So, picture this: at the wedding, my future motherinlaw, MrsMargaret Clarke, drops a bomb right in front of everyone and walks out.
Lydia, youre worthy of my son! she declares, all smug. I told David to marry a London girl they know their worth, they know how to carry themselves unlike our little country girls, God help us. Take my neighbours daughter, Poppy she goes on dates in joggers, can you believe it? And you you look like youve stepped out of a magazine!
I smiled. My dress was indeed lovely cream silk, bought just for this occasion.
Margaret kept babbling, praising my taste, my manners, even how I held my tea cup. In her eyes I could see the pure delight of finally having her son bring home a proper girl.
Davids absolutely mad about you, she whispered conspiratorially, leaning in. He called yesterday, asked what ring to get for the engagement. I told him, dont skimp, lad a girl like you comes only once in a lifetime!
A knot tightened inside me, but I kept smiling. Everything was going according to plan.
A month ago Id rolled into this tiny market town with one purpose. I landed a job at the local advertising agency; with my London experience they practically threw me the keys. I rented a flat in the centre, furnished it with a touch of the capitals chic after years in the city Id learned a thing or two about interiors and then began the hunt.
Meeting David turned out to be a piece of cake. At a colleagues party, I was in a black dress with an open back. The successful businessman couldnt ignore me.
Are you local? he asked, handing me a glass of sparkling wine.
From London, I replied, giving him a slightly narrowed, appraisallike look. I needed a change of scenery the capital is a whirlwind.
His eyes lit up. A London girl was a trophy for a lad like him. From the first moment I played my part to perfection a touch spoiled, but not over the top; independent, yet letting him court me; smart, but not so sharp as to outshine his provincial shine. I knew which restaurants to pick, which compliments to accept, which gifts to reject the first time and accept the second.
Two weeks in and he was completely charmed. Three weeks later, headoverheels. A month after that, he popped the question.
Ellie, he said, I know youre used to a different lifestyle, but Ill make sure you never want for anything a house, a car, holidays, whatever you dream of.
I looked at him and thought of Sophie.
My little sister had moved here three years earlier for a placement. She fell for the local king, the handsome David. He took her out to restaurants, sent flowers then vanished. He stopped answering calls, pretended not to know her when they met. When Sophie later found out she was pregnant and told him, he blocked her everywhere.
She gave birth to a son, named Arthur. She held on for six months, then she was gone. Postnatal depression, despair, no support the doctors tossed around fancy terms, but in plain English it was betrayal that drove her to the grave.
David, I said, extending my hand for the ring, I accept.
Margaret adored me more and more. I became her dream daughterinlaw: educated, wellmannered, from a good family a backstory Id crafted in advance.
The wedding will be fabulous! she gushed. Well invite at least two hundred people! Let the whole town see what a bride my David has found!
I nodded, discussing the menu, the dress, the hall décor. David beamed, his mother floated on cloud nine. I counted the days to the big day.
A week before, I demanded a proper diamond engagement ring.
Ellie, weve already spent so much David began.
Much? I raised an eyebrow. If thats a lot for you, maybe we should rethink our plans. Im not one to skimp on the important things. In London men give their brides real jewellery, not costume pieces.
He bought a platinum band set with a flawless stone, just as Id specified.
And then the wedding day arrived. A Saturday, gorgeous weather, two hundred guests including the mayor, Davids business partners, local press I stood in front of the mirror, wearing the cream silk dress Margaret had chosen, a veil, a bouquet of white roses.
Music drifted from the live band hired from the county hall, laughter and clinking glasses filled the room. Everyone waited for the happy bride to appear.
David stood in a black tux, shining, a whiterose boutonnière pinned to his lapel. Behind him, Margaret beamed. Down the aisle, my bridesmaids in matching pink dresses, a photographer with his camera ready, a videographer, a couple of journalists.
Ellie, youre stunning! Margaret shouted, over the hum. The whole town will see our London princess! Girls, did you see? She truly is a beauty!
David stepped toward me, reaching for my hand, but I stepped back.
Ellie? he asked, noticing my pallor. Is something wrong?
I slowly pulled the veil off and flung it onto the floor. The white fabric fell at his feet like a crushed cloud. I slipped off my highheeled satin shoes and placed them neatly against the wall.
Ellie, what are you doing? The guests are waiting! The mayor came especially! The whole town is here! Margaret gasped.
Everythings in place, so perfect, I said, unbuttoning the top of my dress to breathe easier. Now comes the show. Free of charge. And very instructive.
Love, youre scaring me, David tried to smile. Whats happening?
Love? I laughed. A cute word Remember who you called love three years ago? Catherine S a twentyyearold student from London. You invited her to work with you, she fell head over heels. You showered her with flowers, restaurants, promises then you played games and left her. When she told you she was pregnant, you blocked her everywhere.
The room fell silent. Journalists, sensing a headline, readied their recorders.
What, you dont remember? I smirked. Let me refresh you. Redhaired, freckles, naïve to a fault. You met her back in the capital, took her under your wing, then tossed her aside. She gave birth to your son, Arthur. She tried to raise him alone for six months, then she couldnt cope and took her own life.
Davids face turned deathly pale, his ears flushed.
Where did you get that he started hoarsely.
From a camel, I replied, gesturing at the stunned crowd in the corridor. Thats my little sister, David. She gave birth to your son you have a threeyearold son. She tried to manage on her own for half a year and then gave up on life.
Oh my God Margaret clutched the doorframe.
Yes, Margaret, pray to whatever you like! I turned to her. Your wonderful son buried my sister!
Ellie! I I didnt know David tried to regain control. If only Id known about the child
Youre lying! I snapped. She called, she wrote! And you you acted like a
The bridesmaids in pink huddled together, the photographer kept snapping. Oh yes, tomorrow this town will get the juiciest news.
So, dear guests of this aborted wedding, I said, now almost cheerful, all this romance, courting, engagement was a performance. A stage for my sister, for Sophie, whos no longer with us.
I walked past them to the exit, stopped in the doorway, and faced David.
Imagine being in my sisters shoes. How does it feel to be abandoned, disgraced, cheated on when you were giving your all? She raised a child alone, you walked away with only shame and a dent in your wallet. Consider yourself lucky.
Leaving the venue, I could hear the murmur of two hundred guests buzzing about the wedding that never happened.
