Despite my determination to take it all in, the service slipped away from me. The walk down the aisle may have been slow, but the ceremony flew by. The vicar spoke about the sanctity of marriage and Paul read that reading from Corinthians about love that’s read out at every wedding. Another hymn followed, one I didn’t know and that, judging by how everyone mumbled along Darius-style, other people seemed less familiar with too.
And then it was time for the vows, Johnny and Tawna looking deep into each other’s eyes as though the rest of us had evaporated and they were the only two people in the place. As Johnny slid the wedding band onto the third finger of Tawna’s left hand, her eyes glistened as brightly as the whopper of a diamond in her engagement ring. They looked so full of hope and as they signed their names on the register I sent the pair of them telepathic messages of support. I will be there for you both, I thought. If you ever need a friend, come to me.
The ceremony drew to a close with a harpist playing an angelic melodious tune. I was partnered with Darius as we filed down the aisle two by two, like animals heading into the ark, as we exited the church, but I kept my distance. Even on a day of love and celebration I couldn’t quite bring myself to forgive his lies.
We formed a guard of honour ready to shower confetti over the new Mr and Mrs Hamilton, Summer jumping up and down excitedly next to me as she clutched a cone of deep-pink dried rose petals. As Tawna and Johnny stepped squinting into the sunshine, petals rained down on them. My friend clutched her new husband’s arm, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen such a wonderful advert for love before. They were besotted with each other, the bond between them so obvious and strong. By the time they passed me, petals were tangled in Tawna’s hair so she looked like a gorgeous flower fairy.
“Happy wedding day!” Summer shouted, throwing a handful of petals.
Johnny held out his hand for a high five, Summer beaming as her godfather’s hand connected with hers.
“That was lovely, wasn’t it?” Max said.
“It was beautiful,” I agreed, as the photographer instructed the guests to congregate in front of the church for one of the few structured photographs – a shot of everyone together surrounding Johnny and Tawna.
“Everybody say cheese,” the photographer barked. We did as we were told.
The flash of the camera dazzled me, stars flickering in front of my eyes. I tried to blink it away but a wave of nausea washed over me. One of my legs buckled, and I was glad I was holding on to Max.
“Sophie? Are you okay?”
“I don’t feel so good,” I admitted, deliberately trying to keep my tones hushed. “Can I keep hold of you?”
Max put a supportive arm around my waist which made me feel more stable. “You look pale. Do you feel sick?”
“I feel a bit dizzy, that’s all. It’s nothing.”
“Maybe you’ll feel better when you’ve eaten. I’ve been thinking about that slow dance you promised me all service.”
That made me smile. “I’ll be fine. Probably just all the excitement.”
“Well, I’m right by your side.”
“Nurse Oakley,” I joked. “And I know all about your bedside manner.”
“I have a very good bedside manner, thank you very much. Whenever you’ve had too much to drink I’m on hand with fluids. And when you had that toothache I was ever so patient.”
“You were. And I was a real misery. I’ve never known pain like it. It felt as though my whole jaw was on fire.”
“You did mention it, once or twice.” He laughed. “But seriously, if you’re not feeling good, let me know. I don’t want you keeling over.”
“I’ll be fine.”
An old-fashioned double-decker bus ferried us to the reception venue, Tawna’s great-aunt reminiscing about how her dad used to drive the exact same buses. They wouldn’t have had the dulcet tones of Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud” playing on repeat though.
The twisty country roads bended and waned, and I peered out of the window at the barren fields to try to distract myself from the pressure that was building in my temples. Max’s hand, firmly placed on mine, reassured me.
I hoped Max was right and that food would sort me out. I’d not eaten all day, no wonder I was tired and emotional. A wedge of wedding cake with a thick layer of royal icing would provide me with a much-needed sugar rush. If only the cake cutting was the first thing that would happen when we got to the venue rather than the welcome line and obligatory canapes.
The bus pulled up outside the venue, a typical country house that belonged in a Jane Austen adaptation. The trees were dressed in a thousand shades of green, the flowerbeds a multicoloured blast. The scenery was, quite simply, beautiful.
“You’re sure you’re all right to stand?” Max checked, before we disembarked.
“Stop fussing,” I said, but I was grateful his hand stayed firmly pressed against the small of my back.
A waiter with a tray of champagne-filled flutes greeted us, and I took one to be polite although I wasn’t sure alcohol was a good idea when I wasn’t feeling at my sparkling best.
Max, picking up on my discomfort, guided me to a table in the wonderfully ornate entrance lobby. The walls were a bright-red that would look hideous in a smaller room but managed to look majestic when contrasted with the dark-wood furniture and golden trimmings. It had an old-fashioned elegance.
“Sit down,” he said, helping me onto a regency-striped chair. “Before you fall down.”
“I’m not going to fall,” I said, but as I lowered myself a wooziness hit. My vision was warped, a darkness closing in around me, and
