The windows were clear glass with a view of grey hillside through the drizzle. As she took her black hymnal out of the slot in front of her, Mair thought of the abandoned chapel in Leh. She touched the folds of the brown pashmina tucked inside the collar of her best coat.The minister took his place, the organist brought a meandering voluntary to a close and the congregation rustled to its feet. The bride came down the aisle on her father’s arm, and Mair’s old friend Tal turned to look at his Annie. His red face was anxious and, just as it had done since he was a boy, his stiff shirt collar looked as if it was half an inch too tight for his neck.All weddings are the same, Mair thought, however different the superficial trappings. Anxiety and eagerness and the fizz of happiness popping just like a bottle of champagne.The minister welcomed them all in Welsh, and her thoughts turned again to Nerys and Evan Watkins.Afterwards, in the hotel receiving line, they shook hands with Annie’s parents and then Tal’s, and Mair batted away their well-meaning questions with ‘Oh, I’ll have to meet Mr Right first.’ The bride and groom smiled, acknowledging their rightness for each other.Dylan, Eirlys and Mair moved into the crowd of guests.
