The Wedding of the Year

by Jill Mansell

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

It's set to be the perfect wedding - till the chauffeur is asked to keep driving the bride round the church. Lottie is a guest at the wedding when she sees Max for the first time in 15 years. No kiss since has matched their last kiss together. They were on the brink of a beautiful love story. Then something shocking happened that tore them apart. Now here he is, and that tingling electric attraction is back. But Max is out of bounds. Ruby has been the perfect vicar's wife. But when she finds out the truth about her husband Peter, outrage and disbelief drive her to act impulsively. And nothing will ever be the same again. . .There will be a wedding of the year - but maybe not yet. When love is in the air, anything can happen. . .

Release date: January 18, 2024

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 416

Sample

Oh my God, it was him. It was actually him.

One minute Lottie was seated at the end of a pew halfway down the church, idly admiring the way bright sunlight streamed through the technicoloured stained-glass windows and breathing in the mingled scents of warm stone, old bibles and beeswax polish. The next moment she heard a laugh that caused all the tiny hairs on her arms to leap to attention.

It couldn’t be, surely not. It just wasn’t possible. But at the same time she knew who that laugh belonged to. All these years later, she’d still recognise it anywhere.

Straightening up, stretching her neck like a meerkat, she scanned the rows of pews on the other side of the church, tilting this way and that to see past the sea of decorative hats until she caught a glimpse of the back of his head. Again, instant recognition.

Max Farrell. How bizarre. The last time she’d seen him, they’d both been living in Oxford . . . until the thing had happened and his father had whisked him away to Ireland. And now here they were, thirteen years on, both attending a wedding over two hundred miles from Oxford.

Whoa, though, it definitely felt weird to be seeing him again.

‘Who are you looking at?’ Next to her, Hannah had noticed. ‘Seen someone you like the look of?’

‘Someone I haven’t seen for years.’ Lottie couldn’t tear her eyes away. Max was chatting to a couple of the ushers, whom he clearly knew. ‘Where did Cameron go to uni, any idea?’

‘Um . . . hang on, I think he mentioned it once. Was it somewhere up in Scotland? The place where Prince William met Kate?’

‘St Andrews.’ Lottie nodded; that made sense. She’d heard on the grapevine that this was where Max had taken his degree. Cameron, about to marry Freya, had evidently invited several of his old university friends along to the wedding. And Max, it appeared, had been one of them.

She couldn’t see that much of him from this angle – there was an elaborate arrangement of pink and cream roses and stargazer lilies in the way – but he was still Max, dark-haired and tanned, with that wide grin and those high cheekbones . . . well, of course they were still high, he could hardly have had them lowered. And he was wearing a navy suit over a white shirt, but that was as much as she could tell from here.

Though as soon as the service was over, she’d be able to make herself known . . .

‘Which one is it? The bald one?’ Hannah gave her a nudge. ‘Or that one in the purple tie?’

‘He’s to the left of them.’

‘Ooh, I say, nice. Is he an ex? Always fun, bumping into an old boyfriend at a wedding, especially when he’s that fit.’ Indicating Lottie’s scarlet silk dress, she went on cheerfully, ‘And good that you’re looking pretty hot yourself.’

This was true. In Lottie’s experience, bumping into exes generally only happened when you were wearing a baggy old T-shirt with ice cream dripped down the front, or when you really should have washed your hair and shaved your legs but hadn’t had time. Except . . . ‘He isn’t an ex. We just knew each other at school.’

Which was true, but also not completely true. There’d been a whole world of possibilities on the brink of becoming something more . . . until the thing had caused life as they’d both known it to change out of all recognition.

But she wasn’t about to launch into that whole tumultuous story now.

‘All the better. Maybe it’s time to see what you’ve been missing out on. I tell you what, if I was single, I’d give him a go. He’s gorgeous.’

‘Ahem,’ said Jerry. ‘I’m sitting right next to you, in case you’d forgotten.’

‘As if I could, my angel.’ Hannah gave her fiancé’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then leaned back to the left and stage-whispered to Lottie, ‘I’m just saying, your one over there looks as if he’d really know how to kiss.’

‘I’m still here,’ Jerry reminded her good-naturedly.

‘You should go over,’ Hannah urged. ‘Say hello!’

