December 1992
It was the Tuesday after Christmas and Truro was in the grip of the coldest winter in years.
‘I’m gonna feel a right prat dressed up like a tailor’s dummy.’ Mickey was standing in the changing room of the gents’ outfitters in just his boxer shorts and socks.
Jesse, in the cubicle next door, agreed. ‘But it keeps the girls happy.’
‘Aye,’ sighed Mickey. ‘You sure that’s what you want, Jesse?’ Jesse never talked of it, but anyone with an ear to listen and eyes to see couldn’t but notice how much Edward Behenna had interfered in his son’s life. Not for the first time, Mickey felt relief that his own father seemed to want only his son’s happiness, rather than talk of dynasties and building the future.
Jesse didn’t answer for a moment and Mickey heard only the rustling of clothing as Jesse undressed.
‘I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted,’ Jesse replied flatly.
The dapper sales assistant returned with an armful of garments on hangers.
‘Now then, sirs, here we are.’ He passed over matching pinstriped trousers and tailcoats to the young men. ‘If you’ll just slip those on for size.’
After quite a lot of fitting and twirling, even Jesse and Mickey liked what they saw in the mirrors.
‘Now have you thought about what collar you’ll be wearing? Wing or regular? Of course it would depend on the neckwear – cravat or the traditional tie? Also, would you be wanting a handkerchief in the pocket or would that be too much if you are sporting a bloom in your buttonhole?’
What seemed like hours later, Jesse and Mickey emerged from the shop carrying their hired finery. ‘Goodbye, gentlemen, and may I extend every good wish for the future.’ The shop assistant smiled benignly and closed the door behind them, with a last admiring glance of their tightly muscled backs as he did so.
*
It was already dark outside and the Christmas lights swagged across the street were blinking merrily. Jesse and Mickey pushed open the door of the nearest pub. It smelled comfortingly of tobacco and beer, accumulated over many years. Large paper snowballs dangled from the ceiling, paper chains connecting them in a maze of loops. Only one other customer was in the bar and he was playing the fruit machine; a bored barmaid sat on a stool smoking. She stubbed out the cigarette and walked round behind the bar as Jesse and Mickey ordered two pints.
‘I didn’t know what to say when he asked if we were sporting a bloom in our buttonholes!’ Jesse laughed as the two propped up the bar.
Mickey started sniggering. ‘I didn’t dare look at you. But ’e knows his stuff, though. You can’t deny ’e’s made a couple of silk purses out of our sow’s ears.’
Jesse cupped his hands round his crotch. ‘’E’s not touching my sow’s ears.’
Mickey grinned, then started mincing up and down the bar, imitating the salesman’s melodious voice. ‘Would sirs prefer a stiff or soft one? Tie that is …’ as Jesse brushed away tears of laughter.
‘Stop it, Mickey, you idiot!’
Jesse grabbed his pint and turned to see that the salesman had entered the pub; his face made it clear that he’d seen Mickey’s imitation. Jesse and Mickey stood stock-still, horrified.
‘I saw that you sirs had come for refreshment. I had forgotten to give you the receipt you will require for returning the suits. This is proof of your hire agreement.’ He handed over the receipt to Mickey with dignity.
Mickey didn’t know what to say, so he blurted out, ‘Thanks and … well, thanks.’
‘It’s been my pleasure.’
The assistant turned to leave but Jesse stepped towards him. ‘Can we buy you a drink?’ he said quietly.
The assistant thought for a moment then looked at his watch. ‘I shut the shop in twenty minutes, after which time, if you gentlemen are still here, I should love a drink. A large gin and tonic should suffice. My name, by the way, is Bill.’
It was one of the funniest evenings Mickey and Jesse had ever spent. Bill told them stories of his life as a tailor, and of his brief marriage to a girl he had truly loved – but not in the way that either of them had wanted.
‘I have a son who I dote on, and he and his mother and I have an excellent relationship. I even helped to choose her dress when she remarried. A lovely man. Just like you two young gentlemen. He laughed at me behind my back, too, but I won him round.’ Mickey and Jesse felt ashamed.
‘I’m really sorry …’
‘No need to apologise. I have grown a very thick skin. Now, tell me all about the young lady you are to marry. New Year’s Eve, did you say?’
*
Greer’s mother was having trouble getting the zip over the gathers of the waistband. She gave it a tug.
‘Ow. That’s my skin.’
‘It’s not bleeding. Now breathe in.’
