Anne stood to one side as her husband, Councillor Brian Timpson, laid his wreath at the town's war memorial and a bugler played the Last Post. The Mayor of Attleton Market, Councillor Derek Tate, had gone to visit a small town in France on a fact finding mission as' twinning' the two towns had recently been discussed, and wasn't therefore able to perform the Remembrance Day ceremony. In the Mayor's absence that honour had fallen to Brian since he was leader of the council. Anne didn't share his enthusiasm for civic occasions or mingling with the great and the good. She knew, however, that it meant a great deal to Brian and didn't do his standing as a successful local businessman any harm either. However she was rather cynical about the twinning business and suspected that it was little more than a 'jolly' – an opportunity for councillors to squander public money on what would effectively be, for them at least, free holidays.
A stiff breeze blew up Anne's tartan skirt and round her black nylon panties as her husband lay the wreath and fellow councillors stood in mute silence. She recalled the conversation they'd had at breakfast that morning as she'd poured herself a third cup of coffee.
"Annie, don't you think you've had enough?" her husband had gently chided. "Remember you're accompanying me to the Remembrance ceremonies this morning."
"How could I possibly forget," she'd wearily replied. "Look, why don't you go on you're own for a change? That way I can polish off the Telegraph crossword and have something tasty cooked by the time you get back."
Brian lowered his spectacles and put the morning paper to one side.
"No Anne. All the other councillors will have their spouses or their partners with them and I'm depending on you being there. Also I'm relying on you being at your best and not embarrassing me. I have a position to maintain in this town and, to put it euphemistically, I don't want you being 'unwell' this morning as you so often are when we go out. If you can manage that I've got a table booked for Sunday lunch at the Bull."
"Yes sir," Anne replied, giving a mock salute as she did so. It was obviously time to play the dutiful wife. She would have her day some other time.
That conversation had taken place two and a half hours earlier. As the clock struck eleven silence was kept and the civic party at which Brian and Anne were at the head, left the cemetery. Feeling the coldness of the air Anne began to wish that she'd given that third cup of coffee a miss and gone to the toilet before they'd left home. She wasn't desperate by any means but she was beginning to get the first sensations of needing to pee and the cold air of that crisp November morning swirling round her panties wasn't helping. Sometimes the need to go developed very slowly but she knew from long experience that given the right conditions the transition from being okay to being absolutely frantic could be a rapid one. Cold mornings such as this had been known to exacerbate the need very quickly indeed. Furthermore, the ceremonies were by no means over. If anything, they'd only just begun. Anne realised that she was an hour and a half away from getting to use a loo and that was if everything went smoothly without delays. Knowing that she was at least 90 minutes away from the next possible loo visit did nothing to ease her anxiety. She was also keenly aware of the fact that she couldn't afford to let Brian down by publicly wetting herself. If she did he'd be absolutely furious when they got home and accuse her of doing it on purpose.
The civic party left the cemetery and set out on the long route to the church for the special service. There were much quicker routes than the one taken and Anne knew them all. However this morning they would take a special processional route so that as many people could see what was happening as possible. With uniformed military personnel, the Lord Lieutenant, High Sheriff and local MP in the party as well as councillors and representatives of local business and charitable organisations in the procession it was important to do full justice to the occasion. Cutting corners wasn't an option. Moreover Anne was keenly aware that getting to the church early – and they'd never managed it yet – would afford her no relief. Like many medieval churches of its type, Attleton Market Church had no toilets. The public ones in the market place were usually closed on Sundays too. In short there were no prospects of relief until the morning's proceedings were over and they were safely in the warmth of the Bull Inn.
Slowly the procession wended its way through the streets through the residential areas by the cemetery, past the hospital, the comprehensive school and Attleton College. As they crossed the bridge over the tidal stretch of river which ran through the town, Anne glanced down and observed that it was high tide, an observation which only made the sensation of a steadily filling bladder all the more acute. On they pressed, past the main supermarkets and shopping precinct on into the Market Place.
As they approached the church, Brian squeezed his wife's hand and gently whispered "Are you alright?" Forcing a smile, Anne replied "Yes. I'm absolutely fine."
