When she’d entered the church, she’d felt trapped. At the altar just one thought: I don’t want to marry. But it was too late. She couldn’t let the crowd down, nor Colin, her boyfriend since schooldays. She blamed herself for her negativity, swore her vows emptily, and walked out of the chapel on Colin’s arm displaying a forced smile to the many pairs of sugar-sweet eyes offering her love. But there was no love inside her and she left Colin six months later.
That was a decade ago. Here she was again, in a registry office, no ostentation, just the two of them and a witness. Did she love Tim? The question whispered gratingly, as the woman registrar studied her with, she fancied, laser-like insight.
Outside was the noise of the city buses braking or hooting. Did their distracting her from this marital moment mean insincerity was afoot once more?
Well, she was more mature than last time. Should an iota of doubt patter in her head, that would be enough for her to say ‘sorry, mate’ and depart. She owned herself now. She listened hard to her inner self, trying to catch a note of dissent in her mind, the way you’d scan the sky for the first snowflake of winter.
Momentarily she recalled that charity event she’d attended, hardly anybody present, an empty dancefloor and music. She’d got up and danced by herself, then felt a hand on hers, a smile, this lean, interesting chap, snake-narrow hips, jiving beside her. The spontaneity appealed. Later there was smooching and she’d offered him a lift home after, as he’d little money and no car. ‘Your place or mine?’ he’d said. They’d got straight down to sex, then stayed up half the night talking. She’d picked him up the next evening, he’d again stayed overnight, and pretty much stayed thereafter. A zany guy, unmaterialistic, genuine, he made her laugh and brim full of joy.
The registrar had finished, they exchanged rings. Tim looked strange in a jacket and trousers. Jeans and tee shirt were his sartorial mates.
That was it: they were spliced. What if he didn’t love her? Eighteen months together in her small flat, early rising for both, him to his roofing job, she to her flower shop business. What if the flow between them, to-and-fro and easy, should dry up now things were official? Or what if Tim had been pretending all this time, as she had been with Colin?
His green eyes were on her, green for go she’d told him. Their lips touched, sealing the deal. Outside the city street was a-hurry. What really mattered was that she was sure this time. If he had any regrets, unlikely though it was, well she’d forgive him as she’d now forgiven herself. Their lives stood before them. Anything was possible, nothing was impossible. She took his hand and said, ‘Fancy a jive, Tim?’
