There would be no fairy tale day, with a happily ever after. There’d be no husband at her side, helping her run O’Mara’s in the same fashion, Mammy and Dad had. The third bedroom in the apartment would remain empty and untouched. It wouldn’t be painted in a sunny yellow with a Winnie the Pooh border, in anticipation of needing a nursery. She would continue to live here with Moira, her life would go on as it had before she’d attended that salsa class and met Marcus.
Aisling knew she’d survive, but she felt like a rug had been wrenched out from under her feet. Those first couple of months after Marcus had run away with his tail between his legs had been a period in her life she’d never have navigated her way through if it wasn’t for Leila and Quinn. Again, they were the two sane constants who were there for her when life had let her down.
It was all well and good, with Mammy, Roisin who’d caught the first flight out of London upon hearing the news, and Moira railing against Marcus but it didn’t achieve anything. Although, she’d admit there was a certain satisfaction to be gleaned from hearing them call him everything under the sun while she sat and cried. It didn’t change the facts though, she’d still been deserted. While her family had ranted and raved, in between consoling her it was Leila who’d stepped up and taken practical control of the situation.
‘This is the story right?’ she’d told the O’Mara women looking fierce for such a delicately boned woman. ‘Aisling and Marcus the fecker, you’re not to actually say that by the way, mutually concluded they weren’t right for each other after all.’ They’d all nodded gratefully at Leila glad somebody was telling them what they should say and do.
It was like one of those official celebratory breakup announcements—all very civilised and mutual. Aisling was clinging to the word ‘mutual’. Mutual was her mantra because it meant she could continue to show her face around town. Despite her fragile state of mind she still had enough wits about her to tell her friend if she ever got fed up with the wedding business she’d make a fortune in public relations.
Leila had set about telephoning their guests and if anybody had questioned the eleventh-hour cancellation notice she’d replied smartly with, ‘Sure look it, isn’t it better this way than realising they weren’t right for each other six months down the line?’ She’d negotiated the return of deposits through the promise of recommending future business to those left in the last-minute lurch. In short, she’d pulled Aisling out of a very big hole with her dignity intact. So while her heart may have been broken at least she could hold her head up.
‘Should I go to Cork, see if I can make some sense out of all of this?’ Aisling had asked over the top of her sugary cup of tea the third morning after Marcus had absconded. She’d been living on sugary cups of tea and not much else since she’d read the note. Quinn upon hearing she wasn’t eating had been acting as Meals on Wheels. He was adamant he could tempt even the most finicky of eaters but all she could think about was Marcus. The urge to confront him—to see him one last time and ask him how he could do this to her, was all consuming.
‘No you should not!’ Moira, Roisin, and Mammy chimed. ‘Have some pride!’
‘If anybody’s going to Cork, it’s me. I’ll sort the fecker.’ Fighting words from Moira.
‘And me,’ added Mammy not to be beaten. ‘I’ll show him what I think of him.’
Roisin simply shrugged, ‘I’m not going. I’m a lover not a fighter. I’ll stay here and look after you Ash while those two go and deal to him.’
‘Nobody is going to Cork. Marcus made himself quite clear in the note as to how he felt. What’s our catchphrase, Aisling?’ Leila looked to Aisling like a conductor his choir.
‘If someone you love hurts you, cry a river, build a bridge and get over it.’
‘Ooh that’s good, where did you find it?’ Roisin asked.
‘Online, under quotes to heal broken hearts, it’s anonymous. Aisling’s to keep repeating it to herself. The power of positive thinking and all that.’
Now, Aisling wiped away the steam her breath had left on the mirror as she said the words out loud to the face staring back at her. She’d cried the river, she’d spent the last year building a bridge but having seen Marcus yesterday, she knew she was far from over it. Ah God, a thought occurred to her, would he call this morning? He would be back, she knew he would and the uncertainty of when he would next appear had her nerves jangling.
