Prologue

This was it. She knew it had to end someday; in fact, it lasted much longer than she thought it would. She glanced down at her pink-and-white heels, shimmering lace so intricately woven around white beads, and wondered who had chosen them for her. She put out her foot and took a step onto the white stone floor that looked cold and foreboding, paused, and looked up. In front of her, already halfway down the aisle, she could see the back of Karen, her pink balloon sleeves flouncing about her as she nodded and smiled at guests, who were nodding and smiling back politely.

Her head spun and the back of her neck felt moist. She wondered whether a bead of sweat would run down the side of her neck and put a blemish on her white satin bodice. A scarlet letter would be better suited for the likes of her. She looked at her bosom now, half expecting it to be embroidered there, but little diamantes that sat along the edges of her dress glinted back at her, laughing, mocking, challenging.

She looked up again, trying to ignore the warning signs her body was giving her. But seeing the faces as they turned towards her in a sick anticipation, she felt faint. They waited for her, all of them, ready to attack, ready to condemn her for her sins. She blinked hard, hoping that when she opened her eyes, they would not be there, that she would be somewhere far away, wishing it was not too late. But here she was, about to walk in the middle of the throngs who sat in their pews ready for the harlot to be wed.

She took a deep breath and tried to drown out the ringing in her ears by focusing on the loud music that boomed out of the organ—the Wedding March. She wished she had been more active in choosing the song, perhaps one that made her move along more quickly, speeding up this farce.

The faces smiled at her now, encouraging people who were joyous for her and for her happiness. They knew nothing, she told herself, as her heart banged wildly in her chest; they knew nothing of her sins. She sneered inwardly at the irony: her sins, when it was more like their sins that had made her who she was. She took a step back as a memory of her first love, the man who had first taken her down this path, this very same aisle, came flashing through her mind. He was here too, the one who started it all.

A nudge on her elbow woke her up from her reverie and she lifted her head, finding the eyes of her father, his brow knotted. He was leaning towards her and was saying something, but she couldn’t understand what, she just saw his lips move. She nodded and looked to the front of the church, to her future. She raised her chin and moved forward. It was too late. She had to go through with it.

With each step, her heart beat a little faster and she could feel her belly turn; the smell of the white orchids that hung brightly on the edge of every pew was overpowering. She caught sight of Paul, sitting there, a sad, but encouraging smile framing his face, and she wanted to stop, to run to him, to grab his hand and escape this ridiculous charade. The sound of the organ still echoed through the domed ceiling, thundering in her brain, and she wished it would stop. ‘All dressed in white.’ Those words had hammered at her head from the moment she donned her gown and again she wondered if she had actually chosen this costume that felt as heavy as a suit of armour dragging her under water.

Her feet obeyed her command and moved slowly forward. She turned her face to the front, to the altar where Derek stood, just half an aisle away now. She waited for the smile, the look of adoration, the one she knew she needed to help her along, but it wasn’t there. In its place, a look of contempt, of anger, those eyes usually bright, inviting, now narrowed. She wondered if her paranoia made him look that way; she had never seen that expression on his face before, but as she continued to stare, he began to walk towards her. It wasn’t a walk, it was a sharp stride, and she stopped, still halfway down the aisle.

He knew.

Now her fear was real and everything around her, the faces, the music, the flowers, became blurred. She slipped her arm out of her father’s grip and retreated slowly, seeing nothing but Derek, whose lips sat in a sneer. He was gaining on her.

She was nearly at the doors, which were about to be closed by two pious ushers who had their hands on their chests and bowed as they moved the doors together slowly. She turned and bolted, pushing the little men aside, one of them falling flat on his buttocks. She didn’t stop, she just ran, clutching together her heavy gown, completely oblivious to the shock and murmurs of the guests. She rushed through the foyer, where other ushers stood idly waiting for the service to end, before they could hand out rose petals to the guests, through the carpark, where the chauffeur of her hired Jaguar leaned on the car, his eyes on his phone and a cigarette hanging from his lips, through the gates, where cars breezed past lazily. Her veil caught on a twig and she tugged at it, leaving it waving at her from its perch, her tiara still attached to it.

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, and then began to run again. Still on the footpath, she could hear the sounds of birds and smell the scent of Melbourne in winter dripping from the eucalyptus trees. She didn’t stop now, heaving her ballooned dress above her knees and wishing her lacy heels weren’t so high and tightly strapped up around her ankles; she could have discarded them too. She didn’t look back, she was afraid of what she might see, so she kept her eyes firmly ahead on the familiar streets of her childhood, not knowing where she was running to and not caring. She was free and a fresh burst of relief now pounded at her heart.

She opened her mouth to laugh, her eyes directly on the path ahead. Even so, she barely had time to see the car that mounted the kerb, hurtling right towards her.