Black Diamond (39 page)

‘You’re kidding.’

‘That’s the way it always seemed to me. You’re the one she admires. Anyway, she’s getting a little better.’

‘I hadn’t noticed. Did you hear what she said about the hat?’

‘I hope you’re going to wear it.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with it except that it’s ahead of its time.’

‘That’s enough.’

‘I like it,’ she said.

The preparations, the nerves, the waiting and worrying were beginning to remind Sandra of the time leading up to a long plane flight. She kept running to the bathroom and at the same time feeling thirsty. She was drinking one glass of water after another.

When at last she stood outside the church, with her veil down and her hand on her father’s arm, she was so dizzy with anticipation that she was close to fainting. Her knees felt as if they weren’t going to work. Her happiness became almost indistinguishable from terror. As she thought of Roy, who would be standing by the altar with Eric, she couldn’t remember what he looked like. A wave of sickness passed over her. She was marrying a man she didn’t know; this was like the weddings in other parts of the world, where the couple were committed and married to each other before they were fully acquainted.

She was even a stranger to the ground she stood on. She’d been inside the building – a place for ceremony and public spectacle – only twice before. She was wearing a dress that seemed less like clothing than like a theatrical costume or a kind of location in which she was hiding, disguised from anyone who might be looking for her.

A silence fell. Then the organ started up again. Heads turned around to look. Her father patted her hand. ‘Easy does it,’ he said. She squeezed his arm. They began the long, slow walk down the aisle.

On both sides people leaned forward to look. She was grateful for the veil; although it might not hide her face completely, at least it formed a space between her and the rest of the world. Her cheeks felt tight and burning; they might almost be on fire. Her father sauntered along as if he were out for a ramble in the country. She was filled with affection for him. She regretted the fact that she hadn’t gone home more often after moving away to
join the office. And now she’d be married and her time wouldn’t be her own.

As she passed by, she saw everyone without being able to understand what she was looking at. The only people she seemed to recognize were her mother and sister, who were sitting with their arms around each other. Both of them were crying and her sister was wearing the hat.

They reached the others. She was looking at Roy. Her father handed her over to him. All at once she was glad of everything: the strangeness of the dress, the presence of the crowd behind her, the fact that her friends and family were there to see the moment when her life joined with other lives to begin a new family. And, above all, she was happy that she was being married in a church. Religion was forever: everything else was only temporary.

Reverend Eustace began to speak. All the stages of the ceremony went as they had rehearsed it. When she was
supposed
to respond, she was pleased at how firm and audible her voice sounded.

The time came for the business with the ring. Her head turned. Was Eric going to drop it? Had he lost it? No. He stepped forward smartly, like a little soldier on parade, presented the ring and retreated. The blessing came next. And another handover. Roy had the ring: he took her hand. She knew that her hands would be slightly hot and swollen, but she had already mentioned that that might happen. If she just relaxed, there was no reason why the ring shouldn’t fit. She looked down until it had slid over the first joint of her finger, then her eye was caught by Eric. He had moved from where he was supposed to be. He was craning his neck to see everything. On his face was an emotion she found – from behind the veil – hard to decipher, although it seemed familiar. His eyes were lowered, his posture was one of someone who waits, not patiently nor with excited expectancy, but with mesmerized satisfaction. A little smile had begun to move across his lips, changing his expression by imperceptibly accelerating degrees from the ordinary to the extraordinary, so that as she felt
the ring pushed fully on, she was aware of him standing now nearly in front of her, his concentration directed wholly at her and an almost sightless look on his face: rapt, transcendant, sublime.

Rachel Ingalls grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts. She has had various jobs, from theatre dresser and librarian to publisher’s reader. She is a confirmed radio and film addict and has lived in London since 1965. She is the author of several novels and collections of short stories.