‘On the hour,’ he said, ‘the cuckoo comes out from here—’ he pointed to a small door at the top of the clock, ‘flaps its wings, opens its beak and speaks. Then a dancing couple go round and round and a man chops wood.’

There were gasps of wonder that such a thing was possible.

‘Aren’t you lucky,’ said the mayor, ‘to have such a thoughtful husband?’

It surprised Edith that people waited for her to speak, as if the notion of not speaking was an affectation that could be put away when the occasion demanded. Such as now when rings were to be exchanged.

The priest, a man who looked as if he could pass unseen through the cracks in a wall, puffed himself up.

‘Before we sit down to dine on what I’m certain will be an excellent meal,’ he said, to a low mumbling from the guests, ‘there is the important matter of the exchange of rings. I call forth the bridegroom.’ The butcher stepped forward. ‘I call forth the bride.’

The cabinet maker came up behind Edith and pushed her towards her bridegroom. The butcher was wearing an embroidered coat that had fastened when he was a younger man but now gaped over his belly. The sight of what appeared to be a grizzly old bear taking a faun to be his wife made the company uneasy. The priest took the rings from the cushion on which they’d been placed and blessed them.

‘Do you take this woman to be your wife?’

The butcher, impatient for it to be over, took hold of the ring. ‘I do,’ he said.

‘Do you, Edith, take this man to be your husband?’

Only the ticking of the clock could be heard.

‘Edith,’ said the priest, ‘do you take this man to be your husband?’

The room held its breath.

‘Cuckoo cuckoo,’ answered the clock.

The little bird flapped its wings, the dancing couple went round and round, the woodcutter chopped wood and the butcher stared at the priest.

How many men, thought Edith, are in the pocket of my husband-to-be?

‘I take that to be “Yes”,’ said the priest and the guests clapped, eager for their supper.

‘But she didn’t say anything,’ said Sorina.

‘Quiet,’ said her mother.

The butcher put the ring firmly on Edith’s finger. It was too loose. The one she put on his finger was too small. Make of that what you will, she thought.

‘They will be altered before the wedding ceremony,’ said the butcher. Then, spreading his arms wide, he invited them all to the wedding in two weeks’ time.

Edith sat next to the butcher. The butcher demanded more wine.

‘Why are you women so slow?’ he said.

The men laughed, the women didn’t. The fish was brought in.

I can’t do this, thought Edith. I will not do this.