Why couldn’t he have stayed in Cork? She asked herself again as she was filled by an urge to run away. Oh to pack a bag and head for the hills, or even better back to Crete. She closed her eyes for a beat picturing herself back walking the streets of Hania’s shaded old town, pausing to buy olives and a loaf of crusty bread. She couldn’t run away because she’d made a commitment to her family by coming back and stepping into Mammy’s shoes. She’d been raised to keep her promises, and if she were to break hers now she’d be no better than Marcus fecking coward McDonagh!
Aisling turned away from the mirror she needed to get moving, starting with a hot shower. That would surely have a restorative effect. It did and she felt better once she’d towelled off and dressed. Her careful makeup application made her look much more herself and she was hopeful her puffy eyes would have gone down by the time she got on the train to Howth. She’d pop downstairs and see how the land lay shortly. Hopefully Mr Fox had behaved himself last night and there would be no disgruntled Una Brennan to deal with. First things first though, she’d wake Moira and remind her they were off to meet Mammy for lunch.
She knocked on her sister’s door and waited. In days of old she would have barrelled on in but she learned her lesson the hard way having caught her sister in flagrante delicto with her ex-boyfriend. Her face still flamed at the memory—when had her baby sister grown up? And more importantly what was she doing bringing her boyfriend back here to the family home?
Moira once dressed and with the boyfriend sent packing, had pointed out loudly that she afforded Aisling the courtesy of knocking before entering and she should do the same. She’d also said what was good for the goose was good for the gander. Which in English meant if Aisling was happy to ride Marcus as though she were trying to win the Irish Derby under the O’Mara family roof then Moira was entitled to do the same.
Aisling had protested that Mammy would go mad if she’d known all this riding was going on and at least Marcus was making an honest woman of her. Moira had tossed this remark aside with a casual, ‘Well what mammy doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’
The ground rules for living together as adult siblings with no parents to lay down the law was murky territory indeed Aisling concluded backing down.
Today thankfully there was no sound of anything untoward coming from her sister’s room other than her familiar snores. The loudness of which meant she’d given it a good nudge last night. Aisling shook her head. She’d always kept a wary eye out for Moira, and it was a hard habit to break. She knew too that Moira would have loved to have been out from under her overprotective feet, free to do what she wanted without her sister eyeballing her disapprovingly. The soaring rents in the city since the Celtic Tiger had begun to roar and the economy boomed, made sure it wasn’t an option though.
Aisling was secretly glad even if Moira and her diva attitude did drive her mad sometimes. She wouldn’t have liked to have been left to rattle around in the manor house’s apartment on her lonesome.
She knocked louder and waited a few seconds longer before opening the door.
‘Jaysus, it smells like a pub in here.’ She waved her hand under her nose before opening the curtains, so she could let some air into the room.
Moira stirred, squinting at the light before pulling the sheet over her head. ‘Shut the curtains.’
‘I will not, we’re meeting Mammy for lunch remember?’
‘But I’m in bits, Ash. I can’t possibly go. I think I’ve picked up a tummy bug.’
‘You’ll feel better after a shower.’
Moira disentangled herself from t
he sheet and sat up. She would not win the Rose of Tralee at this moment in time, Aisling thought. She groaned. ‘I feel sick like a small hospital.’
‘The best cure for the brown bottle flu is a hot shower, some paracetamol and one of Mrs Flaherty’s full Irish’s.’ Aisling was annoyed, she’d told Moira not to overdo it and so she served her ace. ‘Hmm I’ll ask her to whip you up a nice runny egg with lashings of black pudding shall I?’
Moira turned green, but it had the desired effect and she leaped from her bed.
Chapter 16
Una sipped her tea, and her eyes flicked to the younger O’Mara sister who was sitting across the dining room from her. Mrs Flaherty was fussing around her, clearly fond of the girl. She was pretty that was for sure, with her flashing dark eyes and shiny hair. A real head-turner, but then so was Aisling the manageress. They certainly weren’t peas in a pod though. If Una were a betting woman, she’d say there’d been lots of jokes about the milkman having come-a-calling over the years. Although, stealing another glance over if you looked closely you could tell the two were sisters. It was in the shape of their faces and the tilt of their noses.
