Leila smoothed the serviette she’d unwittingly been folding. ‘You’re right. Thanks, Ash. You know if you ever get tired of running O’Mara’s you’d make a grand counsellor.’
Aisling smiled. She was good at helping other people see things clearly. Unfortunately, it was a life skill which didn’t extend itself to her own life. She didn’t dwell on this though as Leila retrieved the wedding file from her bag and, pushing her plate to one side put it on the table. She was all business now, flicking through the various pages of notes and pictures clipped inside until she came to what she was looking for.
‘I wanted to know what you thought of these themes for the table settings.’ Leila slid the folder toward her friend and Aisling began to flick through the various cuttings of different ideas filed and clipped inside it.
‘They’re all gorgeous. You know me so well,’ she sighed, pausing over one particularly lovely idea with pinecones, lots of flickering tealight candles and white hydrangeas ‘This one’s lovely, simple but elegant. Perfect for a winter wedding. What do you think?’ Her expression darkened, ‘Do you think the hydrangeas would set Rosi’s hay fever off? And what if one of Mammy’s eejity brothers gets drunk and knocks the candles over?’ She began to chew at her thumbnail as she was assailed with a high drama, action packed vision, whereby Roisin was bent double with the sneezes and her uncles were running about the place brandishing fire extinguishers like they were trained assassins. ‘Do you think the candles might be a recipe for disaster?’
‘Ash, calm down. Remember your mantra, breathe. It’s your day and Quinn’s. You should have exactly what you want and not be worrying about anyone else. Get your thumb out of your mouth, would you. If you start biting your nails now, you’ll have to have falsies put on.’
Aisling dropped her hand. ‘You’re right.’ She took a calming breath as instructed. ‘It’s my wedding and I can have what I want.’
‘And Quinn’s,’ Leila corrected.
‘Yes, yes, his too. Can I take this with me to show him?’
‘Of course you can.’
Aisling unclipped the picture and folded it in half before sliding it into her bag. ‘Where are you at with securing the carriage?’ She wanted to sit inside a horse drawn carriage and wave to the commoners like the Princess Diana and even yer Fergie one had. She’d been practising her wave in the bathroom mirror.
‘I’m in talks with Fergus Muldoon. I’ve put a lot of work his way in the past so he should come to the party despite the short notice and give us a good price.’
‘Grand, thanks, Leila. Can you ask him to make sure the carriage looks as much like a pumpkin as possible? Oh, and I don’t want any mangy horses off the estate either.’
‘I will. Sure, you’ll have a fine pumpkin carriage drawn by dancing white horses. You’ll be Cinderella on the way to meet her prince.’
Aisling smiled liking the analogy. Quinn was her Prince Charming and she would live happily ever after – she’d make damned sure of it even if it was the death of her.
Chapter 6
‘Aisling O’Mara, the woman who has not only broken my heart but shattered it into a million tiny pieces!’ Alasdair flounced forth as Aisling burst in through the door of Quinn’s eager to escape the cold.
It was no good her being cold when she was trying to lose weight because it made her want to stuff things down like stodgy, rib-sticking dinners followed by creamy rice pudding, with a dollop of Mrs Baicu’s jam to sweeten it. Ah Jaysus, her mouth was already watering.
‘The Cathy to my Heathcliff. Are we destined to always be kept apart?’ Alasdair began to hum Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights his hands fluttering to his heart.
Aisling laughed as she unwound her scarf. ‘Get away with you. It’s freezing out.’
His voice returned to its normal cadence as he held his hand out, ‘Here let me take your coat.’
She unbelted it and divested herself of it, passing the coat to him along with her scarf. He draped them over his arm. ‘Thanks. The fire looks lovely.’ Her expression was wistful as her eyes drifted across the restaurant to the fireplace aglow with dancing orange flames. Several patrons were basking in its warmth, enjoying the ambience it created as they savoured their desserts.
‘Well, why don’t you pull up a chair and put your feet up for a while, Aisling – I have no idea how your careen about town the way you do in those shoes.’ He looked pointedly at her black Miu Miu’s with their impossible high heels which meant she came up to Alasdair’s chin. Without them she’d be navel gazing. ‘Although, I have to say they are gorgeous.’
