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deep breath and, in a loud, dramatic voice which rises to the ceiling, a
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 knew we should have rehearsed our vows. I
should have ignored Antony’s snarky comments and made Magnus run through them.
“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 ca
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, A
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 pla
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.
I can suddenly feel the pressing of tears behind my eyes. But I refuse to crumble.
“Magnus,” I say more gently. “Listen. There’s no point doing this. Don’t marry me just
to prove you’re not a quitter. Because you will quit, sooner or later. Whatever your intentions
are. It’ll happen.”
“Rubbish,” he says fiercely.
“You will. You don’t love me enough for the long haul.”
“Yes, I do!”
“You don’t, Magnus,” I say, almost wearily. “I don’t light up your life like I should. And
you don’t light up mine.” I pause. “Not enough. Not enough for forever.”
“Really?” Magnus looks shocked. “I don’t?” I can see that I’ve pricked his vanity.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Poppy,” he says, clearly in a huff. “If that’s the way you
feel—”
“But it’s the way you feel too!” I exclaim. “Be honest! Magnus, you and I, we’re not
destined to be together forever. We’re not the main event. I think we’re … ” I screw up my face,
trying to think of a way to put it. “I think we’re each other’s footnotes.”
There’s silence. Magnus looks as though he wants to find a riposte but can’t. I touch his
hand, then turn to the vicar. “Reverend Fox, I’m sorry. We’ve wasted your time. I think we
should probably call it a day.”
“I see,” says Reverend Fox. “Goodness. I see.” He mops his head with his handkerchief,
looking flustered. “Are you sure … Perhaps a five-minute chat in the vestry … ”
“I don’t think that’ll fix it,” I say gently. “I think we’re done. Don’t you, Magnus?”
“If you say so.” Magnus looks genuinely gutted, and for a moment I wonder—
No. There’s no doubt. I’m doing the right thing.
“Well … what shall we do now?” I say hesitantly. “Shall we still have the reception?”
Magnus looks uncertain—then nods. “Might as well. We’ve paid for it.”
I step down from the altar, then pause. OK, this is awkward. We didn’t rehearse this. The
congregation is all watching, agog, to see what happens next.
“So … um … should I …” I turn to Magnus. “I mean, we can’t exactly walk down the
aisle together.”
“You go first.” He shrugs. “Then I’ll go.”
Reverend Fox is signaling at the organist, who suddenly starts playing the bridal march.
“No!” I squeak in horror. “No music! Please!”
“So sorry!” Reverend Fox makes hasty cut-it gestures. “I was trying to signal Don’t play.
Mrs. Fortescue is a little deaf, I’m afraid. She may not have followed exactly what’s been going
on.”
This is such a shambles. I don’t even know whether to hold my flowers or not. In the end,
I grab them from Ruby, who gives me a sympathetic squeeze on the arm, while A
whispers, “Are you insane?”
The music has finally petered out, so I start making my way back down the aisle in
silence, avoiding everyone’s eyes and prickling all over with self-consciousness. Oh God, this is
hideous. There should be an exit strategy for this eventuality. There should be an option in the
Book of Common Prayer: Procession for Ye Bride Who Chang-ed Her Minde.
No one’s talking as I make my way along the stone aisle. Everyone’s watching me,
riveted. But I’m aware of phones being turned on, from the cacophony of bleepy noises up and