He watches the rainwater drag the cigarette butt down the empty street. He was sure she`d understand, wouldn`t she? She`d be upset, of that he had no doubt. All that preparation, the caterers, relatives from across the country, not to mention the hire of the venue. And it hadn`t come cheap, something her folks could ill afford. Was he being more than a little selfish? Sighing, he turns up the collar of his shiny new suit before reluctantly striding off down the street, the sound of the bells of St Marks gradually fading in the gathering afternoon gloom...
© Roger Woodcock