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She hadn’t seen this coming.
Polly, don’t say it.Another voice in her head, stronger. Sabrina’s voice.
The registrar tried again. ‘Polly, do you?’
‘No.’
It was odd because she felt the word leave her mouth, but it seemed to come from someone else and the effect it had was far greater than the sum of its two letters. The room was sucked into a vacuum. There was no sound at all for what must have been moments, but felt like minutes.
Ward’s boom of a whisper. ‘Did she say no?’
The registrar was looking at her, waiting for clarification.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ said Polly.
She tugged her hand away from Chris’s, turned and walked at speed between the seats to the door. She must have dropped the bouquet because she wasn’t holding it by the time she got there, only her loaded handbag that she was gripping for dear life. She launched herself from the room, needing outside air and needing it fast, and there was no chance of that with those heels on. She kicked them off, pulled up her frock and charged forwards, ignoring the people who turned to stare, ignoring everything but the large front doors at the end of the corridor.
She blasted through them, out into the midday brightness,her legs propelled by desperate energy. She headed down the stairs like Cinderella trying to beat the clock and to where Stanley said he would be waiting. She could see him standing talking to a taxi driver, taking in the sunshine. He noticed her and waved, his smile closing by degrees as she approached him like Zola Budd with her shorts on fire.
She clambered into the back of the limo and Stanley followed her lead and got into the front with similar urgency.
‘You all right, love?’ he said.
‘Please just drive,’ she said. ‘Take me to where you picked me up from.’
Stanley twisted the key in the ignition and set off. Through the window, Polly could see Chris at the top of the town hall steps looking around for her. There was a flash of plum behind him. She ducked down.
‘Not to Maltstone Old Hall then?’ said Stanley.
Oh god, the pink lamb reception at Maltstone Old Hall she’d thought was for Camay and Ward. All that waste. Chris would go bananas. Then she herded her thoughts together; she had bigger fish to fry than bemoaning a load of bruschettas and cake going in the bin.
Polly felt her eyes begin to leak. She wasn’t crying, just leaking, as if she had so much pressure inside her that her eyes had decided to take on the job of being the safety valve.
‘There’s some tissues in the door recess,’ said the chauffeur, glancing at her through the rear-view mirror. ‘Would it help if you told me what happened?’
Polly found the tissues and blew her nose, which had also decided to be a safety valve.
‘I turned up thinking I was the bridesmaid and I wasn’t, I was the bride,’ she said, her throat clogged with mucus.
‘Really? Oh bloody hell.’ Stanley said. ‘That’s… that’s quite the surprise. You didn’t have a clue?’
‘Not one.’ Hercule Poirot’s job was safe.
‘And… I’m gathering you… didn’t… erm…’
‘I’m all packed up to leave him tomorrow,’ Polly replied, wondering why she was telling a complete stranger all this. Her mouth, it seemed, was also acting as a safety valve.
Stanley was quiet for a short spell, then he said, ‘It’s a funny sort of thing to spring on someone.’ He gave a pained laugh. ‘I mean, I would have thought that a bride would want to plan her own day. And you’d have to be pretty positive that your partner would be up for it before you went to all that trouble.’
Precisely. What the hell had possessed Chris to think this was a good idea?
On the town hall steps, Ward had just asked his wife this same question, after she’d spoken to the photographer who’d been waiting in position to capture the newly wed Mr and Mrs Barrett and crew with his fancy camera.
‘I did express my doubts at the time when you suggested it to him,’ he said. He sighed, thinking about that pink lamb which had been his contribution and how now he wouldn’t get to have any of it.
‘Did you now?’ said Camay, arms akimbo, determined not to be blamed for this fiasco. ‘You must have whispered it then because I never heard you.’
‘You did put the idea in his head,’ said Ward. ‘You said it would make things right after what happened last year.’
