son, Paul, the groom, was unemployed, and hadn’t had the haircut that he had promised, and looked a mess. She was painfully aware that her elder son, the cynical Elvis, although he had a philosophy degree from the University of Keele, was also unemployed, there being no vacancies for philosophers at the Job Centre just then, and looked almost as great a mess as Paul.
Liz Rodenhurst, mother of the lovely bride, a year older than Rita but looking ten years younger, was aware of all these things too, but her main emotion as she watched the slow procession was one of irritation with her daughter for having had her beautiful hair cropped short before this day of all days. It emphasized the slight heaviness of her jaw. How perverse the young were. But then it was perverse of Jenny to marry Paul at all. ‘If only I’d had the sense not to advise against it,’ she thought.
The procession had reached the more important guests, first cousins twice removed, second cousins once removed, friends, uncles, aunts with unsuitable hats, Rita’s slightly glazed parents, brothers, mothers, one wishing her son’s hair was shorter, the other wishing her daughter’s hair was longer – was nobody happy on this happy day? Certainly not the Reverend J. D. Thorough-good. Hardly a genuine churchgoer among the whole caboosh.
As Laurence came level with Liz, he gave her a brief glance. ‘What kind of a dash am I cutting?’ it asked.
In reply Liz smiled, a brief demonstration of a smile, indicating to her husband that he was to remember to look happy.
Laurence nodded imperceptibly, then smiled bravely, though not entirely successfully. He was a tall, slim man with cool eyes, handsome in a rather theoretical way, like a drawing of a good-looking man. His hair was receding quietly, sensibly, with impeccable manners. Men considered him a fine figure of a man. Women didn’t.
Ted Simcock nudged Paul, who stepped forward, almost tripping. At the sight of Paul, Laurence’s smile flickered, then fluttered bravely, like an upside-down Union Jack in a stiff, biting, easterly wind. And the sunlight disappeared brutally, as if it had been switched off.
Paul Simcock, the badly groomed groom, was twenty-one, and very nervous. His face seemed to be trying to hide beneath all that hair. His tie was very loosely tied – a compromise which pleased nobody. His inexpensive suit had almost been fashionable teenage wear when he had bought it. Five years later it was a museum piece. He had filled out in those five years, and it barely met around his groin, buttocks, chest and shoulders. He felt as if it had put him on in a great hurry. Buttons would burst and the zip fly open if he so much as gazed at a hard-boiled egg and Danish caviare canapé, and a pint of Theakston’s Best would be out of the question. How he wished now that he hadn’t been so stubborn in refusing his father’s offer of a new suit.
How he wished he hadn’t chosen the uncouth Neil Hodgson as best man.
The organ music ceased. ‘Dearly beloved,’ said the Reverend J. D. Thoroughgood rather severely, as if hinting that they would be more dearly beloved if more regularly seen at church. ‘We are gathered here together in the sight of God …’
‘I don’t believe in Him,’ thought Jenny. ‘I wish we’d done it in a registry office.’
‘… woman in Holy Matrimony, which is an honourable estate,’ continued the vicar, whose own daughter had run off to London seventeen years ago and had never been seen again. Some said he retained the old words in all his services because for him time had stopped at that moment. ‘… instituted of God in the time of man’s innocency …’
Liz Rodenhurst looked round at exactly the same time as Ted Simcock. Her eyes glinted, and Ted, father of the groom, spurned offerer of new suits, turned away hastily and hung on the vicar’s words with exaggerated attention.
Liz smiled.
‘… and therefore is not by any to be enterprized, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites.’
‘No mention of women’s carnal lusts and appetites, I notice,’ thought Liz.
‘… but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly …’
‘Oh I hope so,’ thought Rodney Sillitoe, managing director of Cock-A-Doodle Chickens and close friend of the groom’s parents. ‘I’ll be watching her.’
‘I’ll be watching him,’ thought his wife Betty, who was overdressed as usual. ‘If he lets the side down today …’
‘… for which Matrimony was ordained,’ continued the vicar in his strong, steady, undramatic Yorkshire voice, so unlike those comedy vicars on television which his wife always switched off, though they amused him as evidence of the media’s tiny minds – not that either of them watched comedy or indeed television much, especially since time had stopped. ‘First it was ordained for the procreation of children …’
‘Yes, well,’ said Paul Simcock silently, but half expecting to be heard by God, because under the powerful influence of the devotional atmosphere it seemed possible that He might exist after all. ‘I’m afraid we jumped the gun a bit there.’
‘… the Lord, and to the praise of his Holy Name.’ The Reverend J. D. Thoroughgood’s voice brought a touch of the hard limestone country into this town of the softer plains. ‘Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication.’
‘Sorry,’ said Ted Simcock to his maker, and to his horror it almost came out aloud. His face, always slightly red, as if he overdid things, went even redder. He was a broad, bulky man, with slightly coarse features and fierce shaggy brows. His thick black hair was turning grey. Men didn’t consider him much of a figure of a man. Women did.
‘… that such persons as have not the gift of continency …’
‘All right?’ whispered Rita’s mother, the seventy-six-year-old Clarrie Spragg.
‘Oh aye.’ Percy Spragg’s answering whisper was much too loud, and Rita turned to give her father a frantic, warning glare.
‘… themselves undefiled members of Christ’s body. Thirdly …’
This time it was Ted’s eyes that were drawn to Liz’s fractionally before she gave him an unmistakeably meaningful glance. Laurence turned and saw Ted looking in his wife’s direction, and Ted developed a sudden interest in the magnificent hammer-beam roof. Another burst of sunlight was streaming into the huge old church. The day was improving.
‘Therefore, if any man can shew any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’
The Reverend J. D. Thoroughgood paused dramatically, and swept a severe gaze over the congregation. The sunshine seemed very far away, in another world.
‘Make somebody say something, please, oh Lord,’ prayed Laurence with a fervour that surprised him. ‘Save my daughter from this unsuitable marriage.’
‘I require and charge you both,’ said the vicar, damping Laurence’s brief hope, and the church darkened again as the summer’s day played grim meteorological jests with their emotions, ‘as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement …’
‘I don’t dread it,’ thought Rita. ‘That’s the day I come into my own.’
‘… know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye
