Imelda loved the atmosphere of a wedding day,
especially the fashion when everyone makes an effort to spruce up and look
grand. Men seem to be stuck
with suits but ladies can be as extravagant as they dare, and a wedding is one
of those rare occasions when hats can be worn without the wearers becoming too
self-conscious. Imelda’s headgear
was a yellow pillbox number and her adjacent friend Penny sported a crimson
fedora with an enormous spider brooch pinned to the left-hand side. The whole thing was perfect, a
beautifully turned out congregation in a delightful old village church on a
wonderful summer’s day. Perfect,
perfect, perfect, thought Imelda, except for the groom standing up near the altar
waiting for his new bride to arrive.
He was facing away from the pews, straight ahead towards the
stained-glass window of the Resurrection, as well he might.
Charlie MacIntosh was the human resources director for
a large retailing company, successful in his career, fun-loving, wine buff and
general all round good egg, and very, very handsome to boot. He was, as the kids say these days,
fit. There he was on this special
day waiting for his gorgeous wife-to-be.
“She is the luckiest woman in the world, Penny”, whispered Imelda. “The only trouble is, dammit, she’s not
me.” Penny looked at her friend,
grimaced a little and whispered back, “Oh Immy, you are a one. Anyone would think you have the hots
for old Charlie.” Imelda let out a
tiny chuckle to give Penny the impression that she was only joking.
Charlie and Imelda had shared an apartment for a
couple of years, a purely platonic, best mates kind of arrangement. They lived their own lives but
often spent evenings together watching television, listening to music,
occasionally wine tasting and chatting about everything and anything. Imelda had introduced Charlie to a
couple of boyfriends, although she was now free and single, and Charlie had
done the same with his girlfriends.
But his latest squeeze, Helen, seemed to be a bit more special than the
others. She enchanted him and when
she came round for dinner for the first time, Imelda could feel the intensity
of their relationship by watching their body language and eye movements. This pairing was serious.
Imelda had never let on to Charlie that she was
falling in love with him. She
feared rejection and didn’t want to risk upsetting their relationship with the
apartment arrangements and certainly didn’t want to ruin a great friendship. In any case, it was Charlie who rocked
the boat, the night before the wedding.
In the tradition of the husband-to-be and wife-to-be spending their last
pre-wedding night apart, Charlie had opted to stay at the flat. Imelda cooked a spaghetti bolognese and
uncorked the first of a few bottles of Chianti. It was a nice evening.
They talked and laughed for hours and Charlie seemed relaxed. Imelda kept trying to resist any
amorous feelings or any drunken slips of the tongue that might ruin the
night. But when Charlie said:
“Immy, I have something to tell you, something I need to get off my
chest.” Imelda raised her eyebrows
and wondered what was coming next.
Charlie said, “I need to
whisper it in your ear.” Imelda
laughed: “You’re a right Charlie, Charlie, there’s no one else here but us
chickens.” Charlie moved over and
sat down next to Imelda on the sofa.
“I know that but I need to whisper it because it’s a secret and I can’t
say it out loud.” Imelda
waited for Charlie, at last, to declare his undying love for her and then kiss
her for hours. “Imelda,” breathed
Charlie, “Helen, my soon-to-be-wife, has been having an affair.” Imelda recoiled and her head hit the
wooden corner of the sofa. “Ouch! What? Are you mad? Do
you know what you are saying? How
do you know she’s been having an affair?”
“Crikey,” inhaled Charlie, “so may questions but the real question is
should I go ahead and marry her?”
They talked about Helen for a while longer before
Charlie declared that he had forgiven her and that his love far outweighed any
feelings of betrayal. He hadn’t and never would let her know that he knew what
she had done. The wedding would go
ahead as planned, a past indiscretion would be erased as a new future
beckoned. Over coffee at the flat
the next morning, Imelda gave Charlie a friendly hug and wished him good luck
for the ceremony. She felt sorry
for him. But she knew it was none of her business.
The organ heralded Helen’s arrival at the church and
Imelda thought for a cheating two-timing bitch, she looked stunning in every
way. She was indeed the luckiest
woman in the world. As Charlie
waited for her to walk the aisle, he was still staring at the Resurrection
window, maybe thinking that he had risen above a potential disaster.
The service washed over Imelda and she didn’t hear
most of it because her mind was distracted. She was wrestling with her conscience. She was trying to be rational and not
feeling spurned. Yes, she was
jealous but her next actions required a cool head and a huge gulp of
courage. When the minister
addressed the congregation and said:
“If any person
here present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage they should
declare it now.”
As usual, at this point, heads swiveled as people glanced about looking
for any takers but all seemed to be well, except for some movement from a lady
in a yellow pillbox hat. Imelda
stood up and there was an expectant gasp or two from the congregation. Charlie, aware of something going on,
looked around and saw Imelda standing nervously about halfway down the
church. He mouthed “no’ at her but
Imelda took a deep breath and started to speak.
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