by Sharon Owens
‘Hi, Gary,’ I said at once, way too brightly. Bill gave me a look.
‘Have you seen Julie yet, today?’ Gary asked, a note of worry in his voice. ‘Only she looked a bit down in the dumps this morning at breakfast and I wondered if there was anything going on? She said goodbye instead of see-ya. Julie never says goodbye.’
‘Um, Gary, listen,’ I blurted out, ‘can I call you back later, some time this evening? I’m a bit busy at the moment. En route to a big wedding as we speak.’
‘Sure,’ he said in a puzzled voice, ‘though I’ll have seen Julie myself by then, won’t I? Cheerio.’ He switched off.
‘What was that about?’ Bill asked, taking a left turn.
‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ I said, pretending to check my make-up in the passenger’s mirror to avoid having to look at my husband. ‘Gary’s just getting impatient for Julie to set a date for their wedding, that’s all. He’s trying to work out why she’s taking so long to choose a venue, but I’m not getting involved.’
‘But you said you’d call him later.’
‘Oh, I know I did, but I’ll forget to!’
‘Good girl! Though I have to say, I’m looking forward to Julie’s wedding,’ said Bill, smiling. ‘Lordy, lordy, there’ll be some style on that momentous occasion. No doubt you’ll be roped in to play matron of honour? I’ve never seen you in peach satin before!’
‘And you never will, my darling! I wouldn’t wear peach satin for all the money in the world.’
‘I would!’ Bill laughed. ‘I’d wear a peach satin G-string to the Vatican. On second thoughts –’
‘Don’t even go there,’ I scolded him, in fits of laughter, and the tricky subject of Julie’s wedding was mercifully dropped.
I couldn’t tell Gary, you see. Or Bill. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was buying myself some time that day; even a few hours might have made all the difference. I remember telling myself not to worry, that Julie would take the head-staggers in Galway and come rushing back to tell me she was only suffering from monumental PMT or she’d just freaked out because she was forty-one. And Gary would never have to know that she’d been considering leaving him. And Bill would never have to know Julie’s personal business. I felt very protective towards Julie. After all, she did have to witness her mother setting fire to her father’s final resting place (that fake grass apparently smelt horrendous when it went up), so she was obviously worried sick about becoming a wife herself.
I’d been planning to tell Gary that Julie was just off on a little mystery holiday for a day or two (I couldn’t say she was visiting Charlotte in Malahide because he might have tried to call her there) and she’d be home soon and everything would be back to normal.
‘Do you think I look nice?’ I said to Bill then, because I knew that he knew there was something fishy going on.
They’re quite easily distracted, men.
‘Lovely, as ever,’ Bill replied automatically. ‘I like that big green flower in your hair.’
I was trying to look classy that day. I had on a black trouser suit with a green-glass choker and several moss-green velvet bracelets. My hair was pinned up in a loose topknot with the big silk rose tucked in at the side. And I was wearing green faux-suede shoes and clutching a matching handbag. My eye make-up was very restrained also, and my lippy was bronze not red.
I had all the accoutrements I might need for the day and I was fairly confident I could manage, now that Bill was going to be sitting outside in the car providing much-needed moral support.
We arrived at the house. I took a few deep breaths and went in. It was much smaller and shabbier than I’d expected, considering what had been spent on the wedding. But you find that sometimes. Those living on a tight budget like to show off at weddings while the wealthiest clients opt for a plain white shift-dress, and one tiny orchid and a few blades of ornamental grass in their bouquet. They have nothing to prove, I daresay.
I was so unbelievably grateful that Bill was outside in the Chrysler because as soon as the front door closed behind me, I knew there was going to be a problem. The atmosphere was very strained. Mrs Smith was shaking some yellow tablets into her hand out of a little brown bottle and Mr Smith was pouring himself an extra-large vodka.
‘Okay, tell me what’s wrong,’ I said, taking another deep breath.
They both pointed to the ceiling and shook their heads wordlessly. They’d clearly driven themselves hoarse begging Janine to be sensible. The bride-to-be was locked in the bathroom, sobbing loudly and occasionally throwing jumbo bottles of shampoo and bubble bath against the door.
