I took the extra invitation, the one sealed in a plain, brown envelope, and tore it up.
Somewhere, underneath all the grey, I knew getting married was a really stupid, selfish idea.
Grief had made me stupid.
With my bridesmaids on hand, I took the morning of my wedding one step at a time. Ate breakfast. Showered. Sat for two hours while Rowan tried to work her magic on my overgrown bob and Kim vainly attempted to conceal the toll the past few weeks had taken on my face. Conjured up a smile for the photographer. Did not think. About him, or him. Got dressed. Got in the car. Got out of the car. Smoothed the skirts of what was quite possibly the most beautiful dress in the universe. Lifted up my head, threw back my shoulders, breathed out the bad, sucked in the good. Took one step forwards, and another and another.
Halfway down the aisle, it hit me.
I had planned to have Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’ playing as I entered the church. Something innocuous and safe. But the notes had changed, evolved into something entirely different. And as I reached the back rows, the unmistakeable sound of thirteen women singing in perfect harmony broke out from the side of the room. Glancing across, I saw them, lined up in blue summer dresses along the wall. Rosa gave me a grin and a thumbs up. Melody winked. April broke all the performance rules by wiping her hands across her face.
Flicking my eyes forwards, I saw Catherine and Natasha beaming at me from the front of the chapel. I felt the strength and the solidarity of Marilyn’s arm as it gripped mine, refusing to let me take this walk alone. Pete called out ‘Mummy ah Fai!’ and clapped his pudgy hands together.
As the love bombarded me, I had to stop. My fingers sought for something more to steady me, clutching on to the back of the chair to my right. The person sat behind there placed a warm, rough hand beneath my elbow to support me.
These were my family. My sisters. My friends. I was not alone. Since I had stepped into the Grace Choir rehearsal eleven months earlier. Before then, even – since that first afternoon eating cake and giggling in the cottage of chaos – I had never been alone.
What on earth was I doing marrying a man I wasn’t in love with to try to fix a problem that didn’t exist?
How could I do that to him?
What had I been thinking?
‘Are you okay?’ A deep voice, with a gentle Northern accent, jolted me out of my whirling thoughts.
I turned to see Dylan gazing up at me. ‘Faith?’
‘Your hair’s grown back.’
The corners of his mouth curled up, ever so slightly. It didn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. We looked at each other for a long time.
‘Perry’s waiting for you…’ Dylan left the sentence hanging, dropping his hand. I broke his gaze, sure something else lay behind the sadness.
I nodded, and continued what must have been the longest walk of my life.
Men were supposed to smile as their wife-to-be walked down the aisle. Or maybe cry. Perry watched me as I stepped up to join him and let out a long sigh. Frowning, he took hold of my hand.
‘Perry, I’m so sorry, but we need to talk.’
‘I know,’ he cut me off, nodding curtly. ‘Give me one minute.’
And then he stomped down the aisle, yanked Dylan to his feet by the scruff of his shirt, and smashed his fist into his face.
‘Hooten tooten!’ Marilyn whistled, as the room went deathly still. ‘I guess this means the wedding’s off.’
24
Three months later, I decided one of the absolute best sounds in the entire world is the rustle of an audience from behind a stage curtain. Throw in the murmur of anticipation and the squeaks and hoots of the orchestra tuning up and you cannot beat it.
The Grace Community Choir waited on the left half of the stage, in tiered seating allowing us to perch above our competitors sat on the front three rows below. Two more choirs took up the middle section, and the final two filled up the right-hand side. Melody, sitting next to me, slipped her cool hand into mine.
‘Peace, woman,’ she whispered out of the side of her mouth. ‘You’re setting my nerves all a-twitter.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m so anxious. Look!’ I pointed my chin at my chest. ‘You can see my heart thumping through my dress! How much longer?’
She elbowed Rosa on her other side. ‘Rosa! How much longer?’
Rosa shrugged, before twisting round to April behind her in the soprano seats. ‘April! What’s the time?’
