‘Well,’ said Patsy with a firm smile, ‘it’s probably because George is Tim’s child too.’
Lizzie saw her mother send Patsy a quick look and knew she was wondering if in fact Patsy believed in Women’s Liberation. It was clearly a worrying thought for her.
‘OK, I’ll put “getting an invitation list out of Hugo’s mama” on my list,’ Patsy said, moving on. ‘Lizzie? Have you got the measurements for the curtains for the house? And have you chosen which ones you fancy from the attic?’
‘Yes to both,’ said Lizzie, noting how her mother hardly winced when Patsy called her ‘Lizzie’ these days.
‘The thing we absolutely need to talk about,’ said Lizzie’s mother, fixing her daughter with a steely eye, ‘is your wedding dress. You really don’t have time to make it yourself.’
Lizzie took a calming breath. ‘Mummy—’
‘I know you want to, and you are quite a good little seamstress, I know that too, but it is far too important a job to be handled by an amateur. Don’t you agree with me, Patsy?’
Patsy didn’t answer immediately, which was unusual for her. ‘Well, the thought of me trying to make my own wedding dress would be so awful, I’d rather get married in my school uniform than attempt it. But sewing is what Lizzie does.’ She gave Lizzie a look of sympathy and reached out to pat her hand. ‘I do know a good seamstress we could turn to if it got too difficult.’
‘I think we need a date that you have to have it done by,’ said Lizzie’s mother. ‘We’re only a month away from the wedding. A professional seamstress would need at least a month to do it. If you haven’t got it done in two weeks, we’ll ask Patsy’s person. Is that fair?’
‘No! Not really!’ said Lizzie. ‘You’re giving me, an “amateur”, half the time you’d give to a professional. I don’t think it’s fair.’
‘I think what your mother means,’ said Patsy, soothing but firm, ‘is that if, in a fortnight, you haven’t made a good start on the dress – found the right fabric, cut it out, maybe sewn a few seams – then we’ll ask my woman so there will be plenty of time for her to do it.’
Lizzie knew her mother hadn’t meant that at all, but hoped she would pretend she had.
‘Oh God!’ said Patsy, leaping up from her seat and looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Is that the time? George is supposed to be playing with alittle friend in the village. I mustn’t be late – again …’ She looked at the breakfast dishes.
‘We’ll clear up, don’t worry,’ said Lizzie.
‘So kind! I know Mrs Wareham will be here in a minute but it’s such a big dirty old house she has to look after …’
‘We perfectly understand,’ said Lizzie’s mother. ‘We’ll do it.’
Lizzie’s mother spent every second while they were scraping bits of butter off the plates and finding lids for marmalade and jam jars nagging Lizzie about her dress. But Lizzie was not going to give in. She was utterly determined.
The little house was Lizzie’s sanctuary these days, her mother preferring to make her lists in comfort. Frequently, after Lizzie had arrived, she’d walk along the lane to the red telephone box and ring the London house, talking to whoever answered the telephone. It was quite often David, who showed a lot of interest in her house.
But most of the time, she had her own ‘to do’ list. This included cutting down several pairs of curtains from Patsy’s huge store of worn-out ones, to adapt. She also had a pile of surplices to mend, ones worn by the church choir. She had been given this job – or had she offered? – by Di Baker when they’d been to church that first Sunday. She did wonder if thesewere a distraction from her hardest, most pressing and worrying task, that of making her wedding dress. She’d been worrying about this even before her mother’s ultimatum.
She’d need to go to London for the fabric, she knew that. She could give Peter Jones her wedding list, having gone round every department picking things in every price range; this was what Patsy said was involved. But John Lewis was better for fabric, although David had been wondering, when she’d last spoken to him on the phone, if there wasn’t a supplier for theatrical costumiers she should go to as well. What she really didn’t want was her mother coming with her, to help with either of these tasks, but she couldn’t think how to stop her.
Lizzie was in the garden of the cottage cutting flowers, something she did every time she came, when she heard a car hooting in the lane and then she heard her name being shouted loudly. She looked up to see David’s car with Meg and Vanessa hanging out of the windows. Alexandra was driving. She ran to meet them.
The screaming and jumping up and down went on for a little while. So did the questions.
‘Alexandra! I can’t believe David let you borrow the car to come all this way!’ Lizzie said.
‘I’ve passed my driving test. I actually have a proper driving licence. And I’m really good at it.’Alexandra was obviously very proud. ‘David made me drive him right through the centre of London and round Hyde Park Corner the other day and no one hooted!’ She stopped. ‘He’s really sorry he couldn’t come, by the way. He’s rehearsing for a play.
‘I’ve come to see Hugo,’ said Vanessa. ‘Is he here? My father is still incandescent with rage! He even made the solicitor check to see if he could break the entail and leave the family estate to someone else. But there’s no chance!’
This took the edge off Lizzie’s joy at seeing her friends a little. Her own father had not yet come round to the wedding, according to her mother, and she couldn’t help being sad about it.
‘Patsy knows we’re coming,’ Vanessa went on. ‘She said it was about time you had some people your own age to talk to.’
‘I’m afraid Hugo is at work. He leaves the house at about half past seven and doesn’t come back until supper. He sleeps here but has all his meals with me and my mother at Patsy’s at the moment.’
‘Never mind. I’ll talk to him about it another time. I’ll ask Patsy to ask him to give me a ring,’ said Vanessa.
‘Actually, I think it’s Lizzie he’s giving a ring to,’ said Meg, and got a push on the arm for her bad joke.