She worked the zip all the way to the top.
‘There now. Turn round and let me look at you … oh, you look like a princess.’
‘Really? It feels a bit tight.’
‘Where?’
‘The waist, under the arms, round my boobs.’
‘That’s because you’ve only just had lunch. No supper tonight and it’ll be fine.’
‘I don’t know …’
‘Once your hair’s up and you’ve got the white silk poinsettia in, your neck will look longer and you’ll look taller.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Loveday’s mother turned towards Greer, who was standing next to her. ‘Greer, you’ve chosen her a beautiful dress for the wedding.’
Greer smiled warmly at Loveday in her bridesmaid’s dress. ‘You look amazing. Peach is so the right colour for you.’
Loveday lifted her arms as far as the dress would allow and hugged her best friend. ‘Thank you, Greer. I’m so proud to be your bridesmaid.’
‘Loveday, who else would I ask? Now, the hairdresser is coming at nine thirty tomorrow morning. You’re first, while I have my make-up done, and then we’ll swap. You’ve got to be at the church for one forty-five and wait for me to get there at two. I’ve told Jesse to be there before one thirty. I don’t want him hanging around the Golden Hind with Mickey getting him drunk.’
*
Jesse was at home with his mum. She was ironing her best dress.
‘What you thinkin’ about, young Jesse?’ She turned the dress half a circle on the board and continued with a good jet of steam.
‘Nothing.’
Her mouth made a firm line. ‘You can tell me.’
‘Nothing, honest.’
‘You’re getting married tomorrow. No one thinks of nothing the night before they get married.’
Jesse shifted in his chair. His mind was racing with the thought of marrying Greer tomorrow. He was 21 years old and he was getting married. He wanted to run away, or get drunk, or both.
‘Nothing, Mum.’
‘If you’re marrying the wrong girl then it’s not too late to back out,’ she said, concentrating on a difficult pleat. She had decided that she wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly again if she didn’t speak up. Jesse kept his feelings to himself but, as his mother, she saw more than most.
Jesse shut his eyes tight for a moment. ‘Greer and I will be a good team. Dad’s happy, ’er dad’s happy. Greer’s happy.’
‘And you’re not.’
Jesse didn’t answer. His mum scratched her throat, then resumed her ironing as she told him quietly, ‘There’ll always be a bed for you here.’
The door swung open, bringing with it the chill of a frosty night and the stamping of two sets of feet.
‘Bloody ’ell, it’s as cold as a witch’s tit out there. ’Ello, Ma.’ Grant Behenna stood in the small kitchen in the full uniform of a Royal Marine, proudly wearing his green beret.
His mum put the iron down and gasped. ‘You got it. The beret. You’re a commando?’
‘Yes, Ma. Proud of me?’
She went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘Yes.’
‘Hello, little brother.’ Grant looked at Jesse. ‘Ready like a lamb for the slaughter?’
Ed Behenna finished hanging his coat up on the pegs by the door and went to the kettle.
‘Don’t start on him. Commando or no, you’re not too old for me to give you a good hiding.’
Grant smirked, ‘Wanna take me on, do you, Dad? I’m trained to kill a man with my bare hands.’
Jan let go of her elder son and gave him a stern look. ‘We don’t want any more trouble, Grant. Promise me.’
He laughed and hugged her. ‘Why would I give my old mum any trouble? I’m a changed man. I’m one of the Queen’s élite soldiers now. I fight only for her and my country. No one else.’ He looked over at Jesse. ‘The condemned man’s allowed a last drink, isn’t he? Why don’t I take my little brother down to the pub?’
Jesse had known his brother would be coming back for his wedding and there had been precious little he could do about it. You could hardly not invite your brother to your wedding, though he had resisted pressure from his mother to ask Grant to be his best man. Grant hadn’t ever been a brother he could rely on; Mickey was his best man and that was that.
‘Cheer up, little brother.’ He attempted to grab Jesse in a headlock, which Jesse deftly sidestepped.
‘Watch it, Grant,’ he warned.
Grant laughed, a little too loudly. ‘Just messing, little brother. I know you didn’t want me to be your best man, but I’m over it! Let me look after you tonight.’
Jesse couldn’t think of a worse person to spend his last night of freedom with, but he was struggling to say no in a way that wouldn’t offend his mother, his brother – or both.
Ed was pouring boiling water into an old brown teapot. ‘You’ll stay in and have a cup of tea and an early night if you know what’s good for you.’