‘Thank you, they are my favourites.’ It was a half-truth. She loved all her designer shoes and had spent a small fortune collecting them over the years. They were all her favourites. ‘And I’d love to curl up over there.’
‘With a glass of vino,’ Alasdair said enticingly. ‘A cheeky little red perhaps?’
‘Oh, you’re tempting me.’
‘That’s the idea. You know you’re my favourite redhead.’
‘Ah now, there’s a fib if ever I heard one. The fella you were seeing last month, what was his name?’
‘Jamie.’
‘Yes, Jamie. I heard you telling him he was your favourite redhead.’
‘Ah but the fellas come and go, you, Aisling, my one true love, you are a constant.’
‘Flatterer.’ She grinned. ‘And I can’t sit and drink wine not when I’ve a wedding to be organising. Speaking of which, is he back from the suppliers?’ She inclined her head toward the kitchen.
‘He is, you’ll find him out the back prepping for tonight’s service.’
She smiled her thanks and passed through the restaurant saying hello to Paula whose ponytail was flicking about the place as she cleared tables. A smattering of diners were dotted about the space lingering over their lunches even though they probably should have been back at the office long since. Her stomach rumbled at the lingering hearty smells and spying a man tucking into a bowl of Irish stew she fought the good fight not to pick up a piece of the crusty bread on the plate next to it. Oh, how she’d love to dunk it into his stew! Think of your dress, Aisling. No pain, no gain. Cindy Crawford, Cindy Crawford, she added for good measure. She pushed through the doors into the kitchen and narrowly missed being hit by a flying piece of carrot. ‘Hey, watch it!’
‘Sorry, Aisling,’ the sous-chef, Tony said. ‘I was aiming for him.’ He pointed to Quinn who was laughing.
‘What are you to up to?’ she asked taking in the scene.
Quinn put down the piece of potato he’d been about to fire and held his hands up. ‘Truce?’
‘Truce, so long as I don’t have to sweep it up.’ Tony pointed at the handful of chopped vegetables on the floor.
Aisling could see she wasn’t going to get an answer, besides it was obvious the pair had been having some sort of food fight and irritation pricked at her. Here she was run off her feet organising their wedding and yet Quinn had time to arse about in the kitchen. ‘You need a shave, Quinn Moran,’ she said, a little snappier than she’d intended as she noticed his blond whiskers glinting in the light.
He didn’t notice her pique and homed in for a kiss causing her to squeal.
‘You’re all prickly!’
Quinn grinned wolfishly before rubbing his chin on her cheek.
‘Get off, you’ll give me a rash,’ she said, pushing him away.
He admitted defeat and headed to the sink to wash his hands. ‘You’re a hard woman so you are, Aisling O’Mara. Now then, is this a social visit or an official wedding visit?’ He didn’t know why he was asking given he knew the answer already. Aisling lived and breathed the wedding – it was all she’d talked about since they’d gotten engaged on Christmas Day. Truth be told she was driving him a little mad because you’d think they were Posh and Becks the way she was carrying on. He understood her insecurity where the wedding was concerned although it rankled she couldn’t shake the anxiety her eejit-ex Marcus had left her with
. She should be able to move past what had happened because she knew he’d never do anything to let her down. For whatever reason though, she couldn’t and had insisted on a ridiculously tight window of time in which to organise their day. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she was happy to have a low-key affair but she wasn’t, she wanted the works. He turned the tap off and picked up the towel, drying his hands off as she answered.
‘I’m here on official wedding business,’ Aisling said, rummaging in her bag and pulling out a piece of paper. She didn’t ask whether he had time to take a look at the photograph because if he had time for horsing around with Tony, he had time to help her make an important decision. ‘Here, have a look at this. I’ve come from lunch with Leila and she showed me some fabulous ideas for table settings but this was the one I liked the best. What do you think?’
She waited, eager for his response, while he looked at the picture.
‘A wise man agrees to everything,’ Tony said going back to dicing his carrots.
