O'Mara's

by Michelle Vernal

  Leila moved Aisling’s hair out the way as she finally wrested the zip into place. She stepped back to admire her friend’s reflection in the big floor to ceiling mirror at the far end of the dressing room. ‘There, now look at you. I think you’re the most beautiful bride-to-be I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a few.’

  ‘Even if I do need to lose a couple of pounds,’ Aisling laughed. ‘And besides I think you might be a little biased.’

  Moira piped up, ‘Five pounds at least Aisling, and if you’re going to do the soup diet, I think they’re supposed to be clear soups, not potato and cream based.’

  Aisling poked her tongue out at her. She did have a point though, and Moira was in her good books for putting Mammy off. She’d not wanted her coming along with them to this their final fitting. She meant well but Maureen O’Mara was a woman of many words. Which was a polite way of saying sometimes she had too much to say for herself.

  She was bossy where her three girls were concerned. A tiger mama. She’d driven poor Roisin demented in the lead-up to her big day. When her sister had rung to congratulate Aisling on her engagement she’d added sagely, ‘As your big sister who’s been there and done that Ash, I want you to promise me something.’

  ‘What is it?’ She wasn’t promising anything until she knew what she was in for.

  ‘Trust me on this. Don’t let Mammy come with you to choose your dress or to any of your fittings. Do you remember our holy communion?’

  ‘How could I forget? Mammy turned into a monster. We had to have the biggest and best dresses. We looked like tiny versions of Princess Diana on her wedding day. Dad was going mad over the cost of it all. Who knew she was so competitive.’

  ‘Exactly, she was terrible when you were seven years old and committing yourself to Christ, imagine what she’ll be like now you’re thirty-four marrying a flesh and blood man—and she had you pegged as being on the shelf. That’s extra interfering points right there and it’ll be worse for you now her time’s her own. Mark my words, you give her an inch when it comes to your wedding, she’ll have you in a frothy white monstrosity. If she’d had her way, I would have wound up wearing a blancmange. Jaysus, the row we had in Abigail’s Brides to Be, I thought Abigail was going to bar the pair of us.’

  She’d heeded Roisin’s words of wisdom despite feeling a little mean at not including Mammy. To be fair though, she had plenty to keep her otherwise occupied. There was her plethora of social groups, and in her rare downtime she was throwing a lot of energy into her mother-of the-bride dress. She’d confided this was because she wasn’t going to be outdone by Mrs McDonagh, who what with Marcus being an only child, was sure to go to town with her outfit. So with Moira’s help, the first opportunity Mammy would have to see her in her dress was on the day itself.

  Aisling felt a frisson of sadness as she turned to the left and then to the right. She’d wanted Dad to walk her down the aisle but instead his brother Cormac would do the honours. It still took her by surprise from time to time that Dad was no longer with them. It was also hard to believe if she hadn’t come back to Dublin to take over O’Mara’s she’d never have met Marcus. Perhaps it was fate’s way of softening the blow of losing her father. She blinked back the sudden smarting of tears and turned her mind to the guesthouse for a second. Bronagh would have everything under control and Nina was perfectly able to manage the quieter evenings. She was grateful to the two women, their reliability and capability left her free to concentrate on this, admiring her dress.

  She’d fallen in love with it the moment Niamh, Ivory Couture’s owner had pulled it from the rack. The mermaid trumpet style with its overlay of white Irish lace was not what she’d gone for initially. When she’d daydreamed of her big day, she was always in something princess-like with a tiara, there was always a tiara. Niamh’s well-practised eye had taken in Aisling’s curves however and gently steered her away from her first choice.

  She was so glad she had because Roisin’s terminology of looking like a blancmange sprang to mind now. This mermaid trumpet gown was the most gorgeous dress she’d ever worn. It even eclipsed her love for the Prada satin pumps she’d picked out to wear with it. This was her Cinderella dress and it embraced her hourglass form. Even if she didn’t manage to lose those pesky few pounds, she’d be fine on the day so long as she didn’t breathe or sit down!

