The mailman rang the doorbell and gave Macon a large stiff, brown envelope addressed to him. He took it into the living room where Muriel was sitting ,reading.
‘This looks like your handwriting on the envelope,’ he said.
Muriel turned the envelope and found a calendar. Puzzled, he looked through the months-January, February, March, April, May. Then June. A word in red ink written across a Saturday.
‘Wedding,’ he read out. ‘Wedding? Whose wedding?’
‘Ours?’ she asked him.
‘Oh, Muriel…’