The Making of Minty Malone Read Online Free PDF

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