Once, Twice, Three Times an Aisling

by Emer McLysaght

  ‘Saran wrap.’

  ‘Of course. The Saran wrap … is the cling film.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  I’m glad we have it sorted. I know Carol knows the menu inside out but we’re both a bit on edge and it’s better to be safe than sorry.

  We’ve agreed that BallyGoBrunch will have to close for the day. We’ll take a hit, but the income from the catering will cover it, and at this stage I just want to break even and do a good job. And Carol has said she’ll nip in and open up Sunday morning for any heads that miss the Ard Rí breakfast. We always have a steady little stream of them after a wedding, and while I don’t know what breakfast arrangements there are at Garbally, it seems like there could be people crawling out of sheds and from under couch cushions to beat the band come Sunday. I must actually tell Carol to put in an extra order of sausages, if she hasn’t thought of it herself. I add it to my long, long, long to-do list.

  At around half eight I see James’s jeep pull out of the car park and I leg it upstairs. If I’m honest with myself, I’m avoiding him. Things have still felt off this week. I’ve lain in bed and listened to him drifting off, barely touching, definitely not doing anything else. I’ve been telling myself we’re stressed and busy but we’re not even together a year. The knot in my stomach – the James knot – has been winding tighter and tighter. It’s jostling with the Maj knot and the Paul knot and the work knot and the Mammy knot and even a tiny little John knot. Between them, they’re pushing up into my chest and throat. I’m finding myself clawing my hands through my hair and across my head, trying to push the anxious feeling away, but it comes back over me like a poxy misty rain. I’m clawing at my hives still too, getting out of bed at 4 a.m. to sit on the couch and have a good scratch. I allow myself to imagine crawling into my little single bed at home – Home Home, as anyone who’s ever left BGB to live elsewhere would call it. Maybe I could move Home Home for a while. The thought comforts me.

  Standing in the shower, I fantasise about what I’ll do when it’s all over. A holiday, definitely. Me sitting alone under an umbrella with the latest Marian Keyes in one hand and a Long Island Iced Majella in the other. Although, when will everything be done? After the weddings there’s summer and beyond at BallyGoBrunch to plan for. Carol has an idea for evening events, to make more use of the space. She came to me ages ago with it, back when I was trying to figure out sleeping arrangements for Majella’s hen and I thought that was the biggest worry I had. I haven’t even sat down with her about it. She’d knocked on the door of my little office early one morning, nearly lifting me out of my skin.

  ‘Sorry, Aisling, I thought you’d heard me starting up the mincer,’ she’d said, poking her head around the door. She’s down every morning at 6.30 a.m. like clockwork (apart from this morning, when it was 4 a.m.) to start prepping for the day.

  ‘I was miles away, Carol. How are things?’

  ‘All good, all good,’ she said, tying the apron around her waist. ‘I’ve been thinking. We could hold some events here of an evening. I was talking to Mags after Zumba with Mags last night and she had a fantastic suggestion to get us going: speed dating! What do you think?’

  Mags is the closest thing we have to a cougar here in BGB. Ever since her divorce was finalised two years ago, she has men on the brain and she doesn’t care who knows it. She’s hard to miss in her selection of neon Lycra outfits and is best friends with Geraldine from Geraldine’s Boutique. They make quite the pair power-walking on the Rathborris Road. I’ve donned my walking gear of colourdy runners and a high-vis armband many times and swung my arms up and down it. I wasn’t sold on the speed-dating idea, though.

  ‘Ah, Carol, half the village is already on Tinder and spending all their time swiping left on their cousins and their old maths teachers and people they shifted in the handball alley in second year. Do you really think anyone apart from Mags would go for it? Geraldine has a husband last time I checked.’

  Carol thought for a second. ‘I think the older crowd might, and we could pull people in from surrounding areas. Give them a few nibbles to get them back in for the lunchtime trade. Not everyone is on, what did you call it, Spinster? Mags said we could advertise it at her class anyway.’ I barely answered her and we haven’t spoken about it since.

