“No,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, “not at all.”  He looked up at Hilary who was running downstairs to greet him.  “Today, I’m really a doctor.  My certificate from the GMC came through in the post this morning.”

They opened the champagne with a satisfying pop and drank it from Mrs Rayner’s stemmed sherry glasses.  “Six years,” he kept saying.  “Six long years.  But I got there!”

“I knew you would,” said Hilary.

He swung her a look.  “There were times when I didn’t!”

“Now you’re going to be a psychiatrist, at this Maudsley Hospital in London,” said Mrs Rayner, shaking her head.  “Pity you’re not coming to Chenham General.  You and Hilary could’ve lived in Water Langley.  What you’re paying for that flat in London is downright criminal.”

“That’s the London property market, Granny,” said Hilary.

“Especially now that Mrs Thatcher has racked up the interest rates,” said Andy, pulling a face.  “And I voted for her.”

The morning and afternoon of Saturday, 4 August crawled by.  Having rushed around for days, Hilary was now just sitting in Mrs Rayner’s front room, with her hair “done” but in her T-shirt and jeans, alongside Caroline and her grandmother.  Also with them was Barbara, who had flown in from Australia, now quieter, thinner and paler, her hair short and spiky after chemotherapy.  Together, they watched the other three couples enter and leave the church and when, at last, the bells rang out for Couple Number Three, Hilary and Caroline went upstairs to change.  Only when Hilary put on her white dress did she believe that she was going to marry Andy – today.  Mrs Rayner got out her needle to make final adjustments and Hilary recalled her mother, Margaret, telling her about how Mrs Rayner had done this at her wedding, and Barbara’s.

Someone was knocking at the front door.  Barbara looked out the bedroom window.  “It’s Frank!  I'll let him in.”

Hilary started.  “Keep still, dear!” cried Mrs Rayner, still stitching.

“I haven't seen him for ages,” she said.

“Well, here he is, come to give you away,” said Mrs Rayner.

Now everything was happening very quickly, Barbara rushing back upstairs saying she had seen Andy and the best man (Nick Wolfenden) going into church and Mrs Rayner disappearing to put on her hat.  Then Barbara and Caroline left for church and she was left all alone – with him!

He was standing in the living room, sipping whisky from a hip-flask.  She forced a smile as she came downstairs, the train of her wedding dress swishing behind her.  “Hello, Dad.”

“Hello,” he replied.

Awkward silence.

“I don’t suppose you’re ready yet,” he added.  “I know how it is with you girls at weddings.”

“How are you?” she asked, cutting him short.

“How are you?  After the accident, I mean?”

“What accident?  I was attacked.”

He sneaked a sidelong glance at her as he put his hip-flask away in his pocket.  “So you remember what happened now?”

“No!  That evening’s all a complete blank – much to the police’s disappointment.”

He took the hip-flask out of his pocket and took another long swig.  “So you can't remember anything?”

“No, nothing at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”  She looked at her watch.  “It’s twenty to.  Come on.”

“Brides are always late.”

“Not this one.  Come on.”

“Hilary, I just want to say…” he said, “you’re my daughter and I love you very much.”  

All brides’ fathers felt they ought to say this, she supposed.  “Thank you…  I really think we ought to go.”

“You were such a Mummy’s girl.  All you ever wanted was Mummy, Mummy, Mummy.  You would never come to me.”

“Dad, we can't talk about this now.  If I've hurt you, in the past, I'm very sorry.  But, you know, immediately after Mum died, you pushed me away.”

“I was grieving.”

“So was I.  And, over the last four months, since the attack, you haven’t contacted me once.  In fact, the only time you contacted this house was at a time you knew I was out.”

“No!”

“Yes.  You raced past me in the car in Langton and splashed water all up my tights.  Then you rang Granny.”

“I gave you £1500 for your wedding.”  He reached in his pocket once more – not the hip-flask again, please! 

“Yes.  Thank you.”

He was now holding out another cheque.  “Dorrie and I thought you ought to have this.”

