Rachel Dove - The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street

And what a wedding it was shaping up to be! Every man, woman and dog had been chatting about the nuptials for months, and the moony-eyed public were all rooting for the unlucky lovers to finally say I do, and prove that love really did conquer all. What girl wouldn’t want that? Even the tomboys among the fairer sex still had an odd glistening tear at the thought.

But today, as she stood waiting in the wings of the church, missing her parents, sheltered from the view of the baying press outside, with Cassie moaning about her pale peach silk dress beside her, she was… well… disappointed. It seemed everything in her life had been leading to this point, so why didn’t it feel that way? Why did it feel like an anticlimax? She told herself it was just down to wishing her parents were there with her. More so than anxiety. She was still having flashbacks to the dream she had had the night before, when she was wheeled out into the church, dressed like a whipped-cream meringue, with make-up Gene Simmons would deem ‘troweled on’. She had woken in a deep panic, covered in sweat and in the tight grip of fear. She needn’t have worried, though. With her designer gown, make-up artist and professional hairdresser to the stars, all hired by the Burgess family, she looked more than catwalk-ready.

Maria felt like she had reached into the pretty chocolate box and pulled out a disgusting orange cream. She tried to shake off the feeling she was having. It was just nerves, that was all. She had been waiting for this day for ever, since she was old enough to wrap a sheet around her head and marry her teddy bears. Today was the day, and nothing was going to spoil it, least of all her own silly niggles. She felt a prod and looked around, annoyed.

‘What?’

Cassie was staring at her, fixing her with a look she had never seen on her best friend’s face before, and Maria felt the emotions of foreboding all over again, in stereo.

‘Cassie? What… what is it?’

Cassie swallowed hard and, looking around, Maria noticed they were alone. The other bridesmaids, on the side of the groom, were suddenly noticeably absent, and the vicar was standing there, looking very uncomfortable indeed. Maria’s heart dropped from her chest, nestling in her sparkly ivory court shoes.

‘Cass, what!’ She gripped her bouquet tighter in her hand, causing a calla lily to break from its stem. It fell to the floor between them, and Maria’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the lone bloom.

‘He’s not coming, Mar, I’m so sorry.’ Cassie’s voice was uncharacte‌ristically soft, at odds with her usual ball-busting, divorce-solicitor persona. Maria nodded, and her head kept nodding away.

‘Mar, can you hear me?’ Cassie stepped forward, taking the bouquet from her and dropping it onto a table nearby. Maria kept nodding, sinking into the chair that appeared like magic from behind her. Turning around, she saw the vicar, his hand on her shoulder, a kindly expression on his face. She could hear the murmurs of the congregation outside, no doubt sensing this wedding wasn’t going off without a hitch. In fact, there would be no getting hitched today. Maria’s cheeks flamed and tears started to run down her face. She jumped when Cassie slammed her fist down hard on the table, making her bouquet flip on the wooden surface.

‘That utter bastard! I swear, I am going to staple his nards to the wall!’

Maria wiped at her tears, frowning when her make-up left a smudge on the pristine, white, long-sleeved glove she was wearing.

‘Stay here, okay. I’ll see what I can find out.’ Cass manhandled the vicar out of the door, muttering things about God and angels and pitchforks to him under her breath. ‘Stay put, okay? Don’t come out till I know what’s what.’

Maria nodded to the already-closed door, feeling like her head was separate from her body. It felt like it was floating somewhere, free, above her head like a balloon. Shock. It must be. Either that or she was about to pass out. A beep shook her from her thoughts. Cass’s purse was on the table. Her mobile phone! Maria leaned forward and snatched it up, fumbling through the contents to grab the phone and bring up the call display. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialled Darcy’s number and held her breath. It must be a mistake, Chinese whispers. He was probably stuck in traffic. Last-minute nagging from his mother, perhaps.

He picked it up on the third ring.

‘Hello?’ he asked lazily. He sounded a little drunk even. ‘Hello, who is this? Hello?’

‘Darcy?’ It came out as a cracked whisper. ‘Where are you? Are you okay?’

A tear ran down her cheek and she went to dab at it, trying not to ruin her expensive face paint.

‘Maria.’ It came out of his mouth, just like that. Flat, monotone. No excitement, no rushed explanations, no desperate plea for her to wait for him. He said it like he was disappointed it was her, regretted taking the call from a number he didn’t recognise. Cass and he had never been that close. ‘It’s you.’

‘Of course it’s me! I’m at the church. Are you here yet? The vicar said you’re not coming? What’s wrong?’

At first, she didn’t hear anything, and she thought the call had dropped till she heard the ching of the glass. A sound she recognised. The glass coffee table in their apartment made that noise when she filled his favourite whisky tumbler and set it down next to her glass of wine as they settled down for the evening.

‘I’m not coming, Maria. I’m sorry.’

At first Maria couldn’t decide whether to cry, wail or laugh. The words sounded so absurd, so silly. She half-expected him to start laughing, that laugh she loved to hear. The one that came from his belly as he celebrated another successful prank.

‘Don’t be daft, of course you’re coming. We’re getting married!’

The glass clinked again, hard.

‘I can’t do it, Maria. I’m sorry. I… Mother… we…’

Maria felt her heart break. ‘Darcy, I…’

‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’

The line clicked, and he was gone. She went to press the button, to call him back, to shout, to cry, to ask him why he’d said those things. Why her Darcy, the man who should be nervously passing wind at the altar, chewing the fat with his best man to stay calm, was at home, drinking instead. Leaving the woman he loved sat in a dress, in an imposing church setting. Trapped. Stranded in her very own fairy tale. Maria pushed the phone back into Cass’s purse, throwing it onto the table as she heard her friend’s loud voice coming closer outside.

‘Mate, that best man is a total jackass, I tell you. I almost decked the arrogant swine!’

‘Cass,’ she whispered.

‘He won’t tell me where Darcy is, or give me his number, and apparently his family didn’t even show!’

‘Cass,’ she tried. Harder this time. Fighting to push the words out of her mouth, amidst the mess of her scrambled thoughts.

Her friend turned and knelt before her again. Maria looked into her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the huge lump in her throat. The more she swallowed, the thicker it felt.

‘Cass,’ she tried again, her voice betraying her. ‘Get me out of here, okay?’