Matilda Next Door - Kelly Hunter Page 0,59

about the flowers from the florist, who’d wept tears of joy at their wonderful scent, and shortly thereafter entered a small-town political world he was ill equipped to deal with when it came to whose donated flowers would go where. The long-suffering floral artist had ended up calling on Wirralong’s Smart Ladies’ Supper Club for help, and between them they’d sorted him out. Apparently champagne, and plenty of it, solved all kinds of problems.

The florist was an honorary member of the Supper Club now. Their next meeting was at Elsa’s Hair Affair and there was a wet shave and facial treatment with his name on it. Henry knew all this because he was part of the town now. All in, and loving it.

This place. This glorious, barmy place, where people drove for days in outback trucks and utes that looked like they belonged on a Mad Max set, in order to see Matilda Moore marry Henry Church.

The promise of an all-night ball afterwards, at the historic Wirra Station woolshed, in lieu of a more formal wedding reception, didn’t hurt.

Henry saw the pair of white peacocks from the corner of his eye as he stood on the steps of the church, greeting people as they went inside and waiting for word that it was time to head for the altar and wait for his bride. His grandfather stood with him, the only groomsman he wanted at his side today. Joe Church, resplendent in grey suit and tails—to match the bride’s eyes—was also staring at the peacocks and trying to hide a smile.

‘Please tell me they’re not part of the wedding procession,’ Henry murmured.

‘You want to pray they’re not a wedding present,’ his grandfather murmured, and there was that. ‘They have ribbons around their necks. And little cards. They probably have names.’

‘Not helping, old man.’

And then Matilda’s mother approached, a vision of elegant restraint in a duck-egg blue dress and matching coat that ended just below her knees. ‘They’re coming over the bridge.’

Meaning it was time to go inside.

‘Wait.’ She stepped up and fussed with his tie, moving it a fraction to the left, and then brushed her hands over his shoulders and down his arms and stepped back. ‘Your final clothing check.’ His soon-to-be mother-in-law turned to Joe next and fussed about all over again. ‘Beth’s inside already, in pride of place on your side of the church. Welcome to the family, Henry. We’re here for you. Whatever you need from us, ask.’

His first instinct was to say thank you and think never, that’s not going to happen, but he was better at the give and take between people now. Between families, new and old. He could do this, and be supported, and at other times he would do the supporting. ‘I will.’

‘Time to go inside, son.’

Time to step up and say the words in his heart.

Maggie’s sweet little daughter, Bridie, entered the church first, plucking rose petals from a little cane basket full of them and dropping them on the ground.

The poppet’s mother came next, Maggie Walker-O’Connor, in a dusky-rose gown. Redheaded Elsa, hairdresser extraordinaire, followed, wearing a gown of palest, forest green. Then Isabelle, who was a celebrant but who couldn’t be a celebrant this time because she was in the bridal party, in champagne gold. Then Holly, another Wirralong soul who’d lit out of town fast and years later finally found her way home. Holly wore a bolder coloured green gown, and carried Rowan on her hip. His daughter was a vision in pink, with a tiny crown of pink rosebuds woven into her fiery curls. Viewed together, Tilly’s attendants reminded him of the bouquet of roses Tilly carried in her arms.

Matilda, who in a field of beautiful women, outshone them all with her shining eyes and her brilliant smile and sheer happiness. He could feel her joy, even if he couldn’t see it behind the veil. It flowed over him, into him, filling him to bursting.

His bride.

It took an eternity for her to reach him. Another decade before she and her father shared a few words and he finally left her side. Were they ready yet? He was ready to say the words.

And then the minister started, and he barely heard the half of it, because those words so wanted to come out.

‘I do,’ he finally got to say. Forever-and-a-day, I do, and Tilly did too, and the rings went on and they were wed.

And then he lifted her veil and kissed his wife, and thanked the