  Niamh popped her head in and tweaked the bodice of Aisling’s dress, so she wasn’t revealing quite so much cleavage. She turned her attention to Moira’s hem, gesturing for her to stand. Her sister obliged, and a debate raged as to whether it might need to be taken up half an inch. Moira convinced her to leave it as it was by telling her she planned on wearing heels higher than the ones she presently had on so the length wouldn’t be an issue.

  All the O’Mara women were short, the height gene had gone directly from Dad to Patrick. As such Maureen, Roisin, Aisling and Moira all insisted on wear ankle breaking heels to even up the odds.

  Once Niamh had finished her final titivations, the girls got changed back into their civvies. Leila pulling on her jeans, suggested a drink on the way home to run through the day itself one last time. Her wedding planning services was her gift to Aisling and one for which she was grateful. There was nobody else she would have trusted to help her pull off the most important day of her life. Certainly not her Mammy! Moira bowed out having already made plans to catch up with her friends at a pub where a new band they’d heard good things about was playing. So Aisling and Leila arm in arm made their way down busy O’Connell Street with its Friday night vibe as people finished work for the week in full swing.

  ‘The Gresham? We’ll be able to hear ourselves think in there.’ Leila suggested and Aisling agreed.

  They found a table in the civilised Writer’s Lounge and sat opposite one another chatting until their drinks arrived. A low-calorie vodka soda for Aisling and a pint of Guinness for Leila. She’d ordered a honey glazed ham sandwich too, and Aisling watched on enviously as she scoffed it down. Leila had hollow legs and never gained a pound. She also never stopped, she was one hundred miles an hour darting, here there and everywhere as she made sure her clients had the best day of their life.

  Aisling was hardly sedentary but no matter how many times she trooped up and down the flights of stairs at home, she always seemed to hold on to an extra few pounds. They clung to her rather like a toxic friend she couldn’t get rid of. She dabbed at the crumbs left on Leila’s plate and popped her finger in her mouth.

  Leila produced the folder she’d compiled for Aisling and Marcus’s nuptials and Aisling pored over the booklet for Lisnavagh Castle. The princess dress might have gone, but the castle hadn’t, and she was having a tiara, that went without saying. Lisnavagh Castle nestled against the lush green and gold countryside of Wicklow was dreamy. It was the stuff of fairy tales. She flicked through the glossy pages eagerly, sighing over the picturesque setting. The sun would shine on her day she was sure of it, just like it was in the pictures she was gazing at.

  Mammy had suggested having the reception at O’Mara’s like Roisin had. Their guesthouse had done her sister proud on the day, but Aisling lived and worked there, she didn’t want to hold her wedding there too. Marcus who would be moving in after their Maldives honeymoon agreed with her. At least he hadn’t disagreed when she’d stated that as they were paying for the wedding themselves, they should be able to hold it where they wanted. She hadn’t felt the least bit guilty booking the extravagant venue. She only planned on doing this once, and she wanted it to be perfect.

  Leila and Aisling whiled away a companionable hour discussing seating arrangements. The hot topic where to put her dad’s bite of a sister Aunt Delia. ‘I think we should sit her next to Great Aunt Maggie, she’s a bit doolally so Aunt Delia’s moaning about the soup not having enough salt or the duck skin not being crispy enough won’t faze her.’ Aisling announced pleased with her solution.

  She had a slight flush to her cheeks by the time they left the bar and made th
eir way home. It was partly due to the vodka soda, but it was also excitement. She couldn’t wait for the 6th of September when she would become Mrs Marcus McDonagh. Leila walked with her across O’Connell Bridge before hugging her goodbye. She would catch the DART from Tara Station to her Blackrock home. The evening was warm despite it officially being autumn now, and the streets around Grafton Street buzzing with early revellers. The joviality was infectious and Aisling had a spring in her step. She paused to watch a young violinist playing near Marks & Spencer, fishing around inside her purse for some coins to throw him.

