Chapter 2
Wedding Day
Mum and the bridal party go ahead in a vintage Rolls Royce. Dad and I take the second car, trailing a few minutes behind them.
‘Are you OK?’ He gives me one of those paternal stare-downs that he’s used my entire life to get me to fess up on my small crimes, like pulling my sister’s hair or hiding her Barbie dolls.
‘I’m OK. I just wish we were marrying in front of our nearest and dearest, not the entire village, in case I fall over on these ridiculous heels and knock out my two front teeth, or mess up my vows. Like, what if I say I don’t, instead of I do? There’s a lot to worry about.’
My toxic trait is to blurt out the most ridiculous things when I’m under pressure. It’s like my mouth speaks before my brain engages, so there’s a very real chance I might let slip an oddity that will raise eyebrows.
Dad gives me a sage nod. He’s circumspect, like those inscrutable detectives on TV who remain stubbornly silent; a silence you can’t help but fill, blurting all your secrets as you go. He’s doing that now, as if he knows I’m not quite being honest with him and he’s prepared to wait me out.
I wring my hands. ‘What if my wedding ring doesn’t fit? What if it slips off? What if the dog Miles doesn’t have ate it! I guess I wish I’d held my ground and kept our nuptials small, but this is important to Miles, so…’
Miles proposed early on, very early on, so this has all moved rather fast, but he, we , felt certain it was time to get serious, grow up. Marriage, house, responsibilities.
‘None of that matters in the scheme of what today really means – a celebration of your love and the commitment you’re making to one another.’
‘Why can’t you tell me I’m being dramatic? I’m making mountains out of molehills. Why do you have to be so wise?’ I laugh. He’s right though; if anything goes awry, we’ll deal with it.
‘You’re not being dramatic, love. It’s natural to feel a gamut of emotions on your wedding day. Miles has invited hundreds of people, while he gets to wait safely at the other end of aisle, wearing flat shoes that grip to the earth. Blame the patriarchy,’ Dad jokes.
‘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.
‘There’s one other… problem.’ Freya gulps. ‘Rox saw red and has stolen one of the guest’s e-scooters. She’s on her way to Miles’s cottage.’
‘Oh, God,’ Dad says, clutching his head. ‘It’s very likely that she will kill him.’ Suddenly galvanised, Dad sprints into the church, perhaps to pray that Rox doesn’t catch up to the runaway groom, or possibly that she does. Jury is still out on how Dad’s feeling at the minute.
While my sister and I bicker like children, we stick together through thick and thin.
Yes, we might torment each other – but that doesn’t mean anyone else is allowed the privilege.
Rox is fiercely protective of her family, but I do worry there’s a little too much homicidal maniac languishing just under the surface, and any excuse will do to act on those urges.
Right now, I’ve got bigger things to worry about, like being on display as guests wander from the church and swing their confused gazes squarely at me. Great, now I have an audience to witness my humiliation.
I can imagine the whispers around the village: Poor boy left that travel-obsessed Aubrey at the altar, so her crazy sister ran him over with a stolen e-scooter and now he’s missing a leg! Those girls need taking into line. No wonder he changed his mind, family like that!
Wait, no! Miles doesn’t get to be dismembered to avoid the blame!
I fumble for my phone and call my sister, who answers on the first ring.
‘I’m almost at his place. I’m going to take great pleasure in hurting him, like he hurt you, Aubrey!
’ Her words come out breathless, choppy, as if she’s riding a wave of adrenaline.
Oh God, she is going to kill him! Let’s just say she’s never taken to Miles; well, except that one time she literally took to him with a hammer after a slight misunderstanding between the pair, and ever since then, Rox has been leery of the guy. Was she right about him all along?
‘Please don’t, Rox.’ My little sister strikes me as the type who’d enjoy a bit of bloodshed now there’s a reason to warrant it.
The very last thing I need is this to blow up into a grievous bodily harm charge.
Part of me hopes this is just a kneejerk reaction and Miles will be right back, red-faced, full of apologies.
But isn’t his desertion unforgivable? ‘Let him run away like the fool he is!’ I cry.
‘What!’ she screeches. ‘Where’s the fun in that? No, he needs to pay for his crimes. I want to manslaughter him.’
I gasp. ‘This isn’t manslaughter, Rox. This is premeditated?—’
‘Slaughter all the toxic men who dare hurt women. Man-slaughter the man-splainer!’
‘Oh right. I see the difference.’
While I wouldn’t mind him suffering a spot of pain right now, any retaliation will paint him as the victim and I need answers first. What if there is a valid reason?
But then why isn’t he talking? Nothing makes sense!
‘And he will pay, Rox, but if you hurt him, which you’re very capable of, he then becomes the wronged man, and everyone will be sympathetic towards him.
Let’s be clear, he doesn’t deserve that! ’
How am I thinking so straight? Why aren’t I curled up in the foetal position? I suppose all that’s still to come. Unless I escape.
Is there a town in this big wide world that has zero men in it? If not, I’ll make one. A community of jilted brides. We’ll burn effigies of cowardly men and?—
‘How would anyone in their right mind be sympathetic towards him? I’m not planning on killing the snake, just maiming him a bit, for crying out loud!’
Maiming him! How to convince her, and fast?
‘Mum and Dad live here too. They don’t want to face any blowback, Rox.
They’d never live it down. Wouldn’t it be better to hurt him in, say, a year or so when no one will connect those dots back to you?
’ Buying time is the best I can do for the damn man in the hopes her anger will wane.
Rox is quiet while she contemplates it. ‘You’re right. He is the type who’ll press charges. A future stealth attack is much smarter. Fine, this calls for plan B then.’ With that she abruptly hangs up.
‘What’s she doing?’ Freya asks, peeking out through her hands as if she doesn’t really want the details. Probably wise.
I shrug helplessly. ‘Plan B.’
When the stragglers by the church doors become a crowd and a few break off and make their way towards the wedding car, I’m spurred into action.
There’s no way I’m having a conversation with these people before I’ve talked to Miles.
Mum and Dad are still inside, probably with Miles’s parents, so I leave them to it.
I call to the driver, who doubles as the local postman, and now has a front-row seat to this disaster show. ‘Can you take me home please?’
‘Sure.’