Behind me, Annalise is leaning forward to listen. “So that’s why you switched rings. I knew you weren’t allergic to emeralds.”
This is Wanda’s ring. Magnus didn’t buy it especially for me at all. As I stare at my hand, I feel a bit sick. Then something else occurs to me.
“What Birmingham job?”
“You know. The one he quit. Dad always gives Magnus a hard time for being a quitter. Sorry, I thought you knew.” Felix is eyeing me curiously as loud organ chords from above make us all jump. “Oh, we’re starting. I’d better beetle off. See you in there!”
“Yes, OK.” Somehow I manage to nod. But I feel as though I’m on another planet. I need to digest all this.
“Ready?” Reverend Fox is at the door, beckoning us out. As we arrive at the back of the church, I can’t help gasping. It’s filled with spectacular flower arrangements, and rows of people in hats, and a crackling air of expectation. I can just glimpse the back of Magnus’s head, right at the front.
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 other, 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 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 … ”