O'Mara's

by Michelle Vernal

  A light shone under the double doors at the top of the landing. They could hear a fast Latin beat reverberating as they hovered for a moment. They looked from one to the other, uncertain as to whether they should knock or barrel straight in. Leila opted to be bold and pushed open the doors. The trio blinked as they found themselves in a brightly lit studio. There was a vast polished parquet dance floor, a mirrored floor to ceiling wall and on the side of the room with the windows overlooking Dame Street below, a stretch of bar.

  Aisling’s eyes alighted on a woman who looked like she should be at a ballet class. She was dressed in a leotard and tights with a wraparound skirt worn overtop, her right leg was stretched out along the bar as she warmed up. Just how physical was this going to be? She wondered eyeing the rest of her classmates, they were a mixed bag.

  A group of girls around Moira’s age were giggling in the far corner aware they were being eyed by the cluster of twenty-something young men. There were two middle-aged couples in deep conversation here to spice up their marriages, perhaps. A younger couple had their heads bent together and she looked as though she was giving him a talking too. Aisling could see the light catching the sparkly diamond on the girl’s finger as she prodded him in the chest and she automatically penned one of her imaginary letters.

  Dear Aisling

  My fiancé and I are getting married in two months. I want us to perform salsa at the reception to entertain our guests, instead of a boring traditional first dance. I’ve enrolled us in lessons and he is making the biggest song and dance about going. If he can’t do something simple like learn a few new dance steps for me, how does that bode for our married life together?

  Yours faithfully

  Getting Cold Feet

  ͠

  A couple who looked to be around mammy’s age were taking a twirl on the floor at the far end of the studio. She watched them for a beat, their ease with each giving away the fact they’d danced like this in their youth. It made her think how unfair it was Mammy and Dad had been robbed of the chance to while away their golden retirement years together learning to salsa. Mind you, Moira would have had something to say about her parents gyrating against one another on a dance floor. The thought of the look on her face were she here now made her smile and chased off the sad thoughts.

  She sensed Quinn tense next to her and reaching over and squeezed his hand. ‘It will be gas, you’ll see.’ She refrained from telling him Moira had erupted in laughter upon hearing her sister’s plans for the next six Wednesday nights. ‘Three sad-arsed thirty-plus singletons learning salsa together!’ She’d shrieked. Aisling had flicked a pea from her plate across the table at her. She might be a thirty-something, but she could be just as childish as her sister. Besides, there was nothing sad-arsed about it. The three of them had been too busy building their careers to devote time to serious relationships. She repeated this to her sister who looked unimpressed as she picked the pea that had just landed on her lap.

  They’d all taken different paths upon leaving college. Quinn had opted to serve under a demanding Michelin starred chef at a top London eatery learning his trade from the bottom up. He’d come back to Dublin five years ago, having decided he was ready to open his own restaurant. Leila meanwhile had worked as a bridal designer’s assistant for one of Dublin’s leading lights in the industry until she decided the time had come to build her own business. Aisling had taken to travel like a baby bird discovering its wings. She’d worked at resorts in the Whitsunday’s in Australia, Fiji, Hawaii, the Seychelles and her last position in Crete.

  They were all married to their jobs and had gotten very serious in their post-college years. You’d never believe the hijinks they used to get up to now. Yes putting themselves outside of their comfort zone by doing something different like learning a Latin American dance would do them no harm whatsoever.

  ‘It’s a fecking meat market that’s what it is,’ Quinn muttered his eyes moving toward the glamorous duo currently pressed together in the centre of the room.

  ‘I think that’s Maria and Antonio Lozano,’ Leila whispered her eyes wide. ‘They’re good, aren’t they?’

  Aisling nodded, watching them they were so lithe, so graceful. And yes okay, they did look as though they should get a room but wasn’t that what this dance was all about? Shouldn’t you feel as though you were watching something deeply intimate and sensual? She glanced down at her plain black skirt she’d teemed it with a white tee shirt. She felt frumpy and short, despite her heels compared to the elegant instructor in her daring red dress.

