‘Well …’ he stuttered. Then he cleared his throat. ‘Well …’ he tried again.
‘
Wilt
thou?’
‘No, John,’ said Dom quietly, ‘I’m afraid I won’t.’
I was staring at the vicar, and the vicar was staring at Dominic. And then I looked at Dominic too, and was suddenly very sorry that I’d chosen St Bride’s because my by now reddening face was fully visible to every single person in that church.
‘Come along, Dominic,’ said the vicar,
sotto voce
with a tight little smile. ‘Let’s try it again. Wilt thou love Irene Araminta and honour her etcetera, etcetera,
etcetera
– so long as ye both shall live?’
‘No,’ said Dominic, more forcefully this time, ‘‘fraid not.’ And now, as I stared at him, I was conscious of the sound of wood gently creaking, as people shifted in their pews.
‘Dominic!’ It was Charlie. ‘Come on, old chap. Let’s press on with it, shall we?’
‘I can’t,’ Dominic said, with a slow, regretful shake of his head. He looked terrible. He looked distraught. ‘I just
can’t
,’ he said again. And at that point, somehow, I managed to speak.
‘Are you ill, Dom?’ I whispered. ‘Do you feel unwell?’ He looked at me, and moaned.
‘No. No, I’m not ill. I’m well. There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Then what’s the matter?’ I croaked. My mouth felt dry as dust and I was aware of disconcerted susurrations from behind.
‘The matter is …’ he said. ‘The matter is …that these are such
serious
vows, Minty. Vows I may not be able to keep. And it wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that we’re in
church.
’
‘Yes,’ I said weakly, ‘I know.’
‘And in church you just can’t lie and hope to get away with it,’ he went on. ‘And I’ve been thinking about God a lot
recently, because actually, Minty, although you may not have realised this, I’m a deeply religious person.’
‘Dom, whatever are you talking about?’ I murmured. ‘You
never
go to church.’
‘Yes, but you don’t have to go to church to be religious, and now that I’m standing here, before the altar, in the sight of God, I know I just can’t go through with it. Because I’d have to promise to love you and comfort you and keep myself only unto you and all the rest of it, Minty, and that’s pretty serious stuff, you know.’
‘Yes. Yes, I do know that, actually.’
‘And it’s only now that I’m standing here, that I realise how
huge
these vows are. It’s only now,’ he went on, ‘that I’m beginning to comprehend the enormity of what I’m being asked to do.’
‘Not “enormity”, Dom,’ I whispered, ‘that means something bad. I think you mean enormous
ness.
’
‘Please don’t correct me, Minty. I mean the magnitude of it. Of what I’m being asked to give up.’
‘Yes, but, you knew that
before
,’ I breathed, aware of a lemon-sized lump in my throat.
‘Yes. But I didn’t
understand
it before. What it truly means. But now I’m here, in church, I do. These huge promises. And I’m just not prepared to make them because, frankly, Minty, as you well know, there are lots of things about you that really …
annoy
me.’ At this a sudden murmur arose from the pews, like the uprush of small birds from a field. I could hear nervous, interrogative titters, and the sound of breath being sharply inhaled.
‘They say it’s the little things that get to you in the end,’ he said, ‘and it’s the little things that have got to me about you. I mean, you’re so untidy,’ he went on, getting into his stride now. His tenor voice was rising to an almost girlish timbre, which is what happens when he gets worked up. ‘You talk such rubbish half the time,’ he went on, ‘and you never know when to shut up.’
‘What do you expect?’ I said, my heart now banging in my
chest. ‘As you know, I’m a) half Irish, and b) a professional broadcaster.’
‘You really get me down,’ he whined. ‘I’ve been trying to put all my doubts about you to the back of my mind, but I can’t any longer, I simply can’t, because I think we’d …we’d …we’d be
bound
to come unstuck! I’m sorry, Minty, but I just can’t go through with this.’ My jaw dropped. It dropped wide open. I must have looked a picture of cretinous idiocy as I absorbed what he had just said. I glanced at Dad, but his mouth was agape too. And Mum and Helen seemed frozen, in a state close to catatonia. Then Charlie intervened again.
‘Look, do us all a favour, old man. Cut the crap, will you – sorry, Vicar – and just say “I do”, there’s a good chap.’
This seemed to be the last straw, and then that bally wasp came buzzing back.
‘No. No, I won’t,’ said Dom, swatting it away from his per-spiration-beaded face. ‘I won’t say that, simply to please you and everyone else. I’m not a puppet, you know. This is a free country. You can’t make me go through with this. And I won’t. I’m determined to think of myself – at
last
!’ He turned ninety degrees and faced the gawping crowd. And I could see the fear in his face as he realised how exposed he now was to their contempt. ‘Look, I’m …sorry about this everyone,’ he said, nervously running a finger round his wing collar. ‘I …er …know some of you have come from quite a long way. A very long way away in some cases, like my Aunt Beth, for example, who’s come down from Aberdeen. But, well, the fact is, I
can’t
do this. I hope you all understand. And once again, I’m …well …I’m sorry.’ Then something of the old Dominic returned, as he felt himself take command of the situation once more. ‘However,’ he went on smoothly, ‘I would like to point out that there is a comprehensive insurance policy in place, which should take care of everything.’ He swallowed, and breathed deeply. And then he looked at me.
‘Look, Minty. It just wasn’t going to work out. I think if you were honest, you’d admit that yourself.’ And then he began to walk away from me, down the aisle, with a very
determined air. And as he picked up speed he almost skidded on the highly polished floor, and I actually shouted after him, ‘Careful, Dom! Don’t slip!’ But he didn’t. He carried on walking until he reached the door, his shoes snapping smartly, almost brightly, across the gleaming tiles.
I don’t really remember what happened in the minutes immediately after that. I think it’s been erased from my mind, as one erases unwanted footage from an old video. I do remember trying to recall some comforting or possibly even useful phrases from
Nearly Wed
, but couldn’t think of a single one, except for the chapter heading: ‘How to Survive the Happiest Day of Your Life’. Apart from that, I think I simply stood there, immobile, clutching my Order of Service. I didn’t have a clue what to do. I just hoped that the camcorder had been switched off. Charlie had run after Dominic, but had come back, three minutes later, alone.
‘He got on a bus,’ he whispered to me, and to Dad and Helen, who had now stepped forward in a protective pincer movement around me. And I found this piece of news very odd, because Dominic loathes public transport.
‘Couldn’t you have chased after him?’ suggested Dad.
‘No, it was a number 11, it was going pretty fast.’
‘I see,’ said Dad seriously. We looked vainly at the vicar but he didn’t seem to know what to do.
‘This has never,
ever
happened during my ministry,’ he said, a piece of information which did little to cheer me up.
By now, people were whispering loudly in their pews, and many looked distraught. Amber was opening and closing her mouth like an outraged carp.
‘What the
hell’s
that plonker
playing
at?’ she demanded in her over-bearing, Cheltenham Ladies way. ‘What a bastard!’ she added, as she clambered out of her pew. ‘What a sh—’
‘Shhhh! Madam,’ said the vicar, ‘this is a house of God.’
‘I don’t care if it’s the house of bloody Bernarda Alba!’ she flung back. ‘That man’s just jilted my cousin!’
Jilted! It cut through me like a knife.
Jilted.
That was it:
I’d been jilted. Amber was right. And it wasn’t a moment’s aberration, because the minutes were now ticking by, and Dominic still hadn’t reappeared. And I could hear another wedding party gathering outside, so I didn’t see how Dom and I were going to have time to make our vows even if he did come back, which by now I very much doubted. And anyway, if there’s one thing I know about Dominic, more than anything else, one constant, immutable characteristic, it’s the fact that once he’s made up his mind to do something, he will never,
ever
go back.
Dad sat down, and put his head in his hands. Mum and Helen looked equally distraught. And then I looked down the pews, scanning the faces of those who had witnessed my shame. There was Jack, not knowing where to look, and his step-daughters, who were stifling giggles; next to them was Melinda, her podgy hand clapped to her mouth in a melodramatic tableau of shock; and Wesley was tut-tutting away to Deirdre and shaking his head, and Auntie Flo was crying, and no one knew what to say or where to look. But they were all trying hard not to look at me, in the way that nice people avert their eyes when passing the scene of some dreadful crash. And that’s what I felt like. A corpse, lying on the road. Hit and run. I hadn’t been cut. I didn’t have a scratch, but my blood had been spilled for all to see.
By now Charlie and the vicar were conferring agitatedly. Someone would have to decide what to do, I realised vaguely. Charlie took charge. He came up to me, and laid his hand on my arm in a reassuring way.
‘Shall we go to the Waldorf, Minty? Do you want to go?’
‘What?’
‘We can’t stay here.’
‘What? Oh …no.’
