Betty Neels - Matilda's Wedding

‘Bless you, miss; that’s a kind thought. It’s old Mrs Harding’s weekly shopping. Lives just down the street, number fourteen on the other side. She’s that forgetful. If it’s not troubling you…’

Mrs Simpkins leaned comfortably across the counter. ‘Saw you in church,’ she said. ‘Very nice you looked, too—a sight better than that madam with our doctor. Mrs Inch— ’is ’ousekeeper, you know—told me she acted like she was in an ’otel. Can’t think what ’e sees in ’er.’

‘She’s quite beautiful,’ said Matilda. ‘I’ll have a piece of tasty cheese, Mrs Simpkins, and some of those dry cheese biscuits.’

Mrs Simpkins reached for the cheese. ‘Bin inside ’is ’ouse? Lovely, so I’m told—furniture ’anded down from way back in the family. Bin in the village for years and years. ’E don’t need to earn ’is living, of course; plenty of family money as you might say. A fine catch for that Miss Armstrong.’

She reached up for a packet of biscuits. ‘I hear your mum’s going to Lady Truscott’s for the charity committee meeting. Don’t see much of ’er in the village, though. Poorly, is she, like your dad?’

‘No, no, Mother’s very well, but you know how it is when you move house. But we’ve settled in nicely and my father is so much better now that he has retired.’

Matilda said goodbye, and left to deliver the shopping bag, then hurry home in the rain. Mrs Simpkins, watching her go, thought what a dull life she must lead with two elderly parents and no young man.

Another week went by and another pay day, and even after bolstering up the housekeeping purse and paying the small outstanding debts Matilda had some money. True, her mother had wheedled some of it for herself so that she might go to Taunton once again. She must look her best when she went to Lady Truscott’s, she’d pointed out; she would make do with the clothes she had but her hair must be trimmed and set and a few highlights added. Surely Matilda could understand that. ‘And really you have nothing to spend your money on, Matilda. There’s nothing to be done about your hair except bundle it up like you do, and you don’t need to look fashionable. No one sees you at the surgery and you’ve got that winter coat once it gets really cold.’

All of which was perfectly true. Matilda said nothing for the simple reason that if she did she might say something she would regret afterwards.

But on the following Tuesday, her day free until evening surgery, she took the local bus to Taunton. She hadn’t told her mother or father that she was going until she’d taken them their early morning tea.

‘That’s right, my dear,’ said her father. ‘You go and have a pleasant day. Have you sufficient money?’

She kissed the top of his head. ‘Yes, thank you, Father.’

There was no chance to say more for her mother had sat bolt upright in bed. ‘You’re going to Taunton? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gone with you; I need several things. How thoughtless of you, Matilda—and why do you want to go?’

‘To shop,’ said Matilda, ‘and I must go now or I’ll miss the bus. I’ll be back before tea.’

‘I should feel mean, but I don’t,’ said Matilda to herself, hurrying down to the bus stop outside Mrs Simpkins’. There were several people there already, and the doctor, standing at his dining-room window, watched her join the little group. He thought idly that if he had known she had wanted to go to Taunton he would have given her a lift for he would be at the hospital for most of the day. He turned away and went to eat his breakfast.

Matilda hadn’t much money but she knew what she wanted. The doctor only saw her during surgery hours, so it made sense to make herself as attractive as possible during that time. Well, not sense, actually, since he never looked at her, but even if she had no hope that he would like her that wasn’t going to stop her from doing something about her looks.

Silly, really, thought Matilda, making for the shops.

It would have to be Marks & Spencer; she hadn’t enough money for any of the smart boutiques. She would go there first, anyway…

Maybe the doctor would never look at her; she would still find solace in the wearing of the grey jersey dress she found almost at once. It was suitably short but not too much so and it had a white collar and pretty buttons, and since it was jersey it wouldn’t crease.

And there was some money left over—enough for a navy sweater to wear with her last year’s pleated skirt. She checked the money in her purse then, had a cup of coffee and a roll, and went in search of something tasty for supper, as well as the boiled sweets her father liked to suck while he worked and a tiny bottle of the perfume her mother liked.

By then it was time to get the bus back to Much Winterlow.

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