by Sarah Tucker
And I say: ‘I don’t. I’m sorry, Paul. I don’t.
‘I don’t because it’s not right. It’s not the right time and I’m not the right person. It’s not right. I love you and I let you go now because I do. Because I love you, I let you go now. I let you go because I am not good for you at the moment, and you are not good for me. Because you will grow to resent me, as you have already done. Because you are too controlling and you would make me more free-spirited and I would make you more stern and set in your ways. And we are opposites and would push each other to extremes. And I have and would continue to make you unhappy, and you me.
‘But I love you, and everything before the “but” doesn’t matter. But it does in this case. On this day. In front of these people. At this moment it matters a lot. And I should have told you before, but I am telling you now, so you don’t have to explain to any of these people here, who bear witness, friends, family, acquaintances, hangers-on, people I’ve never met before and will doubtless never meet again. I love you, Paul O’Brian, but I can’t marry you. Not until I love myself. And I don’t. Not now.’
I turn. I’m not the actress on the stage any more. I’ve not read from the script. I’m not reading from the script any more. This is not supposed to happen in the fairytale, but it was never my dream. This was not in the game plan. Never on my action lists. Never my story, my life.
I don’t look at the faces at either side of me as I walk down the aisle. I am vaguely aware of shapes moving in the background but know, somehow, no one is chasing or following me. And I realise no one in the congregation knows the real me anyway. I don’t look back. I just walk very slowly, without the music, to my own pace, at my own time, not knowing where I will go, only knowing that I must. And that the honeymoon is over.
I walk out of the church. The driver in the car is leaning against the bonnet, eyes closed, soaking up the warm Indian summer rays. I walk up to him, tap him on the shoulder. He looks startled.
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Not getting married today, then?’
He sounds as though he’s had this happen to him before.
‘No, not today. Not to this man, not today.’
‘Well, better now than later. That’s what I say. Can I take you anywhere, love?’
‘Could you just drive for a bit?’
‘Sure.’
He opens the car door and I get in. I don’t feel cheated I’m not a Mrs Somebody and don’t have a wedding ring on my finger. Just relieved and nervous and excited.
‘Can I borrow your mobile? I’d like to send a message to someone.’
‘Sure. Easy to use.’
Same one as mine.
Message sent:
Decided not to get married. Not 2day anyway. Phps one day.
But not this day. Love u. S xx
Sent it to Paul.
Sent it to John.
Sent it to myself.
THE LAST YEAR OF BEING SINGLE
A Red Dress Ink novel
ISBN: 978-1-4592-4863-2
© 2003 by Sarah Tucker.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents and places are the products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. While the author was inspired in part by actual events, none of the characters in the book is based on an actual person. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
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