‘Have you got the nerves, Vicar? Must be quite an occasion for you – not every day we get a wedding like this in Port Charles, eh?’ Merrin’s dad stood tall, smoothing the lapels of his morning coat and pushing out his chin, shining with pride and giving no hint of the discomfort he had complained of earlier in the day.
The Reverend Pimm stepped forward and placed his hand on her arm. ‘Merrin, I need you to come with me.’ His eyes held hers and his tone was kindly.
‘Oh, I thought I waited here with my dad and the girls until I heard the music and then walked in, like we practised.’
The vicar swallowed and nodded slowly. ‘There’s been . . .’ He looked skyward, as if this was where the inspiration, divine or otherwise, might lurk. ‘There’s been a change of plan.’
‘Oh, okay. Do I need to wait somewhere else?’ She was a little confused, and felt her spit thicken at the prospect that something had gone wrong, but one look at the vicar’s quiet smile and her worry fled. What was it he had said during their practice? ‘Don’t aim for perfection on your day, there is always some unforeseen hiccup – think about the bigger meaning and embrace all that it brings you . . .’ She nodded, deciding to do just that and embrace all that was coming her way.
‘Yes.’ He smiled at her again. ‘If you could come with me. And you, too, Mr Kellow. The rest of the wedding party – you can wait here.’
‘Don’t be long, Merry!’ Bella called out. ‘It’s bloody hot and my bra’s digging in!’ She fanned herself with her flowers and Merrin cringed at the fact that her friend had announced this to Reverend Pimm.
The vicar walked at pace around to the back of the church. With her dad by her side, Merrin did her best to keep up, her kitten heels clattering on the path. Finally, they followed the vicar into the gabled porch that led to the vestry. The large square room with flagstone floors and wood-panelled walls smelt dusty, but it was cool and she was thankful for a respite from the heat. The vicar pushed a red velvet chair into the middle of the room.
‘Please sit down, Merrin.’
Quite bewildered as to what part of the ceremony she might have misunderstood, she did as Reverend Pimm requested, spreading her dress around her on the floor so as not to crease the bodice. Her dad stood behind her, his hand on the back of the chair.
‘I’m not sure what’s going on!’ She giggled.
The vicar dropped down on to his haunches and balanced on the balls of his feet in front of her. Then his smile disappeared and, looking her in the eye, he started to speak slowly.
‘I have only just this minute received a telephone call,’ he began, his words issued from a mouth sticky with nerves.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked quietly, with a creeping dread that made her bones feel brittle.
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to say, Merrin, that everything is not okay.’
‘Oh?’ She took a deep breath and gripped her bouquet tightly.
‘It was Digby. The call was from Digby.’
Merrin was glad she had taken up the offer of a chair as the room seemed to spin and her knees went a little weak. ‘He called you from the church?’ She looked towards the wall beyond which her love stood, her thoughts jumbled. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He is all right, I think. Yes.’
‘Well, good.’ She exhaled with relief, because as long as he was all right, everything would be fine . . .
‘But he did give me a message – some news, if you will.’ Again he swallowed and exchanged a brief anxious look with her dad.
‘What news? Has something happened?’ Her thoughts raced as she pictured her beloved. Had he lost the ring? Fallen out with his mother? She knew things between them could sometimes be a little fraught and worried that in the heat of the moment, with so much going on, maybe they had had a tiff? She thought of all the possibilities and all the solutions, deciding not to let anything spoil her day.
‘He is fine.’ The vicar paused and licked his dry lips. ‘But . . . but he is not coming.’
She shook her head; it was as if the vicar were speaking another language. ‘Not coming where? He’s what? Isn’t he . . .’ She turned in the chair and this time pointed towards the main church.
‘Merrin.’ He sounded her name with conviction and it drew her attention. ‘Digby is not coming here today to get married. He told me he’s going away and that there will not be a wedding today.’
‘What are you talking about? Don’t be so daft.’ She studied the vicar’s face, waiting for the punchline. ‘Of course there’s going to be a wedding; I’ve got my dress on! My . . . my mum’s in the church and the girls are . . . the girls are outside and . . . and we’ve booked the honeymoon suite . . .’ Suddenly it was as if the air had been sucked from the room. ‘I can’t breathe!’ She scrabbled to reach the buttons at the back of her frock and tore at the shawl collar across her chest, as if it were suffocating her.
‘I’ll fucking kill him!’ her dad yelled. ‘I will fucking kill the stuck-up little shit! Thinks he can butter me up with a few fancy bottles of red plonk and a kind word, and then he does this!’
To her surprise, the Reverend Pimm didn’t offer any words of defence on Digby’s behalf or try to calm her dad. Instead he poured a glass of water from a jug and handed it to her.
‘Take deep breaths, Merrin. Take deep breaths and sip some water.’
‘I want to . . . I want . . .’
‘Yes?’ He bent low and looked into her face, as if he might be able to help with her request. But the truth was she didn’t know what she wanted.
‘So what do we do now, Vicar?’ her dad asked, as he pulled the tie from around his neck and yanked at the collar until it was loose, the buttons undone.
‘Would you like me to talk to the congregation? I can keep it vague, thank them all for coming and send them home?’ He spoke slowly and softly in the voice he had used when they had buried Gramps.
This can’t be happening . . . it can’t be happening . . . Merrin leant forward in the chair. She felt weakened, her body quite limp, as she stared at the silk toes of her shoes sticking out from beneath the voluminous skirt of her wedding dress. There must have been a mistake . . . he wouldn’t do this to me, he loves me! And I love him! There’s been a mix-up . . . we’ll sort it out . . . it will all get sorted out . . .
‘Yes, thank you. I don’t think I’d know what to say,’ her dad replied.
‘No, wait!’ she called out. ‘Don’t you think we should call him back? I mean, he might be coming after all; the whole thing might just be a terrible mix-up, and then what would everyone say if you’ve sent them home? Don’t you think we should call him? I want to speak to him!’ She was suddenly certain that a phone call could fix this. ‘I do. I want to speak to him.’
‘Of course.’
The vicar moved with some reluctance to the telephone on the oak trestle table and picked up the phone. He ran his finger over the notepad next to it and dialled the number before holding out the phone. She stood and gripped the receiver in her shaking hands, keeping it close to her face.
‘Hello?’ It was the distinct voice of Digby’s mother.