Isabel Wolff - The Making of Minty Malone

‘What do you expect?’ I said, my heart now banging in my chest. ‘As you know, I’m a) half Irish, and b) a professional broadcaster.’

‘You really get me down,’ he whined. ‘I’ve been trying to put all my doubts about you to the back of my mind, but I can’t any longer, I simply can’t, because I think we’d …we’d …we’d be bound to come unstuck! I’m sorry, Minty, but I just can’t go through with this.’ My jaw dropped. It dropped wide open. I must have looked a picture of cretinous idiocy as I absorbed what he had just said. I glanced at Dad, but his mouth was agape too. And Mum and Helen seemed frozen, in a state close to catatonia. Then Charlie intervened again.

‘Look, do us all a favour, old man. Cut the crap, will you – sorry, Vicar – and just say “I do”, there’s a good chap.’

This seemed to be the last straw, and then that bally wasp came buzzing back.

‘No. No, I won’t,’ said Dom, swatting it away from his per-spiration-beaded face. ‘I won’t say that, simply to please you and everyone else. I’m not a puppet, you know. This is a free country. You can’t make me go through with this. And I won’t. I’m determined to think of myself – at last !’ He turned ninety degrees and faced the gawping crowd. And I could see the fear in his face as he realised how exposed he now was to their contempt. ‘Look, I’m …sorry about this everyone,’ he said, nervously running a finger round his wing collar. ‘I …er …know some of you have come from quite a long way. A very long way away in some cases, like my Aunt Beth, for example, who’s come down from Aberdeen. But, well, the fact is, I can’t do this. I hope you all understand. And once again, I’m …well …I’m sorry.’ Then something of the old Dominic returned, as he felt himself take command of the situation once more. ‘However,’ he went on smoothly, ‘I would like to point out that there is a comprehensive insurance policy in place, which should take care of everything.’ He swallowed, and breathed deeply. And then he looked at me.

‘Look, Minty. It just wasn’t going to work out. I think if you were honest, you’d admit that yourself.’ And then he began to walk away from me, down the aisle, with a very determined air. And as he picked up speed he almost skidded on the highly polished floor, and I actually shouted after him, ‘Careful, Dom! Don’t slip!’ But he didn’t. He carried on walking until he reached the door, his shoes snapping smartly, almost brightly, across the gleaming tiles.

I don’t really remember what happened in the minutes immediately after that. I think it’s been erased from my mind, as one erases unwanted footage from an old video. I do remember trying to recall some comforting or possibly even useful phrases from Nearly Wed , but couldn’t think of a single one, except for the chapter heading: ‘How to Survive the Happiest Day of Your Life’. Apart from that, I think I simply stood there, immobile, clutching my Order of Service. I didn’t have a clue what to do. I just hoped that the camcorder had been switched off. Charlie had run after Dominic, but had come back, three minutes later, alone.

‘He got on a bus,’ he whispered to me, and to Dad and Helen, who had now stepped forward in a protective pincer movement around me. And I found this piece of news very odd, because Dominic loathes public transport.

‘Couldn’t you have chased after him?’ suggested Dad.

‘No, it was a number 11, it was going pretty fast.’

‘I see,’ said Dad seriously. We looked vainly at the vicar but he didn’t seem to know what to do.

‘This has never, ever happened during my ministry,’ he said, a piece of information which did little to cheer me up.

By now, people were whispering loudly in their pews, and many looked distraught. Amber was opening and closing her mouth like an outraged carp.

‘What the hell’s that plonker playing at?’ she demanded in her over-bearing, Cheltenham Ladies way. ‘What a bastard!’ she added, as she clambered out of her pew. ‘What a sh—’

‘Shhhh! Madam,’ said the vicar, ‘this is a house of God.’

‘I don’t care if it’s the house of bloody Bernarda Alba!’ she flung back. ‘That man’s just jilted my cousin!’

Jilted! It cut through me like a knife. Jilted. That was it: I’d been jilted. Amber was right. And it wasn’t a moment’s aberration, because the minutes were now ticking by, and Dominic still hadn’t reappeared. And I could hear another wedding party gathering outside, so I didn’t see how Dom and I were going to have time to make our vows even if he did come back, which by now I very much doubted. And anyway, if there’s one thing I know about Dominic, more than anything else, one constant, immutable characteristic, it’s the fact that once he’s made up his mind to do something, he will never, ever go back.

Dad sat down, and put his head in his hands. Mum and Helen looked equally distraught. And then I looked down the pews, scanning the faces of those who had witnessed my shame. There was Jack, not knowing where to look, and his step-daughters, who were stifling giggles; next to them was Melinda, her podgy hand clapped to her mouth in a melodramatic tableau of shock; and Wesley was tut-tutting away to Deirdre and shaking his head, and Auntie Flo was crying, and no one knew what to say or where to look. But they were all trying hard not to look at me, in the way that nice people avert their eyes when passing the scene of some dreadful crash. And that’s what I felt like. A corpse, lying on the road. Hit and run. I hadn’t been cut. I didn’t have a scratch, but my blood had been spilled for all to see.

By now Charlie and the vicar were conferring agitatedly. Someone would have to decide what to do, I realised vaguely. Charlie took charge. He came up to me, and laid his hand on my arm in a reassuring way.

‘Shall we go to the Waldorf, Minty? Do you want to go?’

‘What?’

‘We can’t stay here.’

‘What? Oh …no.’

‘You see, I don’t think Dom’s coming back and the next party’s starting to arrive. I suggest we all go to the Waldorf, try and calm down, and at least have a little lunch and plan what to do. Do you agree, Minty? Is that OK? Remember, it’s your day. We’ll all do exactly what you want!’

‘Well …yes, why not?’ I said, with a reasonableness that astounded me. I think I even tried to smile.

‘She’s in shock,’ Amber announced loudly. She put her arm round me. ‘You’re in shock, Minty. Don’t worry, it’s only to be expected.’

‘I’m sure everything’s going to be OK, Minty,’ said Helen, taking one of my hands in both hers. ‘I’m sure he’s just been possessed by some temporary …you know …insanity.’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said calmly. ‘Please could someone tell the photographer and the video chap to go home?’

‘What a bastard!’ said Amber, again.

‘Please, madam,’ repeated the vicar.

‘Come on, Minty,’ said Mum. ‘We’re going to the hotel!’ And she and Dad led me out of the church, one on each arm, as though I were an invalid. Indeed, the waiting Bentley might as well have been an ambulance – I half expected to see a blue flashing light revolving on its roof. And the shocked voices of the congregation were drowned out by the voices clamouring in my head. They said, Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?

‘Um …this is a somewhat unusual situation,’ announced Charlie, as we all sat down to our vine-ripened tomatoes in the Waldorf’s Adelphi Suite half an hour later. He nervously fiddled with his buttonhole as he faced the assembled guests. ‘Now, I don’t want to speculate as to why Dominic seems to have got cold feet –’