Before I Do(3)

“Where are the bridesmaids?” asked the reverend.

Audrey felt heat rising up her neck. What kind of bride shows up to the rehearsal without any bridesmaids?

“One of the two should be here any minute,” she said.

“Reverend!” Debbie called from the back of the church. “This vent on the floor here is causing such a draft. I think we’ll need to block it up somehow.”

The reverend gave a resigned sigh, suddenly looking every one of his seventy-six years, but he graciously put down his order of service and marched back up the aisle to inspect the offending vent. Josh’s father, Michael, held his phone aloft and mouthed to Josh, “I’m just going to check the weather forecast,” which everyone knew was code for “checking in on the test match.”

Josh reached an arm around Audrey’s waist. “Having fun yet? Hey, don’t look so worried—it’s all going to be fine.”

Looking up into Josh’s warm brown eyes, this face that she knew so well, she instantly felt more at ease. This was what this whole weekend was about—her and Josh, Josh and her; the rest was merely wrapping paper.

As if reading her mind, Josh said, “Imagine us here this time tomorrow.” He dropped his eyes to her jeans and white blouse. “I like the dress. Red, bold move.”

“You really think Vivien would have sanctioned a red wedding dress?” said Audrey, feeling herself smile.

Josh was dressed in his usual weekend attire of dark blue jeans and a well-ironed shirt in a pastel hue—today’s choice was pink. He looked good in most clothes, with his broad shoulders and narrow waist, especially with the tan he’d picked up from his recent work trip to Singapore. Josh had been traveling a lot recently. In the three years they’d been together, his career had taken off almost as fast as Audrey’s had stalled. He’d been in the same job since university, steadily promoted up the ladder, given more and more responsibility. Since dropping out of university seven years ago, Audrey had been employed by dozens of different places. Barista, waitress, photographer, receptionist, PA, dog walker—you name it, she’d done it. She was currently working at a theater box office, where the height of her responsibility was knowing the log-in for the online ticketing system and looking after the key for the cloakroom (which she’d currently misplaced).

“Well, you know I don’t care what you wear,” Josh said. “As long as you look like you—and you don’t let your mother draw those frightening eyebrows on you.” He gave a comical grimace and then bent down to kiss her lightly on the nose.

With the air vent inspected and a note made to find a mat to cover it before tomorrow, the reverend hurried back to reclaim his position at the front of the church.

The rehearsal seemed to go on and on. Though Audrey was a central part of it, at times she felt strangely removed. How many brides had stood in this exact spot in the life span of this fifteenth-century church? How many times had Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” been played? How many readings of Genesis, chapter two, verses eighteen to twenty-four? How much of this wedding was unique to Audrey and Josh at all?

It was her own fault. She’d been overwhelmed by the sheer number of decisions to make. Did she want wildflowers or roses? Church ceremony or civil? Band or DJ? What color would the bridesmaids wear? What food would they eat? Audrey knew she could be indecisive at the best of times, so she had ended up asking her mother for help. Vivien had been married five times, so was something of an expert when it came to weddings. But her strong opinions, coupled with Audrey’s indecision, meant Audrey now had a wedding more aligned with her mother’s tastes than her own.

Just as Audrey was reflecting on this, the side door of the church banged open and Clara burst through. Finally.

“Sorry I’m late. What have I missed?” Clara announced, dumping her handbag on one of the pews.

“Thank the Lord, finally someone interesting to talk to,” said Hillary in such a charming, light manner that no one would take it as the insult it so clearly was.

“And this is . . . ?” the reverend asked Audrey.

“My maid of honor,” Audrey said, feeling some tension dissipate as she watched Clara sprint up the aisle wearing a black and white striped jumpsuit with bright orange heels. She ran to give Audrey a hug, jumping up and down in excitement.

“Technically, matron of honor,” Clara told the reverend, “but that makes me sound old and fierce, so I’m sticking with ‘maid.’ Sorry, I had a childcare crisis, but I’m here now, appendage free, and I’m even wearing a proper bra, which is pretty much the highlight of my year. Where do you want me?”

“Here,” said Josh, pulling Clara in to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m glad you’ve arrived. Audrey couldn’t relax without you; I could see her getting jumpy.”

As he released Clara from the hug, there was a loud thud from the back of the church. Everyone turned to see where the noise had come from, and all eyes fell on a small black object now curled in the middle of the aisle.

“Heavens above, what was that?” Vivien cried, her voice pitched with panic.

Josh’s paternal grandmother, Granny Parker, was sitting quietly on one of the back pews, absorbed in a Jilly Cooper novel. If the object had fallen just a foot to the left, it would have landed on her head. She calmly peered over her book at the shape on the floor beside her. As a hardy Yorkshire woman, Granny Parker was not easily rattled. A few years ago, so the story went, she had witnessed a mugging outside the Co-op in Huddersfield. She’d marched straight into the tussle and clunked the aggressor over the head with a plastic bag full of library books. Thanks to Granny Parker’s preference for a chunky hardback, the mugger was rendered unconscious and later held accountable for his crimes.