Lottie shifted her position on the wooden pew worn smooth with age and checked her watch. It was five to three and the wedding was due to start any minute now. Plus, she didn’t want to do it with this much of an audience; she wouldn’t put it past Max to pretend not to recognise her. ‘It’s OK, I’ll wait until we’re out of here.’

‘Your eyes are all sparkly.’ Hannah was annoyingly perceptive. ‘OK, so maybe he’s not an ex, but you aren’t telling me everything.’ She raised her eyebrows at Lottie. ‘I reckon there was something going on between you two. When did you first meet him?’

‘When did you get so nosy?’ said Jerry, on her other side.

‘I was born nosy. Come on,’ Hannah urged. ‘Out with it.’

‘Fine.’ Lottie shrugged; it wasn’t easy to appear calm when your insides were jittering. ‘When we first met, I was six years old.’

‘Oh, that’s so sweet.’

‘It might sound sweet. Trust me, it wasn’t.’

Her memories of that first meeting had never faded; rather, the occasion had crystallised in her mind and she could remember every detail as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. She’d been a couple of weeks away from her seventh birthday, and Max was more confident than he had any right to be, seeing as it was his first day at Ashley Road Primary School and she’d been there for, like, ages.

Miss Philpott had seated him next to Lottie and told her to look after him, show him around and answer any questions he might have, which had made her feel special and important. Except the first thing he’d said to her when Miss Philpott had left them to it was, ‘My friend used to have a pet mouse called Lottie. You look a bit like a mouse.’ And he’d actually pulled a mousy kind of face that had taken her aback then filled her with outrage, causing her to retort, ‘Well, my friend had a pig called Max and he was ugly like you.’

Whereupon he’d given her a pitying look and replied, ‘But that’s not true, is it? You just made it up.’

And as it had started, so it had continued from that day forward. Max had delighted in teasing and tormenting her at every opportunity, and she’d retaliated because . . . well, because how could she not? That was just the way it worked. When Max had dipped the ends of her plaits in PVA glue, she’d bided her time then got her own back by tipping glitter into the hood of his green anorak. Whenever she found insects inside her school bag, she didn’t have to wonder who was to blame. Similarly, when they went on a school trip to the Cotswold Water Park, Max knew at once who’d thrown his socks into the lake.

As the years went by, at least she’d had plenty of opportunities to up her repartee game after the shame of that very first and most feeble of retorts. Like flicking through the pages of a magazine, she was able to conjure up so many memories: in school, out of school, endlessly teasing each other and somehow never falling out over the pranks and the jibes. They might never have regarded each other as friends, but spending time together had always been good fun and entertaining in a love-to-hate-you kind of way.

Until the thing had happened to change everything.

‘Look at you, you’re miles away.’ Hannah wasn’t giving up. ‘Seeing him again has really got to you. What aren’t you telling me? OK, maybe nothing happened when you were that young, but how about later?’

What was Hannah, some kind of witch? Lottie exhaled; this was why she was glad to have had some warning before coming face to face with Max again, so she could give herself a good talking-to and have time to act all cool, calm and—

‘Here we go.’ Hannah raised an index finger as they heard the sound of the wedding car pulling up outside the church. ‘Bang on time. You’ll have to tell me later.’

But the next moment, just as the vicar signalled to the organist and everyone readied themselves for the imminent arrival of the bride, they heard a voice outside shout, ‘No, don’t stop, don’t get out of the car! Sorry, but could you drive off and go round again? We just need five minutes. Then you can come back and get married, I promise.’

Seventeen minutes earlier

What Ruby Vale had been really looking forward to upon arriving home from a busy three-day work trip to London was a cool shower followed by a couple of hours out in the garden, relaxing on a sunlounger with a glass of wine and a great book.

What she was getting instead was horrible news piled on top of more horrible news, topped with the most horrible news of all.

She thought she might be in a state of shock, but when you found yourself on the receiving end of this amount of information in under two minutes, it was hard to tell for sure.

