Page 33 of Strawberry Moon
The service is long and boring and my attention drifts. I can guarantee I’m not alone in that. Most of the wedding guests are probably not thinking about the sanctity of marriage but rather about what’s for lunch.
The vicar announces a prayer and an old man in the pew in front of us turns around. He has a shock of white hair and faded green eyes that look familiar. He looks me up and down, and I smile bemusedly.
“So, you’re the boy who’s got our Harry’s head in a spin?” he says in a slightly too-loud voice.
“Grandad,” Harry hisses. “Face forward.”
I shoot the old man a wink. “So, you’re the jailbird?”
The old man laughs loudly, interrupting the vicar’s prayer. The vicar glares at him before going back to his job and Harry’s grandad pokes me in the arm so hard I nearly fall out of the pew. Harry grabs me calmly and sets me upright again. We grin at each other.
His grandad reaches back to tap Harry’s knee. “I like this one. The lad’s got spirit.”
Harry puts his finger to his lips as the vicar’s words falter.
“You can say that again,” I whisper, grinning at his grandad.
“You should keep him, Harry,” the old man says.
The vicar stops and says, “Arthur, do you want to speak to the Lord personally?”
“No, vicar,” he responds, trying very hard to look pious.
“Then stop talking,” the vicar snaps.
I bite my lip to hold in a laugh and bend my head like everyone else.
Harry whispers, “You and my grandfather would make a good pair.”
“I don’t understand the Leg before Wicket rule.”
His grandad sucks in a shocked breath, and I smile helplessly at Harry.
Eons later, we emerge into the bright sunshine. The bride and groom come out and confetti explodes with pink, green, and yellow paper hearts fluttering around us.
Everyone cheers as the married couple climbs into an old Bentley, and we line the road ahead of the car to cheer them along.
“How are we getting to the do?” I ask Harry, shuffling carefully forwards to accommodate the sharp-elbowed ladies behind me. I’m balanced on the edge of the kerb and about to fall in the road, but they don’t seem bothered by that. Maybe they like an element of danger with their weddings in Norfolk.
Harry picks a piece of confetti off my nose and kisses me. I smile into it, feeling him do the same.
“We can walk. It’s only five minutes.”
I blink. “So why are they going in a car?”
“Getting their money’s worth. My aunt is notoriously tight. The bride and groom will probably sleep in it tonight.”
I laugh and watch the car do a slow loop around the cul-de-sac in front of the church. “Why do they tie tins and cans to a car? It’s a strange start to married life dragging the contents of a rubbish bin with you.”
“It was believed that it startled evil spirits away from the newlyweds. The superstitious had obviously never encountered my aunt.”
The car finally moves slowly out of the cul-de-sac and the crowd surges forward happily to throw more confetti. There are cheers and shouting, but I’m a little occupied by how the ladies behind me are acting as if they’re front row at a Bon Jovi concert.
“Congratulations,” one of them shrieks into my ear.
I wince. As I put my hand to my ear, one of the ladies falls into me, and I stumble on the edge of the kerb. I teeter, catching a glimpse of the car approaching, the bride’s and groom’s horrified faces very clear. Then I fall into the road, windmilling my arms. Just as I manage to sit up—my intention to get out of the road as fast as possible—something heavy hits me with a glancing blow and everything goes dark.
When I come to, I’m lying on the ground staring up at the sky.