Grant turned towards his dad with a familiar air of menace. ‘You got what you wanted when you sold the poor beggar down the Swanee. It’s the night before he gets married, ’is last happy night and I’m taking him for a drink. Any objections?’
Ed took a step towards Grant but Jan stood between them. ‘One drink won’t do no harm. Let them go, Ed.’
*
The Golden Hind was as welcoming as it had always been for the centuries of fishermen it had served. Grant was greeted with respect, but no warmth, as he shouldered his way through in his uniform.
He nodded at the familiar faces. People he’d grown up with, gone to school with – and fought with.
He stopped to chat with a group of them, forcing Jesse to go to the bar and pay for the drinks. A pint of Skinner’s for Grant and a St Clement’s for himself. He’d promised Greer he wouldn’t drink tonight. He saw Mickey and Loveday sitting in a corner by the Ladies and made his way over to them. Mickey shook his hand and Loveday kissed him on the cheek. ‘Didn’t think you were allowed out tonight,’ she smiled.
‘Grant’s home.’ Jesse looked over his shoulder as he pulled up a low stool. ‘He kind of insisted.’
‘He looks smart in his uniform, don’t ’e?’ said Mickey.
‘S’pose so.’ Jesse took a sip of his St Clement’s. ‘Don’t do nothing for me.’
‘Or me,’ agreed Loveday. ‘When’s ’e going back?’
‘Dunno. He said he had a forty-eight-hour pass or something. Dad picked him up off the Plymouth train just now.’
They all sipped their drinks thoughtfully. Grant was unpredictable, especially when he’d had a drink. Jesse, already nervous, had an extra strand of anxiety plugged straight into his stomach.
Mickey broke the tension. ‘Loveday had ’er final dress fitting tonight.’
‘Did you?’ asked Jesse, glad to talk of anything but Grant. ‘What’s it like?’
‘Well I can’t tell you, can I? It’s unlucky.’
‘I thought it was only the wedding dress that I wasn’t supposed to know about.’
‘You’re not supposed to know about anything.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Wait till you see us in our suits,’ Mickey grinned, taking Loveday’s hand. ‘You won’t be able to keep your hands off me.’
Loveday looked down at her drink and gave what passed for a smile. ‘You always look good to me, Mickey boy.’
Mickey put his arm round her and squeezed her awkwardly; her shoulder crunched up into her ear.
‘Ow.’
‘So,’ said Jesse, putting down his drink and trying to squash his desperation for a proper drink and the chance to swap places with Mickey, ‘when are you two gonna get hitched?’
Before they could answer, Grant loomed over the threesome, a pint in one hand and a large whisky chaser in the other. His eyes were brighter than they had been half an hour ago, his cheeks flushed.
‘Well ’ere ’e is. The little shit my brother’s chosen to be ’is best man. Better than ’is own brother. Let me buy you a drink.’
‘We’re all right, thanks,’ Mickey told him in a flat tone. ‘We were just going to make a move. Big day tomorrow, and all that. Want to be fresh.’
Grant’s eyes wandered to Loveday’s generous cleavage. ‘There’s only one person I want to get fresh with, and it isn’t you, Mickey boy.’ He sat down unsteadily next to Loveday. ‘Got a boyfriend at the moment, Loveday?’
‘Mickey,’ she said quickly, taking Mickey’s hand.
‘Mickey? Mickey Mouse ’ere? You need a man not a mouse.’ He swallowed the remains of his pint then downed the whisky chaser. He took her free hand and placed it under the table onto the front of his trousers. ‘That’s what a man feels like.’ He held her hand against him; his grip was brutal and she couldn’t pull away.
‘Oi!’ Mickey yelled, standing up and squaring up to Grant. ‘Get your filthy hands off my girlfriend.’
‘Oooh, little mousey’s got a little squeak.’ He leered over at Mickey.
‘Let her go, Grant,’ Jesse ordered, putting himself between Grant and Mickey.
‘Get me another pint and a chaser and I’ll let her go. But I think she likes it.’ He squeezed Loveday’s hand more tightly against him. ‘Don’t you, Loveday?’
Loveday’s face was white with fear and disgust. She glanced up in mute distress at her friends. She was terrified of Grant, but petrified too at the thought of either of them getting into a fight with him.
Mickey lunged towards Grant, his face contorted in anger, while Grant threw his head back and laughed cruelly.
