The bridegroom walked undetected down Church Lane cursing the gaggle of geese that were engaged in their early morning circling of the green in the hope of being fed. He tried to squeeze past them but they hissed, stretched out their necks, spread their wings, and took rapid threatening steps towards him. Softly he cried ‘Shoo! Shoo!’ but they ignored him, geese had priority whoever he might be and so they continued their lordly procession. He never had and never would have this animal thing. They were all aliens to him. He reached the lychgate, silently undid the catch and turned in. Should he wait here or go up to the church porch? He snapped back his impeccable white cuff and looked at his watch. Only fifteen minutes to go. Where was she? Where the devil were Peter and Mrs Peel? Surely they should be here by now. The bridegroom checked to make sure no one had seen him and then walked softly up the path to the church door and tried the heavy iron handle. It was open! He went inside, still unseen, except by the geese and they wouldn’t tell.

The front pew was where bridegrooms sit awaiting their brides. She’d taken some persuading and even now he wasn’t sure he should have persisted in proposing. But she was just what he needed, whether he was just what she needed was another matter, but he had to have his own way, that was how he was made. She’d be dressed in a light grey suit she’d said, no hat, hats weren’t her thing, matching shoes, and a small spray of flowers made by the florist in Culworth. He wished, briefly that she’d be wearing a real wedding dress, romantic you know. He adjusted the rose in his buttonhole. Checked his pocket for the wedding ring. Quiet she’d said. No best man. No bridesmaids. What do either of us want with all that carry on? The fewer people knew the better. He’d been too long without a partner. Ghastly word that. Been too long without a wife. He daren’t count how long, because it reminded him about being so much older than she. He certainly didn’t behave like an older man, and she claimed she never noticed he was much older. There’d been a twinkle in her eye when she’d said that and it had boosted his ego, not that it needed boosting that had never been a problem with him. He checked his watch again. A chill ran down his spine. Where were they? And more so, where was she?
 
The bride was sitting on the dressingtable stool in her bedroom putting on her cream satin shoes. Had she got the right shade? She held the shoes, one in each hand against the skirt of her wedding dress. Yes, she had. Exactly right. She put them on, stood up and went to the long mirror to examine herself now she was fully dressed. From head to toe she looked the perfect bride. Hair held in place by a kind of fledgling tiara, classic highnecked long sleeved dress, with heavily beaded bodice, the glass beads catching the light each time she breathed. The skirt was slender with short slits each side at the hem. She’d insisted on slits, couldn’t bear not being free to walk freely. Her bouquet! She picked it up from the bed and assessed the finished article. Yes! She’d got it right. Perfect! He’d love her in this. Grey suit! Indeed! For such an intelligent man he was easily fooled. So. . . .within the hour she’d be married. It still wasn’t too late to say ‘No.’ Did she want to say no? No to all that money? No to limitless foreign travel? No to no expense spared? No to having anything she wanted? Worse still, no to love. Because he did love her far more than she loved him. Was she being fair? Marrying him knowing that. But she’d told him time and again and he’d listened, but he hadn’t heard. There was the sound of a car engine. She walked sedately down the stairs and out of the door, put her house key under the flowerpot and graciously stepped into the car. The chauffeur held her flowers while she settled herself, he returned them to her and they drove the few yards to the church at a stately speed.

When he opened the door for her to get out, the bride shook her head. ‘Give me a minute.’ Was she doing the right thing? Should she? She gave a thought to pulling the petals from a rose in her bouquet and doing that child thing. ‘Love him, love him not.’ As a test that was all. Just a test. It was a big step was marriage. He’d gone on and on proposing till in the end she’d had no resistance left. Why shouldn’t she? He was lonely, so was she come to that. At forty one decisions needed to be taken. But as she’d said, no children and she wasn’t giving up her work. Absolutely not. He knew that. She opened the car door to say ‘Drive me back home. It’s off.’ But instead she heard herself saying ‘Hold my flowers, please, while I get out.’

As in a dream she stood in the church doorway, saw Willie Biggs give the nod to Mrs Peel at the organ. ‘Here comes the Bride!’ The organ flared into sound, the majestic chords booming into the rafters. There ahead of her was Peter in his white marriage cassock and, turning to get a first look at his bride, was her groom resplendent in morning coat. Morning coat! he never said he’d wear a morning coat! Those light blue eyes of his were bright with his pleasure at the sight of her. She walked steadily down the aisle, trying hard not to break into a run, placed her cold trembling hand in his warm grasp, smiled at him and then looked up at Peter. ‘Welcome to you both. God bless you.’

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