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‘What have you two been up to?’ Geoffrey didn’t seem perturbed by the secrecy. He was enjoying their day, but Meg began to feel detached from everything. She was keen to get on with what needed to be done to bring Jennifer home. While the ceremony had been necessary, and she’d gone along with Gerry’s enthusiasm in deciding on her dress, did they really need to go through this semblance of a wedding breakfast when her daughter was somewhere out there, alone with strangers, while they ate cake.
‘Voilà!’ Gerry entered the room carrying a tray on which a bottle of Champagne and four crystal glasses sat. ‘Time for a toast.’
‘My contribution to your wedding day,’ said Roger, unwrapping the foil and carefully releasing the cork. The pop was loud, and champagne erupted from the neck.
Gerry quickly raised a glass and caught most of it. She laughed. ‘Can’t let good plonk go to waste.’ She handed a glass to Meg.
Roger huffed and said, ‘Plonk? I’ll have you know this is an excellent French Champagne from my father’s cellar.’
Gerry parried, ‘And plonk is Aussie for the French blanc, which means white, see! And I did say it was the good stuff.’
‘Droll,’ Geoffrey smiled before leaning close to Meg. ‘Are you okay, Margaret? You look pale. Is the heat getting to you?’
Drawing the ragged tatters of her patience together, Meg shook her head and managed a smile. ‘I’m fine.’
Geoffrey accepted a glass from Gerry, and as soon as their guests had their glasses in hand, raised his towards Meg. ‘To my bride. May today be the first of a long and happy life together.’ He tapped his glass lightly against hers and drank.
Meg sipped hers. Bubbles tickled her lips, reminding her of happier, more carefree days when the New Year seemed exciting and full of promise.
Stop it, Meg.
Distracted she may be, but she could be gracious. She was grateful for her husband and friend, and all they were doing and had done for her. Raising her glass in another toast, she said, ‘Thank you for today, my friends. This wine and cake, the wonderful lunch, my beautiful dress and flowers – they’re lovely gestures. To our friends, may you always share good times with us.’
They finished their glasses, and Roger stood. ‘Sadly, some of us have to work. I leave you to enjoy what’s left of the champagne in peace.’
Gerry rose and joined Roger at the door. ‘Roger has offered me a ride into the city. I’m going to see a movie. I won’t be home until six o’clock, so you’ll have the house to yourselves.’
Meg half rose, but her dress was caught between her chair and Geoffrey’s, and she sat awkwardly again. ‘Gerry, don’t feel you have to leave on our account.’
Suddenly, she didn’t want to be alone with Geoffrey. Alone meant it was time to fulfil her wifely duties. She wasn’t ready!
‘Nonsense.’ Gerry picked up her handbag then slipped her arm through Roger’s. ‘Sharing a house when you’re newlyweds will be hard enough as it is. Take this time as an extra gift from me to you.’ She blew them a kiss and disappeared down the hallway, Roger’s walking stick tapping out their passage until the front door closed.
As Geoffrey stood, her dress came free, allowing her to stand. He picked up the half full bottle and their wine glasses. ‘Shall we finish this in our bedroom—’
She didn’t mean to frown, or shake her head, or whatever it was she did, but Geoffrey went still. He looked at her for a long, drawn-out moment then said, ‘Or perhaps we could sit on the veranda and see if there’s a breeze.’
‘That sounds lovely.’ She contained her sigh of relief . . . Just.
‘The veranda it is. After you, my dear.’
##
How had that happened?
Meg lay in their bed and stared at the pattern in the pressed metal ceiling. She gripped the sheet as though it was all that kept her there while Geoffrey padded down the hallway to the bathroom.
Once the champagne was finished there had been no reason to linger outside and Geoffrey had escorted her to what had been Vera’s bedroom, now theirs. Renting it from Gerry had seemed a good idea, especially with the housing shortage, but the realities of sharing a home as a newlywed had become apparent the moment Geoffrey rose above her and slid home, consummating their marriage.
Wire springs loudly proclaimed what they were doing, and Meg hadn’t been able to muffle her cries. Her body had a mind of its own, and it didn’t matter about doing her duty or her lost love when Geoffrey made love to her.
It wasn’t like it had been with Seamus. At the River, beneath starry skies at the edge of an army camp, making love had been delightful and new. Seamus had kissed every inch of skin, and she’d roared out of her body and climbed to the stars. They’d been in the first flush of new love and Meg had been certain she’d never experience its like again.
Her husband was gentle and considerate at first, and Meg was certain that shattering feeling she’d known was lost with Seamus. But as Geoffrey thrust faster, his breathing, less regular, he stoked a slow burning fire that grew and blazed until it swallowed her whole.
She had known they would consummate their marriage but enjoying it surprised her. She wasn’t in love with Geoffrey, and yet, she’d liked making love. More than liked. For that time, nothing else had filled her mind. Not even Jennifer.
As her body became her own again, guilt nudged her conscience.