It was also apparent from the younger sister’s greenish tinge, she was under the weather. Out on the sauce last night no doubt, serves her right, Una who never touched a drop was prim. The younger generation were far too fond of getting on the, what did they call it? She searched for the word she’d overheard the two young lads use on the train. Lash that was it.
Una liked to listen in on young people’s conversation. She’d tune in as she stood in the queue at the Tesco’s or when she was waiting at the station to catch the bus. The bus and the train were also good places in which to catch snippets of banter. She was out of touch with their generation in a way when she was young, she’d never have dreamed possible. Language was a funny thing the way words came and went like hem lengths over the years. So was age, she thought eyeing the liver spots on the back of her hand.
She wondered if this young lass who under Mrs Flaherty’s watchful eye was dipping her toast into her egg yolk, knew what it was to have her heartbroken. Or, was she the one who did the heartbreaking?
She’d been a pretty girl once too. Leo used to tell her she was beautiful. He used to tell her she made his heart sing. He was a man of hearts, and flowers was Leo. Why then if he’d thought her beautiful and made his heart sing hadn’t she been enough?
She sighed and put her teacup down in the saucer. It was all such a long time ago but if she shut her eyes, the pain was as fresh as the day it had been inflicted. Her mind was prone to drift and she’d find herself back in that moment. Why was it so hard to remember if she’d put the cat out before she went to bed of a night, but the events of April 12, 1950 were as vivid as a film being projected onto the big screen?
She could hear the rustle of fabric as Mrs Flaherty made her way over, pulling her from her thoughts as she nodded her greeting. The cook’s smile was tight as she asked if everything was to her liking. Una felt a pang. She didn’t want to be this awkward old woman whom people tiptoed around. It was a role however she’d begun to play with such tenacity she’d forgotten how to let her guard down.
‘It’s fine thank you,’ she replied pleased she’d had the foresight to order the Continental today. She’d managed the small bowl of cereal she’d helped herself to from the buffet as well as a slice of wholemeal toast. She could have complimented the woman on the marmalade which she was certain was homemade, but she remained tight-lipped. Mrs Flaherty looked as if she’d liked to say something but thought better of it, taking herself off to the kitchen instead.
Today Una vowed she’d knock on Aideen’s door. She wouldn’t while away the hours sitting in the park across the road from her sister’s house. Sitting on the bench like some sort of stalker as she watched the comings and goings— trying to catch a glimpse of her nephews. They’d be approaching middle-age now with children who were no doubt at that age where they had their parents tearing their hair out. What a thought! Her a great-aunt.
The problem was once she got to the street on which Aideen had spent the last thirty or so years of her life, she couldn’t bring herself to knock on her door. She’d told herself that she’d brazen it out yesterday and the day before. Time was running out, but each day sitting on that hard bench she’d felt like she’d gazed at Medusa’s face and been turned to stone.
Chapter 17
Aisling stared out the window to the pocket-sized gardens rushing by below. Their smalls, and not so small’s blowing on the breeze for all to see. Her view beyond these yards was blocked by row after row of pebble-dashed houses all whizzing past in uniform design. She was facing backward and feeling queasy on it. She hated not sitting facing the direction in which she was travelling on any kind of public transport, but the train had been packed when they’d boarded it. The only two seats left were situated diagonally from each other. She and Moira had stared at the empty spaces for a beat before having a standoff over who was sitting where. They were obliviously providing entertainment to the bored passengers as they bickered back and forth.
‘For the love of Jaysus, sit down the pair of you.’ A man with a missing front tooth wheezed.