‘Oh God, don’t faint. Sit down. Here, chair.’ Iris guided her into one before her legs could give way. ‘Men, what are they? Total bastards, the lot of them. I mean, I already knew that, I’ve always known it, but I honestly thought yours’d be different. I couldn’t believe it when I saw them. And if I’d had the vacuum cleaner going, we’d have been none the wiser. But I was still unwinding the lead all ready to plug it in when I heard him coming into the house. And I was about to call out to let him know I was here, but that was when I heard laughing and realised he had someone else with him.’ She pulled an eurgh face. ‘By then it was too late; they were all over each other. I could hear them coming up the stairs and there was no way I could say anything. They thought they were on their own. So I stayed where I was in the spare bedroom and they went into . . . well, yours.’

Ruby closed her eyes; she felt sick.

‘They didn’t take long. But it was pretty noisy.’ Another grimace. ‘And you definitely need to get that headboard fixed. Anyway, I waited until they’d finished and gone back downstairs, and they were still laughing and . . . you know, saying the kind of stuff you wouldn’t want to hear. Then they left, and that’s when I went to the window and saw who it was. My God, I nearly passed out with the shock. So I videoed them.’ She held up her phone, like an actress brandishing a BAFTA. ‘I thought I’d better film it; you never know when it might come in handy. This way they can’t accuse me of making it up.’

She had a point. Iris, who cleaned for them twice a week, was feisty and opinionated, with some dodgy ex-boyfriends and impressively spidery false lashes. Her tops were low-cut, her shorts were high-cut and she had LOOK UP tattooed just above her chest. She was also a lovely person, and highly moral, but Ruby knew that some people who only knew her by sight were unaware of this and might judge her accordingly.

‘Get this down you.’ She thrust a tumbler of brandy into Ruby’s trembling hand. ‘OK, do you wish I’d kept my mouth shut?’

‘No.’ Ruby shook her head. ‘No!’

‘Good. I’d have felt bad if you’d said yes. I told you because I like you a lot more than I like him. Want to watch the video?’

‘No, thanks.’ Except she knew she had to; it needed to be done. Taking a hefty glug of brandy, she braced herself and said, ‘OK.’

With Iris’s warm hand resting supportively on her shoulder, she watched as her husband and the woman emerged from the front door together following their not-so-secret-any-more tryst. It had happened yesterday, while she’d been up in London. And there was no mistaking the body language between them as they made their way back to Peter’s blue Volvo; her arm was around his waist and his hand was on her bottom as they leaned together, exchanging words Ruby couldn’t hear but could probably guess at.

It was the identity of the woman she couldn’t get over, not to mention the fact that Peter evidently preferred her and wanted to sleep with her rather than his own wife.

As if reading her thoughts, Iris blurted out, ‘I mean, what man in his right mind would choose her over you? You’re gorgeous!’

Exactly. Ruby nodded, the unfairness of it all rising like bile in her throat.

‘She’s older than you! And look at her clothes.’

Ruby looked. She’d always tried to wear nice things and make the best of herself, but maybe that wasn’t what counted. The woman in the video was wearing a plain grey cardigan over a cream blouse, and a below-the-knee brown skirt with beige loafers. Maybe that was the kind of outfit her husband preferred.

‘And to think she had the nerve to look down her nose at me,’ Iris went on with a hint of relish. ‘The times she called me into her office and tried to make me feel like a useless mother. Fucking liberty! You know what you’ve got to do, don’t you?’

Ruby watched the last few seconds of the video, featuring Peter and the other woman now wrapped around each other, kissing like besotted teenagers. Finally, reluctantly, they pulled apart, then climbed into the car and drove off.

She twisted round to Iris. ‘Can you send me a copy of this?’

It only took a moment. ‘Done.’

The initial spark of shock and disbelief was being fanned into flames now, rapidly turning into a bonfire of outrage. Ruby said, ‘Go on then, tell me. What are you thinking I should do?’

Iris had had twenty-four hours to get her head around this. She checked the time on her phone. ‘Well, at three thirty she’s going to be standing up on stage opening the May Fair.’ She gave Ruby a look of challenge. ‘If it was me, I’d head down there and give her a piece of my mind.’

Ruby took a deep breath. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Retaliation. Could she do it? Up until today, she hadn’t been the kind of person who would confront another woman. But out of the blue, all this had happened, and it was as if Peter had suddenly become a whole different person.

In which case, why couldn’t she become one too?

Adrenalin was rushing through her with nowhere to go. She’d been away for three days and her mind had gone blank. ‘Where is he, do you know?’

‘Up at the church,’ said Iris. ‘Along with everyone else.’

