Chapter 14

Stepping inside the church is like passing into a kinder, gentler world. The cool stone walls, both refuge and fortress, both hold out the heat and offer sanctuary to those within.

The entrance way is awash with floral scent. Heading to the nave I take in the lilies and cornflowers—white and blue—adorning the ends of each dark pew, and the matching bouquets on stands by the altar.

I pause a moment beside Shel, breathing it in—the balm, the musk of old wood and paper prayer books. 'Went a bit overboard on the flowers, didn't they?'

'Don't they look amazing?'

She ushers me further into the church—a narrow, sombre space warmed by glowing sconces on the walls.

'You have no idea how grateful we all are,' she says. 'Jamie told me you couldn't come because of your other plans—'

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell Shel some of the truth, but I grit my teeth. If Jamie feels the need to lie to his own family that's up to him. I know why he didn't invite me and why he's going to freak out when he sees me.

A lack of invite didn't hurt—I share his uneasiness, but for different reasons, perhaps—and I've only come to prevent calamity from marring the Latimer family's day.

Aunt Lucy wasn't wrong when she said Jamie and I would never be equal. Where does this sense of obligation that I have to the Latimers come from?

'Did you get hold of him?' I ask Shel.

'No—he's off doing something for the reception with Uncle Mark down at the yacht club, I think. The brat hasn't messaged me all morning.' Shel gives me a lopsided smile. 'You're okay to do this and the reception, aren't you?'

My 'great plans' amounted to no more than crashing Lucy's place for the day and watching mind-numbing Saturday night TV. I let my bag slide off my shoulder and start unloading gear. 'If you can talk me through the order of service—where everyone's standing and sitting—that'll get me started.'

I've pulled in some extra cameras. Nothing high end—beggars can't be choosers—but you can do wonders with even basic equipment these days. The tourist office had a couple of serviceable ones which I used for alternate angles while doing the promos. Plus I've slaved in a few smartphones and can add more. Perhaps some of the kids in attendance would want to add their perspective? I always search for a special angle when I put wedding vids together. None of that crass cookie-cutter editing for me.

Normally I'd spend an hour or so going over expectations with the wedding couple. That's not going to happen today—so they'll just have to take what they can get. Only—there's a small part of me that knows 'just adequate' won't be enough—not for me.

Shel, who picked me up and got collected cameras from the office for me, helps me position some of them. I aim to stay out of the way, so no hand held camera for me today. I'm taking a punt on some angles—they're not going to halt proceedings for me to redirect a camera—so I'd better get them right.

My base set-up is tucked away on the far side of an aisle near the back. With cameras in place and hooked into my remote studio, I can control everything from an unobtrusive distance.

When I'm ready, I flick them on, each lens opening up in a block of windows on my tablet.

Shel whistles as she examines my tablet. 'You can see everything.'

'And I can control everything from one point. Nifty, isn't it?'

'Never miss an angel,' she says, laughing at the well known old slogan from the ad where the father tries in vain to film his toddler in her naïtivity play.

When I'm satisfied with the smaller cameras, I turn to my own trusted Divv which will provide my main picture. I want it in position for Chloe's arrival—let's face it: that's the point of the whole day.

Off to one side of the altar seems my best option and when I assess the image back on my tablet, I grin.

'Perfect.'

As soon as the word forms, a niggle springs up to cast doubt over my confidence.

Shel watches as I stalk toward the altar. 'Problem?'

The church interior is reasonably dark; natural light streams through an arch from a large stained glass window above the altar, but the rough finish of the stone absorbs much of it.

I turn around to face the empty pews.

In front of me, the second window is magnificent. Rich reds and blues and in the centre, a crowned white lamb bathed in light from Heaven. In spite of her own ambivalent feelings on religion, Mum insisted on taking me (Tom was gone by then) to church periodically. The symbolism isn't lost on me.

Strike me down with a ray of light. This is a House of Truth.

'Yes, is there a problem?'

I jump at the male voice. One I don't recognise. A fair-haired man, moving beyond his middle years, stands in a doorway to my right.

'Maybe. That window,' I say to Shel, 'do you know what time the sun hits it these days?'

'Sorry—I wouldn't know.' She looks sheepish. 'But the reverend used to live here. He should know.'

From Shel's nod in his direction, I take it the newcomer is the reverend. He is already approaching me, hand extended. 'Paul Coates—nice to meet you.'

'Fred Brown,' I say, quelling the sudden misgiving I have about misleading a priest.

There is a slight frown on his face as he gives me a long look. 'I was expecting a lady, but I hear she's had a fall.'

He looks at Shel, who nods again.

'Will she be all right?'

