The Wedding

  The Wedding

  Lorna Dounaeva

  I ride proudly along the country lane. I’d never ridden a horse until recently. I’ve always been a bit wary of them, with their tombstone teeth and concrete hooves. But I had this dream, where I rode to my wedding on horseback, my white dress billowing out behind me and gardenias in my hair. It was such a beautiful image that I had to act on it. So here I am.

  Trigger is a smallish horse, about 14 hands high, part Appaloosa, part Arabian. His handler, Jen is smitten with him and from the way he keeps nuzzling her, I would say it’s mutual.

  “He is very intelligent,” Jen told me at my first lesson. “And extremely agile, not to mention friendly. Just perfect for a beginner.”

  Jen could barely conceal her scorn when I arrived at the stables this morning, dressed in my beautiful silky white dress with the sweetheart bodice. She thinks this whole thing is ridiculous, but she’s happy to take my money.

  I had thought that mounting the horse would be the trickiest part, but hanging on is proving trickier still. I concentrate on maintaining my balance, keeping my feet planted firmly in the stirrups and a tight hold on the reins. Even with riding boots, it is difficult to sit right in this dress. Who’d have thought it would be so slippery?

  Jen walks along beside me and, every so often, she utters words of encouragement.

  “That’s nice, well done.”

  I’m not sure if she’s speaking to me or Trigger.

  A group of hikers wave to me as they pass by on their way up the hill. I smile and wave back as best I can without toppling off. Deacon and I spent months looking for the perfect venue for our big day. The scenery is stunning: green and mountainous, with barely a house in sight. But all I can focus on is the road. If I don’t look in the direction I’m travelling, Trigger gets tetchy, turning his head and making me wobble. It’s as if he’s annoyed I’m not paying attention.

  I ride down the road that leads past the local pig farm. A young farmhand tips his hat at me. I don’t dare wave back but I offer him a smile. This is my big day and I’m milking it for all I’m worth. I feel like a film star.

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” Jen warns, sharply. “Don’t let your concentration wander.”

  I don’t need her to tell me. I am still very much a beginner, but weekly lessons have strengthened my ability to ride. My muscles ache, as you would expect, but they do not scream with pain as they did the first couple of weeks. I feel alive, my senses heightened by the fresh country air. I can’t believe my wedding day has finally arrived!

  I don’t care what anyone says, this is definitely the best way to travel. Even Deacon tried to convince me to arrive in a horse-drawn carriage, rather than on horseback.

  “So much more practical, don’t you think?” he said.

  That’s what clinched it for me. Weddings are for frippery and excess. If you can’t go over the top for your wedding day, then when can you?

  We round the corner. The church is at the end of the lane. There’s quite a crowd gathered outside, but I don’t think they’ve seen me yet. I shake the hair from my eyes. I decided to wear it long and loose, but I’m beginning to worry about the frizz. If only horses were fitted with mirrors.

  I’m trotting along quite naturally now. Not even thinking about it, really. Maybe I’ll continue to ride after the wedding. I feel sporty and accomplished. And I quite like some of the jodhpurs I saw at the farm shop. I can imagine wearing them with a nice pink body warmer, my hair streaming out under a navy blue hard hat. Maybe I’ll…

  What the…

  Trigger’s ears flick up and his nostrils flutter. There is a vehicle approaching. I can’t see it yet, but I hear an engine in the distance. But instead of slowing down, the vehicle seems to be speeding up, zooming down the lane towards us.

  “Hold on!” Jen warns.

  The car’s headlights make my eyes water.

  I cling on tight as Trigger rears up.

  “Woah, boy! Easy!”

  Trigger’s head comes back down but then he bucks again, and twists to the side. This time, there is nothing I can do. I sail through the air in slow motion and land hard on the ground. I lie flat on my back in the middle of the road, gasping for air. It doesn’t come. I gasp again, flailing like a fish out of water. I’ve never had the wind knocked out of me before, it is a horrible sensation.