  She’d have liked to learn to play an instrument, Mammy had sent her off to piano lessons after school but like her singing she’d no natural aptitude for it. She could however dance and standing there caught up in the music she lost herself in memories recalling how she’d first crossed paths with Marcus.

  ͠

  Aisling had been installed back in her old room at O’Mara’s, which she thankfully now had to herself for two weeks when she met the man she was going to marry. Moira had commandeered what had been Mammy and Dad’s bedroom, the largest of the three and had already managed to make it look as though some sort of clothes bomb had detonated in there.

  It was unsettling being home. O’Mara’s felt different without Mammy and Dad buzzing about the place. It was hard to accept that Dad, their lovely, calm, steady father had passed. That he wasn’t here filling the spaces, a strong shoulder always there for them all to lean on.

  Aisling didn’t like to dwell on the empty spot he’d left behind. It was like poking at the pain with a lance. It would ooze fresh and raw with each prod. It was strange too accepting this new mammy, a Mam without Dad at her side tempering her. The life Aisling had known since gaining her diploma of flitting from one glorious sunshine destination to another already seemed a distant memory.

  She loved the city she born in, but she hadn’t planned on coming back, not for a while at any rate. Hania where she’d been managing a resort in need of being brought up to speed alongside its competitors had been a little piece of paradise. The beautiful old town with its brilliant colours and that sky! It melded with the sea in a never-ending panorama of blue.

  That was her old life she told herself. It had never been her real life she realised now. Merely a stopgap. There would have come a time when all that globetrotting had gotten tiresome, it was just the decision to come home had been made sooner than she’d planned. It didn’t matter how she tried to convince herself coming home was inevitable though, settling back in was easier said than done.

  Thinking back on it the company she worked for had been generous, more than generous really. They’d allowed her an extended period off to come home and help when Dad’s illness was too much for Mammy to cope with. It had helped they were heading into the quiet shoulder season and she would soon have found herself winging her way to a busier climate anyway—job done. She supposed in a way the timing had been convenient for them.

  She’d arranged to stay on in Dublin for a week longer following Dad’s funeral. It had been as per his wishes a simple affair. For once Mammy had not tried to go bigger and better, she’d honoured his wishes. It was two days later when Maureen O’Mara had thrown the spanner in the works with her announcement that she would not be staying on at the guesthouse without her husband.

  They were all there gathered around the dining table, Patrick, Roisin, Moira and herself—oh and Colin the Arse had squeezed himself in beside his wife. It was like a scene from a film where the wizened lawyer reads the patriarch’s last will and testament. Only there was no lawyer and no will just Mammy and she was firm and resolute in her decision. She claimed it wasn’t rash, she’d had plenty of time to mull over her future while sitting beside Dad’s bedside these last few months. They’d discussed it while he was still well enough she told them. Together they’d amassed a tidy sum over the years, all put away for a rainy day. Now that rainy day had come, and she wanted out.

  The cards were laid bare on the table. Mammy refused to entertain the idea of a stranger managing the place, her argument being O’Mara’s had always been a family business. She’d rather sell and divvy up the proceeds than trust their family name to a stranger. If however, one of her children wished to take over the day-to-day running of the guesthouse, it would stay in the family. This was of course the preferable option, although she understood that while building O’Mara’s into what it was today had been her and Dad’s dream, it might not necessarily be theirs.

  Children had a right to follow their own dreams, she proclaimed. It would be sad to sell, to lose the family connection with the building but when it came down to it O’Mara’s was just a building after all. They were not to feel beholden she said, Dad had made his peace with whatever choices were made once he’d gone.

