The Reverend Pimm walked slowly towards her, stopping once and clasping his hands in front of him. She smiled at the man who had given her and Digby lessons in married life once a week over six weeks. They had sat side by side in his study and he had asked questions she knew they couldn’t get wrong, because she loved the boy and only had to tell the truth. His words were fresh in her thoughts.

‘Communication is key to everything. It’s vital you are able to speak your mind and say how you feel. Not every day will feel like your honeymoon; there will be days when compromise will be the order of the day.’

Digby had laughed, reached over and squeezed her hand.

‘Hi!’ she mouthed, and pulled an excited face at the vicar.

It was only as he drew closer that she could see he wasn’t smiling. He looked, to steal a phrase from Ruby, shit scared . . . Merrin wondered if he might be feeling ill.

‘You all right, Vicar?’ she asked brightly. ‘You’re a bit pale.’

‘Am I . . . ? Oh yes, yes, I’m quite well, almost. I mean, I’m not ill, no.’ His flustered response caused snickers from her bridesmaids.

‘Good luck, Merry!’ came a call from the church gates. ‘Ooh, we’re running late, had to wait for the post van! Sorry, Vicar! But as long as we’re in before you, that’s all that matters, love, isn’t it?’ Mrs Everit from the village shop called out as she hurried up the path to the church wearing a large straw hat and her Sunday-best dress; behind her, her husband tripped as he tried to keep up while also tying his navy-blue tie.

‘Thank you, Mrs Everit, Mr Everit, and no worries. See you both later!’ Merrin waved.

‘Have you got the nerves, Vicar? Must be quite an occasion for you – not every day we get a wedding like this in Port Charles, eh?’ Merrin’s dad stood tall, smoothing the lapels of his morning coat and pushing out his chin, shining with pride and giving no hint of the discomfort he had complained of earlier in the day.

The Reverend Pimm stepped forward and placed his hand on her arm. ‘Merrin, I need you to come with me.’ His eyes held hers and his tone was kindly.

‘Oh, I thought I waited here with my dad and the girls until I heard the music and then walked in, like we practised.’

The vicar swallowed and nodded slowly. ‘There’s been . . .’ He looked skyward, as if this was where the inspiration, divine or otherwise, might lurk. ‘There’s been a change of plan.’