‘Eh, what’s going on?’ he said.
‘Missing marriage certificate,’ Lucy said, as she crawled behind the cabinet. ‘Can’t do the ceremony without it.’
‘Oh, no,’ Darren said. ‘Does the groom have it maybe?’
All four women looked up at him.
‘Typical,’ Jenny said. ‘Always thinking a man will save the day.’
‘Or maybe the best man?’ Darren tried.
Debbie stood up. ‘Hi, I’m the bride, and this is my wife-to-be.’
Darren looked so astonished that Lucy couldn’t help laughing. ‘It’s a gay humanist wedding, Darren,’ she said. ‘This is Debbie and Kerrie.’
‘Oh, right, yeah,’ Darren said, trying to recover himself. ‘Of course. Cool, yeah. Happy … em … wedding day, you two. Can I help?’
‘We need to find a piece of paper that says these two have been to the registry office and done the deed,’ Jenny said. ‘So quit yapping and gawking and start searching.’
They searched every corner of the room, but there was no piece of paper. By now, both brides were near tears, and Jenny was pressing tissues to their eyes to stop their make-up running.
‘Wait,’ Lucy said. ‘Debbie, sit down here for a second. Now, close your eyes, deep breath. Picture yourself with the certificate this morning. It was a busy morning, you were upset about the venue, lots of stuff on your mind. Now try to clear your mind and see yourself with the certificate. Where are you?’
Debbie sat still, eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed in concentration.
‘I’m in the kitchen,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m crying because of the venue and because my mum texted me to tell me she wouldn’t come to the wedding. I have the certificate in my hand and I’m thinking I must put it away before I soak it with tears. So I think of somewhere safe. So I went to … to …’ Her eyes shot open. ‘Kerrie’s bag!’ she yelled. ‘I knew I could trust her more than myself.’
Kerrie shot out into the other room and retrieved her bag. She yanked it open and a folded piece of paper fell out, fluttering to the floor like confetti.
‘Oh, thank you, sweet Jesus!’ Kerrie shouted. ‘I have it.’
‘What’s with you two? I thought you humanists didn’t thank Jesus, Mary or St Joseph for anything,’ Jenny said drily.
They all burst out laughing.
‘Quick,’ said Lucy, ‘give it to me.’
They finalized the paperwork, and by a quarter to two the guests were arriving, the scene was set and the two brides had calmed down after their fright. Darren had insisted on pouring them a glug of brandy each – ‘Medicinal,’ he assured them – so the atmosphere had mellowed considerably.
Debbie kept peeping out of the back room.
‘She’s not coming, Deb, you have to accept it,’ Kerrie said.
‘I’m sorry about your mum. It’s tough on you.’ Sarah patted Debbie on the back.
‘Jesus, will you stop? She’ll start crying again. I need dry make-up,’ Jenny huffed.
‘It’s just the two of us. My dad died when I was ten. I thought she’d come around. Oh, well …’ Debbie choked up again.
‘I’m your family now, Deb.’ Kerrie kissed her.
Lucy went out to the room to greet guests and ascertain how many were there. She checked the candles, made sure the niece and her boyfriend had all they needed, persuaded the uncle not to give her an early rendition of his speech and made sure Kerrie’s great-aunt Maggie was seated comfortably. Then she asked the guests to take their seats, or perch, and be ready to greet the bride and bride.
In the back room, Debbie and Kerrie were hand in hand.
‘Are you ready to get married?’ Lucy asked.
They nodded.
‘Right. Here we go.’
As Lucy stepped out from the back room, the front door of the salon burst open. A woman in her seventies tripped over the lip of the doorframe and stumbled in.
Lucy rushed over to help her to her feet. Debbie charged out of the back room. ‘Mum? Are you okay?’
‘It’s bad enough that you’re marrying a lesbian, but did you really have to get married in a hairdressing salon? Really and truly.’
‘Hi. I’m Lucy, the celebrant. Can I get you a chair?’
The woman straightened up and brushed down her jacket. ‘No, thank you. I’m going to be walking my daughter up the aisle, or the salon floor or whatever this is.’
Debbie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Mum. That means the world to me.’
Her mother pursed her lips. ‘You’re all I’ve got, Debbie – I can’t lose you. I don’t like it, but I’ll try.’
‘That’s all I’m asking, Mum.’
‘Stop!’ Jenny came over holding a make-up brush. ‘Mum, step back, please. Debbie, look at me. Look up.’ Jenny filled in the tear marks on Debbie’s face. ‘Right, ladies, no more tears. This is supposed to be a happy occasion.’
Lucy ushered Debbie and her mum to the back room and told Kerrie to come out and wait beside her. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place as Debbie and her mum walked through the salon, arm in arm.
Lucy was reminded of something her mum, Tina, used to say: ‘Love is family and family is love.’
24
Sarah opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Beside her, Darren was sleeping peacefully. She slid out of bed and grabbed her dressing-gown. Opening the bedroom door as quietly as she could, she tiptoed past Ollie’s room, where she could hear him breathing deeply. Careful to avoid the creaky spot on the stairs, she made her way down and went into the kitchen.
From the window she could see the white blanket that the early-morning frost had left on the grass. The first day of November had always felt like ‘proper winter’ to her. She put some coffee into a mug and went to warm some milk.
‘Jesus!’ A dead slug lay in the middle of a plate in the microwave. Ollie. Would that boy ever stop trying crazy things? If he was like this at ten, what in God’s name would he be like at fifteen? They’d never be able to control him. He’d be jumping off cliffs. She knew it was important not to stifle his zest for adventure, but he was her only son and if anything happened to him … Well, she’d never get over it. Ever.
