The Thoughts and Happenings of Wilfred P - By Wendy Jones Page 0,1

cover because the silk was fragile.

Wilfred had arrived on time for the picnic and greeted her politely but had not complimented her on her appearance and was so distracted that even when Grace offered him sandwiches, she had to ask him twice.

‘They’re egg and beetroot, Wilfred,’ she had encouraged. Grace had read in her Miss Modern magazine that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. But Wilfred had seemed almost saturnine until she’d suggested the trifle. Fancy being proposed to because she had offered a man trifle!

Grace opened the wardrobe, hung the dress on the brass rail then looked at her reflection in the tainted mirror on the inside of the walnut door, thinking, Imagine! I’m going to be married. A married woman.

Wilfred drove swiftly along the coastal road. He was shocked. What on God’s earth had he done? He’d left the picnic – said his goodbyes – gone to the garage, jumped in the hearse and started driving somewhere, anywhere, far away from that garden and Grace, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, couldn’t focus on the road, barely even saw it. How had he come to ask her? He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t even wanted to. Yet he had: ‘Grace, will you marry me?’ He saw her in his mind’s eye sitting on the blanket, in a yellow dress, her feet to one side. He realized he hadn’t looked her in the eyes when he proposed.

Wilfred rammed his foot down hard on the accelerator and the engine roared. He yanked the visor down; he was driving into the sun. He shoved the gear into third with a crank and saw the quivering needle of the speedometer leap to the right.

He thought he would stop here, before Saundersfoot, get out, walk, think. Saundersfoot would be jam-packed with day-trippers taking the sea air. But this cove was quiet. He threw on the brake and jolted to an abrupt stop.

Once he was on the sand and had removed his shoes and socks, Wilfred, deaf to the screaming gulls, blind to the shifting clouds and light, strode briskly. He must clear his head. He must pull himself together. His apprentice-master, Mr Auden, had instructed him to get married, saying, ‘The moment you have a profitable funeral parlour you will need a wife. Don’t wait. No life without a wife, Wilfred.’ But Wilfred had made a mistake. But people made mistakes – made them all the time. He wiped the sweat from his temples. He must do something about it. Rectify it. Yes, just because a chap blundered once he shouldn’t have to pay for it for the rest of his life – good God, no! He’d act, tell the girl, say he didn’t want to get married, after all. By damn – he hardly knew her! She was nice, but then what girl wasn’t? He’d spoken out of turn. There we are then, it could happen to any man, but it didn’t need to mean anything. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

Wilfred stepped over a rock pool, hardly noticing it. At work he saw time and time again how each person had to take every opportunity, to make the absolute most of things. And he certainly wouldn’t want to waste his life because he’d once made a mistake.

The solid ripples of wet sand were uneven under the soles of his feet and slightly unbalanced him as he walked. He ran his hands through his hair. He had desired Grace but, well … a man could want all manner of women; it didn’t follow he had to marry them, he thought, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. Wilfred felt himself strong in his decision, felt the solidity and the power in the muscles of his legs, felt his capacity to punch and hit out. He kicked a pebble. He would seize the day. He’d explain it to Grace straight away, that he’d made a mistake. She would understand; he felt certain. Yes, she would understand.

Wilfred stood on the imposing doorstep and tapped the brass doorknocker. He had lost all sense of time while pacing along the cove perturbed by his predicament, and it was now early evening. Grace’s mother, Mrs Reece, a bony woman with a sharp nose, unlatched the front door.

‘You must come in,’ she said formally. ‘You’ll be wanting to speak to Doctor Reece.’ Mrs Reece directed Wilfred into the hallway. Grace appeared at the top of the staircase, covered