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prologue
Audrey, barefoot and in shock, stumbled out of the church, alone. Gripping the hem of her white silk dress, she lifted it away from the damp paving stones of the porch. She had kicked off her shoes at the altar, unable to run in three-inch heels, but without them, the wedding gown was exactly three inches too long. Stepping into daylight, she was greeted by a brilliant flash. She blinked and then looked in confusion at the photographer’s assistant, a gangly man in his early twenties with a slicked-down fringe. Why was he taking a photo now? Why was he even out here? The service wasn’t due to end for another twenty minutes. Her heart pounded in her chest; she couldn’t think clearly. What would happen now?
The photographer stood frozen to the spot – his Olympus camera held aloft. As they locked eyes, she shot him a questioning frown, then watched his expression change from concentration to concern as he took in her shoeless state, her smudged eye make-up, and finally the rising red lump on her left temple. Audrey followed his gaze down to her toes, protruding from beneath the dress. Her nails had been painted a rose hue called ‘Pinking of You’. She’d found the name funny at the time.
‘Audrey, why are you out here?’ came a voice from behind her. She turned to see Paul, the best man, and her close friend. He had followed her out of the church. ‘You should go back inside.’
‘I’m fine,’ she whispered hoarsely. She didn’t want to be in the church.
Audrey could hear sirens. Blue lights flickered in the distance. Wedding guests started to spill from the church behind Audrey and Paul now. Her almost mother-in-law, Debbie, could still be heard wailing from within. Then the paramedics were at the gate.
‘He’s in there,’ Audrey said, needlessly pointing towards the church door.
Two men in green uniform ran with a stretcher down the gravel path between the crooked gravestones. One gave her a sympathetic nod as he passed.
Paul was still in best-man mode, giving people instructions, ushering people out of their way. Noise and chatter and confusion filled the space that had been still and silent only moments before.
Audrey lifted a hand to her forehead, her head spinning. She felt the scene playing out at the wrong speed; one moment everything looked slow, the air taking on a treacly quality, all motions laboured and delayed. The next, everything zipped by, faces whipping around, voices rapid, like a tape on fast forward. She saw her stepfather, Brian, walking towards her in slow motion. She couldn’t talk to him. She couldn’t talk to anyone. Her eyes darted from left to right, as she looked for somewhere to go. She let the wind take her, around the side of the church, the soft ground wetting her feet, her broken bouquet trailing in her hand.
Audrey found a small patch of woodland between the churchyard and the road that ran through the Millward estate. She sat down on the ground with her back against a tree, not caring about the damage it might do to her white gown. Now that she was alone and still, the pace of real life was restored, and Audrey finally had a moment to think. Had it been inevitable that it would end like this? Where had everything started to go wrong? Had it been at eight minutes past eight last night, at the rehearsal dinner? Or had today’s events been set in motion many years before?
