Thursday:
She really should tell her sister: Carys was her best friend. But how embarrassing to announce, ‘I’m having second thoughts about marrying.’ Carys would probably reply drily, ‘Leaving the exit strategy a bit late, aren’t we?’ And Carys would be right. What the hell are you going to do, Derwena? No solution came to mind.
Those two cross-terrier puppies Dave’s mum had bought had clarified Derwena’s sense of the imbalance. The male, Shep, fawned and begged for attention – from Dave and his mum, and from the other puppy. He pleaded for his little masculine ego to be acknowledged. Whereas Trixie, the bitch, might allow herself to be stroked but she was bored by Shep’s greedy neediness. Just let me be, she seemed to be saying to both dog and owner. She was an independent soul. That’s me and Dave, Derwena thought. Irreconcilably different; fire and water.
Friday:
Much brain-racking, much hair-tearing out, much psyching-up and urging oneself to be brave, to be decisive, to inform Carys and then Dave, and much stating over and over that a big mess now will be better than an almighty one later. No good. Courage has failed you, Derwena.
Saturday:
Wedding day, walking down the aisle, false smile of ‘happiness’ glued to mouth, whilst within she was screaming, ‘Don’t let me go through with it!’ There was Aunt Lisa, a blur of royal blue, even extending to the dustbin lid-sized hat that buried her forehead. Her face was like one word teletext. First, ‘Ah!’, then, ‘Beautiful!’ And there was Uncle Matt, winking smuttily like some Soho strip-club owner. The aisle-walk became akin to a slow plod to the grave. Her father, holding her arm woodenly, put her in mind of an undertaker shouldering a coffin.
Love? Derwena didn’t feel love, was sure she’d never felt love for Dave. She’d put off chance after chance to halt this ‘happy day’. At the proposal of marriage, why hadn’t she told Dave the truth? As his oily words spilt out, she’d wanted to say, ‘I don’t love you.’ Was it simply cowardice? Was she that needy puppy Shep, in reality?
She heard the minister say, ‘Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?’ Silence. She couldn’t speak. The silence grew, filling the church, spreading out into the street, out across the city centre. Hundreds, thousands were waiting for her reply, listening intently. Speak! Please!
But wait! A crack had appeared in the floor. An earthquake perhaps? The church was sinking, a large hole had opened up at the altar, swallowing priest and trappings. The organ was swimming in mud and rain, the pews were afloat, the walls were cracking. Saved!
But… what was happening? Dave had her arm, they were walking back along the aisle. His grin said, ‘Look! A wife. I’ve got one. A trophy.’ Had she said, ‘yes’? She was regretting it already. She’d regret it for ever. Regret, regret, clanged in her head as the church bells rang. Regret, regret.