‘I’m not coming out!’ she shouted suddenly. ‘I’m not coming out and none of you can make me!’
‘Janine? Are you all right?’ I said cheerily, advancing up the stairs. ‘You can tell me, sweetheart. Tell your Aunty Mags!’
‘She won’t listen to reason,’ said her mother crossly, coming up behind me, and then the poor lady coughed noisily before swallowing her yellow tablets.
‘What is it?’ I asked quickly. ‘Is it the dress? Has it been damaged during delivery? Maybe we can rearrange the layers?’
‘Oh, the bloody dress is fine,’ said her mother. ‘But one of her so-called mates told our Janine last night that the gown of her dreams is a glorified toilet-roll cover and the entire street is killing themselves laughing over it. She’s been crying ever since. All night she’s been crying. I could string that vicious cow up by the ears, I really could. She’s only jealous. Our Janine adored that blasted dress and now she won’t wear it and it’s too late to get another one. I swear, when it comes to marriage the women in this family are cursed.’
By this stage, Mr Smith had wandered out to the hall where he propped himself up against the front door and watched us with eyes that seemed unable to focus properly. Mrs Smith gave her husband a hard stare and he swallowed the vodka in one go and burped loudly.
‘And it’s not because she’s changed her mind about getting married?’ I whispered extra softly. ‘She hasn’t had a falling-out with her young man?’
‘Oh, no, she still wants him but not the pink dress. She must think we’re made of money,’ said Mrs Smith. And then she leaned in towards the bathroom door and shouted, ‘We’re not made of money!’
‘Go away! I hate all of you!’ roared Janine and she dissolved into a fresh bout of sobbing.
At this rate she’d be dehydrated, I thought to myself. Another typical day in the life of Dream Weddings. I realized Janine Smith had just discovered she wasn’t a diva after all, but a normal shy girl who just wanted to get through the biggest day of her life without anything going wrong. Plans you dream up in the privacy of your own bedroom can be a whole different ball game in real life.
Ask Julie Sultana.
‘As it happens, I have some spare stock in the car,’ I said to the bride’s mother. Loud enough so that Janine could overhear. ‘Of course, the pink tulle was fabulous on Janine. She looked amazing in it, but if Janine really doesn’t want the pink any more, I have other dresses with me. More conservative styles, if that’s what she wants today.’
The sobbing on the other side of the bathroom door stopped abruptly. Janine opened the door an inch and wiped her eyes dry on the back of a multicoloured bath towel spelling out Majorca in giant gold letters. I felt so sorry for her, I forgot how nervous I was myself.
‘What sort of dresses have you got?’ Janine wanted to know. Her hair was stiff with lacquer, puffed up to the size of a small armchair and her make-up was a dreadful shade of dark orange. Only she’d forgotten to do her ears and they were still white.
‘Janine, sweetheart,’ I began. (Julie always calls the brides ‘sweetheart’ and they seem thrilled by it.) ‘Why don’t you pop into the shower and wash off that foundation and hair mousse and we’ll start again? Okay?’
‘Ah, now! Am I that awful?’ she wanted to know.
‘Nothing wrong with you, sweetheart, but we’ll need to start again, won’t we? And style your hair to
match the new dress? And I don’t want to mark any of the gowns with foundation, okay? They’re very expensive.’
Hoping that would entice her to cooperate.
‘I’m not paying for a new frock,’ said Janine’s father at once, seemingly back in the loop. ‘I can’t pay for as much as a new safety pin. I’ll be in hock to the credit union for three years, as it is.’
‘You won’t have to pay,’ I told him gently. ‘It’ll be a gift from Dream Weddings.’ Julie had whacked on her usual fat profit margin so I thought I could get away with donating a dress. The really nice ones don’t cost that much, off the peg.
‘There’s no time to change anything,’ Janine whimpered and her eyes filled up again. ‘The pumpkin coach is coming in an hour. And I don’t want that now either,’ she added hopelessly. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking of. It’s all such a tacky mess.’