  I feel a bolt of realisation now that adds a Carol knot to my stomach. Was she talking about herself, maybe? And being ready to move on? She was bullied and controlled for years by Marty Boland. Maybe she wants to find love. When I think about how broken she was before she plucked up the courage to leave him, and just look at her now. I make a pledge to myself to bring it up with her again as soon as we’re over this weekend. And then I add shampoo to my hair for the fourth time, or it could be the tenth. Who knows at this stage? I tried to shave under my arm with toothpaste yesterday.

  Back down in BallyGoBrunch Carol and Noel have the kitchen under control and I’m checking off my list of things I need to remember to bring with me from the apartment to the Ard Rí this evening. I’m going to stay with Maj in the bridal suite tonight and Pablo will stay in the Morans’ old apartment. John and a few of the lads are calling over for some drinks, he said, and I wonder will James join them. I haven’t even asked him.

  A noise at the door of the café brings me out to the front counter. A young one in a baseball cap and oversized denim jacket is pushing on the door. I wave to get her attention. ‘Sorry, we’re closed. Sorry now.’

  She waves back, pointing inside in a ‘Can I come in?’ fashion and I have a quick look around for a weapon of some sort, just in case. I’ve listened to enough murder podcasts to know never to underestimate anyone. I peer out at her as I walk slowly towards the door. Something about her looks familiar. Maybe she’s one of the Ruane cousins. She’s smiling anyway so she must know me. I’m usually a whizz with the names so it’s killing me as I turn the lock and pull the door open. She lifts up her face towards me with a shy, ‘Hi, I’m –’

  I help her finish her sentence. ‘Emilia Coburn.’

  ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you,’ she says, pulling the cap off her head and shaking her hair out, with a practised glance out the windows. I suppose she’s used to being looked at. ‘Is there somewhere we could talk in private?’ She’s small and young looking. Totally unrecognisable. I guess I’m used to seeing her glammed up to the nines. She posted a picture on Instagram last week at a premiere and tagged her ‘glam squad’ in it. Fiesty Morganstergen Something-or-other and a man whose name seemed to be simply Blu.

  I check that the coast is clear and rush her into my office and close the door, pushing mounds of paper off the second chair so she can sit down.

  ‘Aisling, isn’t it?’

  I nod mutely. This is how Mammy must have felt coming face to face with Skippy Brennan that time.

  ‘I just wanted to thank you for all the work you’ve put in. I know the change was at the last minute and you’ve been very accommodating. It was important to me to have local flavour at the wedding. My granny …’ She clears her throat and pauses for a second. ‘My granny was from here, you know?’

  I nod ferociously. Kitty Coburn. Definitely from BGB and not Knock.

  ‘Well, she pretty much raised me down here every summer when I was a little girl, and she used to talk so much about growing up here and the hay fields in the autumn and feeding spring lambs and dancing in the courtyard of Maguire’s pub.’

  ‘Oh, that’s still there! Well, it’s the smoking area now and there’s a pool table but it’s a courtyard alright.’

  Emilia nods, her eyes bright. ‘When Granny passed away last year I was devastated. My mother died when I was twenty and I don’t really know my dad so she was kind of all I had. She had always wanted to see me get married, and she always said I should do it in Ballygobbard. I met Ben shortly afterwards and just fell head over heels. Are you married, Aisling?’

  ‘No, no. I’m … I have a boyfriend.’

  ‘Well then, you know what I mean.’


  I don’t really, but I nod anyway.

  ‘Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for accommodating the change in schedule. Between Ben’s work and my work and contracts and … ugh!’ She throws her arms up in frustration. ‘Between everything, it’s been really stressful. It means so much to me to do it here at this time, and with all the food sourced locally. I hope it hasn’t been too much bother.’

  It has actually been a colossal bother, but between the granny and the work and the contracts, sure don’t we all have our problems?

  ‘No bother at all. My friend Sadhbh and her boyfriend Don are actually going to –’

  Oh, balls. She’s going to know Sadhbh told me. The NDAs!

  But Emilia’s face lights up. ‘You know Sadhbh? I’ve only met her a couple of times but she’s a doll. And The Peigs are playing at the wedding tomorrow, you know? We’re so excited.’

  I nod and grin ruefully. ‘Oh, I know.’