  An image flickers like candlelight before my eyes. The driver. I didn’t get a good look. All I saw was a mop of black curls. It was all over in an instant.

  Could it have been Jody McBride?

  My brain works overtime, replaying the scene as I now imagine it. Jody speeding up as she rounds the corner. Jody driving too fast, too close. Who else would come haring down a country lane at such a speed? Who else would flee from the scene of an accident?

  Was it an accident?

  I haven’t seen Jody for over a year. But it would be just like her to reappear now, on my wedding day.

  I am suddenly aware of the horse standing over me. He raises one hoof off the ground. He is thinking about putting his weight on me. I stare at him, but I haven’t got my breath back. There is nothing I can do. He looks deep into my eyes, as if trying to read them, then he leans closer and I smell the hay on his breath. Quick as a flash, out comes his tongue and he licks me, slobbering all over my face. I have never been kissed by a horse before. It brings me to my senses.

  “Isabel?”

  Trigger steps back and turns to munch on the hedge. Jen looms over me, a dispassionate look on her face.

  “Trigger’s OK. Just a bit of a fright.”

  She works with animals for a reason. Her people skills are well below par.

  “Good,” I manage, dizzy from the adrenaline.

  “What about you? Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  I pull myself into a sitting position. Too soon. Everything spins.

  “Did you see what happened?” I ask.

  “Piss-poor driving. I’ve had people drive past too fast before, but this takes the biscuit.”

  “Did you see the driver?”

  But she’s turned her attention back to Trigger, running her hands through his long silky mane and gazing at him as tenderly as you would a lover.

  “We need to report this to the police,” she says with feeling. “They were inches away from him. Would have served them right if he put a hoof through their sunroof.”

  I look at Trigger, but he now seems remarkably calm. Would Jody really do this to us, I wonder. I mean, I’ve no doubt she’s capable of it. But does she bear a grudge against us after all we went through together? I had hoped she had moved on by now.

  I sit in the dirt and wait for the fog to clear in my brain. I feel unnerved but I can’t let it get to me. This is my wedding day. It’s supposed to be the best day of my life. I stare down at my dress, which is now splattered with mud and ripped down one side. I knew there was a risk it would get dirty, but I never thought it would be this bad. Tears of frustration spring from my eyes. All I want now is to make it to the church, but my head is spinning so violently I know I’ll be sick if I stand.

  “Why don’t you tell me about your first ride with Trigger?” I ask Jen. Her whole face lights up.

  “Well, OK then…”

  Some time later, I feel ready to carry on. I clamber to my feet and dust myself down. Yup, it all appears to be working. Just the dress that’s been ruined. But I can’t feel bad about that. I’m lucky, really. I could so easily have been hurt, and so could Jen and Trigger.

  An icy-cold gust of wind blows in my face, and I wrap my stole around me. Stoles are the stupidest garment known to man. Not big enough to be a coat and too big to be a scarf. It won’t hang properly, just drapes unhelpfully from my shou
lders, while more cold wind blows down my neck. I retie it so it won’t fall off, and make my way over to Trigger, to give him a pat.

  “Right, back on you hop,” Jen says.

  “I really don’t think…”

  Her hand goes to her hip. “Isabel, you cannot be a wuss if you want to ride. You have to get back on and show him who’s boss.”

  “But…”

  “No arguments.”

  In the next instant, she’s heaving me up onto Trigger’s back. My legs tremble as I remember the horrifying sensation of being tossed through the air.

  What if it was Jody? What if she’s come back for more?

  “Nice horse,” I say, stroking Trigger’s mane. I hope he can’t hear the fear in my voice. My whole body feels like jelly. But maybe Jen is right. Maybe it is best to get back on. Because if I don’t do it now, I’m not sure I’ll ever ride again, and then Jody wins. I can’t allow that. I swore I wouldn’t allow anyone to screw with me ever again.