  The skirt she’d chosen might be plain, but it did billow out satisfyingly when she twirled. She knew this from having practised in front of the mirror in her bedroom. At least her Louboutin’s (knock-offs but nobody needs know) added a touch of glamour. Leila had opted for a simple green dress with a snipped in waist that for some reason made Aisling think of Tinkerbell.

  The song wound down and those who weren’t on the dance floor applauded those that were. Maria and Antonio bowed, well used to the admiring glances. Antonio in his accented English welcomed them all, introducing himself and his wife Maria, who both had Cuban ancestry. He explained the origins of the dance they’d come to learn.

  Aisling hadn’t known it had originated in Eastern Cuba. Nor had she known that the name salsa was a broad term for many forms of Latin American dance. They would be learning to a fast beat called the timba which had its roots in the afro-Cuban community. ‘Salsa,’ Antonio stated passionately, ‘connects you with others. It is sexy and energetic. We come together to be our true selves and to be in the moment. Salsa is magic.’ He performed some fancy and fast footwork before grabbing Mrs Lozano and spinning her round.

  ‘Jaysus, feck,’ muttered Quinn.

  Leila whispered to Aisling, ‘Will we be doing that bottom wobbling thing they do, do you think?’

  ‘It’s called twerking.’

  It was then that the door opened, and Marcus walked in.

  Chapter 13

  ‘I’m Marcus, hi.’

  ‘Aisling,’ she smiled as the music started and Maria Lozano began to shout instructions over the top of it.

  ‘I’m going to apologise in advance for crunching your toes.’

  ‘Apology accepted.’

  ‘I’m only here because I’m best man at a wedding next month. The bridal party is doing a Latin American dance for some unfathomable reason at the reception. Apparently, I don’t have a natural aptitude so the bride-to-be booked me a lesson,’ Marcus said. ‘And I feel ridiculous.’ He was jiggling his hips in her direction at the instruction of Antonio Lozano.

  Aisling grinned to herself glancing over at the couple who’d inspired her ‘Dear Aisling’ letter. They’d been at odds when they first arrived, but he was looking even less impressed now. It didn’t look like he had a natural aptitude for hip swivelling either. She hoped they made it down the aisle. It must be a new trend she decided. Salsa dancing at weddings and she made a mental note to ask Leila later. ‘You’re not alone, feeling ridiculous I mean,’ she laughed turning her attention back to Marcus and quickly straightening her face upon receiving a glare from Mrs Lozano.

  Salsa was not just magic apparently it was a serious business too, or at least learning the basic steps was. This sexy man thrusting himself awkwardly at her could pass for a Latino she thought. Her pupils had dilated the moment he’d walked into the room apologising for being late. Leila had elbowed her, telling her to close her mouth which she did. She’d already taken stock of his dark hair and serious eyes as they connected with hers.

  He’d come to stand next to her and so it had been natural that he partner with her. Quinn and Leila had paired up. Aisling was too scared to look over at them lest she and Leila have one of their giggle attacks. She wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face were it Quinn currently gyrating in front of her. It was all very well and good getting down and dirty when you had fiery Cuban blood rushing through your veins. It was a little trickier abov
e a shop on Dame Street in Ireland home to the Irish jig.

  ‘What brings you here?’ Marcus asked attempting to spin her around.

  ‘My friend, the blonde girl over there in green thought it would be fun,’ Aisling whispered shuffling her feet along to the tempo. To her surprise she was picking up the steps and managing to keep time with the rhythm. She was she realised having fun. She risked a glance at Leila and Quinn. Leila was gazing down at her feet as though surprised to discover she had two left ones. Quinn though she noticed watching him for a few beats was a natural. Who’d have thought?

  She was glad Marcus was no Fred Astaire and had wound up here at Lozano’s Dance Studio. She’d already decided tonight was going to be worth her not being able to move in the morning. It wasn’t going to be down to her having used muscles as she attempted new moves she hadn’t known existed. It had been a long time since she’d shaken her booty with as much enthusiasm as she was currently doing. No her immobility would be because of her poor feet. She’d already lost count of how many times Marcus had trodden on them! Ah well, she thought stealing a glance at him from under her lashes, he had warned her.

