, she carefully folded his cuffs and placed the fiddly cufflinks into the holes. Finally, she patted his arm.
‘There.’ She kissed his nose. ‘Look at you, Mr Kellow, you look very handsome.’
‘You are only saying that because it’s true!’ He bent and kissed her cheek in return. ‘Thanks, my lovely.’
‘It’s true, Ben, you’d give that George Clooney a run for his money today,’ Bella enthused.
‘What do you mean, today, Bells? I might be dressed up like him, but he made that whole movie where he dressed up like me, what was it called, Heather?’
‘Perfect Storm, and how I truly hate that film.’ Her mother’s tone was clipped. No one needed to ask her why.
Merrin decided to change tack. ‘We’ve got ages yet, Dad. We don’t have to be at St Michael’s until three.’ Merrin knew loitering around in his uncomfortable borrowed clothes would do nothing to aid his stress levels, or anyone else’s, for that matter. In a small space, moods were infectious. And she understood; her dad was either in his fishing gear or jeans and a holey old sweatshirt with a soft shirt underneath. She had only seen him in a suit once before and that was for Gramps’s funeral.
‘I know that, love, but I have something I need to do first.’ He winked at her.
‘Oh no, not work! I thought Robin and Jarvis were taking care of things today; you’ll get filthy! I don’t want you walking me up the aisle covered in stinking fish guts!’
‘I’ll remind you that it’s stinking fish guts that has paid for the roof over our head and the food we put on the table.’ He pointed at her. ‘But actually, no, I’m not working. But I do need to go out for a bit.’
‘Don’t be late, Ben! Please!’ her mother pleaded.
‘I won’t.’ He made his way to the door before turning to look back at his family. ‘Think I’d better go and put my trousers on first!’
They all howled with laughter and Merrin savoured the moment. Despite her eagerness to go and grab the next chapter of her life, she felt an ache deep in her gut at the fact that her side of the bedroom was packed up and her clothes and bits and bobs had been stuffed into bags, ready to move to the chauffeur’s flat. She wanted to be married to Digby more than anything, but this was her last morning as a single girl in this little house with all its comings and goings, and it felt strange. There was a faint echo of loss edging her thoughts, as the realisation hit that she was going to miss moments like this when she was up at the big house. Silly, inconsequential exchanges, but it was just this silliness, this shared ordinariness, that made up her whole life, as the Kellows wrapped each other tightly with a web of love.
‘I can’t believe that this time tomorrow I’ll wake up and you’ll be sleeping somewhere else, Merry.’ As if reading her thoughts, her mum barely got the words out before the next bout of tears.
‘For the love of God, she’s only going up the road!’ Ruby pointed out.
‘Ruby’s right. I won’t be that far away, Mum.’
‘Up the road or halfway round the world, you still won’t be at my breakfast table.’ Her mum pushed the wad of loo roll up under her nose as her husband appeared from the bathroom, newly trousered.
‘What you crying for now?’ He placed his fingers inside his collar and pulled. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got to wear a get-up like this too? Cos if you have, then I understand completely, I feel like bloody crying as well!’
‘Dad, it’s for one day! Less than that, half a day! You always said you’d do anything for your girls and so today I am asking you to get trussed up like a turkey . . . and if you could do it without moaning every five minutes, that would be marvellous.’
‘I’ll try, my littlest maid.’ He beamed at her. ‘I will try.’ He, too, reached for the handkerchief in his trouser pocket and wiped his eyes.
‘Flippin’ ’eck, am I the only one not crying?’ Ruby yelled. ‘She’s getting wed, not going to the gallows. This is a time for celebration! If it was me leaving home, you’d be dancing a jig and roasting a whole hog!’