Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,141
from his mouth.
“Frank’s being ever so good to Ted,” Mabel said to my mother one Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks after Frank’s more frequent visits had commenced.
Mabel was standing on a chair in the kitchen while my mother, a handful of pins clenched between her lips, adjusted the hem of her wedding dress. The dress was hot-pink satin with a bell-shaped skirt, huge puffy sleeves, and a deeply plunging neckline—a feature that my mother and Mabel had argued about for weeks, with Mabel (unusually, as far as decisions for the wedding were concerned) finally winning out. Up on the chair like that, I thought Mabel looked more like an enormous cake decoration than a bride.
“I’m sure Ted doesn’t appreciate it, but Frank’s doing him a whopping big favor,” Mabel said.
“What do you mean, Auntie Mabel?” I asked. I was sitting at the table, leafing through the Littlewoods catalog. I’d been instructed by my mother to look at two pairs of shoes she’d circled, the ones she thought would go best with my bridesmaid’s dress. Both pairs were pink—one satin and pointy-toed, the other shiny plastic with a three-inch heel. I’d already decided that I’d rather walk barefoot on burning coals than wear either. “How’s Frank helping Uncle Ted?”
“He’s trying to help Ted get a job.”
“He is?” Somehow, I doubted this. After having had the opportunity to observe Ted for a couple of months now, I’d concluded that he would prefer to attend his own execution than engage in anything resembling legitimate work. And, after overhearing his surreptitious conversation in the hallway with Frank, I’d developed various theories about what sort of shady activity the two of them might be up to, finally concluding that Frank, worried about all the expense of the wedding, had engaged Ted in getting some of the supplies on the cheap. I wanted to confide my suspicions to Mabel, knowing that she’d be livid with Frank if this was, in fact, true. Maybe she’d even break off her relationship with him. But I wasn’t sure how my mother would take any blowup so close to the wedding, so I’d decided to keep my suspicions to myself. Still, I couldn’t help trying to sow a few seeds of doubt about Frank in Mabel’s mind. “How’s he helping Uncle Ted find a job?” I asked.
“Every day, after Frank’s finished at the Tuggles factory, he comes over here, picks Ted up, and takes him out to look for work. Bloody angel for doing it, you ask me.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Shouldn’t Uncle Ted be looking for a job during the day?”
“Frank says he’s trying to help Ted get a job working nights, says they need to go then so they can talk to the shift supervisors.”
“But I thought Ted said he didn’t want to work nights,” I said. “And Frank agreed. He said it would be too hard on a man Ted’s age.”
“Oh, I don’t know, darling,” Mabel said, wrinkling up her nose. “Anyway, whatever sort of work he’s helping Ted to look for, I’ve told Frank that he’s wasting his time. The day I see our Ted in a normal job will be the day that pigs get wings. And, once the wedding’s over, I’ve told Frank—” Mabel paused, looking excited, as if another thought had dawned on her. “Speaking of the wedding, Ev, I meant to tell you. I got a reply yesterday to the invitation I sent to Mam. And guess what—she says she’s going to come. She’s coming to the wedding, Ev.”
My mother stood up, spitting the pins from her mouth so that they spattered, like silver threads of spittle, down her dress to land on the linoleum with bright little pings. “Really? Mam’s coming here, all the way from Australia? She’s coming?” Her features simmered with excitement.
“Yep, she’s coming all right. Unfortunately, she says she was late making a booking and the only flight she could get is one that gets her into London the night before. So she won’t be able to get here until the actual day of the wedding. Still, she’ll be here.”
“That’s great, that’s brilliant,” my mother said, bouncing up and down on her heels, her face filled with the kind of delight she usually reserved for eating Mr. Kipling cakes. Within a couple of seconds, though, her expression changed. “She’s not bringing that bloody Australian gigolo with her, is she?”
Mabel looked sheepish. “Well, I think so. I mean, he is her fiancé. And I