  Moira was far too flighty for the role and Mammy had enough trouble without adding her to the list. Roisin had stayed out of the negotiations not offering an opinion on what should happen with the family business one way or the other—unlike her husband. Her life was in London with the Arse and with little Noah. Her feisty wilful big sister seemed to have morphed into a meek and moany sort since she’d gotten married. Mind you, he was a bossy so-and-so, her brother-in-law. He’d stamp all over single-mindedness. She supposed her sister found it easier to acquiesce than to rock the boat. Which left Patrick.

  Her brother referred to himself as an entrepreneur. A job description from what Aisling could see was on a par with being a Director of Housekeeping. It too entailed doing a lot of not very much at all. He spent his time swanning around the city in a flashy car and in his world, it was important to be seen at the best restaurants and bars on offer. Somehow though he seemed to make shed loads of money.

  Aisling’s blood had boiled as she spied the predatory gleam in Patrick’s eyes. He looked positively gleeful at the thought of all that freed up equity if the building were sold. Her gaze had swung in Colin the Arse’s direction and she’d seen the greedy glimmer in his eyes too. That same afternoon once everybody had dispersed to mull over what had been said Aisling had taken herself quietly off. The decision had been an easy one, she telephoned her employers to thank them for their generosity and kindness toward her during her father’s illness. She had however decided she was needed permanently at home. She wouldn’t be coming back.

  Thank goodness for Leila and Quinn. She’d have been lost without their friendship and support. The years away had given her perspective on those mixed-up feelings she had for Quinn. They were friends it was all they’d ever be, and it would have to be enough. So she’d picked up with her two old pals as though she’d only seen them yesterday.

  It was Leila who’d suggested they head along and check out Monday night salsa dance classes. It would do them all good to stretch their cultural boundaries, she said. And that’s where she’d met Marcus.

  Chapter 12

  To learn Latin American dance was not something Aisling had ever thought about doing, but it could be fun. The exercise would be good too, a much more fun way of keeping fit than pounding it out at a gym. Not that she had any intention of doing that! Salsa could be something positive that would take her away from her grief and O’Mara’s for a few hours at least.

  ‘C’mon Ash it will be a good craic so it will,’ Leila pressured. ‘And Quinn won’t come unless you do, he said he’s two left feet and he’s only prepared to humiliate himself if you are too. Say you’ll give it a go.’

  ‘But what would I wear?’

  ‘Something comfortable and practical, but sexy and evocative at the same, you know like Latin music. Then again, you don’t want to distract your partner by wearing something too sexy, he might be so busy staring down your top he stamps on your foot or something.’

  ‘Not if I’m partnering with Quinn, he’d be oblivious if I were dancing the tango topless and that really didn’t help Leila.’

  She giggled. ‘I just imagined him in tight black trousers shaking a castanet and wiggling his hips
around like yer man Ricky Martin. And who said he’s going to be your partner, I’m the one trying to convince him to come.’

  ‘Ah but he won’t come unless I agree to go to.’

  ‘Fair play. I hope you’re coordinated, whoever you wind up partnering with could lose a toe with one of your stiletto heels.’

  ‘Shake your bon-bon!’ Aisling sang, and she and Leila collapsed in a fit of snorting giggles. When they’d sobered Leila announced, ‘I’m going to get in the swing of it by wearing a fitted black dress and I might put a rose behind my ear.’

  ‘You’re thinking of the tango not salsa you eejit.’

  ‘Oh so I am. Ah well, we’ll figure it out,’ she laughed.

  ‘Looks like I’m going to be learning salsa, you’d better tell Quinn there’s no getting out of it now!’

  ͠

  The classes were held in a dance studio hidden away above a cluster of shops on Dame Street. The businesses were all closed for the day by the time Aisling, Leila and Quinn who’d been dragging his heels all the way there arrived at the address. They opened the door with the name plate that said they had come to the right place, Lozano’s Dance Studio and Leila led the way up the stairs. Aisling brought up the rear making sure Quinn, who thankfully had opted for sweat pants not tight trousers and was not carrying a castanet so far as she could tell, didn’t try to make a getaway.