“Thank you but No,” she cried at once, but her eyes were drawn to it.  She couldn't help it.  “Dad, I can't take that!”  The cheque had been written out to “Hilary Newton”, in the sum of £6000.

“You must.  I sold the house in Chamberlain Drive for £12,000 in 1977.  Half of that money should’ve gone to you, because Mum never left a Will.  I've made a Will now and I've left you everything else.”  He laid the cheque down on the sideboard. 

She looked at her watch again, not knowing what to say.  She could hear her grandmother walking about on the landing. 

“Hilary,” he said, “you are my daughter.  Don’t listen to the gossip in the village, or to Patty Matthews.  Your mother was pregnant with you when she left for Ireland.  Did you realise that?”

“What?”  She had never spoken to him about the Bill Macready issue.

“I knew that, because I was her husband.  She didn’t tell Patty, because it would’ve been round the village in five minutes. ”

“Look, Dad, it’s almost ten to.  I can't talk to you about this now.”

“The only other person she told was her mother.”

Hilary turned to Mrs Rayner, now wearing her hat, and walking downstairs. 

“Margaret told me she was pregnant the day before she and Patty set off for Ireland,” Mrs Rayner said.  “I tried to persuade her not to go, but try telling Margaret to do, or not to do, anything!”

“And Hilary,” Frank went on, “do you really believe that Mum would ….”

Hilary didn’t allow him to finish his sentence.  “No!  No!  Of course not!”

“But are you surprised at what she’s been thinking?” demanded Mrs Rayner.  “All the gossip there’s been over the years!  And neither you nor Margaret could’ve protected her from it.”  She picked up the cheque for £6000.  “I'm putting this away in the drawer, Hil.”

Hilary nodded, convulsive tears racking through her body.  “I'm so sorry!” she cried to Frank.  “I'm so sorry!” 

Mrs Rayner put her arm round her.  “Come on, love.  It’s nearly five to.  Someone’s waiting for you at the altar.”

“Can I have a tissue, please?”

Moments later, she and Frank opened the front door.  She was going to marry Andy NOW, but something else inside her was stirring, something she couldn't quite grasp.  It was a lovely, warm, summer’s day and the rose bushes in the churchyard were casting shadows over the path…  raining in Oxford Street, street lights streaking yellow on the wet pavement, dirty red Routemaster buses roaring past, kicking up spray… 

Caroline, in a lilac bridesmaid’s dress, was waiting at the lych-gate.  “Hil,” she cried, “you’ve got Father Bernard!  Jim Bailey said he was tired after three weddings – isn't that just typical?”

“I like Father Bernard,” said Hilary.  She was glad to hear to see and hear Caroline, to be brought back to the present, to the sunshine in Water Langley.

Father Bernard appeared at the west door, robed in his green cope.  “Are you ready, Hilary?”

“Yes.”

Inside the church, Helen Abbott, who did have stamina for four weddings, was starting up the bridal march. 

“Hil!” said Caroline, not moving from the church porch.  “Aren’t you going to hold on to your dad’s arm?  That’s what brides normally do.”

So far, Hilary and Frank had walked side-by-side, about a yard apart.  Now she rested three fingers on Frank’s elbow.  Even as a child, she hadn't often kissed and cuddled her father and he appeared to feel awkward too, his fists clenching by his side…

…She had been walking and walking for a long time and the rain had become a fine drizzle.  She had already gone to the other entrance to Tottenham Court Road Tube and back again to the Oxford Street entrance.  Supposing that Art Hilary might have gone straight to the Windmill Gallery, she had walked up Oxford Street and turned off into Soho, past dimly lit Chinese restaurants and red glowing strip joints - but Art Hilary wasn’t standing outside the Windmill Gallery.  It was quite clear that she had been stood up, stood up by a dating agency date.  She had walked on and on…  She could see that fist flying through the air, the pain and the shock, in equal measure, as it met her forehead…

But she was in Water Langley, the sunshine pouring through the church stained glass windows.  In the pews her friends were watching and smiling, Amy and Bryony, Laura and Jen, Auntie Edna and Uncle Roy, Patty and Jeremy, in the front pew, her grandmother and Barbara.  “You look lovely,” said Andy, grabbing her hand as she reached the chancel steps,

She clasped his palm, warm and moist, the rough edge of his (lounge) suit rubbing against her wrist, and held it in a vice-like grip throughout the whole service.  She must concentrate on marrying Andy.

