text: Just get me to the church on time... EDWARD “Edward, says Father, you can’t go to France today. You need to spray the fields in Lower Farm. The conditions are perfect.” Edward looks up from the paper he was reading as he was eating breakfast and looks out of the window. Father is right, the sky is blue and cloud free, it looks like there is almost no wind. The April of 1974 has been particularly cold and damp, and in truth, a day like this couldn’t be wasted. He really ought to postpone his trip to France by a day. Surely it couldn’t be that big a deal to arrive there just one day late? Especially if he phoned to explain the situation to Marie. He has responsibilities after all, responsibilities he can’t shirk away from. “I’ll think of it Father” he answers pushing his empty bowl to the side and folding his copy of Times as he stands up As he climbs up the stair to his bedroom, he thinks of Marie, of her disappointment. He hates the thought that he may be hurting her. Then, he thinks of his responsibilities, of the terrible weather of the past few weeks and how he hasn’t been able to spray. Marie ought to understand, she is so clever, she will see why he can’t make it today. Once upstairs, in his room, he looks at his grey suit, hanging from his wardrobe door, with a clean white shirt and a light blue bow tie. Marie picked the silk bow tie out for him because it is “The exact same shade as his beautiful eyes”. Below are his carefully polished shoes. On the floor, are yesterday’s discarded overalls, with his T-shirt still inside them. His socks are coiled on the floor, in front of the overall legs. He likes to take all his clothes off at once when he undresses, in one fell swoop. It is faster than taking all the items of clothing off one by one and folding them, it is more efficient, and it leaves him with more time to soak in the bathtub after work before he goes to sleep or goes out. He hasn’t been going out lately, because Marie isn’t around. He misses her so much. Sighing, he takes his pyjama off and gets dressed. Then he goes down to the farm office and picks up the phone. MARIE Maman, when I think of you on that morning, I imagine you were up at 5 am. In my mind’s eye, you bound out of bed, your heart singing in glee. I can guess exactly how excited you must have been at the prospect of Edward’s arrival later that day. In those days, Edward was your be all and end all. He was your sun, your moon and your stars. He occupied pretty much every single one of your waking thoughts... Apart from the time you spent working on Theodore Dreiser’s books and your thesis, it goes without saying. I think it is likely that you eventually got out of bed, at around seven am, after a long while tossing and turning and trying to get a few hours more sleep, realising it was pointless because you were so excited and nervous, pinching yourself repeatedly to make sure that it wasn’t a dream. I may be pushing it as I write this but I fancy you executed a few dance steps when you got up. When I am in a particularly vicious mood, I picture you as Maria dancing and singing “I feel pretty” in West Side Story . This is doubly ironic and nasty because you never saw West Side Story until 2021, that you only ever watched the Spielberg revamp of the movie and an extremely Disney-ish one at that. But then I always thought you had this Disney Princess vibe about you. Even nowadays, you sometimes remind me of a Disney Princess and it is not just because you are so pretty and dainty. I picture you getting out of bed and starting to list everything you need to do to prepare for his arrival. You must phone the restaurant to make sure the booking is still OK, check on the flowers, and to do your hair, your make-up and above all, you must meet your best friends for coffee to tell them all about Edward, his blue eyes, his charming smile, his dimples, his dry wit, his farm and your plans for the future. Then, you heard the phone ringing in the living room. A few seconds later, your mother knocked on the door and said: “Marie chérie! It is Edward on the phone for you.” I picture you rushing towards the living room and the phone, your heart overflowing with love for Edward. THE (mostly) RELIABLE NARRATOR I always have known the story. It often came up at dinner parties, it was one of those amusing light-hearted stories that Maman told so well and so wittily. It also came up quite regularly when they fought. As a small child I would tell it to my friends and peers, to try and entertain them with it, but they never believed me, and they called me a liar. Maman, when she was in a good mood, liked to minimise the importance of the event. It wasn’t that bad she said, it was only the civil ceremony they had had to postpone. Later in life, up to today actually, I learned to use what happened on that day to my advantage. I have a flexible perception of time and that story is really the best excuse ever. What is a ten-minute delay here or there in comparison to a whole 24 hours? Absolutely nothing, that’s what. I have also used it as justification for my oddness, for my many eccentricities. I will explain that I know I am a little peculiar, but then, the apple never falls far from the tree and so you ought to know this about my past. It works quite well, people laugh and claim to forgive me after they hear the story, especially when it is told with force amusing expressions and a slightly self-deprecating tone. I have, after all, inherited Marie’s talents as a comedienne. I also have Edward’s bad-boy one-sided grin, the one that would have permitted him to get away with murder, that allowed him to get away with so much... except that on me, it is a bad girl smile and it doesn’t stay in place long without me bursting into laughter. And all that charm, it helps... a lot. However, when I sit down and ponder on what happened on that day, when I am truly honest about my feelings, I don’t want to laugh. Rage and pain fill my heart as I ask the following question: “WHO THE FUCK MARRIES A GUY WHO TURNS UP TO HIS WEDDING ONE WHOLE DAY LATE?”