They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

102 November 2017

I will be an accomplice to a criminal act if I do nothing — despite the fact that I have been declared legally dead. No one has actually told me I’ve been declared dead. Shouldn’t someone have to notify you if you were dead?

I held that thought for a moment. Then realized how absurd it was.

I still wasn’t thinking completely straight.

The organ struck up again, the strains of ‘Jerusalem’. The congregation began to sing, loudly, lustily; everyone knew and loved this hymn. Their voices rose to the vaulted roof of the building and echoed off its walls.

‘And did those feet, in ancient time, walk upon England’s mountains green? And was the Holy Lamb of God on England’s pleasant pastures seen?’

And my anger, which had been simmering close to boiling point, turned to near blind fury.

This was the same damned hymn everyone had sung at our wedding.

For God’s sake.

It was Roy’s favourite, because it was the English rugby anthem. I remembered so very clearly, all those years ago, standing at the altar at All Saints Church, Patcham, with Roy on my right, on the happiest day of my life. About to be married to the man I loved, and with whom I wanted, without any question, to spend the rest of my life.

Was Barbie, standing beside him now, as happy as I had felt?

I blinked away tears but more replaced them. Bruno squeezed my hand for a moment. He didn’t understand what was going on but he knew I was upset. I fumbled in my handbag for a tissue, lifted my veil a little and dabbed my eyes.

‘Mama?’

I silenced him with a raised finger, then stood still, shaking, listening.

‘I will not cease, from mental fight, nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, ’til we have built Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land.’

Hans-Jürgen was always spouting quotations at me. There was one, his favourite, that was resonating now. It went something like, For all of us, life is a series of journeys, and at the end of each journey, we arrive back at the place we started from, and know it for the first time.

That was me, now. Here in the church. Listening to the fading sound of the organ and the echo of our wedding hymn. Realizing just how much I loved this man standing at the altar, and had always loved him.

And knowing it so deep inside.

Time was running out.

I had to stop this.

I took a deep breath.

Roy looked so calm, standing so upright, so confident. Was this how the congregation had seen him on our own wedding day?

Father Martin began speaking. ‘In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the marriage of Roy and Cleo, to pray for God’s blessing on them, to share their joy and to celebrate their love.’

‘Mama, who are they?’

He said it so loudly an elderly woman in front of us turned round, glaring.

I raised a silencing finger again. ‘Sssshhh!’ I said.

‘Marriage is a gift of God in creation through which husband and wife may know the grace of God. It is given that as man and woman grow together in love and trust, they shall be united with one another in heart, body and mind, as Christ is united with his bride, the Church.’

I had to stop this. Somehow, I had to find the strength to do it. This was what I had come to do.

‘The gift of marriage brings husband and wife together in the delight and tenderness of sexual union.’

I couldn’t help it. I let out a stifled cry.

‘Mama?’ Bruno looked at me, alarmed, squeezing my hand again tightly with his own tiny one.

‘And joyful commitment to the end of their lives. It is given as a foundation of family life in which children are born and nurtured.’

More words went over my head as I thought more and more how I had never before considered Roy making love to another woman. About him doing the same things to her that he had done to me. He’d been an incredible lover. Always considerate, always determined to satiate me fully before himself. None of the other sexual relationships I’d ever had came close. And now, tonight, he would be going to a bedroom somewhere, and would make love as a new husband to his new bride, and no doubt do all the things to her we had done. And he’d be telling her they were soulmates. And not think for one damned second about me. About all we had once been and once had.

If I didn’t intervene.

The moment was getting closer. Less than a minute or so away, now. Father Martin continued towards the point of no return.

‘Roy and Cleo are now to enter this way of life. They will each give their consent to the other and make solemn vows, and in token of this they will each give and receive a ring.’

I realized I was twisting the ring Roy had put on my finger nearly two decades ago.

‘We pray with Roy and Cleo that the Holy Spirit will guide and strengthen them, that they may fulfil God’s purposes for the whole of their earthly life together.’

I took a deep breath. Another. Then another.

NOW!

This was my moment. The chance to change my life. To go back to how it all had once been. I took yet another long, deep breath. Ran through the words again in my head.

YES, I KNOW A REASON! HE’S ALREADY MARRIED. TO ME!

Father Martin said, loudly, but with a smile, ‘First, I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason these persons may not lawfully marry to declare it now.’

And suddenly, without warning, Roy turned and looked half comically back down the aisle, staring straight at me, it seemed. Staring straight through the veil into my eyes.

I froze.

He turned back to face the altar.

My legs had become unsteady and I had to hold on to the back of the pew in front of me for some moments. I thought I was going to throw up.

Had he seen me? Could he somehow know I was here? How?

It wasn’t possible.

But, I realized, what I wanted to do now wasn’t possible.

I had made this long journey to stop the wedding, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the strength. I didn’t have...

A tornado of confusion was raging in my mind.

I have to do it.

Have to.

Have to.

NOW!

But I just stood, frozen. Terrified suddenly.

‘The vows you are about to take are made in the presence of God, who is judge of all and knows all the secrets of our hearts.’

I gripped Bruno’s hand so hard. Then, ignoring the sea of faces, I dragged him, half running, out of the church and out into the sunlit afternoon.

‘Mama!’ he protested.

Behind us I heard Father Martin’s voice. ‘Therefore if either of you knows a reason you may not lawfully marry, you must declare it now.’

I stood still, listening hard. Hoping. Half hoping.

‘Mama?’

‘Ssshhhh!’

‘Roy, will you take Cleo to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?’

The silence seemed eternal. Then I heard the words I dreaded. Faint, but distinct enough. Like the whisper of a ghost.

‘I will.’

Dragging Bruno by his hand again, I ran, stumbling, blinded by my tears, down the church path to the road, and back up the hill towards where I had parked the rental car.