Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Seven

“Susanna, I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can.”

“I’m going to be sick.” I reached the bathroom’s sink in time to retch, splutter and cough. I turned the tap on. The water gurgled down the plughole. I wiped my mouth, breathing shakily. I had been up since six having my hair put in heated waving irons; the finished result was dressed with an abundance of forget-me-nots to cover up the extent of hairpins.

“She’s awfully pale and it is such a hot summer’s day.” I heard Susanna mutter to someone as I pulled open the bathroom door vehemently.

“It’s my wedding day,” I laughed bitterly, blinking back tears. Susanna threw herself at me, squeezing me tightly with her little arms and I suddenly didn’t feel as grown up as I looked.

I went downstairs to find the house in a complete state of chaos, with servants running here, there and everywhere. I asked Father timidly if Susanna could come to the wedding. He looked rather flustered, spinning around in a daze and barking orders.

“Yes, yes, whatever makes my daughter happy on her special day.”

*****

All throughout the automobile journey to St Peter’s Church, the parish church of Brighton, my head was spinning and my stomach was whirling. Somehow, I felt a little giddy. I was getting married! The very idea seemed so ludicrous for I had had little time to accept it, even though I had known that one day it would happen.

Father parked the Chevrolet, which was adorned with white streamers and ribbons along the sides and bonnet, on the edge of York Place. Susanna took our goggles as we all got out and she helped me exchange my bonnet for my veil.

I looked around, trying to control my breathing. Noise spiralled into ears from every direction; trams were honking horns as they trundled along, water gushed from a fountain with an elegant, twisty spire and children were screaming outside a row of mismatched houses on one side of the place. The people gathered in front of them seized their chatter as they watched me walk up to the church.

I felt that with every step I took, someone wanted me to trip in my silly little heels. The gauzy fabric the neck and sleeves were made out of was already irritating me in the sweltering heat.

Mother, Rose and Susanna gave me hugs before disappearing into the church, which was hidden behind a dense carpet of dark green trees. Guests filed in, the ladies eyeing each other’s hats, which were each ridiculously covered in the most extravagant plumage their husbands would allow them now it was the war. I felt bad that all this expense had been paid out for a wedding when our men were ankle-deep in mud in the trenches.

The clock on the lofty building’s tower chimed eleven, and Father offered his arm to me, puffing out his chest. A mechanical doll, I tucked my arm slowly and stiffly round his. I rubbed my teeth together frantically, nostrils flaring, body shaking. How could I do this?

Mary and the Stirling-Sanders, Leah and Faith, my bridesmaids, quickly hurried behind us, clutching their bouquets in front of their pale blue frocks. Mary gave me an encouraging grin. I pressed my lips together and felt the corners turn upwards in response, wobbling, as my eyes were tickled.

The bells were ringing as Father pulled me through the great arched door. I started perspiring profusely, panicking. I stole one last glance at the magnificent spires as I looked around frantically for a way of escape. A sea of faces greeted me, stretching on for eternity. The pipe organ played some dreadful tune. Every single pew we passed, my heart missed a beat. I felt like I was being scrutinized.

Father’s chest was puffed out as far as his suit would strain and his grin was so wide it could blind someone for life. I saw Susanna at the back of the church, with her lovely, genuine smile and I spurred on through the crowd of Kingstons, Knowlbodyes, Stirling-Sanders, Monne D’Arcs, Gascons, Bringhams, Forte-Majors and many other notable families and persons.

Finally, the procession was over, the music ceased and the vicar asked everyone to take his or her seats. I peeked at John through my veil, gulping. He was sweating, fingers fiddling with the buttons on his finely tailored black suit.

It had never occurred to me, stupid me, to think of his feelings. Did he want to marry me? Did I want to marry him, truly? I could run out this church right now and run away with Bobby, sweet, kind and caring Bobby. Why should I let Father govern my life? I was trapped in this moment in time, with the vicar warbling on and tears sliding down my cheeks. Would I really be so cruel as to jilt John at the altar? We exchanged rings with terrified smiles and wobbly hands. I even let myself say 'I do'.

“If anyone present has any reason why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony, please speak now or forever hold your peace.” An uneasy atmosphere filled the church. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and Mother’s eyes burning into the back of my head. She, Susanna and possibly Mary had a reason- would they say anything? Would they shame me in front of everyone?

My breathing became faster rapidly as I jerked and saw Emma standing directly at the end of aisle, grinning, grinning, grinning ever so maliciously. No, no!

“No-one? Then I declare you-” Say something, Elsie, say something, this is your last chance!

“-husband and wife.” I saw Father sag down, closing his eyes in relief and Mother weeping. My jaw dropped down. I was married. I was actually married! I had gone through with it. I was Elsie Knowlbodye.

“You may now kiss the bride.”