It was a sentiment Aisling had to agree with.
However, it would seem Quinn wasn’t feeling wise because instead of the expected, ‘It looks great, Ash, go for it,’ she was waiting to hear he pulled a face and said, ‘It’s a bit, you know?’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged, already sensing this was not going to go down well, but it was too late now. ‘A little over the top, I guess.’
Aisling snatched the paper back inspecting it. She couldn’t see what was over the top about it. It was beautiful was what it was.
‘Sorry, Ash, but you wanted my opinion.’
She hadn’t. She’d wanted his agreement. ‘Well what did you have in mind then?’ She couldn’t help the belligerent air creeping into her voice.
‘Something laid back, simple I suppose.’
‘Yes, that’s all well and good, Quinn, but you’re not giving me any examples, are you? I mean do we even bother having a head table or are you talking a picnic blanket on the fecking floor.’ Her pitch had amped up several notches. ‘Or, you know we could go the full hog and do a Pam Anderson, Tommy Lee job and wear our swimsuits and head off to the beach.’
‘Bit cold, don’t you think?’ Quinn tried to make light of it. He didn’t get where she was coming from. He was sure if she had longer to organise their nuptials, they’d be saying ‘I do’ in a castle and she’d have him in a purple suit like the one your man Becks wore on his big day. He’d seen the shiny photos thanks to his mammy having shoved the Hello magazine under his nose. She’d laughed and said if he wasn’t careful his bride-to-be would have him decked out in similar gear and had he any thoughts on getting the highlights done because they looked ever so well in the photographs? No, he had not, he’d replied, failing to see the humour because it was all a bit too close to home. He risked a look at Aisling, she hadn’t cracked a smile. ‘Ash, don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away.’
Tony’s chop, chop, chopping picked up pace and he kept his head down. Aisling wished he’d disappear and as the door burst open and Paula walked through her arms laden with dirty dishes, she wished she could click her fingers and make both her and Tony disappear. She didn’t want the staff gossiping about her and Quinn. She took a deep breath.
‘I’ll get back to Leila and see if we can find something plainer.’
Quinn backtracked. ‘No, don’t do that. I want you to be happy with everything. It’s grand so it is and sure, I’m a fella, what do we know about table settings and the like?’
The tightening in Aisling’s chest eased as he offered her the olive branch. She took it.
‘We’ll find something in between,’ she said, finally smiling. Quinn grinned back, pleased to have sidestepped an argument. Aisling made her excuses to leave saying she was needed back at the guesthouse and as she kissed him goodbye, she penned one of her letters to self.
Dear Aisling,
I’d like some advice please on the best way to tell my fiancé that the pumpkin shaped carriage I’ve my heart set on to take me to the church on our wedding day looks likely to be in the bag. I’m asking because he seems to have his heart set on a low-key day and there’s nothing low key about a horse and carriage.
Yours faithfully,
Me
Chapter 7
Noreen
Noreen looked in the mirror of the fitting room. Shopping had been much more enjoyable when she was young. Mind there wasn’t much money for shopping back then. Her mammy had made most of her clothes when she was a youngster and Noreen had been a dab hand with the sewing machine too. She’d even made her own wedding dress, repurposing the fabric from her mammy’s gown into a modern style with a bolero jacket. Everybody had said she looked a picture. The old singer machine their dear mammy had sat hunched over until her eyes were no longer up to the task had gone to her. Rosamunde her younger sister had not objected but then she’d had a hard time putting so much as a pillow case together the year they’d done home economics! She conjured up an image of herself on her wedding day. The memory of how she’d nearly skipped up the aisle to stand next to her Malachy, so tall and handsome in his suit never failed to make her smile. How full of hopes and dreams for their future they’d been!
Life’s not worth living if you don’t have dreams when you’re young Noreen often thought. She’d been heard to remark on occasion too that this was what was wrong with the youth of today. They had no oomph, no spark, worst of all no ambition. She’d seen spark in Rosamunde’s daughter Emer’s eyes from a young age and she’d found a kindred spirit in her niece. She’d felt back then, Emer would grow up to do great things and she closed her eyes for a moment remembering.