  ‘Ben just loves them. Wait until you hear the song they’ve done for the film. And I just love …’ She breaks into their most recent hit, ‘Absolutely Tapped’, and I’m slightly pleased that even gorgeous movie stars have flaws. She sounds like a crow. She laughs as though she knows she does and puts the cap back on her head.

  ‘Anyway, I was just passing and wanted to drop in to say thanks. You came so highly recommended, I was just sorry you couldn’t do all the food.’

  The thought of catering an entire wedding is enough to bring blood rushing to fresh hives around my ears so I just smile. ‘No problem.’

  Emilia pulls her cap down further and I open the office door and give her an all-clear sign. She scurries to the café door as a black SUV with tinted windows pulls silently around the side.

  I can’t believe I’ve just met Emilia Coburn and I can’t even tell anyone about it. For half a minute I allow myself to fantasise about checking us both in at BallyGoBrunch on Facebook and the avalanche of Likes that would roll in. I didn’t even get a selfie with her. Majella would be disgusted with me.

  42

  I just have to drop into Mammy’s for two minutes to collect my bridesmaid dress and Majella’s something old, and then I can head to the Ard Rí in time for the wedding-eve drinks the hotel was luckily able to accommodate. I had dropped the precious garment bag in weeks ago in a rush and asked Mammy to hang it up for me. For luck it’s not the type of material that creases badly so it shouldn’t need to be steamed or anything. For some reason special dresses like these – bridesmaid, wedding, communion, maybe even debs – have to be stored in other houses. It’s like an unspoken rule. God forbid I might have my bridesmaid dress in my own wardrobe at James’s. And of course, it would be criminal if Majella’s wedding dress was in her own house. What if Pablo suddenly somehow developed X-ray vision and could see it? What if he lost the run of himself and looked? No, Majella’s dress had actually been in my wardrobe until she collected it earlier.

  Mammy’s car isn’t there but the back door is open and I let myself in, looking over the wall and noting the new scarecrow standing tall and proud over the vegetable patch. James must have found the time to get it finished – fair play to him. He never said. I take the stairs up to my room two at a time, and as soon as I push the door I sense something is different. Wrong. The atmosphere is … off. As I walk in, I see that my little single bed is still there but everything else is different. The walls are bare and a larger desk has replaced my ancient one, and on it stands a new computer, printer and stacks of Mammy’s paperwork and files for the eco farm. Where is all my stuff? It hits me like a punch in the stomach. I go to the wardrobe and fling it open. Almost empty apart from a few Good Coats and the one garment bag. My bridesmaid dress. At least that’s still there. I sit on the bed, trying not to cry, and reach under it, feeling for my boxes. My hand claws the air, though. There’s nothing there. I get down on my hands and knees and peer under the bed but the empty space yawns back at me. Not even a ball of dust. I scream. I can’t help it. What has she done? All my things. My memories. My photos Blu-Tacked to the mirror and my posters and my Irish dancing medals. All gone. Why didn’t she tell me? Can I never come home again? I stay on my knees for a minute or two, fighting back the tears, and then remember I was supposed to be at the Ard Rí twenty minutes ago and pull myself together. I stand up, take out the garment bag and head back downstairs. I hear Mammy’s car pulling into the driveway and look out the kitchen window to see her unloading bags from the boot. The yurts are completely booked out for tomorrow night so she has a busy weekend ahead. I don’t even go out to help her, I’m that annoyed. She bustles in the back door, her arms laden, getting a fright when she sees me standing there.

  ‘Aisling. Jesus, you nearly put my heart through the roof.’

  ‘My car is outside.’

  ‘I know, but you’re just standing there like the grim reaper. Will you grab a few bags for me, good girl?’

  ‘I don’t really have time.’

  She’s barely listening, though, and rushes back out to the car, calling behind her. ‘There’s some activity going on at Maguire’s this evening. Fierce coming and going, out and in.’

  Out of nowhere a ghostly voice booms, ‘Playing. Blowing in the Wind. By. Bob Dylan.’

  Mammy comes back into the kitchen and drops more bags. ‘ALEXA. WILL YOU GIVE OVER?’

  She stops and looks at me. ‘Aisling, what’s wrong.’

  ‘My room, Mammy.’

