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

his promises.

      I was still in shock when he took my arm and said, ‘Let’s go out to the car.’

      ‘Car?’ I heard myself say.

      I felt myself resisting, but then I thought, How can I do this to these people, to his mother? They didn’t know we were supposed to be ‘eloping’. They were here to celebrate a happy occasion. None of them knew why my mother and father were not standing alongside them. None of them realised why my brothers and sisters were absent. None of them knew that Ash had lied to me. I allowed myself to be led from the house. Ash’s family and friends chattered to me. They looked proud and happy.

      The ‘car’ was a gleaming black limousine.

      ‘Only the best,’ said Ash, in response to my blank look.

      ‘We’ll see you there,’ Ash told his mother as he guided me into the vehicle.

      I sank into plush leather, clutching my bouquet to my breast, as the car slid away from the kerb. I looked out of the window at familiar sights, everyday scenes I knew so well. Strangers hurried past, leaning into the wind. No one looked in our direction. I glanced at Ash, who was looking inordinately pleased with himself. The journey through the city centre passed in silence. We arrived at the beginning of a long Georgian terrace, in which one of the magnificent town houses had been converted into Glasgow’s register office.

      I was in a trance as I stepped from the car. Ash led me into the building to the wedding suite. Today I have little or no memory of the ceremony. All I could think about was that my mother and father were at home, sitting watching daytime television and probably wondering why their ‘baby’ had seemed so secretive of late.

      My one clear memory is of Ash placing his hand on my wrist and guiding me as I signed the register. My fingers were stiff and cold, and I could barely hold the pen. I had never in my life felt such an overwhelming sense of being alone. It should have been the happiest of days, but I was bereft. I rose from the small table, and Ash took a firm grip on my arm and guided me from the room. Our guests allowed us to walk past them before rising from their chairs and following.

      We led our entourage down the stairs to the main doors and out onto the steps. The photographer was on the pavement, waiting for us. He put up his hand, signalling for us to stop. Ash’s mother and the others gathered around us.

      The photographer raised his camera and said, ‘Smile, please!’

      I just couldn’t.

      June: I went to bed wrapped in a broken dream.

      ‘If he dis’nae look after you, darlin’, I’ll sort ’im out,’ the tipsy man said.

      He clutched a pint glass, the contents of which were sloshing onto a table that seemed to be his only visible means of support. I can’t remember who my well-intentioned champion was but I didn’t believe I would need his services. I didn’t want to consider the possibility that Rab would ever require ‘sorting out’.

      The reception was in full swing in the local Labour Party hall. After all the excitement and planning I couldn’t believe my special day would soon be over. The dance floor was packed. It was eleven o’clock in the evening and the band – Carnival – was still belting out old favourites.

      The chair beside me was empty. Rab had strutted off a few moments earlier. Through the haze of smoke and people I could see him at the bar, standing in a line of his friends. Shades of our first meeting. That seemed a long time ago, although it was not. So much had happened. I felt that today represented a new beginning, a clean slate. I was still looking in Rab’s direction when someone sat down in his chair. It was Dad.

      ‘Had a good day?’ he asked.

      ‘A great day, Dad,’ I said.

      ‘Happy?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said, and I believed it.

      ‘Good, darlin’. You deserve to be happy. I’ll see you in a little while,’ he said, rising from the chair and heading into the crowd.

      I felt sad for Dad, and for myself. I had not invited my mother to the wedding. I suppose I could have but I believed she had betrayed us by walking out.

      I was distracted by a shout from the dance floor.

      ‘Juuuu-ne!’ the voice cried.

      It was one of my cousins. I waved.

      ‘C’mon,’ he said, beckoning me to the dance floor.

      I gestured that I would stay at the table. Rab had already berated me earlier for talking ‘too much’ to my friends and ‘dancing too much’ with our guests. There was no pleasing him, even on his wedding day.

      ‘Ladeez and gentellmmmen,’ a voice cried from the stage.

      The lead singer in the band.

      ‘Please take your partners for the last dance.’

      I looked over at the bar, where Rab showed no sign of making a move. I knew him well enough by now to recognise even from this distance that he had drunk more than a few pints of lager. But he wouldn’t be staggering drunk. Rab liked to stay in control. I picked my way through the crowd and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, his eyes slightly glazed.

      ‘C’mon, let’s get up. Last dance,’ I said, dragging him away from his friends.

      We stumbled around the dance floor, to the applause of our guests. Rab was oblivious to most of it. He was trying to make an effort, but he was never the most ebullient of personalities. As the band played the last notes of the song, the lights came on. The next 20 minutes were taken up saying hearty goodbyes to everyone.

      We were soon virtually alone in the middle of the hall. I guided Rab out into the night. It was still warm and fine. Taxis were coming and going, but we had been offered a lift by one of our guests. The car drew up in front of us. We were joined by my cousin Joe and his wife, who was also called June. Joe was much older than me and he was more like a brother than a cousin. We had arranged to go to his house and spend our wedding night there.

      Joe lived in Stevenson, a town not too far from Kilbirnie. We were all in good spirits on the short journey. It was, of course, too good to last. We hadn’t been in Joe’s house long before I was rowing with Rab – over going to bed. He insisted on staying up and having ‘just a few more drinks’.

      I was trying to persuade him to come upstairs, but he pushed me away, saying, ‘You don’t fuckin’ tell me when to go to bed.’