Beyond All Evil: Two monsters, two mothers, a love that will last forever

I Take This Man

‘All June and Giselle wanted was someone to love them.’

Ian Stephen

June: Fools we might have been, but you start out with such hopes.

‘June …’ Dad said. ‘You look beautiful.’

My father stood in the doorway of the living room, smiling at me, pulling at the collar of his starched white shirt and black velvet bow tie. He wore a red carnation in the buttonhole of his formal suit. My dear father looked like a fish out of water.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself, Dad,’ I replied.

I picked up my bouquet. The fussing was all over now. The car was at the front door. I was ready to go, ready to pledge myself to Rab. Dad offered me his arm. I took it.

‘Ready, pet?’ he said quietly.

‘As I’ll ever be,’ I replied, in the same tone.

Dad helped negotiate my dress through the living-room door and into the hall. The front door was open, revealing a bright, warm summer’s day.

10 June 1981. A lifetime ago.

Rab would be waiting at the church, a few minutes’ drive away. The bells would ring, heralding my arrival, and I’d walk down the aisle to him. I had rehearsed the scene in my mind so many times. I had begun to think of the wedding as a gift. Perhaps this would be the one gift that no one could take away. There was still a part of me that was afraid. I had walked through life on heavy feet and experience had taught me that there was always a price to pay for the small patches of happiness. I felt I had been paying that price since my childhood.

However, my feet felt light today, encased in their white satin wedding shoes. I was happy. I emerged into the sunlight to a chorus of approval from the neighbours who had gathered to see me off.

‘You look smashin’,’ one said.

‘Lovely dress, darlin’,’ said another.

‘Long life!’ said a third.

I was carried to the car on a wave of good wishes and my niggling fears were dispelled. I was happy! Surely I had a right to be, today of all days?

‘In you go,’ Dad said, as I bent low to climb into the limousine.

He followed me and the driver spoke over his shoulder.

‘Ready to go, June?’

‘Take it away,’ I said, my mood lightening by the second.

The big car slid away from the kerb and I eased back into the seat. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Dad recognised the signs.

‘Won’t be long,’ he said, taking my hand.

It wasn’t.

The car glided around a corner, and I saw the blond stone of the bell tower of Kilbirnie Parish Church. The entrance to the church was deserted but for a photographer and Ellen, who were awaiting my arrival.

‘You look great, June. Nervous?’ Rab’s sister said as I emerged from the car.

‘No,’ I said, giggling … nervously.

I was barely conscious of the photographer fussing over my dress, ensuring it was hanging properly.

‘This way, June,’ he said, demanding I look in his direction.

I looked up, smiled, and he took the picture. I heard the first strains of the wedding march coming from the church organ.

‘Time to go,’ Dad said, as I took a tight grip of his arm.

No going back now.

Giselle: Ash didn’t drop the bombshell until it was too late.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ash asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I told him through my tears.

I was sitting in Ash’s bedroom, a room I had never shared with him.

‘You’ll spoil your lovely dress,’ he said.

I swiped at the tears with a hankie.

‘I want my mum and dad,’ I said.

‘Don’t fret,’ he said. ‘Everything will be fine. The car’s here. C’mon now, dry your eyes. By tonight we’ll be a happy family.’

Ash was in a joyful mood that I could not share. This did not feel right. It should have been my father and not Ash standing in front of me. It should have been Da who arrived at my flat earlier, to take me to the register office. Ma and Da were at home, unaware of the momentous step I was about to take. I was sick with nerves. I’d heard of wedding-day jitters but this felt altogether different. Ash soothed me with words that I now cannot remember.

25 March 2001. A day I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

‘C’mon, we’ll be late,’ Ash said.

He was dressed in a black morning suit, with a double-breasted jacket and pearl-grey waistcoat. The outfit was complemented by a silver-white cravat. He wore a white carnation on his lapel. He looked like a prince.

My beautiful dress. His elegant suit. It all just seemed too much for a wedding party of two.

‘Get your bouquet,’ he said.

I plucked the floral arrangement from the bed. I had spent hours making it from long-stemmed cream and peach roses. My favourite colours. They were bound by an intricate cascade of ribbon. When I was making the bouquet I had felt so happy, but now I was overwhelmed by uncertainty. I knew that I should not be feeling like this. I felt trapped. I wanted my family, but now it was too late. How could I turn up at my parents’ home in a big frock and tell them to get their coats, and that they were going to a wedding?

I remembered that it was I who didn’t want the fuss. I was being silly, I told myself. I loved Ash. We were about to marry and everyone would be really happy for us. I rallied, pushing away the doubts.

‘Let’s go,’ I said.