Page 70 of Sunrise By the Sea

‘Be careful,’ said Nazreen. ‘I know these places can be triggering.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Marisa. ‘I can do it.’

Marisa had only done one other RGL in her career. They were rare, heart-rending occasions. There was only one reason people were allowed to get married without due notice.

The small cottage hospital was indeed just on the other side of the causeway. Marisa had got Archie the fisherman to take her and sat hugging herself in the galley of the boat, her eyes half shut, telling herself to get out of her own way; if ever a day wasn’t about her, it was today. Fortunately, Archie was happy to chatter on about how busy they were, and hadn’t it been amazing saving the causeway and what a great place they lived in.

The perspective on Mount Polbearne from the sea was really quite something; the ancient rock rising from the water, in the days where if you wanted to get somewhere fast, doing it by water was the quickest method. The imposing old church at the top, the houses wound around it, its strange, proud solitary shape, with the beautiful golden sand at the bottom of it. Looking at it, and hearing Archie’s excited chatter, made Marisa feel oddly proud of her adopted home, even if it wasn’t what she would have chosen. It shone brilliantly outlined against the bright blue sky as the boat bobbed up and down and she found herself taking deep breaths, not because she’d remembered, or because it had been something to tick off in her book, but because the fresh, salty air felt so very good.

She had a little wobble as she got to the hospital. The person she was dealing with had been having every dose of radiotherapy and chemo the hospital could throw at them, just to keep them alive for long enough to see this day. It was a huge responsibility.

The doctor, Indira, came and met her, smiling, but grimly.

‘His immune system is severely compromised,’ she said. ‘Can you mask up? Anything could carry him off.’

She held out a mask and a plastic apron.

‘Of course,’ said Marisa.

‘We had to limit guests,’ she said. ‘He’s . . . not in a good way.’

In that case, Marisa wondered why it mattered, but didn’t say so, just snapped on the gloves.

‘And it can only be ten minutes, can you do that?’

Marisa nodded. She glanced at the names.

‘Can I have a word with Linnet beforehand?’

Indira shook her head. ‘No. Sorry. I can’t tell you . . . Time is of the essence. Let’s go.’

Marisa followed her, Indira’s crocs clopping on the highly polished surface of the linoleum, feeling nervous, even though she’d done the ceremony a hundred times.

The HDU was hushed, with figures looking like spacemen slowly pacing to and fro.

Undeniably, the hospital had done its absolute best. The bed had been moved to a private room at the very end of the ward, where there was a set of French doors out into a garden. Normally shielded with blinds, these had been pulled up, and the door opened, just a tad, to let the sunlight and fresh air stream in.

Flowers had been hung around the outside of the windows, their scent blowing in on the breeze.

Lying on the bed was a diminished young man who kept taking long draws from the oxygen mask next to him. He was wearing a pale blue suit that was far too large for him, and a flower in his buttonhole. His long hair had been combed to one side.

‘Hello,’ she said, conscious to speak loudly. ‘Are you Denys?’

The man nodded. Another man stepped forwards. His hair was dreaded and in neat rows, his eyes full of pain.

‘Linnet?’

He nodded.

Indira stayed, along with another nurse, to act as witnesses, but Marisa became aware of a group of healthcare staff lining up behind her, heads bent solemnly, to observe. One, she was pleased to notice, was filming. Linnet and Denys each had their mothers there, who were themselves holding hands, and trying not to cry too loudly. That was the limit of people it was safe to have in the space.

‘Shall we start?’ she said, making her voice as warm as she could. She had a few notes on a piece of paper.

‘I know this place and time are not ideal for the wedding you would wish, to pledge your lives to each other. But my job is to assure you that love is here, and that this wedding and this marriage are as legal and as real as any other, as the love you bear for one another on this day and on every day.’

The mood was solemn when suddenly, to Marisa’s horror, she saw a hand creeping round the bottom of the French doors. Everyone stopped and all you could hear was the sound of machines beeping.

The hand had a plug and was trying to fit it in a socket that was just to the right of it.

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