The Wedding by Lorna Dounaeva

Author:Lorna Dounaeva
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Lorna Dounaeva

* * *

Mum rifles through her handbag. “Here, I brought you your post from the house.”

“My…post?”

Why on earth did she bring this to the church?

“Go on, read your letters,” she says. “It’ll help pass the time.”

“Mum, nobody writes letters anymore.”

In fact, the last person to write me a letter was Alicia.

I glance down at the pile. What’s this one then? Doesn’t look like a bill.

I slice it open with my fingernail:

‘Thank you for the kind invite. Love to come. A’.

I think frantically back to my guest list. I didn’t invite anyone with the initial ‘A’. I look round again. It’s not…it can’t be Alicia?

No, I watched her die with my own eyes. Deacon pronounced her. But Jody’s still alive, isn’t she? Jody could have done this.

I glance at Mum’s watch. Five more minutes. And if he doesn’t come then, well…the wedding is over. Ruined. Everyone’s going to go home. Or will they expect to go on to the reception? It’s all paid for isn’t it? They might as well party without us.

Us.

We’ve been an ‘us’ for over a year now. Long before that, if we’d only admitted it to ourselves.

I get up and walk through to the church hall, where we’re having the reception. It looks really beautiful – all the tables are covered with white linen, with little crepe centrepieces. On the top table sits the wedding cake. The icing is white, but each layer is different, one chocolate, one orange and one coffee. At the top, is a miniature bride and groom holding hands. At least they’re supposed to be. The groom is not there. I peer under the table and find him lying helpless on the floor. I brush him off and return him to his rightful position on top of the cake.

Mum pokes her head in. “It’s quarter to. Just thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks.”

I can’t put it off any longer. It’s not fair to let it drag on indefinitely. I’m out of time.

I walk up to the front of the church.

“Everybody, can I have your attention please?”

I look around the church, crammed with family and friends from all the different, compartmentalised bits of our lives. I see the sadness in their eyes and I want to yell at them to stop it. Their pity is only making this worse.

“Everybody…”

Bang on cue, the gothic doors swing open. Deacon staggers in. He is soaking wet, his shirt stained with blood. He leans against the wall and I wait anxiously for him to get his breath back. His face looks hot despite the cold and he holds up his hand to indicate that no one should say anything. Not till he’s ready. I rush towards him, desperate to find out what has happened, but as I am halfway across the room, I notice a change in him. He is grinning ear to ear.

“Late for my own wedding!” he says, and everyone laughs politely. “I’ll never live it down.”

My heart crumbles. Everyone cheers and tears dampen my cheeks.

Mum tries to stop me as I make my way to the back of the church.

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