Of course. The wedding. Due to start just a few minutes from now.

‘And straight after that,’ she added, ‘he’s leaving for Liverpool.’

‘He’s what? Going where?’ Peter hadn’t said anything about Liverpool to Ruby.

‘He mentioned it when I was last here, just after you left on Wednesday. Said it was some kind of retreat.’

Oh right, the alleged silent retreat; she’d forgotten about that. ‘More like some kind of big lie.’ There really was way too much adrenalin in her body and there was absolutely no way this could wait until he came back from Liverpool. Her mind made up, Ruby jumped to her feet. ‘Right, they’re not getting away with this.’ There might not be an actual plan in her head, but she couldn’t just sit here. Something had to happen, or she’d physically combust. And most brides were late turning up for their weddings, weren’t they? It was a tradition Peter always found annoying, but if it gave her time to confront him . . . well, why not make the most of it?

‘Good on you, girl. Whoa, hang on, wait for me.’ Iris, her tone gleeful, raced out of the kitchen after her. ‘I’m coming too!’

St Mary’s Church, many centuries old and with a slightly crooked spire, was only a couple of hundred yards away. The sun was still beating down and Ruby’s spine was damp, her dry-clean-only dress sticking to her in the heat. As they hurried up the driveway, she saw the wedding car had just beaten them to it and was turning in a slow circle. Damn, there was no way they could interrupt the wedding ceremony once it had started, which meant she had to get in there before the bride.

‘Hey, over here.’ Iris waved, then stuck her thumb and index finger in her mouth and executed an ear-splitting whistle to attract the chauffeur’s attention.

When he looked around and lowered the window on the driver’s side, Ruby took a panicky gulp of air and called out, ‘No, don’t stop, don’t get out of the car! Sorry, but could you drive off and go round again? We just need five minutes. Then you can come back and get married, I promise.’

Freya Nicholson, the bride sitting in the back of the limo alongside her mother, Tess, looked surprised but not unduly alarmed. Leaning forward and giving Ruby a little wave, she said, ‘Are they not ready for us yet? OK, that’s fine, see you in five. You look lovely, by the way. Fab dress!’

It was a fab dress, glazed white cotton splashed with big pink roses. Ruby’s mouth might be dry and her brain in a spin, but she still knew how to respond to a compliment. Showing off the hip area in case Freya hadn’t spotted the best part of all, she called back, ‘Thanks. And it’s got pockets!’

‘Come on.’ Iris gave her a push in the direction of the propped-open church doors. ‘This is your moment. Let’s go.’

‘What’s going on?’ As heads swivelled to the back of the church to see who was sending the bride away, Hannah said excitedly, ‘Oh wow, what if it’s someone turning up to stop the wedding? Like in The Vicar of Dibley? I’ve always wanted to see that happen in real life!’

‘I can’t see it being that.’ Lottie shook her head, because it just wasn’t possible. ‘This is Cameron and Freya we’re talking about.’

‘Maybe Cameron’s already married. Or he’s a murderer . . . or a fugitive from justice . . .’

The next moment there came a clatter of high heels on flagstones and a swirl of pink-on-white flew in through the door. Lottie and Hannah exchanged a look of disappointment, because it wasn’t someone exciting after all, only the vicar’s wife, Ruby Vale.

‘Let me guess,’ Lottie murmured. ‘Either the Wi-Fi’s stopped working at home or she’s found a giant spider in the bath.’ Because Ruby didn’t mean to be overly dramatic, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself. She was one of those arty types. Married to the Reverend Peter Vale for many years despite not being a great churchgoer herself, she was well liked by everyone in Lanrock and, as the glamorous writer and artist behind a hugely popular series of children’s books, counted as one of the town’s minor celebrities.

‘I need to speak to you,’ she blurted out, pointing at her husband. ‘In private.’

Peter Vale was standing beside the lectern, checking the order of service. He glanced up. ‘I’m quite busy at the moment. The ceremony’s about to start.’

‘Peter. Just a few words, in the vestry. Please.’

‘Darling, it’s hardly a convenient time. Why don’t you come back after we’ve finished?’ With the faintest trace of irritation, he made a discreet get-out-of-here gesture with the hand holding the order of service, shooing her away as if she were an annoying wasp.