‘Well, well, little mousey’s gonna have a go with a commando? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen – little Mickey Mouse!’
With a momentous effort, Loveday managed to yank her hand away and hurl herself away from Grant. She moved quickly to Mickey’s side, desperate to get him away. ‘Come on, love,’ she barely managed to whisper. Her voice was shaking. ‘’Bout time we was leaving.’
*
Jesse walked out of the pub with Mickey and Loveday, leaving his troublesome brother to tell anyone who would listen how hard it was to win a green beret. Jesse had rarely seen Mickey so fired up, but he gradually seemed to be calming down as they left the source of his fury behind.
Jesse couldn’t face his parents’ anxious faces if he went home without Grant, so he’d left Mickey and Loveday with promises of seeing them tomorrow, and now found himself walking towards St Peter’s Church. It was the church where all the Behennas, going back three hundred years, had been married, baptised and buried.
He didn’t give his usual salute to his granddad lying in the churchyard. His thoughts were absorbed by the life mapped out before him. Husband to Greer, a father, the boss of ‘Behenna and Clovelly’. What had happened to his dreams? Had he ever been allowed to have any? That night when his father had told him about the merger with Clovelly, he had pushed him to marry Greer.
‘She’s a lovely girl. You’ll want for nothing. You’ll be the boss of the biggest fishing fleet and fishmongery business this side of Plymouth.’
Jesse had resisted, thinking of his feelings for Loveday and his dreams of travelling the world.
‘Loveday’s all right but she’s got no prospects,’ his father had reminded him. ‘You’re better than that.’
Jesse hated himself for being persuaded and, for a while, had been blinded by the riches that Greer’s father had told him he would earn. And it had been easy to start a relationship with Greer. She was mad about him. She looked good. She was an heiress. The thing was, he did fancy Greer and she adored him. She was elegant and cultured; they looked good together and turned heads in Trevay. They’d become a couple.
It pained him to see Loveday. Jesse thought he had resigned himself to being with Greer and to pushing all thoughts of Loveday from his mind, but the more he tried, the more she intruded on his thoughts. Loveday would come to him in dreams, her tumbling red hair flowing over her milky-white breasts, asking Jesse, ‘What are you in the mood for?’ and Jesse would wake, remembering Greer and the expectations forced on him.
His engagement to Greer was a fait accompli. Once they’d become an item, whispers of weddings seemed to follow him everywhere. Greer dropped subtle hints, flicking through the pages of Bride magazine while his father urged him on. ‘No time like the present, boy.’
On his twenty-first birthday, his father had handed him a wad of cash and told him he was promoted to second mate.
‘Enough money there for a ring, boy,’ he’d told Jesse, who had taken the money but felt like he’d sold his dreams.
The engagement had been the talk of the town. Both sets of parents had thrown a big party at the golf club, and Greer had revelled in the attention, wearing a stunning new outfit by Bruce Oldfield that she had bought in Debenhams on a special trip back to Guildford. Greer preened, showing off the diamond solitaire that Jesse could never have afforded before Behenna and Clovelly had merged. Jesse remembered little of the event, except for the strain of trying to avoid Loveday, and the sadness that he thought he saw reflected when they caught each other’s eye.
Shortly after the engagement, Loveday and Mickey started to go out with each other. That had hurt Jesse, even though he had no reason to expect anything different, and he struggled to keep on top of his jealousy. To compensate he became ever more attentive to Greer, which only served to make Loveday ever more attentive towards Mickey.
He’d once asked Mickey, when they’d both been drinking, what Loveday was like in bed. Mickey told him. That hurt too. Mickey asked what Greer was like. Jesse said that a gentleman never tells. The truth was that there was nothing to tell. Greer had never let him get further than a snog and a hand in her shirt. Her breasts felt small and pert. Nothing like the way he imagined Loveday’s felt.
He’d left the church behind him and was now up at the sheds. A northerly wind was blowing and it rattled the tarpaulins tied to the boats lying against the far edge of the yard. Jesse turned his face from the wind and pulled up the collar of his parka. He wanted to be alone for a while. He fished in a pocket for his key ring and found his key to the Behenna’s Boats shed.
Inside, whilst not exactly warm, it was at least windproof. He went into the small makeshift office made of plywood that he and his dad had built a few summers ago. He switched a light on and found his father’s bottle of Scotch. He pulled the cork and took a sip. The burning in his throat felt good. He took another sip before hearing the creak of the outside door opening.