‘Bloody hell!’ cried Mrs Smith, flinging the bottle of tablets at the wall and wringing her hands. ‘Our life savings wasted! Are you trying to put the lot of us in the funny farm, my girl? You’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you were born!’
‘I never asked to be born,’ said Janine at once, her face flushing alarmingly.
‘Charming,’ Mrs Smith sighed, looking pointedly at her watch and then at me. ‘Makes you so proud, doesn’t it?’ she added bitterly. ‘To see the way your kids turn out.’
Janine’s angelic blue eyes suddenly became glowing spirals of rage. ‘You fuckin’ shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you!’ she roared into her poor sedated mother’s shocked fizzog, and I knew then that whatever life might throw at Janine Smith in the future, she’d be more than able to cope.
‘Now, now, ladies! There’s no need for a family ding-dong! There’s loads of time to fix this,’ I assured Janine and her mother, both. ‘Look, Janine, you do as I say and have a nice relaxing shower. I’ll cancel the pumpkin coach and you can travel to the church in one of the other cars.’
‘I don’t want the outsize corsages,’ Janine said defiantly. ‘They’ll be a laughing stock and all.’
‘Okay,’ I said. Almost fainting with relief because I’d forgotten all about the corsages and they were still in the lighthouse, in a box under Julie’s desk.
‘Christ!’ said Mrs Smith.
‘I have some spare buttonholes in the car,’ I told them brightly. ‘Cute little white ones, you’ll love them.’
‘Will there be a refund on the coach?’ Mr Smith asked and I had to shake my head.
‘Sorry, I’m afraid it’s too late for that,’ I told him gently.
He sighed heavily, staggered back to the sitting room and sank into one of the armchairs, clutching the bottle of vodka to his chest.
‘I’m tired,’ wailed Janine. ‘I’m too tired to get married now. Mum, tell all the guests to go home!’
‘Come on, Janine, sweetheart, we can do this. Your mother will fetch you some tea and toast and I’ll get my stuff from the boot. You’ll look amazing. And after the ceremony you can have a quick nap in the car on the way to the hotel, in your new husband’s arms. It’s a half-hour drive. Yes? Right. You’re a size eight, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Mrs Grimsdale.’
‘Call me Mags, please. Quick, quick, into the shower with you! Sweetheart!’
‘Okay, Mags.’ And the door closed again.
‘God bless you,’ said Janine’s mother and she shuffled downstairs to get the tea ready, glad that someone else was taking charge of her indecisive daughter.
When Janine re-emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later she looked like a different person. Tiny and pale with a long wave of chestnut-brown hair, she was prettier than I’d ever seen her. I quickly blow-dried her hair into a single loose ringlet and pinned a spray of white silk roses behind her right ear. Then I covered her tear-stained face with the palest foundation I could find in the Dream Weddings’ make-up case, added some soft pink blusher and natural brown mascara. No jewellery was necessary except for a pair of tiny silver studs in her ears. And then I tried a fitted white silk bodice with a delicate white tulle skirt on her. She looked radiant. Finally, her too-long nails were clipped and shaped and I gave her one of my own rings, a pink-glass flower from Angel At My Table.
‘There you are! You’ve still got your bit of pink for good luck,’ I said. ‘Now, what do you think of your new image?’ I led her out to the hall mirror. ‘Grace Kelly didn’t look this good on her own wedding day.’
‘Grace who?’ Janine said, admiring herself.
‘Never mind, sweetheart. She was a film star. You look absolutely beautiful.’
Janine was so pleased she threatened to start crying again and ruin her make-up so I convinced her to calm down and have some of the tea and toast.
‘You’ll need to keep your strength up for the photographs,’ I told her, pinning an apron over her frock, and she nodded and sighed, and calm was restored.
Ten minutes later the cars pulled up at the kerb and she was ready to face the public. I pulled Janine’s massive bridal bouquet into about six pieces and handed one of them to her. She really did look beautiful. When she went out of the front door she saw a large crowd had gathered on the pavement. There was a moment or two of stunned silence and then a round of tumultuous applause.
Hooray!
