The Making of Minty Malone. Isabel Wolff

was heavy with the sweet smell of beeswax and the voluptuous scent of Helen’s flowers. Her two arrangements took my breath away. They were magnificent. As big as telephone kiosks – a tumbling mass of scabious, stocks and pink peonies, freesia and sweet peas; and she’d tied a little posy of white anemones to the end of every pew.

      And there was Dominic, with his back to me, his blond head lit by the sun. And I thought, he looks like the Angel Gabriel himself in the Annunciation by Fra Angelico. Charlie was standing next to him, looking typically serious and kind, and he turned and gave me such a nice, encouraging little smile. Because the box pews face sideways in St Bride’s, I could see everyone as we passed, their Order of Service sheets fluttering in their hands like big white moths. First I spotted Jack, my editor, smiling at me in his usual amused and sardonic way, and next to him was his wife Jane and her sulky-looking teenage daughters, both dressed in post-Punk black and pink; and there was Amber looking wonderfully cool and elegant in lime green. In the pew behind was Wesley from work, with Deirdre, of course – oh, she did look dreary, but then she always does, poor thing; between you and me, I think weddings are a sore point with her. And there was my mother in her flowing Bohemian dress, and her extraordinary, flower-smothered hat. On the groom’s side I spotted Dom’s mother, Madge, and lots of people I didn’t recognise who must have been his clients. And everyone was looking at me, and smiling, and I knew that I was, as the expression goes, ‘the cynosure of every eye’. Then Helen lifted my veil and took my bouquet, and tucked herself into a pew next to Mum. The wedding had begun.

      And it was going well. Really smoothly. It was all so …lovely. Dominic looked a bit anxious, so I gently squeezed his hand. And we sang ‘He Who Would Valiant Be’, he and I singing it quite quietly, and he looked a little agitated, but that was because there was this wasp buzzing about, and it was hovering close to him, and he had to flap it away once or twice. Then Amber stepped forward and read the ‘Desiderata’, beautifully, because she’s got a fantastic voice. Then we sang ‘Jerusalem’ and then came The Marriage. And the Rector, John Oakes, said why marriage was important, and why it should not be undertaken lightly, wantonly or unadvisedly; and then he called on the congregation to state whether they knew of any impediment why Dominic and I should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony. And that was a heart-stopping moment. In fact I hated it – even though I knew that no one was likely to come crashing in at the back raising loud objections or waving marriage certificates about. But still it made me very anxious, and so I was relieved when that bit was over and we went forward to the next part. But the wasp kept buzzing about, and it simply wouldn’t leave Dom alone, and he was getting a bit rattled and red in the face, so I gently swotted at it with my Order of Service. And the vicar said:

      ‘Dominic, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s law in the Holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’

      There was a pause. An unscheduled pause. What we radio people call ‘dead air’. And the pause went on for quite a bit, greatly to my surprise. But then, eventually, Dominic spoke.

      ‘We-ll,’ he began, and he swallowed, as though he might otherwise choke. ‘We-ll,’ he said again, then stopped. Then he heaved this enormous sigh. And then he just stared at the painting of Christ, crucified, over the altar. And in the ensuing silence, which felt like an eternity, but was probably no more than five seconds, I felt as though I’d been plunged into a bath of ice-water, despite the oppressive heat of the day.

      ‘Wilt thou?’ repeated the vicar helpfully. There was another silence, which seemed to hum and throb. I watched a bead of sweat trickle down Dominic’s face, from his temple to his chin.

      ‘Wilt thou? Mm?’ The vicar’s face was red too, by now. And his brow was gleaming and moist. He stared at Dominic, willing him to speak. And at last, Dominic did.

      ‘Well …’ he stuttered. Then he cleared his throat. ‘Well …’ he tried again.

      ‘Wilt thou?’

      ‘No, John,’ said Dom quietly, ‘I’m afraid I won’t.’

      I was staring at the vicar, and the vicar was staring at Dominic. And then I looked at Dominic too, and was suddenly very sorry that I’d chosen St Bride’s because my by now reddening face was fully visible to every single person in that church.

      ‘Come along, Dominic,’ said the vicar, sotto voce with a tight little smile. ‘Let’s try it again. Wilt thou love Irene Araminta and honour her etcetera, etcetera, etcetera – so long as ye both shall live?’

      ‘No,’ said Dominic, more forcefully this time, ‘‘fraid not.’ And now, as I stared at him, I was conscious of the sound of wood gently creaking, as people shifted in their pews.

      ‘Dominic!’ It was Charlie. ‘Come on, old chap. Let’s press on with it, shall we?’

      ‘I can’t,’ Dominic said, with a slow, regretful shake of his head. He looked terrible. He looked distraught. ‘I just can’t,’ he said again. And at that point, somehow, I managed to speak.

      ‘Are you ill, Dom?’ I whispered. ‘Do you feel unwell?’ He looked at me, and moaned.

      ‘No. No, I’m not ill. I’m well. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

      ‘Then what’s the matter?’ I croaked. My mouth felt dry as dust and I was aware of disconcerted susurrations from behind.

      ‘The matter is …’ he said. ‘The matter is …that these are such serious vows, Minty. Vows I may not be able to keep. And it wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that we’re in church.’

      ‘Yes,’ I said weakly, ‘I know.’

      ‘And in church you just can’t lie and hope to get away with it,’ he went on. ‘And I’ve been thinking about God a lot recently, because actually, Minty, although you may not have realised this, I’m a deeply religious person.’

      ‘Dom, whatever are you talking about?’ I murmured. ‘You never go to church.’

      ‘Yes, but you don’t have to go to church to be religious, and now that I’m standing here, before the altar, in the sight of God, I know I just can’t go through with it. Because I’d have to promise to love you and comfort you and keep myself only unto you and all the rest of it, Minty, and that’s pretty serious stuff, you know.’

      ‘Yes. Yes, I do know that, actually.’

      ‘And it’s only now that I’m standing here, that I realise how huge these vows are. It’s only now,’ he went on, ‘that I’m beginning to comprehend the enormity of what I’m being asked to do.’

      ‘Not “enormity”, Dom,’ I whispered, ‘that means something bad. I think you mean enormousness.’

      ‘Please don’t correct me, Minty. I mean the magnitude of it. Of what I’m being asked to give up.’

      ‘Yes, but, you knew that before,’ I breathed, aware of a lemon-sized lump in my throat.

      ‘Yes. But I didn’t understand it before. What it truly means. But now I’m here, in church, I do. These huge promises. And I’m just not prepared to make them because, frankly, Minty, as you well know, there are lots of things about you that really …annoy me.’ At this a sudden murmur arose from the pews, like the uprush of small birds from a field. I could hear nervous, interrogative titters, and the sound of breath being sharply inhaled.

      ‘They say it’s the little things that get to you in the end,’ he said, ‘and it’s the little things that have got to me about you. I mean, you’re so untidy,’ he went on, getting into his stride now. His tenor voice was rising to an almost girlish timbre, which is what happens when he gets worked up. ‘You talk such rubbish half the time,’ he went on, ‘and you never know when to shut up.’

      ‘What do you expect?’ I said,