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Chapter 6

I Take This Man

‘All June and Giselle wanted was someone to love them.’

Ian Stephen

June: Fools we might have been, but you start out with such hopes.

‘June …’ Dad said. ‘You look beautiful.’

My father stood in the doorway of the living room, smiling at me, pulling at the collar of his starched white shirt and black velvet bow tie. He wore a red carnation in the buttonhole of his formal suit. My dear father looked like a fish out of water.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself, Dad,’ I replied.

I picked up my bouquet. The fussing was all over now. The car was at the front door. I was ready to go, ready to pledge myself to Rab. Dad offered me his arm. I took it.

‘Ready, pet?’ he said quietly.

‘As I’ll ever be,’ I replied, in the same tone.

Dad helped negotiate my dress through the living-room door and into the hall. The front door was open, revealing a bright, warm summer’s day.

10 June 1981. A lifetime ago.

Rab would be waiting at the church, a few minutes’ drive away. The bells would ring, heralding my arrival, and I’d walk down the aisle to him. I had rehearsed the scene in my mind so many times. I had begun to think of the wedding as a gift. Perhaps this would be the one gift that no one could take away. There was still a part of me that was afraid. I had walked through life on heavy feet and experience had taught me that there was always a price to pay for the small patches of happiness. I felt I had been paying that price since my childhood.

However, my feet felt light today, encased in their white satin wedding shoes. I was happy. I emerged into the sunlight to a chorus of approval from the neighbours who had gathered to see me off.

‘You look smashin’,’ one said.

‘Lovely dress, darlin’,’ said another.

‘Long life!’ said a third.

I was carried to the car on a wave of good wishes and my niggling fears were dispelled. I was happy! Surely I had a right to be, today of all days?

‘In you go,’ Dad said, as I bent low to climb into the limousine.

He followed me and the driver spoke over his shoulder.

‘Ready to go, June?’

‘Take it away,’ I said, my mood lightening by the second.

The big car slid away from the kerb and I eased back into the seat. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Dad recognised the signs.

‘Won’t be long,’ he said, taking my hand.

It wasn’t.

The car glided around a corner, and I saw the blond stone of the bell tower of Kilbirnie Parish Church. The entrance to the church was deserted but for a photographer and Ellen, who were awaiting my arrival.

‘You look great, June. Nervous?’ Rab’s sister said as I emerged from the car.

‘No,’ I said, giggling … nervously.

I was barely conscious of the photographer fussing over my dress, ensuring it was hanging properly.

‘This way, June,’ he said, demanding I look in his direction.

I looked up, smiled, and he took the picture. I heard the first strains of the wedding march coming from the church organ.

‘Time to go,’ Dad said, as I took a tight grip of his arm.

No going back now.

Giselle: Ash didn’t drop the bombshell until it was too late.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ash asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I told him through my tears.

I was sitting in Ash’s bedroom, a room I had never shared with him.

‘You’ll spoil your lovely dress,’ he said.

I swiped at the tears with a hankie.

‘I want my mum and dad,’ I said.

‘Don’t fret,’ he said. ‘Everything will be fine. The car’s here. C’mon now, dry your eyes. By tonight we’ll be a happy family.’

Ash was in a joyful mood that I could not share. This did not feel right. It should have been my father and not Ash standing in front of me. It should have been Da who arrived at my flat earlier, to take me to the register office. Ma and Da were at home, unaware of the momentous step I was about to take. I was sick with nerves. I’d heard of wedding-day jitters but this felt altogether different. Ash soothed me with words that I now cannot remember.

25 March 2001. A day I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

‘C’mon, we’ll be late,’ Ash said.

He was dressed in a black morning suit, with a double-breasted jacket and pearl-grey waistcoat. The outfit was complemented by a silver-white cravat. He wore a white carnation on his lapel. He looked like a prince.

My beautiful dress. His elegant suit. It all just seemed too much for a wedding party of two.

‘Get your bouquet,’ he said.