Moira looked as though she were going to tell him to mind his own business as she glanced at him sharply. She closed her mouth though, deciding to reserve her depleted energy reserves for her mammy and not waste them on a verbal exchange with a stranger. Aisling finally conceded to sit where she was currently perched because her sister was clearly still green around the gills. She didn’t want to have to help clean it up if she lost the contents of her stomach, a very real possibility. Mind you she wasn’t feeling too flash herself.
She’d clambered over the elderly woman with her handbag on her knee, resolutely refusing to move across and make her life easier. ‘I like an aisle seat,’ she said once Aisling collapsed huffing and puffing into her seat. Bully for you, she said to herself trying not to think about the slice of chocolate fudge cake she’d wolfed down not half an hour ago. Mr Walsh had left the promised piece of cake at reception for her and she’d shovelled it down when James took himself off to the gents because she didn’t want to share.
As the train lurched forward, she glanced over to where Moira was sitting. Her legs were twisted toward the aisle, and she had a look of concentration on her face as she breathed in and out slowly. She met her sister’s gaze and Aisling shot her a look that said, she’d kill her if she showed them up by hurling on public transport.
Despite the odds being stacked against them, they made the journey without incident. Aisling exhaled, relieved as the train slowed coming to a halt in Howth Station. The sisters joined the throng all exiting the train, hearing the excited chattering of plans being made for the day. They were keen Aisling guessed to make the most of the glorious weather and spend the day with the whiff of salt air in their nostrils.
The crowd carried them along until they exited down the steps of the pretty station building, its hanging baskets either side of the wooden doors a profusion of tumbling pinks and reds. Aisling looked down the street, she could hear the snapping of the flags flying outside The Bloody Stream. Its front beer garden and spiky cabbage palm trees lending a festive and determined air to hang onto the last vestiges of summer.
She averted her eyes away from the pub. Marcus had brought her there once not long after he’d proposed. She’d admired the diamond in her ring as it caught the light waving her hand about in conversation far more than was necessary. The interior she recalled was rustic and cosy and the craic had been great. There’d been live music, she’d wanted to dance but Marcus wasn’t keen. She’d also tasted the best bowl of chowder she’d eaten in her life. If Mammy suggested, they go there for lunch though she’d have to refuse on the basis of painful memories. It was a shame because the chowder had been delicious. She realised she was feeling better now as her mouth watered at the thought of the creamy soup. She scanned the faces of people walking toward the s
tation and her eyes soon fixed on Mammy who was waving out like a mad thing.
‘Ahoy there me hearties,’ Moira muttered.
‘Shush, she looks very well on it.’ Aisling couldn’t help but grin though, she did look like a feminine version of Captain Birdseye without the beard of course! Still it was nice to see her with her rounded figure of old. She’d gotten awfully thin after Dad died. She was looking much more her old self these days even if this new version did insist on wearing casual sailing getup for every occasion. It was a blessing she didn’t wear a white cap and smoke a pipe to complete her look.
‘Hi Mammy! I like your hair.’ Aisling eyed her mammy’s shoulder-length bob, her hair had been lightened to a mid-brown with reddish-undertones. It was softer than her natural dark almost black colour which she guessed would be peppered with grey these days. She hugged her as she caught up to them.
Maureen appeared to have shrunk in the few weeks since Aisling had last seen her. It took a beat for her to realise it was the flat shoes. She’d taken to wearing them since moving to the seaside village. She released her daughter before giving her the once over. ‘You’re looking good Aisling, I like the shoes although probably not the most practical pick for a stroll along the pier. And you could do with getting those ends trimmed yourself.’ She picked up a handful of her daughter’s reddish, gold hair and frowned. ‘Yes, a little trim I think. Treena, my stylist is marvellous. A little pricey but well worth it.’ She swished her hair around for Aisling and Moira to admire.
Aisling had to smile at her mammy’s use of the word stylist, she obviously thought it sounded posh because she’d rolled the sentence off her tongue with a plummy tone. ‘Alright Mammy, I’ll book myself in for a cut.’ Thirty-four years old and she was still doing as she was told!
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