Magnus. The thought makes my stomach turn over. I can’t—I need time to think—
But I don’t have any time. The organ piece is gathering momentum. The choir suddenly crashes in with a triumphant chord. The Reverend Fox has already disappeared up the aisle. The fairground ride has begun, and I’m on it.
“All right?” Toby grins across at Tom. “Don’t trip her up, Bigfoot.”
And we’re off. We’re moving up the aisle, and people are smiling at me, and I’m aiming for a serene, happy gaze, but, inside, my thoughts are about as serene as the particles whizzing about in CERN.
It doesn’t matter…. It’s only a ring…. I’m overreacting…. But he lied to me….
Oh, wow, look at Wanda’s hat….
God, this music is amazing, Lucinda was right to get the choir….
What job in Birmingham? Why did he never tell me about that?
Am I gliding? Shit. OK, that’s better….
Come on, Poppy. Let’s get some perspective. You have a great relationship with Magnus. Whether he bought you the ring himself or not is irrelevant. Some ancient job in Birmingham is irrelevant. And as for Sam—
No. Forget Sam. This is reality. This is my wedding. It’s my wedding, and I can’t even focus on it properly. What’s wrong with me?
I’m going to do it. I can do it. Yes. Yes. Bring it on….
Why the hell does Magnus look so sweaty?
As I arrive at the altar, all other thoughts are temporarily overcome by this last one. I can’t help gaping at him in dismay. He looks terrible. If I look like I’m sick, then he looks like he’s got malaria.
“Hi.” He gives me a weedy smile. “You look lovely.”
“Are you OK?” I whisper as I hand my bouquet to Ruby.
“Why wouldn’t I be OK?” he retorts defensively.
That doesn’t seem quite the right answer, but I can’t exactly challenge him on it.
The music has stopped, and Reverend Fox is addressing the congregation with an ebullient beam. He looks as though he absolutely loves taking weddings.
“Dearly beloved. We are gathered here in the sight of God….”
As I hear the familiar words echoing around the church, I start to relax. OK. Here we go. This is what it’s all about. This is what I’ve been looking forward to. The pledges. The vows. The ancient, magical words which have been repeated under this roof so many times, for generations and generations.
So maybe we’ve had some blips and jitters in the run-up to our wedding. What couple doesn’t? But if we can just focus on our vows, if we can just make them special …
“Magnus.” Reverend Fox turns to Magnus, and there’s a rustle of anticipation in the congregation. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Magnus has a slightly glazed look in his eye, and he’s breathing heavily. He looks as though he’s psyching himself up for the hundred-meter Olympic final.
“Magnus?” prompts Reverend Fox.
“OK,” he says, almost to himself. “OK. Here goes. I can do this.” He takes an almighty deep breath and, in a loud, dramatic voice which rises to the ceiling, announces proudly: “I do.”
I do?
I do?
Wasn’t he listening?
“Magnus,” I whisper with a meaningful edge. “It’s not ‘I do.’ “
Magnus peers at me, clearly baffled. “Of course it’s ‘I do.’ “
I feel a surge of irritation. He wasn’t listening to a single word. He just said “I do” because it’s what they say in American films. I should have known this would happen. I should have ignored Antony’s snarky comments and made Magnus rehearse the vows.
“It’s not ‘I do,’ it’s ‘I will’!” I’m trying not to sound as upset as I feel. “Didn’t you listen to the question? ‘Wilt thou.’ ‘Wilt thou.’ “
“Oh.” Magnus’s brow clears in understanding. “I get it. Sorry. I will, then. Although it hardly matters, surely,” he adds with a shrug.
What?
“Shall we resume?” Reverend Fox is saying hurriedly. “Poppy.” He beams at me. “Wilt thou take this man to thy wedded husband …”
I’m sorry. I can’t let that go.
“Sorry, Reverend Fox.” I lift a hand. “One more thing. Sorry.” For good measure, I swivel round to the congregation. “I just need to clear up a tiny point. I won’t be a moment.” I turn back to Magnus and say in a furious undertone, “What do you mean, ‘it hardly matters’? Of course it matters! It’s a question. You’re supposed to answer it.”
“Sweets, I think that’s taking it a little literally.” Magnus is looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Can we crack on?”
“No, we cannot crack on! It’s a literal question! Wilt thou take me? A question. What do you think it is?”
“Well.” Magnus shrugs again. “You know. A symbol.”
It’s as though he’s lit my fuse paper. How can he say that? He knows how important the vows are to me.
“Not everything in life is a bloody symbol!” I explode. “It’s a real, proper question, and you didn’t answer it properly! Don’t you mean anything you’re saying here?”
“For God’s sake, Poppy.” Magnus lowers his voice. “Is this really the time?”
What’s he suggesting, that we say the vows and then discuss whether we meant them or not afterward?
OK, so perhaps we should have discussed our vows before we were standing at the altar. I can see that now. If I could go back in time, I’d do it differently. But I can’t. It’s now or never. And, in my defense, Magnus knew what the wedding vows were, didn’t he? I mean, I haven’t exactly sprung them on him, have I? They’re not exactly a secret, are they?
“Yes, it is!” My voice rises with agitation. “This would be the time! Right now would be the time!” I swing round to face the congregation, who all gaze at me, agog. “Hands up who thinks that, at a wedding, the groom should mean his vows?”
There’s absolute silence. Then, to my astonishment, Antony slowly raises his hand into the air, followed by Wanda, looking sheepish. Seeing them, Annalise and Ruby shoot their hands up. Within about thirty seconds, all the pews are full of waving hands. Tom and Toby each have both hands up, and so have my aunt and uncle.
Reverend Fox looks utterly flummoxed by events.
“I do mean them,” says Magnus, but he sounds so lame and unconvincing, even Reverend Fox winces.
“Really?” I turn to him. “Forsaking all others? In sickness and in health? Till death us do part? You’re absolutely sure about that, are you? Or did you just want to prove to everyone that you can go through with a wedding?”
And although I wasn’t planning to say that, as soon as the words are out of my mouth, they feel true.
That’s what this is. Everything falls into place. His belligerent speech this morning. His sweaty forehead. Even his proposal. No wonder he waited only a month. This was never about him and me, it was about proving a point. Maybe this is all about his father calling him a quitter. Or his zillion previous proposals. God knows. But the whole thing has been wrong from the start. It’s been back to front. And I believed in it because I wanted to.