Substitute Bride

The church was a quaint little sandstone building standing on a gentle green hill overlooking the sea. On the noticeboard at the gate a rather faded sign bore the text ‘FEED MY LAMBS, FEED MY SHEEP’, which seemed particularly appropriate, since a couple of merino ewes had escaped from a nearby paddock and were nibbling the grass that grew in lush clumps around the weathered gravestones.

If she had not been so agitated, Laura would have been enchanted by the pink frothy blossom which covered the cherry trees in the rectory garden next door and by the drifts of daffodils that tossed their heads beneath the bare oak trees. As it was, she felt as if she were being led off to execution as James put his arm around her shoulders and escorted her relentlessly up the path to the rectory door. A chubby, balding man with pink cheeks and thick horn-rimmed spectacles answered their second ring and beamed at them.

‘James, good to see you! And this is the bride, is it? Nice to meet you at last, Beatrice. My name’s Bill Archer. I’ve known young Sam since he was pinching the apples from the trees in my orchard during his school holidays, and it couldn’t give me greater pleasure than to be officiating at his wedding. I gather he couldn’t be with us today, though?’

‘No,’ said Laura in a wan voice. ‘There’s an airline strike.’

‘It’s all right, though,’ added James in velvety tones. ‘I’ve offered to stand in instead. I think Beatrice ought to have this final chance for quiet contemplation about the meaning of holy matrimony.’

The vicar looked taken aback.

‘Er, well, yes,’ he agreed, tugging at his earlobe. ‘And to get the hymns right and that sort of thing too. Christine, my dear! We’re just going over to the church to run through young Sam’s wedding service. Why don’t you come with us?’

Laura had thought the agony couldn’t get any worse, but once she found herself inside the church she realised she’d been wrong. The building itself was beautiful, with its stained glass windows sparkling in the sun, its gleaming wooden pews smelling of lemon furniture polish and the fresh flowers that decked the altar. If she’d been going to be married, she couldn’t think of a nicer place to do it than this. But within the next five minutes she began to feel as if she were in a torture chamber as the other participants in the rehearsal gradually assembled. While the vicar made the necessary introductions she looked around her as despairingly as if she were a hostage in the clutches of a gang of terrorists.

‘All right, Bea, you’ve met my wife Christine and myself. Now, the lady in the green is Audrey Phillips, our organist, and behind her is John Timmins, who is going to be the best man. That leaves Peter Clark, my sexton, who won’t be taking part in the actual ceremony but has very kindly offered to give you away just for today, since James, who is going to have that privilege at the real wedding, is otherwise occupied at the moment. Now, have we forgotten anyone? Oh, dear, that’s awkward! We don’t have a bridesmaid, do we? What a pity your sister Laura couldn’t be here!’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ agreed Laura faintly.

‘Oh, I’ll take her place,’ offered the vicar’s wife. ‘Now, let’s get started. Go and stand on the chancel steps, Bill, and tell them what you want them to do.’

‘It’s not too difficult. Once Audrey strikes up the “Wedding March”, you take Peter’s arm, Bea. Make a slow procession down the centre aisle, so everyone can have a good look at you, and when you arrive here the bridegroom will step forward to meet you. You both face me and the father—that’s Peter—will move a little to the left and the best man to the right. You hand your flowers to the bridesmaid and we go ahead with the ceremony. Has everyone got that?’