  I take hold of the reins and find my balance. It feels OK, but not fun like before. The experience has lost its shine. This was not how it was supposed to be. I look down at my tattered dress. I could be straight out of Cinderella in this. Except I haven’t got a fairy godmother, or a band of mice ready to transform into coachmen. I bite down hard on my lip. I will not cry. I’m about to get married to the most wonderful man in the world. What does it matter what I’m wearing? The main thing is that I’m still here. Deacon and I were meant to be. I won’t let anyone tear us apart.

  I ride on slowly, bumping along. Each hump in the road jars my back. The sky, which was a pale blue when we set off, has turned a magnificent silvery grey, and It has begun to drizzle. Trigger flicks back his hair. I’m not sure how he feels about rain, but I could do without it. It feels as though everything is conspiring against me. Even the weather.

  By the time we reach the church, all of my family and friends have disappeared inside.

  “I need to get Trigger back to the stables,” Jen says, as she helps me dismount.

  “Right,” I say, relieved to have my feet back down on solid ground. I feel as if I’ve just got off a merry-go-round.

  I watch as Jen expertly mounts Trigger.

  “Have a nice day,” she says, and with a tug of the reins, they bound off. Trigger’s tail swishes happily as he trots up the road, leaving me standing alone outside the church. I look around. The photographer was supposed to be here to capture my great arrival on film, but she must have gone inside when it started to rain. Not that I’d want this on camera. I am wet and wretched, my dress muddy and ragged, hair hanging in my eyes.

  All is silent, but for the gentle patter of the rain, and the clip clop of hooves on the road. I look around for help. But there are no bridesmaids waiting in front of the church. Not even my mum, who will no doubt be swooning over Kate’s baby, and hinting loudly about how much she’d like a grandchild of her own.

  I take a deep breath, and walk up the path to the Vicarage, praying there is someone in. Elspeth the Vicar’s wife takes one look at me and ushers me in.

  “You’re in a bit of a state, aren’t you?”

  “Is it alright if I use your loo?”

  “Go ahead. It’s just under the stairs.”

  It has to be the tiniest bathroom I’ve ever seen. The Vicarage was built in the days before people used indoor loos, and this one was clearly squeezed in as an afterthought. I step into the space between the toilet and the sink and peer at myself in the mirror. I do not look anything like all the beautiful women I’ve seen in bridal magazines, with their hair piled high, and their make-up perfectly applied. My eyes are red rimmed and my face is pale. My hair is even more of a bird’s nest than I’d feared. Even a brush isn’t going to rectify this level of frizz. I attempt a smile, but I can’t do it. I’m supposed to feel happy and serene. I have never wanted a cigarette more in my life. I wish I’d never given them up.

  “Your mum’s on her way,” Elspeth calls through the door.

  “Thanks.”

  I splash some water on my face and wash off the streaks of mascara as best I can. When I return to the living room, Elspeth has assembled an armoury of make-up, along with a hairbrush and dryer.

  “Don’t worry, my love,” she says. “You’ll look as good as new in no time.”

  “But what am I going to wear?” I ask in desperation. I stare in dismay at the hideous dress she has on under her apron. Am I going to have to borrow something from this kind, but unquestionably frumpy, old woman?

  She smiles. “Your mum’s bringing her wedding dress for you.”

  Her wedding dress?

  I shudder.

  Any minute, I’m going to wake up and find out this was all a terrible dream.

  Elspeth lays a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry my dear. It’s the parts that go wrong that you’ll remember most fondly when you look back in years to come. You’re going to be a bit late, but I believe that’s traditional.”

  I bite my lip. If only I knew for sure whether my accident really was an accident. Did Jody try to sabotage my wedding day? And if so, where is she now? I picture her, in a wedding dress of her own, veil down. I see her gliding down the aisle, nobody noticing as she slips silently into my place beside Deacon.

  The doorbell jolts me out of my macabre day dream.

  “Your mum’s here…”

  Mum barges in, lugging a huge dry cleaning bag, which presumably contains the dress. She has offered me her dress before. Repeatedly, actually, but I’ve always politely refused. Why would I want to get married in the dress my mum wore to marry my dad? Their marriage barely lasted six months. It’s hardly the greatest omen.

  But now I am glad of it. It might not be my dream dress, but it is a wedding dress, nonetheless. It has to be better than whatever Elspeth has in her wardrobe. I wait impatiently as Mum unzips the bag.

  “These zips,” she mutters, tugging hard.

  “Do you want me to do it?”

  She’s going to tear it at the rate she’s going. I can’t lose another dress.

  “Ah, got it.”

  Mum pulls the dress from its cover. There seems to be so much of it, reams and reams.

  “Here, let me help you into it,” she says.

  “I’ll ring next door and tell them to wait,” says Elspeth.

  “Thanks.”

  I peel off my soggy dress and Mum helps me to slip the other one over my head.

  “Would you like to take a look in the mirror?” Elspeth asks, once we’ve got it done up.

  “Yes please.”

  “You can use the one in the bedroom. Let’s put the light on so you can get a proper look.”

  I stand in front of the mirror and gape. The dress is proper vintage. The beads glisten on the bodice, which is cut low around my hips.

  “It was your Nan’s,” Mum says. “And as you know she and your Granddad were married a good sixty years. And it was her mother’s before that.”

  I stare at her. “You never said.”

  “They got married back in the twenties. You can tell, can’t you?”

  I can’t believe I never gave her a chance. I just assumed the dress would be hideous. My mum’s dress sense is bright and garish, like the canary yellow mini-dress she is sporting right this minute.

  But this is the most beautiful, unique wedding dress I’ve ever clapped eyes on. Exquisite yet bohemian. And so beautifully fitted. My great grandmother must have been as tall as me. I had always assumed my height came from my dad’s side.

  “I love it!” I say, squeezing Mum’s hand. “Come on, I’m ready to get married.”

  “Let me get you an umbrella,” Elspeth says. “You don’t want to get caught in that.”

  I glance out the window. The rain is coming down fast now, pelting down on the windows.

  “Maybe you should wait a few more minutes,” says Mum. “It’s not worth getting soaked again, is it?”

  Elspeth nods. “It’ll probably ease off in a b
it. Shall we have a cup of tea while we wait?”

  “Go on then, if you’re having one,” Mum says.

  “Not for me,” I say. I don’t want to spill tea down this dress. I can’t afford to ruin another one.

  They drink their tea and munch on biscuits as if nothing’s wrong. But all the time, the clock is ticking. It’s now quarter past twelve. Shouldn’t I be getting married now?

  I look out the window, but it’s impossible to see out.

  Elspeth’s phone rings and she takes the call. Her face becomes serious.

  “Something wrong?” Mum asks.

  Elspeth nods. “I’m afraid it’s the groom.”

  “What about him?” I ask.

  “He hasn’t turned up yet. He’s late.”

  “But Deacon’s never late!” I burst out. “I’m supposed to be the late one. I…”

  What if he’s not coming?

  “We don’t know where he’s got to. He’s supposed to be on his way, but we haven’t been able to reach him by phone.”

  I take my phone from my bag and ring him. I wait impatiently for him to pick up, but he doesn’t. It goes through to answerphone.

  “He must be driving,” I reason. But we are staying just a few miles from the church. It doesn’t make sense.

  “Maybe he’s locked himself in the bathroom or something?” Elspeth suggests.

  Mum shakes her head. “I had to go back to the hotel to get the dress. The car park was empty.

  “He must have broken down, then.”

  “Then wouldn’t he walk? It’s not that far. Why hasn’t he rung? And why hasn’t anybody seen him?”

  “I don’t know!” I rest my head in my hands.

  Why is this happening to me?

  Two horrible scenarios play out in my head. In the first one, Deacon is lying unconscious in his wreck of a car and in the second, he’s decided at the last minute that he doesn’t love me. But he wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s not a coward. And getting married was his idea. I’d been thinking about it too, obviously. But he was the one who proposed. And not just on the spur of the moment. He did it properly, with a ring and everything.

  We’re in love. Both of us. Not just me.