I plucked the floral arrangement from the bed. I had spent hours making it from long-stemmed cream and peach roses. My favourite colours. They were bound by an intricate cascade of ribbon. When I was making the bouquet I had felt so happy, but now I was overwhelmed by uncertainty. I knew that I should not be feeling like this. I felt trapped. I wanted my family, but now it was too late. How could I turn up at my parents’ home in a big frock and tell them to get their coats, and that they were going to a wedding?

I remembered that it was I who didn’t want the fuss. I was being silly, I told myself. I loved Ash. We were about to marry and everyone would be really happy for us. I rallied, pushing away the doubts.

‘Let’s go,’ I said.

‘I love you. Do you love me?’ Ash said.

‘Yes,’ I said.

It was the only thing I was certain of, as Ash guided me to the door and opened it. I walked into the living room.

His mother was standing there.

She was dressed exquisitely! She extended her arms to me. I felt as if I had been slapped in the face. Then I realised she was not alone; she was flanked by smiling strangers, all of whom were looking at me. I wanted to run. I looked at Ash. He was smiling. His mother was smiling. Everyone was smiling.

Except me.

June: I walked down the aisle to a ‘new’ Rab.

‘You cut your hair off!’ I whispered, the words partially drowned by the dying notes of the wedding march.

Rab was shorn of his mane. This was another Rab, stripped of his working clothes, which had been replaced by a sharp black suit. He was wearing a rare smile and looking incredibly self-conscious. I was astounded by the transformation. As Dad and I took our first steps into the church, I had seen this new Rab standing there, waiting for me. I held tight to my father’s arm and processed down the aisle through the sea of happy faces.

I was in the church where I had been baptised, where I had sung in the choir and attended Sunday school. I looked shyly from left to right, offering silent greetings to our families. This was a happy place on a happy occasion. I felt that this day could change everything. This was surely indisputable. The disappointments of the past, my emotional dislocation, and the inexplicable sense that somehow I did not deserve to be happy could all now be laid to rest.

I was five paces from Rab when he turned and smiled.

‘Love the hair!’ I said as my father escorted me to Rab’s side.

He looked sheepish, almost vulnerable; an attitude no one would have associated with the man I knew. I was heartened. This seemed another good omen.

Would this be the Rab I would spend my life with?

Giselle: I couldn’t hide; I couldn’t run.

I was frozen to the spot. They came forward to greet me, these people, most of whom I had never seen in my life before. I heard Ash’s voice.

‘Giselle, smile!’ he said.

I turned, feeling as if I were wading knee-deep through water. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to be anywhere but here. A flash blinded me. A picture had been taken, which would no doubt make me look precisely how I felt – like an animal caught in the headlights of a car. Ash was smiling broadly. He looked so smug, the man who had just sprung the big surprise. I was gutted. I had trusted his promises.

I was still in shock when he took my arm and said, ‘Let’s go out to the car.’

‘Car?’ I heard myself say.

I felt myself resisting, but then I thought, How can I do this to these people, to his mother? They didn’t know we were supposed to be ‘eloping’. They were here to celebrate a happy occasion. None of them knew why my mother and father were not standing alongside them. None of them realised why my brothers and sisters were absent. None of them knew that Ash had lied to me. I allowed myself to be led from the house. Ash’s family and friends chattered to me. They looked proud and happy.

The ‘car’ was a gleaming black limousine.

‘Only the best,’ said Ash, in response to my blank look.

‘We’ll see you there,’ Ash told his mother as he guided me into the vehicle.

I sank into plush leather, clutching my bouquet to my breast, as the car slid away from the kerb. I looked out of the window at familiar sights, everyday scenes I knew so well. Strangers hurried past, leaning into the wind. No one looked in our direction. I glanced at Ash, who was looking inordinately pleased with himself. The journey through the city centre passed in silence. We arrived at the beginning of a long Georgian terrace, in which one of the magnificent town houses had been converted into Glasgow’s register office.

I was in a trance as I stepped from the car. Ash led me into the building to the wedding suite. Today I have little or no memory of the ceremony. All I could think about was that my mother and father were at home, sitting watching daytime television and probably wondering why their ‘baby’ had seemed so secretive of late.