Lottie watched, intrigued by the exchange. Ruby was taking deep breaths now, her eyes like saucers and a sheen of perspiration visible on her slender neck.

‘Later, darling.’ Peter pressed the point home with exaggerated patience.

Out of the shadows stepped Iris Norton, known to most of the residents of Lanrock for her brash personality, excellent cleaning skills and outspoken remarks. Less traditionally dressed for a wedding than Ruby, in a fluorescent green crop top and frayed denim shorts, she was also less at a loss for words.

‘Fine.’ She addressed the Reverend from the lower end of the nave. ‘We’ll go. Your wife just wanted to let you know that she knows. But that’s OK, we’ll leave you to it, we have places to visit, people to see. One person in particular . . .’

‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Peter shook his head, apparently mystified.

‘No worries then, we’ll be off. Don’t want to miss our opportunity, do we?’ Iris tapped her wristwatch in a playful way. ‘Our big moment, if you know what I mean.’

Recovering herself, Ruby chipped in, ‘I’m looking forward to telling everyone what’s been going on. Can’t wait!’

Peter’s face turned the colour of fog. The entire congregation, having swivelled round in their seats, now turned back to view his reaction.

‘Look, I don’t know what you may have heard, but this is r-ridiculous.’ He stumbled over the word and hastened down the nave towards them. ‘I have a wedding to perform—’

‘Your wife wasn’t the one who heard it,’ Iris said brightly. ‘I did. And I recorded it all too.’

Everyone in the church was by this time agog. Next to Lottie, Hannah murmured, ‘Oh my God, this is amazing. Are they saying what I think they’re saying?’

‘Mind you,’ Iris continued, magicking her phone out of her bra, ‘I wouldn’t have guessed she’d be your type. Just goes to show, eh?’

‘OK, that’s enough,’ hissed Peter through gritted teeth. ‘Out.’

‘That’s where we’re going,’ said Ruby. ‘Heading over to see her now. I wonder what everyone’s going to think when they hear what I have to tell them?’

He turned paler still. ‘You can’t do that. No, you mustn’t.’

‘Or, looking at it another way,’ Ruby retorted, ‘maybe you shouldn’t have done what you did.’

The order of service crumpled in his tightening grip. ‘It’s not true, though.’

Iris mimicked his panicky tone. ‘But it is, though. You know it and we know it.’ She rested a hand on Ruby’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s go. Feeling a bit better now?’

Ruby turned to look at her. ‘Do you know what? I am. In fact, I’m actually starting to enjoy myself.’

‘Wait!’ howled Peter as they turned to leave. ‘You can’t do this.’

‘No?’ said Ruby. ‘Watch me.’

‘You’re amazing. I knew you would be.’ Applauding, Iris followed her out through the arched doorway.

Inside the church, everyone held their breath. A small child said, ‘Mummy, I need a wee.’ From one of the pews on the other side of the aisle, Lottie heard the familiar laughter of her childhood nemesis and felt her heart do a somersault.

After several seconds of being frozen to the spot, the Reverend Peter Vale suddenly said in a croaky voice quite unlike his own, ‘I’m so sorry, I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

And hitching up his black cassock, he legged it out of the church.

Gasps of surprise, shock and poorly concealed delight rippled around the ancient church. Lottie saw Cameron Bancroft, on his feet at the front, absorbing this unforeseen hitch to his wedding but taking it in his stride.

‘This is wild,’ said the best man, next to him. ‘What do we do now?’

Cameron was a doctor; he wasn’t the panicking kind. With a shrug, he addressed the congregation in his customary good-natured, capable way. ‘Not a lot we can do, is there? No worries. Apologies for the delay, folks. I guess we just have to wait until he comes back.’

‘Shame we can’t follow them,’ Hannah whispered in Lottie’s ear. ‘I’m bursting to find out who the Rev’s been shagging.’

The small child who’d complained minutes earlier announced in a high-pitched voice, ‘Now I need a wee and a poo.’

While over on the other side of the church, where the ushers were clustered together, Lottie heard Max Farrell announce, ‘And I could definitely do with a drink.’

* * *

From this position, high on the hill, you could see the sea glittering in the sunlight, as dazzling blue as the sky. And on this perfect late-spring day, the first Saturday in May, the streets of Lanrock were busy with holidaymakers.

