‘The bloody patriarchy strikes again.’
He laughs. ‘To combat your nerves, I suggest that you think of the guests naked.’
‘Dad!’
‘What? It’s a real strategy, I read about it on the internet. It’s meant to help nervous public speakers and the like.’
‘Then it must be true. Can you imagine picturing straitlaced Uncle Harold naked?’ The mood is suddenly jubilant as we laugh. The pretty village church comes into view, stunning under a blanket of light snow. Under grey skies the Christmas tree out the front sparkles with twinkling fairy lights, lending a festive air to the day.
‘Here we go.’ Now the moment has arrived, a burst of excitement races through me. It’s not so bad, this wedding lark.
‘Ready, darling?’ Dad gives my hand a comforting squeeze.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’ Don’t think of all those eyeballs. Don’t think of naked guests. Think of Miles, my handsome groom, waiting patiently for me. For our shiny new unwritten future where anything is possible.
Dad frowns. ‘Where’s the bridal party? Your mum said they’d be waiting to help you out of the car.’
Their car is here, but no sign of them. ‘They’re probably inside on account of the early snow, and it’s not like I’m wearing a meringue-type dress that I need help with.’
The driver opens Dad’s door and a blast of cold air fills the space. No wonder the bridal party chose to wait inside the church walls. They’ll freeze to death outside in their bridesmaid dresses. ‘Let’s get you into the church, then.’ Dad holds out a hand to me as soft snowflakes cascade down like something out of a fairytale.
Before I take his proffered hand, Freya rushes from the church doors. Her high heels slip on the icy ground. ‘Freya!’ I screech. My heart leaps to my throat as I watch my very pregnant friend sliding like a roller-skater looking for purchase. She manages to avoid slipping over and gives me an apologetic smile.
Dad jogs to her, much surer on his feet being a six-foot tall beanpole with no baby bump upsetting his balance. He takes Freya’s arm and guides her across the slick ground and safely back towards the car. The wind whips their words away before I can catch what they’re saying. Whatever it is, it has stolen their smiles. Miles forgot the rings, I bet.
With her free hand, Freya holds up the hem of her ruched gown as she approaches the car door. Instead of helping me out, she slides in beside me in the space my dad vacated.
‘Aubrey…’ Her voice cracks. Worry flashes over her features, then something else. Pity, maybe?
‘What? What is it?’ My eyes drop to her belly. ‘Are you…? Do we need to go to the hosp— Is the baby coming?’ That would explain her urgency in trying to run in heels in the inclement weather.
Freya shakes her head. Grips my hand and squeezes hard like she needs to cling on tight for whatever she’s about to tell me, as if I might float away. ‘No, no, it’s not the baby. It’s Miles. He’s not here.’
‘What? Where is he?’ My mind goes to wardrobe malfunctions. A car accident on the icy roads. Perhaps he left his vows at home? That would be a very plausible Miles thing to do. But deep down I sense the truth, and it’s not good.
In fact, it’s very, very bad.
Freya swallows hard. ‘Apparently, he was here, but he left about ten minutes ago, in a bit of a state. He told his parents that he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want to… get married. He thinks maybe he’s rushed into the relationship and it’s all moved too fast.’
My head is going to explode. ‘I did tell him he was rushing things but he insisted on marriage – he did! What the actual hell.’ Mortification colours me scarlet. ‘And he’s waited until now to share this?’ My blood pressure spikes. Rage and shame fight for supremacy but shame wins the race. How utterly humiliating. ‘Is he really not coming back?’ My voice comes out strangled.
Freya gives me a slight nod as if not trusting herself to speak either. This whole situation almost feels like a practical joke – albeit a distasteful one.
Aren’t jilted brides just fodder for romcom movies? Films starring Julia Roberts and Adam Sandler?
It’s all so familiar, like I’ve heard this song before. None of my relationships ever go the distance and I’m clueless to what I do wrong, but it must be me; after all, I’m the common denominator. Gah! I’m not a fan of the whole blame game, but this betrayal… well, it gives a girl the urge to hold up a magnifying glass to herself to look for clues. A jilted bride! You can’t get much worse than that.
‘I’m so sorry, Aubrey.’
I give her a useless nod. I mean, what else can I do or say here? The man decided to run instead of commit to me.
Stupid me thought that I’d finally found the one. As if Cupid, that cherubic little fallacy, had finally shot his arrow especially for me. How could I have been so gullible? I have always been unlucky in love, and this proves it.
No, this can’t be right. There must be another explanation. I find my phone and call Miles. He’s switched his off! I call his best man Leo, who awkwardly confirms Miles has had a change of heart and isn’t up to speaking to me right now. Leo is so apologetic, so concerned, that suddenly this nightmare becomes very real indeed.
A sob escapes Freya. This all feels so strange, like I’m floating outside of my body. Is it the shock? It must be. I’m grappling with what to do next. There’s no guide for this. No one gives you a list of appropriate reactions for when your fiancé abruptly leaves you at the altar. Is this why he’s been so withdrawn recently? He was having doubts. Why didn’t he voice those concerns?
Even my dad, who usually has all the answers, stays glued to the spot like he’s unsure of how to proceed.
