This can’t be happening . . . it can’t be happening . . . Merrin leant forward in the chair. She felt weakened, her body quite limp, as she stared at the silk toes of her shoes sticking out from beneath the voluminous skirt of her wedding dress. There must have been a mistake . . . he wouldn’t do this to me, he loves me! And I love him! There’s been a mix-up . . . we’ll sort it out . . . it will all get sorted out . . .

‘Yes, thank you. I don’t think I’d know what to say,’ her dad replied.

‘No, wait!’ she called out. ‘Don’t you think we should call him back? I mean, he might be coming after all; the whole thing might just be a terrible mix-up, and then what would everyone say if you’ve sent them home? Don’t you think we should call him? I want to speak to him!’ She was suddenly certain that a phone call could fix this. ‘I do. I want to speak to him.’

‘Of course.’

The vicar moved with some reluctance to the telephone on the oak trestle table and picked up the phone. He ran his finger over the notepad next to it and dialled the number before holding out the phone. She stood and gripped the receiver in her shaking hands, keeping it close to her face.

‘Hello?’ It was the distinct voice of Digby’s mother.

‘It’s me,’ Merrin began without pre-planning or forethought. ‘It’s Merrin.’

‘Merrin.’ There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to call.’

‘I’m . . . I’m at the church and I don’t know what’s going on. I . . . I need to speak to Digby.’ She heard the crack in her voice.

‘Merrin, dear.’ Mrs Mortimer took a deep breath and her words when they came were issued slowly, as if rehearsed. ‘Now, I’m sure this is a rotten day, but you will look back on it and breathe a sigh of relief.’

‘What are you talking about? I just want to speak to Digby, please.’ She was in no mood to listen to his mother; she needed to speak to her fiancé. ‘Please, can you just put him on the phone?’ She was aware of her tone of desperation.

‘I’m afraid he’s not here.’

‘Not there? Where is he then?’

‘I don’t know where he is.’ It sounded like a lie. ‘Probably packing and then heading to the airport. I told him I thought the South of France was a good idea, but I’m not entirely sure.’ Her tone was a little clipped, and whilst it wasn’t lacking in kindness, it suggested it was a done deal. He had bolted.