‘You see, I don’t think Dom’s coming back and the next party’s starting to arrive. I suggest we all go to the Waldorf, try and calm down, and at least have a little lunch and plan what to do. Do you agree, Minty? Is that OK? Remember, it’s your day. We’ll all do
exactly
what
you
want!’
‘Well …yes, why not?’ I said, with a reasonableness that astounded me. I think I even tried to smile.
‘She’s in shock,’ Amber announced loudly. She put her arm round me. ‘You’re in shock, Minty. Don’t worry, it’s only to be expected.’
‘I’m sure everything’s going to be OK, Minty,’ said Helen, taking one of my hands in both hers. ‘I’m sure he’s just been possessed by some temporary …you know …insanity.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said calmly. ‘Please could someone tell the photographer and the video chap to go home?’
‘What a bastard!’ said Amber, again.
‘Please, madam,’ repeated the vicar.
‘Come on, Minty,’ said Mum. ‘We’re going to the hotel!’ And she and Dad led me out of the church, one on each arm, as though I were an invalid. Indeed, the waiting Bentley might as well have been an ambulance – I half expected to see a blue flashing light revolving on its roof. And the shocked voices of the congregation were drowned out by the voices clamouring in my head. They said, Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?
‘Um …this is a somewhat
unusual
situation,’ announced Charlie, as we all sat down to our vine-ripened tomatoes in the Waldorf’s Adelphi Suite half an hour later. He nervously fiddled with his buttonhole as he faced the assembled guests. ‘Now, I don’t want to speculate as to why Dominic seems to have got cold feet –’
‘Cold?’ interjected Amber acidly. ‘They were deep frozen.’
‘Thank you, Amber. As I say, I refuse to speculate about Dominic’s behaviour this morning,’ Charlie went on, ‘except to say that he has been working rather hard recently. Very hard, in fact. And he has seemed rather preoccupied lately, so, er, I suspect that er, professional pressure is largely to blame. And I think the best thing is if we just try to enjoy our lunch, and, er, try to, er, well …’ his voice trailed away ‘ …enjoy our lunch.’
And the waiters came round with the Laurent Perrier – in the circumstances we’d decided not to have a reception line –
and people drank it, and chatted in low, respectful voices. They sat huddled round their tables like spies, as they swapped theories about Dom’s dramatic exit.
‘– another woman?’ I heard someone ask.
‘– dunno.’
‘– already married?’
‘– nervous breakdown?’
‘– always a bit flaky.’
‘– totally humiliating.’
‘– what about the presents?’
I was on the top table, of course, but instead of sitting there with my new husband, I was next to my bridesmaid and the best man, and my parents, brother and cousin. And Madge, unfortunately. She’d come along to the Waldorf, too.
‘Well, at least I got to wear my new Windsmoor,’ she said with a satisfied shrug. ‘It cost an absolute bomb.’
‘Windsmoor?
I say
,’ said Amber incredulously. She seemed more outraged than me.
‘Do you have any notion as to why your son has done this?’ Dad enquired with stiff civility.
‘Well, I suppose he felt that it wasn’t
right
, and that he just couldn’t go through with it,’ she offered. ‘He’s got such integrity like that.’
‘Integrity!’ Amber spat.
‘Amber, Amber, please,’ said Charlie. ‘It doesn’t help.’
‘Nice tiara, by the way, Minty,’ said Madge.
‘Thanks.’
‘And you can keep the griddle pan.’ I was too shocked to take in this happy news.
‘Never mind, Minty, darling,’ said Mum, putting a solicitous arm round my shoulder. ‘I always thought the man was a first-class shyster and rotter, I can’t deny it, and – oooh, sorry, Madge!’ Mum blushed. ‘An appalling waste of twenty-eight grand, though,’ she added regretfully.
‘Is that
all
you can think of, Dympna?’ Dad asked wearily, as a waiter flicked a large napkin on to her lap.
‘Well, just think of all the homeless bats and battered wives
you could save with that lot!’ she retorted. ‘What about the insurance policy?’ she asked.
‘Charlie phoned the helpline on his mobile,’ Dad replied. ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t appear to cover stage-fright.’
So we sat there eating our lunch, amid the curiously merry clatter of cutlery on china, and the pan-seared swordfish arrived and everyone said it was very good, though obviously I couldn’t eat a thing; and the string trio were playing ‘Solitaire’, which I thought was extremely insensitive, and I was just making a mental decision not to tip them when Charlie’s mobile phone went off. He flicked it on, and stood up.