What was happening now was the most important.  Everything else, she must put out of her mind.  In the vestry afterwards, Hilary could almost see her mother in the corner where she had always stood, putting on her organist’s robes.  She often thought about Margaret and nowadays this brought her pleasure, not overwhelming grief.  After the photographs, as she and Andy were walking from the church to the reception in the village hall, she told him, “My dad’s given us a cheque for £6000.”

Andy stopped in his tracks.  “What?  Now?  We could’ve done with that for the flat!  As it is, our mortgage is going to beggar us!”  They walked on, into the village hall, where George and Joan were setting up food on trestle tables.  “What is this?  Guilt?”

“Yes, I think so.”  Only she knew how much guilt.  This was his wedding day too.  She wasn’t going to spoil his wedding. 

…And hers too.  This would be the happiest day of her life. 

After the speeches, Andy was chatting with Nick and the St Luke's crowd.  Hilary walked over to where Frank and Dorrie were sitting at a table by themselves.  “What wonderful weather you’ve had!” Dorrie cooed.  “Earlier in the week, the forecasts weren’t too good and I thought…”

“I think you two had better go now,” said Hilary.

Dorrie looked askance.  Frank looked bewildered.

“I think you two had better go,” Hilary repeated.

Dorrie’s smile widened.  “Very funny, dear.  Very funny.”

“Come on,” said Hilary in a tight voice.  “I'll walk with you to your car.”

Frank turned pale.  “You do know.”  He got up from his chair.  “But you said you didn’t before.” 

“Come on,” said Hilary.  She stood over them without speaking until at last Dorrie got up.

“Your father is paying for all this,” she said.

Hilary marched them out of the village hall, through the car park and along the road to where they had parked their car.  “Some things can never be paid for, Dorrie.”

“But you said dreadful things to your father that night, the most insulting things you could say to any man.”

Hilary didn’t know what she might have said.  Her flashbacks, vivid and uncomfortable as they were, did not tell her that.

“We’d come up to London to take in a show, a matinee.  We’d just come out when we saw you, all dolled up like a dog’s dinner, wandering around Soho.  What was your father to think?” muttered Dorrie, speaking at the car roof, not looking at Hilary at all. 

“All I said… “ Frank said at last, “was that you shouldn’t be in Soho alone.”

“And then you were very rude to Dad, said it was none of his business and that he wasn’t your father,” continued Dorrie.  “And that’s why he hit you.  I'm hardly surprised he hit you.”

“I didn’t realise I'd hit you so hard,” Frank said.  “You… sort of… staggered and then went on.  Honestly, you walked off…  But Mrs Rayner said you fell down the escalator.”

“Apparently,” said Hilary.  “You didn’t stay around to find out how I was, did you?  You ran away to Majorca.  Well, you can run away again now.  I don’t want to see you again.”

“But Hilary…” began Frank, looking at the ground.

“Your father really loves you, dear,” said Dorrie, still looking at the car door.  “He’s always loved you, but you were such a Mummy’s girl and…”

“I've got to go.  It’s my wedding.”

She walked back through the village hall car park.  Nick was getting tin cans out of his car boot, watched by Amy and Caroline who were giggling and Bryony who was not.  

Andy was still talking to the St Luke's lot.  “You all right?” he asked, as she joined him. 

“Fine.”

“You look very serious,” he said, getting out of his seat.  “I think we’d better go and get changed, don’t you, before they attach too many tin cans to the bumper?”

Hilary looked at her watch.  “It’s eight o'clock.”

“Yes, we’d better get going.  Otherwise we’ll end up spending the night here.”

“No.”  Hilary grabbed his arm and giggled.  “Because we’re on our honeymoon and no one has sex in Water Langley.”