The Little Wedding Island: the perfect holiday beach read for 2018. Jaimie Admans
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come on. That’s incredible. It must’ve taken years to construct that. They must’ve let the trees grow and then spent years training them into that shape so it looks fantastic but doesn’t hurt the trees.’
‘Hmm,’ he mutters noncommittally.
‘Can you imagine walking down here as man and wife? A father and daughter walking through this as he goes to give her away? Running through it with your new partner? Stopping here for your wedding photos? It’s perfect. I’ve never seen a more beautiful entrance to a church.’
He looks up at the trees and back at me. ‘I suppose you go to enough weddings to make a fair judgement so I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Doesn’t it feel special to you?’ I put my hand on my heart and close my eyes. ‘It feels like you can… sense how many couples have been married here. There’s such an incredible atmosphere.’
‘I think it’s called being away from city traffic.’
When I open my eyes, he’s looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
‘Know what I can hear?’ he continues. ‘The cha-ching of how much money this place must be dragging in from people who think they can sense romance in the atmosphere.’
I ignore him and try to open the gate instead but it doesn’t budge. It’s a wooden farm gate at around armpit height, but there’s a heavy chain binding it to the gatepost, and a hefty padlock that leaves no doubt about how welcome visitors are.
‘Seems warm and inviting.’ Rohan pushes the gate to see how steady it is. ‘I could climb that.’
‘Yeah, if you want to break your neck.’
‘Excuse me.’ A man clears his throat and we both look up to see a bloke in a black shirt and clerical collar coming down the lane towards us. ‘There will be no climbing of gates or breaking of necks today, thank you very much.’
He stops on his side of the gate and gives us a look that says he’d be more thrilled to find a hyperactive baboon with a box of matches and a fondness for pyromania waiting to come in. ‘Is there something I can help you with that may change your current plans for trespassing onto private property and possible mortal injury?’
‘We’ve heard a lot about your church,’ I say before Rohan can say whatever sarcastic comment is itching to spill out of his mouth. ‘We just wanted to come in and have a look at the place. It sounds magical.’
‘Ah, I see.’ The vicar nods knowingly. ‘Have you, perhaps, missed the giant padlock? Does the “keep out” sign translate to you as “come in, visitors welcome”?’ His voice is upbeat but there’s a hint of steel behind his words. ‘Reporters again, I presume?’
‘We’re just tourists,’ Rohan says. ‘Come to explore Edelweiss Island. You can’t stay here without having a butcher’s at the church, can you?’
‘Are you here to get married?’
‘No!’ Rohan sounds more alarmed than is probably normal to sound at the mere mention of a word.
‘Then I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ the vicar says with a shrug that looks more condescending than apologetic. ‘And if you get any further ideas of breaking and entering, I would like to advise you that I have a guard dog.’
‘Aww, I love dogs. What breed is he? Can we meet him?’ Rohan doesn’t wait for an answer before he lets out a shrill whistle to call the dog.
I expect to see a large, angry Doberman racing down the path hungry for a taste of blood. What actually happens is a little black pug comes waddling out of the woodland and sits down beside the vicar’s ankles.
‘Oh my God, that’s the cutest dog I’ve ever seen.’ Rohan drops to his knees and shoves both arms through the gate and starts cooing at the dog. I’m convinced he’s about to lose his fingers, but the dog wags his whole body as he wanders over, gives his hand a sniff, and promptly throws himself upside down on the grass and wriggles around for Rohan to tickle his belly.
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