  ‘How do you manage it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dancing in those shoes, staying upright must be a challenge in itself.’

  ‘Practice.’ Aisling grinned. She really was enjoying herself and was pleased she’d let her friend talk her into coming. Wednesday night salsa classes were going to be fun.

  ‘Ah, I see. That’s the secret then. So what do you do?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘I manage my family’s guest house on St Stephen’s Green, O’Mara’s.

  ‘I know it.’

  She wasn’t surprised O’Mara’s was a fixture on the Dublin landscape.

  ‘Until a couple of months ago I was working in resort management. My last post was near Hania in Crete. It’s a stunning part of the world have you been?’

  He shook his head and frowned. ‘No, I usually head for Cyprus. You came back to take over the family business?’

  ‘It was that, or it was going to be sold. My dad died, and Mammy decided she needed a fresh start. It’s taking a bit to settle back in, but the guesthouse is home.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your dad.’

  She smiled to let him know it was okay. ‘What about you, what do you do?’

  ‘I’m a manager at AIB.’

  ‘A salsa dancing bank manager.’

  He groaned, ‘That was never on my CV, but you know I think I might have to thank Madeline for making me come along tonight.’

  They smiled at one another and Aisling felt a shiver of anticipation that tonight was the start of something special.

  ͠

  Across the room Quinn was amazed. His feet had taken on a life of their own once the music had started and he’d following Antonio’s instructions with ease. He glanced over at Aisling, he’d only agreed to come to these classes because it was a chance to be close to her. He could see how this was going to go though. He’d seen it the moment her face had lit up when that eejit, Ricky Martin wannabe who was wiggling his hips in front of her had walked into the room.

  ‘Quinn get off my foot,’ Leila yelped.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Aisling O’Mara how long until Marcus makes an honest woman of you?’

  Aisling blinked, realising she was still holding the coins she’d dug out of her purse for the busker in her hand. She tossed them into the violin case acknowledging his grateful smile before turning her attention to her old classmate, Orla.

  ‘Hi Orla. Gosh, it’s been ages.’ She gave her old chum a hug. ‘Two weeks to go. I’ve just been for my final fitting tonight.’ She filled Orla in on what was planned for the day itself, feeling a stab of guilt that she hadn’t invited her. The cost per head for the meal meant she’d had to be ruthless and bypass friends she didn’t see on a regular basis. Mammy had twittered on about inviting Mrs so, and so, and Mrs you remember her Aisling—but she’d stood firm. She’d done the same with Mrs McDonagh, she’d had to because Quinn seemed to have taken a backseat where their big day was concerned. Content to let her do all the organising, and that included dealing with his mam!

  Orla’s husband Eddie appeared alongside them with a familiar green M&S bag in his hand. He said hello to Aisling and stood listening to her and his wife catching up, beginning to shuffle his feet impatiently after a while. Orla took the hint and wished Aisling the best of luck for her big day before the two women said their goodbyes.

  Nina was manning the front desk when Aisling breezed through the door, having made a mental note to polish the brass nameplate in the morning.

  ‘How’s things Nina?’ She asked the younger Spanish girl who was clipping papers into a ring binder. She’d worked at O’Mara’s for the last few months.

  ‘Ola. We’re quiet tonight, Aisling. Marcus called in though, he left this.’ She produced an envelope which Aisling curiously took from her outstretched hand.

  Marcus had known she wasn’t going to be in this afternoon. She’d told him she was meeting Moira and Leila for their final fitting. He was supposed to be going for the suit fitting she’d arranged for him. His pants were too long and would definitely need taking up. It surprised her he’d found time to swing by O’Mara’s. She itched to get upstairs to see what was inside the envelope not wanting to open it in front of Nina in case it was something that would make her blush. Unlikely given Marcus’s practical nature, but you never knew.

