The Fourth Bridesmaid Ch. 02

Vanessa lived in a lovely double-fronted house on the corner of Bridge Street and High street. I parked the bike and we shook ourselves down. Mum was a stunner, an outward and visible sign of what Vanessa would look like in twenty years.

She hugged Vanessa and kissed her soundly, then turned and folded me into a hug, and kissed me on one cheek, the other, and the first cheek again.

"Hello and welcome Brian, I'm Madge and I can't say how glad I am to meet you."

She led the way into the house and closed the door.

"Nessie, your father got off the train an hour ago, and he has already talked to Tokyo and Singapore and now he's on the phone to Los Angeles. What are we to do with him? He's due to retire in nine months, and he's still trying to work a fourteen-hour day. Can't you do something? You're supposed to be taking some of the burden off his shoulders."

"Mum I am only human. I suppose I could break his legs if that would help, but you know he'd find a way round it. If he doesn't come down to dinner, I'll go and drag him down by the ears."

"I'll just go and put the vegetables on. Ness, you get your young man a stiff drink. I think he's in for the bright lights and rubber truncheon when your dad finally deigns to make an appearance."

I got a lovely Speyside single malt, as smooth and deep as only the really great scotches can be. Vanessa came and sat down beside me and held my hand tightly.

"She's only joking, darling. Dad won't say a cross word and neither will she.

Anders Christiansen, Andy as he introduced himself, was a big, handsome man for whom the late sixties was the prime of life. He had a shock of white hair, and eyes and blue as his daughter's. The traces of a Scandinavian lilt were perceptible in his voice, and his smile was open and guileless. If he could be a hard bastard with a touch of ruthlessness, as he would have to be in his position, you could see no hint of it in this setting.

At dinner we swapped war stories. He talked about the misery of the Norwegian campaign, where his friend Whitney Straight had flown a Hurricane in combat. He told with tears in his eyes how he had tried desperately to volunteer for a combat role at that time, but he was already far too old. I talked about pursuing and routing the Italians under my hero, General O'Connor, and the desperate, fatalist courage of the Polish Brigade at Monte Cassino. The women listened attentively, and every now and again refilled a glass with a rich, full-bodied burgundy. This was a male bonding, something sacred and mysterious to them both.

We enjoyed a lovely meal, and sat companionably over drinks, then at around half past ten I rose to take my leave. I make no doubt that Vanessa would have been happy to accompany me, or that I could have stayed the night and shared a bed with her. But she needed time alone with her parents, so we kissed goodnight, and arranged to meet again at midday on Friday. The family waved me goodbye as I mounted my bike and headed home in the darkness.

Part 2 demanded to be released immediately upon an unsuspecting world, and you can't say no to your children can you?

I am still looking for suggestions on how to develop this story. It doesn't want to end just now.