* * *
The wedding was the social event of the year in Sleazeford as I'd come to think of the place now. Wheelan had booked St. Denys parish church in the centre of the town. The ancient twelfth century church was filled with blooms which turned out to be supplied by Finnigan. The ex-Provo was making a nicely legit sideline exporting flowers now. Wheelan had spared no expense. Yellow and white garlands wrapped around the pillars, covered the altar and filled big vases in full view of the congregation. The bridesmaids looked gorgeous in mauve dresses.
And as for Claire McTeague herself? Sorry, Claire Wheelan as I should call her now. Well, she was simply beautiful. She looked stunning as she walked down the aisle on McTeague's arm. Yes, even in these days I suppose it's unusual for the ex-husband to give away the bride. But if that's what McTeague wanted to do, who was going to argue?
There were men there from Birmingham, Leicester; hell from all over the country and as far away as Scotland. One face even took a chance and had slipped back into the country from the Spanish Costas. Men who wouldn't normally be seen sitting together in the same room shared the same pew. Their wives and girlfriends all dolled up like birds of paradise. I don't suppose the symbolism was lost on the assorted faces in the congregation. The handing over of the prize by the older gang head to the leaner, meaner younger boss.
I can't say I paid much attention to the service or the vicar's sermon and forty minutes later we were all outside. That flat unending east wind blew off the fens making the smokers huddle together against the sheltered side of the old, white stone church. After the photos had been taken – as you would expect there were a number of faces there who declined the opportunity to appear – McTeague drew Wheelan and myself to one side.
"I might not get chance to catch you during the reception, Wheelan, so let me congratulate you now and wish you every happiness and success in the future."
"Thanks, McTeague," Wheelan said, shaking the older man's hand. "That's really good of you."
"I've arranged for your wedding present to be delivered Monday the twenty-third. After you two get back from your honeymoon. A truck load of Chinese cigarettes, at least fifty thousand cartons worth. Top quality packaging. No-one will spot the difference."
Wheelan did the sums in his head. He smiled and threw his arms around McTeague's body in a bear hug.
I'd had enough so I didn't stay on for the wedding reception. Speeches and toasts followed by drunken dancing never appealed to me. Instead I walked alone down the churchyard path past the mossy graves, climbed into my Audi and drove home.
Sleaford Noir 1 Page 14