  She hits her hand off her forehead. ‘Jesus, of course. You haven’t seen it.’ Then she beams. ‘Well, what do you think?’

  She looks delighted with herself but her face soon falls. ‘What’s wrong, love? Do you not like it? You were only complaining recently about having too much stuff.’

  She’s right, I suppose, I was. I was feeling frustrated with myself for not fully embracing the move into James’s place and still having so much stuff at home. I didn’t think she’d do this, though.

  ‘I needed an office, pet,’ she says gently. ‘I can’t keep all my paperwork for the farm in the kitchen. It was Tessie’s idea – she has me roped into moving up a level in the computer course. I needed a proper desk and a good chair and your old room, well, it’s the perfect space for it. Sure aren’t you all grown up with your own place now?’

  My eyes fill with tears and I rub at them angrily. ‘Where is my stuff, though?’ I wail, scratching at my hives. ‘I need one of the boxes from under the bed. Did you throw them all out? There was one with a red lid.’

  ‘Of course not, love. They’re all in the attic. Paul helped me put them up there. I was delighted to see him up and about actually, he was –’

  ‘Mammy, I need that box! It has Majella’s something old in it.’

  ‘Don’t panic. We can get it down.’

  ‘I don’t have time now. I’ll make do.’

  ‘You got the dress, though?’ She nods at the garment bag.

  I feel bad for being angry with her. But she could have just asked me before doing it. ‘I did. Thanks.’

  ‘It’s a lovely dress. A most unusual colour, that dusty pink.’

  ‘What? It’s not pink.’

  I reef the zip on the bag down and, sure enough, a swathe of pink fabric comes into view. ‘Mammy. This isn’t the one I gave you.’

  ‘It is, Aisling. There was only one dress in that bag.’

  I stare at the offending pink number trying to figure out what’s happened. I had so many deliveries coming and so many of the same coloured bags that I must have lost track and sent the wrong dress – well, the right dress – back.

  ‘This isn’t my bridesmaid dress. I’ve kept the wrong one.’

  I can feel a cold sweat working its way over my shoulders and up the back of my head and my breathing gets shallower and shallower. I start to cry but it just comes as heaving breaths.

  ‘Aisling, pet, sit down here and calm down and have some water.’

  I sit in the chair she offers me, still clutching the garment bag, and do my best to c
alm down like she says. She waits a few minutes for my breaths to return to normal.

  ‘You were panicking, Aisling. It’s only a dress. Can’t you wear that one?’

  ‘It’s way too small. And it’s strapless.’

  ‘Have you nothing else? An old one you can wear? There’s something long in the back of that wardrobe, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘It’s Majella’s wedding, Mammy. I’m the only bridesmaid. I can’t show up in my debs dress.’

  I realise I’m now mad late for the Ard Rí and Majella is going to kill me because she wants to do a little practice with me and her walking up the aisle and then back down with Pablo and John. I bundle the pink dress into the bag.

  ‘I’ll figure something out.’

  I grab my keys and Mammy calls after me. ‘Will you go easy, Aisling? Go easy, pet.’

  I race out the back door and, with her words ringing in my ears, force myself to stop for a second and take a few deep breaths before walking over to the Micra. I’m just getting in when Paul rounds the corner, his phone in his hand.

  ‘Hey,’ I call over. I’ve been so busy I can’t remember the last time I actually spoke to him. ‘Come here for a sec, will you, Paul?’

  He ambles across the yard slowly, flipping his phone over in his hand.

  ‘Well, what’s the craic?’ I ask, leaning against the car and trying to push the dress saga out of my mind for a minute.

  ‘Not much,’ he replies. ‘Just restocking the farm shop. She was at me all evening.’

  I resist the urge to make a quip about earning his keep. He drinks about two litres of milk with every meal! ‘You’re looking better than the last time I saw you anyway,’ I say. He’s not really. His face is pale and drawn but who doesn’t like to be told they’re looking well.

  ‘Sure I do,’ he replies sarcastically, staring out over the Far Field.

  ‘Ah, Paul, don’t be like that.’

  ‘Be like what?’

  ‘Smart with me. I’m only asking how you are.’