Janine waved graciously to the onlookers and folded herself into the limousine like a true princess. I like to think I started a personal journey for Janine that day. I’ve no doubt she’ll end up winning style awards. When the wedding party had exited the estate with much shouting and cheering and beeping of horns, I hurried back to Bill and we set off for the church too. Just in case we were needed. But I’d a feeling we wouldn’t be.
‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you,’ I said to Bill, shaking with relief that I hadn’t let Janine (or Dream Weddings) down.
‘What do you mean?’ he said, laughing. ‘I’ve only been sitting here the whole time, reading road maps. Should have brought a good novel with me and some tea and sandwiches.’
‘You were there for me, darling. That’s all I needed to know,’ I told him warmly. ‘How can I ever repay you?’
‘You can buy me a black Volvo S80,’ Bill said, and we both burst into fits of laughter.
The rest of the day went like a dream. Janine didn’t get roaring drunk now she was transformed into a delicate beauty, and her new husband didn’t get sloshed either, for fear she’d abandon him in the dining room for a more sophisticated man. They apparently sat holding hands demurely until ten o’clock, when they said goodnight to the guests and stole up to the bridal suite.
But I was back home by that time and sitting on the bed in my lovely bedroom, trying to work out what I could say to Gary Devine.
7. Jay O’Hanlon
Day two of Julie’s holiday. I’d managed to convince Gary that Julie had driven all the way down to West Cork to look at a new range of bridal shoes, and she’d decided to stay the night and come back the following day. I was hoping he’d not attempt to follow her there as it was too long a round trip to leave the stables unattended without organizing holiday cover. And he agreed with me that West Cork was a bit far for a surprise visit. So far, so good. But of course the man wasn’t an idiot.
‘Why hasn’t she called me herself, then?’ Gary asked, rather reasonably. ‘Her phone has been switched off for two days now.’
‘Must be a network problem,’ I told him. ‘Or maybe there’s no signal where she is? I mean, she called me from a pay phone. Honestly, I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.’
‘Well, I am worried, Mags. Look, if she gets in touch again, will you please ask her to phone me? I’m worried sick, here. Usually, if Julie’s going to a trade thing, I go as well and make a city-break of it.’
‘Okay, Gary. I’ll let you know the minute I have any definite information.’
Which was almost the truth, I remember thinking. And Julie will surely come home soon.
How wrong I was.
At eleven o’clock on the morning after Janine Smith’s triumphant makeover, and just as I was relaxing on the balcony of the lighthouse with a tall mug of instant coffee, who should call me but Julie. To say – wait for it – she’d spent the night in a hayloft with someone by the name of Jay. Some local man by the name of Jay O’Hanlon, who was a dead ringer for Sean Bean when he played Sharpe in that hit telly series. You know the one set in the time of the Napoleonic campaign? Sean Bean with a military jacket, lots of gold buttons and a constantly grazed cheekbone?
I thought I was hallucinating. I actually held my mobile at arm’s length and stared at it, thinking that Julie was playing some extended practical joke on me. The sudden break-up with Gary, Janine Smith’s histrionics and now this hayloft nonsense? I really thought I’d be featured on some comedy show where they make fools of the unsuspecting public.
‘Julie,’ I said slowly, ‘fair enough, you’ve had your fun. Now, can you come up the stairs and into this office and get some work done? I’ve just made coffee, the water’s still hot.’
‘Mags, I’m not joking. Jay and I lay in each other’s arms talking and kissing until the sun came up. Me, Mags, of all people, lying on a stack of hay half the night!’
‘Let me get this straight, Julie. Did you just tell me you’ve cheated on your long-term boyfriend, the wonderful man that is Gary Devine? The man you are going to marry when this moment of madness has passed?’
‘No,’ she said right away, ‘I didn’t cheat on anyone. Gary and I have split up. How did he take it, by the way? Was he inconsolable?’
‘By the way, she says casually! You’re a dark horse, Julie Sultana. Pull yourself together for five minutes, woman, will you? Julie, listen to me. I didn’t tell Gary anything,’ I said desperately. ‘He thinks you’re in West Cork, looking at shoes.’
‘But why, Mags? Why does he think I’m there?’