My one clear memory is of Ash placing his hand on my wrist and guiding me as I signed the register. My fingers were stiff and cold, and I could barely hold the pen. I had never in my life felt such an overwhelming sense of being alone. It should have been the happiest of days, but I was bereft. I rose from the small table, and Ash took a firm grip on my arm and guided me from the room. Our guests allowed us to walk past them before rising from their chairs and following.

We led our entourage down the stairs to the main doors and out onto the steps. The photographer was on the pavement, waiting for us. He put up his hand, signalling for us to stop. Ash’s mother and the others gathered around us.

The photographer raised his camera and said, ‘Smile, please!’

I just couldn’t.

June: I went to bed wrapped in a broken dream.

‘If he dis’nae look after you, darlin’, I’ll sort ’im out,’ the tipsy man said.

He clutched a pint glass, the contents of which were sloshing onto a table that seemed to be his only visible means of support. I can’t remember who my well-intentioned champion was but I didn’t believe I would need his services. I didn’t want to consider the possibility that Rab would ever require ‘sorting out’.

The reception was in full swing in the local Labour Party hall. After all the excitement and planning I couldn’t believe my special day would soon be over. The dance floor was packed. It was eleven o’clock in the evening and the band – Carnival – was still belting out old favourites.

The chair beside me was empty. Rab had strutted off a few moments earlier. Through the haze of smoke and people I could see him at the bar, standing in a line of his friends. Shades of our first meeting. That seemed a long time ago, although it was not. So much had happened. I felt that today represented a new beginning, a clean slate. I was still looking in Rab’s direction when someone sat down in his chair. It was Dad.

‘Had a good day?’ he asked.

‘A great day, Dad,’ I said.

‘Happy?’

‘Yes,’ I said, and I believed it.

‘Good, darlin’. You deserve to be happy. I’ll see you in a little while,’ he said, rising from the chair and heading into the crowd.

I felt sad for Dad, and for myself. I had not invited my mother to the wedding. I suppose I could have but I believed she had betrayed us by walking out.

I was distracted by a shout from the dance floor.

‘Juuuu-ne!’ the voice cried.

It was one of my cousins. I waved.

‘C’mon,’ he said, beckoning me to the dance floor.

I gestured that I would stay at the table. Rab had already berated me earlier for talking ‘too much’ to my friends and ‘dancing too much’ with our guests. There was no pleasing him, even on his wedding day.

‘Ladeez and gentellmmmen,’ a voice cried from the stage.

The lead singer in the band.

‘Please take your partners for the last dance.’

I looked over at the bar, where Rab showed no sign of making a move. I knew him well enough by now to recognise even from this distance that he had drunk more than a few pints of lager. But he wouldn’t be staggering drunk. Rab liked to stay in control. I picked my way through the crowd and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, his eyes slightly glazed.

‘C’mon, let’s get up. Last dance,’ I said, dragging him away from his friends.

We stumbled around the dance floor, to the applause of our guests. Rab was oblivious to most of it. He was trying to make an effort, but he was never the most ebullient of personalities. As the band played the last notes of the song, the lights came on. The next 20 minutes were taken up saying hearty goodbyes to everyone.

We were soon virtually alone in the middle of the hall. I guided Rab out into the night. It was still warm and fine. Taxis were coming and going, but we had been offered a lift by one of our guests. The car drew up in front of us. We were joined by my cousin Joe and his wife, who was also called June. Joe was much older than me and he was more like a brother than a cousin. We had arranged to go to his house and spend our wedding night there.

Joe lived in Stevenson, a town not too far from Kilbirnie. We were all in good spirits on the short journey. It was, of course, too good to last. We hadn’t been in Joe’s house long before I was rowing with Rab – over going to bed. He insisted on staying up and having ‘just a few more drinks’.

I was trying to persuade him to come upstairs, but he pushed me away, saying, ‘You don’t fuckin’ tell me when to go to bed.’