But it was still pretty easy, amongst all the visitors in their multicoloured shorts, T-shirts and dresses, to pick out a vicar in a billowing white surplice over a black cassock hurtling down the road like a panicking penguin.

‘There he is.’ Ruby pointed him out. Having earlier vaulted a stone wall to take the shortcut and beat them into town, he was now pausing in a shop doorway to make a phone call. ‘Trying to warn her, I expect.’

But as they carried on down the hill, they saw him give up without getting through and put his phone away, while visibly panting and catching his breath.

Moments later, he looked up and spotted them, and Ruby saw a mixture of emotions cross his features. She sensed his fear and felt a surge of power.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything,’ he blurted out when they reached him, ‘but you can’t go and confront her. It’d destroy her career . . . both our careers . . .’

She nodded in agreement. ‘I imagine it would.’

He moved into a side alley so they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Don’t do it. Please don’t do it.’

‘The thing is,’ said Iris, ‘I think you’re mistaking us for two people who give a toss.’

He stared at her in dismay before turning his attention back to Ruby. ‘You want me to beg? Fine, I’m begging you. Punish me all you like, but don’t punish Margaret.’

It was almost three thirty; they were minutes away now from Margaret Crane stepping onto the stage, welcoming adults and children alike to the school’s annual May Fair. Ruby marvelled at the fact that in under an hour, her entire world had imploded. There were beads of sweat running down her husband’s neck and darkening patches spreading across the material of his black cassock.

‘How long has it been going on?’ she asked. If he said that yesterday was the first time, if it had been a moment of madness, a meaningless one-off, could she forgive him?

Peter’s Adam’s apple bobbed frantically above his clerical collar. ‘Eight months.’

What?

‘Fuck.’ Iris shook her head, almost in admiration. She clearly hadn’t thought he had it in him.

Fuck indeed. Ruby looked into the eyes of the man she’d been married to for the last decade. ‘Do you love her?’

Out on the pavement, several yards away, a gull swooped down and made off with an ice cream cone, having knocked it out of a small child’s hand. The child let out a high-pitched shriek and the next moment a second gull landed on the pavement to grab a broken-off scrap of cone, causing the boy’s screams to double in volume and fury.

That was life for you. Full of unexpected incidents and nasty surprises.

‘Yes.’ Peter nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Sorry.’

Ruby felt as if she were having an out-of-body experience, rising up and watching the three of them from above. She said, ‘You need to get back. Everyone’s waiting for you at the church.’

He stared at her in disbelief. ‘I’m not leaving you down here. I don’t know what you’re going to do.’

‘It’s Freya and Cameron’s wedding. You have to marry them. It’s kind of your job.’

‘But I don’t trust you. I need to warn Margaret. I can’t get through to her . . .’ He took out his phone once more and jabbed at the call button to try again.

Ruby watched his hands shake, saw a muscle jumping in his jaw and felt the waves of panic radiating from him. He was her husband, had been her husband for the last ten years, but it was like looking at a stranger, at someone with Peter’s face and somebody else’s brain. Well, if nothing else, it explained why his libido had packed up and left all those months ago. So much for having felt sympathy for him, thinking it had been stress-induced impotence.

‘Why isn’t she answering her phone?’ Turning on his heel, still stabbing at the keys, he bolted back down the alley.

‘Looks like we’re off again.’ Iris followed him. ‘Are we having a race, seeing who can get to her first?’ she called. ‘Because I’m telling you now, I’m pretty speedy. Wouldn’t bet on you to win.’

He broke into a sprint, reaching the main road ahead of them. Turning sharp right, he collided with a tourist wearing a Manchester United shirt and ricocheted off his extensive stomach. The phone flew out of his hand, clattered onto the pavement and bounced into the road.

‘What the . . .?’ snarled the tourist as Peter let out a yelp of desperation and dived to retrieve it.

‘Nooooo!’ cried Ruby as a car, unable to stop in time, slammed on its brakes and sent Peter somersaulting down the road.

Oh God, don’t let him be dead. That would be too much instant karma.

Everyone in the vicinity stopped and turned, traffic and pedestrians alike. Pushing through the crowd rapidly gathering around him, Ruby shouted, ‘It’s my husband . . .’

There was blood trickling from. . .