Clancy crouched, taking photos from an impossible angle, though, being Clancy, the photos would be perfect too. Last-minute guests were still arriving: Alice Sampson pushing old Pete’s wheelchair — that man was going to live forever — Moira in the most gorgeous pink lace suit, hand in hand with Dr Rogers, ten years younger than her at least. And Gavin walking with a couple of other kids, partly because of her breakthrough in Edinburgh. Oh, and there were half a dozen of the Beards, who still wore beards, even though the 70s were long over, and they still drove their psychedelic Kombi bus . . .

Click!

Another photo, Clancy holding his camera just outside the car window. Scarlett wondered what her face would show, happiness or terror, or maybe she’d blinked at the wrong time . . .

She had come back to where she had begun; she was totally different but still entirely the same, for that helpless child had been strong and independent even if her body had been weak. And Gibber’s Creek had changed too, but not the heart of it, the love and the community.

She was doing exactly the right thing today. Probably. Almost certainly . . .

Mattie got out first, careful of her yellow silk skirt, then Michael. He walked around the car, opened her door, then held his hand out to Scarlett. ‘Ready?’

Definitely, thought Scarlett, standing tall as Mattie and Leafsong held up her train. Old fashioned to have a train, but she was not going to alter Matilda’s wedding dress.

Click!

She had a sudden memory of Michael placing her in her first motorised wheelchair, the first independence she had known. ‘Ready?’ he’d asked, and she’d pressed the button and crashed against the wall, and it had been the most wonderful moment she’d had, just as this was now . . .

They gathered at the doorway, her train now flowing behind her. The organ ceased ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ and began the wedding march, because if you were going to wear rose-embroidered white satin in a church with sprays of wattle at each pew, you may as well go the whole hog and have the wedding march . . .

Click! Click! Click!

Mattie stepped down the aisle. Scarlett had never seen the ten-year-old at any other pace than a mad dash or silent still reflection before, but now, for once, she stepped daintily and steadily, suddenly looking like the woman she would become, deeply beautiful with her dark hair and forest eyes.

Leafsong bent so Scarlett could kiss her cheek, then began to walk up the aisle as well.

Click!

‘Is my mascara running?’ she whispered to Jed.

‘No. You look perfect. I love you, brat,’ whispered Jed as, with another kiss, she proceeded down the aisle, her bouquet held above her bulge. Scarlett blinked. She was not going to cry now. And if Jed did go into premature labour, there were plenty of doctors on hand . . .