1961
‘HERE SHE IS THEN.’ Rosamunde pushed open the door to the shop, her oldest daughter Emer carrying her overnight bag by her side. ‘Sure, you’re a saint, Noreen.’
‘Not at all.’ Noreen straightened, her hand automatically going to the small of her back to ease the ache always lodged there from bending over. She’d been tidying the morning papers and the counter display while it was still quiet. ‘Sure, I’m in need of someone to help me in the shop today what with Uncle Malachy away off to Galway for the races.’ Malachy wasn’t much of a betting man and she counted her blessing he wasn’t a drinker like poor Bridie McAuley’s husband, Tom, but he did like a flutter at the summer gee-gees and who was she to begrudge him that? ‘Are you up to the job, Emer?’
‘I am, Aunty Nono.’ The little girl beamed at her. Emer had called her Aunty Nono when she was a tot and it had stuck. The two smiled at each other complicit in their understanding that no money would exchange hands but that Emer would be allowed to choose from an assortment of sweets to take upstairs later to munch on while her aunty carried on where they’d left off reading The Water-Babies the last time she’d stayed.
‘Well, one less gives me a break, fives an odd number so it is. It’s always four against one. Mammy told me to have another, even the number up or otherwise they’d be at each other day and night. She was right too.’ She realised who she was babbling on to. ‘Sorry, Noreen, that was thoughtless.’
‘Ah, you’re grand.’ Noreen brushed the comment away although the casualness with which her younger sister spoke of having children stung. How many tears had she shed month after month since she got married? Rosamunde could be a tactless mare. Sure, she’d have been happy with one baby to bounce on her knee let alone five. Children though were a blessing the good Lord hadn’t seen fit to bless her and Malachy with. It was something she’d grappled with and it had tested her faith but she was a good Catholic and, in the end, she’d listened to Father Michael who said God always had his reasons for doing what he did. He’d simply chosen a different path for her and Malachy, and it was up to her to steer them down it. She’d looked at things differently after that because her life was full of blessings. She had Malachy, they had their shop, and she made her mind up that God had bequeathed them the role of watching out for young Emer. I
t was a role she took seriously, very seriously indeed.
‘Well,’ Rosamunde said. ‘I’d best be getting off home, I’ve a million and one done things to do and you know how useless Terry is. The last time I left him in charge on a Saturday, I got home and he’d tossed a sheet over the kitchen table and made it into a tent for the children. But, had he washed a dish or made a bed? No, he had not.’
Again, Noreen warded off the sting of her sister’s words. Rosamunde didn’t mean anything by it, she adored Terry as she adored her Malachy. He would have been the sort of dad who’d make a tent with a sheet over the kitchen table, too. She watched the way he was with Emer and it was bittersweet at times knowing he’d have made a grand daddy. She remembered herself. ‘Here, Rosamunde, before you go, take one of these for the others.’ She held out the jar with the lollipops and her sister smiled, ‘You spoil them, Noreen, but I won’t say no. One of them stuck in each of their gobs will give me some peace so it will.’
Her sister left and Noreen and Emer looked at each smiling. ‘Now then, I’ve a box of tinned food needs putting away, do you think you can manage that, Emer?’
‘I do, Aunty NoNo.’
‘And then we’ll have a bowl of soup and toast for lunch. How does that sound?’
‘Grand, Aunty NoNo.’
Noreen’s heart filled as she set the little girl her task and when Mrs Bunting bustled in wanting her order of bread and milk, she fussed over Emer exclaiming she was certain she’d grown this last while and wasn’t she a good girl helping her aunt so.
Noreen had puffed up proud as she would have if Emer had been hers.
THE KNOCK ON THE FITTING room door, startled her back to the present and it took her a moment to reconcile the reflection in the mirror with the same woman who used to cherish those times with Emer forty years ago, now.
‘How are you getting on, madam?’ There was an edge of concern in the woman’s voice and Noreen realised she’d been lost in her thoughts far longer than it should take to say yay or nay to a dress.
The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 26