'Sounds like it—but it was nasty. Aunt Beth says she's smashed her pelvis. She's gone round to the hospital this morning to leave some flowers.'

'Just like Beth.' The frown lifts and his tone changes. He turns back to me. 'You were worried about the window?'

'Just covering off any eventuality.' I hope whatever has caused his expression was nothing I've done. 'Lovely as shafts of light are, I'd hate to have the happy couple's moment ruined by a mis-timed one—or an ill-placed camera.'

The reverend smiles back at me. 'Some might count that as God's blessing.'

'Others might count it as cause for a refund.'

'You could tack on a celestial appearance fee.' His eyes twinkle.

I can't help laughing at his corny joke. 'He's never been a reliable employee. I can never guarantee his appearances.'

'About the window, set your mind at rest. The ceremony ought to be over by the time the sun passes it, and, failing that, if the bride arrives fashionably late, it looks as though the weather may play a hand in some divine intervention.'

'Oh?'

'Haven't you seen? The weather's set to turn.' He shakes his head. 'Two months of sunshine and Chloe and Dean pick the day the storm is forecast.'

Jamie looks terrific in a crisp black suit and white shirt. A rich blue tie matching the cornflowers sits at his throat, neat and impressive. He probably hates it, but he scrubs up nicely. The slim line of the trousers and jacket show off his lithe build.

The look on his face shows his shock.

The church is filling—the bridegroom's guests are all seated and Jamie is about to take his place as the Latimer family head (until the bridal party arrives).

As soon as he enters the church he cuts behind the last pew to move up the wall aisle to me. He must have got Shel's message.

Before he can say anything, I jump in, careful to keep my voice low. The echo of chatter in the church probably drowns me out, but best be safe. 'I wasn't going to say no—not to a plea for something like this.'

A movement behind me—another guest taking his seat—makes Jamie glance up and smile in greeting. When his eyes meet mine again, the smile melts.

'Please don't let anything spoil this—it's been a hard week for everyone.'

'Jamie'—I risk touching his hand—'sit down. This is a happy day. I'm nobody here. We camera guys, we just blend right into the furniture. It'll be all right.'

He straightens and I see his smile go back up. To any outsider, Jamie is playing his role—making sure everything runs smoothly. His shoulders go back and, with no further word to me, he retraces his steps and then strides up the aisle to take his place, pausing only to greet some of the groom's guests.

Naturally my father's release has upset the Latimer family. What it hasn't done is consume them. The night of the rehearsal, Jamie had told me, they talked about Dad, about his release and how they should respond. It was Chloe who had set the tone: the wedding now is symbolic of their indifference, their contempt and their determination to scrub 'nothing' out of their lives.

Jamie's entrance is a signal. The bridal party can't be far off. I catch the eye of some of the younger guests—Chloe and Dean's four children, whom I've roped into production—and they head out the door, phones in hand.

There's no sign of the weather cutting up yet. The kids' phones beam their pictures back from outside. The sky remains clear in the little images on my tablet.

The kids do their job perfectly. Three 70s Lotus cars pull up outside and one by one the Latimers emerge. Shel—who must have dashed back home and dressed herself in record time, another young woman—Jamie's other sister—Mark, Beth and finally Chloe—all captured by my assistants.

The bridal party assembles at the entrance to the nave. There is a pause for typical last minute preparations as the party arranges itself. Mother and father are not giving the bride away, but they exchange words with her under the window before the processional song.

I see Chloe smile as, backs to me, her parents lean in to hug her. Then they turn and start shepherding their giddy grandchildren up the aisle toward their father, and I have my first sight of Beth Latimer.

The Latimer women are all slight and all blessed with youthful genes. Chloe must be in her early 40s but could pass for someone a decade younger. Beth hardly seems old enough to be her mother.

It's hard not to look at Beth and feel my heart patter. It's too much and I avert my eyes to the window behind them until it, too, seems to sear my chest.

As weddings go, the marriage of Chloe Latimer and Dean Thomas does not stray far from the path of tradition. I've done quite a few now—my friends are starting to reach that age—I can almost recite 1 Corinthians 13:13. 'If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love …'

Readings are beautiful, and full of poetic intent, and very, very hypnotic. Only when Paul Coates goes off-script do I find myself unable to resist listening.

'Paul's letter to the Romans tells us to love—really love. He tells us to abhor what is evil and hold tightly to what is good. Chloe and Dean have been holding on tightly together to what is good in their lives for twenty-five years. And what is good in their lives has shone light in the darkness and brought joy from despair.

'Their love is a blessing—one we as their friends are honoured to share and celebrate here today.'

It's my mother my heart hurts for.