  ‘How did the fitting go? I can’t wait to see your dress,’ Nina smiled.

  ‘It went well, not much to tweak at all, although it is a little snug around here.’ She patted her middle and Nina laughed.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

  The envelope was like a hot potato in her hand, but she hovered a tick longer to ask Nina how her family was. There was a quiet sadness about the young girl at times and Aisling put it down to her being homesick. Her pretty face always grew animated when she spoke of her family. She knew that work was scarce in the small town where Nina came from especially in the cooler months. Dublin with its boom, had guaranteed her employment and a chance to perfect her English.

  ‘My madre and padre are talking about extending their restaurante,’ she said. Aisling had heard all about the small family-owned restaurant in the old town of Toledo where they lived. She also knew Nina sent money home to her parents. She worked two jobs, the evening shift here at O’Mara’s Monday to Friday from 4.00p.m. until 10.00p.m. It was Nina who locked up of an evening, getting a taxi on O’Mara’s tab home to the house she shared with six others. In the day she waitressed a lunchtime shift at popular Pedro’s in Temple Bar.

  Nina began telling her about how her mother made the best cocido madrileño, and that there was nothing better to warm yourself with when the weather grew cool. Aisling’s mouth watered hearing all about the pork stew with its chorizo sausage and chickpeas which simmered for hours. She hadn’t had any dinner and the crumbs she’d snaffled from Leila’s plate hardly counted. The phone rang, and their conversation drew to a close.

  Aisling gave Nina a wave and raced up the stairs to the apartment. She let herself in flicking on the light as she closed the door behind her. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but rather that hazy in between greyish light that signalled night was drawing in. The street lights had yet to come on she noticed quickly drawing the curtains before kicking her shoes off and curling up on her chair by the window. Only once she was comfortable did she open the envelope, then she tore into it in anticipation of what it might contain.

  Perhaps Marcus had picked up the tickets for their honeymoon. They’d booked ten days of lazing in the sun, snorkelling, smorgasbords and languid lovemaking in a luxury villa in the Maldives, bliss.

  It wasn’t tickets however, and she unfolded the plain piece of white paper curiously. Her eyes skimming Marcus’s familiar neat handwriting. She could read the words, but she couldn’t comprehend what they meant.

  Ash, this isn’t
an easy letter for me to write and I know that not telling you to your face is cowardly. I’m ashamed of myself for writing this but if I tried to sit down with you to say I can’t go through with the wedding, I’d bottle it. I wouldn’t be able to stand the hurt on your face. You see, I knew I’d made a mistake from the moment I slid the diamond on your finger, but I couldn’t see a way back.

  My only excuse is things spiralled out of control these past months. I’ve felt like I was on a conveyer belt and I couldn’t get off. I do love you, please know that, but I shouldn’t have proposed to you. It was too soon, and I wasn’t ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to be honest. I’ve seen what marriage has done to my parents. They’ve lived a life of bitterness and sniping. I was always stuck in the middle of it and I’m sure they only stayed together for my sake. Then when I grew up, they stayed out of habit. I don’t want us to wind up like that.

  Why did I ask you to marry me then? All I can say is I knew it was what you wanted, and I wanted to make you happy. In doing so I’ve only succeeded in ultimately making you unhappy. Leaving Dublin seems the kindest thing to do. I’m transferring to Cork. I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart and I hope one day you’ll see it was the right thing for me to do.

  Marcus

  Chapter 15

  Present day

  Aisling peered at her face in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes were swollen thanks to the tears she’d shed poring over Marcus’s letters last night. If she had a dollar for every tear she’d cried since he’d left she’d be a wealthy woman, she cursed him under her breath. She’d sat at the table last night unable to stop torturing herself reading through every word he’d written to her these last few months again until she reached the beginning, or the end however you wanted to look at it.

  All those hard-edged raw emotions at the knowledge he was leaving, and her life was not going to move forward from the 6th of September as Mrs McDonagh had rained down on her once more like cold wet sleet.