Her kids meant the world to her. Sarah knew she was probably too lenient with them, but her own mother had been so cold and bitter. Sarah wanted her kids to have a life filled with love and warmth and laughter, not rules and regulations. Still, they were getting a little out of control – she might have to rein them in a bit. In Ollie’s case, for his own safety, and in Shannon’s because she was worried she was going to get herself pregnant. She was so voluptuous and looked much older than sixteen. Sarah had seen the way boys and men ogled her and it made her blood run cold.
Even though she was a year younger than Kelly, Shannon was in the same year in school. They had grown up like sisters, spending all of their time together as toddlers, with her in the salon or with Lucy in the shop. When Kelly had gone to school aged five, Shannon had cried so much that Sarah ended up sending her in with Kelly the next day. At four she’d been young, but she seemed well able to keep up and had continued to do so throughout school. Sarah had suggested holding her back in the first year of senior school because she was worried about her being younger than the others in her class when it came to discos and boys and sex and all that. Shannon had freaked and gone on hunger strike (although Darren had found biscuit crumbs under her bed) until Sarah said she could stay in the year she was in.
Sarah worried that Shannon would attract the wrong kind of boy. The very short skirts she wore didn’t help, but all the girls wore them and Sarah had to choose her battles. She’d told Shannon the ‘Lucy story’ many times in an effort to drill it into Shannon’s head that even super-smart college girls could get pregnant: she had to protect herself and be careful.
Sarah took the slug out of the microwave, washed the plate, and put in her jug of milk. She made her coffee, stepped out into the back garden and sipped it slowly. The sun was weak, but it warmed her face. She
loved this time of the morning when everything was quiet. Her phone beeped, and she pulled it out of her dressing-gown. A private Facebook message.
She opened it and began to read. The mug slipped from her hand and fell onto the grass, coffee spilling everywhere.
Dear Sarah, my name is Tom Harrington-Black. I went out with Lucy Murphy a long time ago. I recently got divorced and was feeling nostalgic so I looked up people from my past. Lucy has no Facebook page, but I remembered her mentioning her friend Sarah who was a hairdresser. When I googled hairdressers on Violet Road, I saw Sarah’s Salon and photos of its fifteenth birthday party. Lucy is standing beside two children. One of them, the girl, is the image of my mother and me. I’m trying not to freak out or jump to conclusions, but when I left, Lucy was pregnant but was going to have an abortion. I know the way I left was awful and cowardly and I have hated myself for it. But we’d agreed that she was going to have an abortion, and my dad told me she’d had it. So who is this girl? How can she look so like me and not be mine? Did Lucy have the baby? I’m so confused and frankly completely shocked and I’m trying to stay calm but not succeeding. Is she mine? Can you give me a contact number for Lucy? I need to know. I need to know if I have a daughter. I’m desperate to know. I’ve wanted kids so badly but my ex-wife and I couldn’t have them. Please, Sarah, please let me know. Am I a father?
Sarah stared at her phone while her heart thumped in her chest. Tom didn’t know? Gabriel told him Lucy had had the abortion? Oh, Jesus. Sarah’s hand covered her mouth. Could this be true?
‘You’re a FREAAAAK.’ Shannon’s screech cut through the silence and the back door slammed. ‘I’ve had it.’ Shannon stomped over to her mother. ‘I’m reporting him to social services for mental abuse. Do you know what he just did?’
‘No.’ Sarah shoved her phone into her pocket.
‘He used my brand new black nail varnish and eyeliner to decorate his new trainers and make them look more “camouflage”. I swear to God, I’m going to kill him. I saved for ages to buy that Mac nail varnish.’
‘I’ll talk to him.’
‘Don’t do your usual Look-Ollie-it-wasn’t-very-nice crap. Tell him he has to buy me all new products and if he ever touches my stuff again, he’s going to prison.’
Sarah looked at her daughter’s red face. ‘Calm down, I’ll sort it out.’
‘I’m sick of him, Mum. He’s always taking my stuff and using it. If you don’t seriously make him stop, I’m moving in with Kelly.’
‘I’ll talk to Ollie.’
‘Muuuum!’ they heard Ollie shout. They turned. ‘If you see any snails, will you bring them in?’
‘He’s abnormal,’ Shannon hissed. ‘He should be living in some tribe in Africa or with one of those Aboriginals in Australia. Maybe I’ll email them – they might take him.’
They went back inside and found Darren shouting at his son. ‘Stop trying to microwave bugs and eat some bloody cereal like a normal kid.’
‘I hate cereal. It tastes like cardboard.’
‘It tastes better than bloody snails,’ Darren told him.
‘Did you find any snails?’ Ollie asked Sarah.
‘No, and I need to talk to you.’
‘Is it about Shannon’s make-up?’
‘Yes, it bloody is,’ Shannon snapped.
‘Ollie, you can’t keep taking her stuff and wrecking it. It’s not fair. Besides, those are new trainers you’ve now ruined.’
‘I did her a favour. Black nails are rubbish on girls – they look like witches.’
‘He has a point there. I was never a fan of dark nails. Red is the colour fellas like,’ Darren said.
‘Guys who are a hundred years old maybe,’ Shannon huffed. ‘We’ve moved on since the nineteen forties, Dad. Besides, I paint my nails for me, not for boys.’
‘Hang on now. I’m thirty-eight, not ninety. Besides, black is very … well … butch.’
Ollie giggled. ‘Yeah, girls with black nails look like lezzers.’
‘Shut up, Ollie, and thanks a lot, Dad. Fathers are supposed to tell their daughters that they’re beautiful and fabulous, not that they look like butch lesbians!’
‘I didn’t say that!’ Darren threw his arms up. ‘I said dark nails were butch.’
‘It’s the same thing.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Mr McInteer said parents shouldn’t lie to their kids,’ Ollie piped up. ‘He said parents should be honest and not tell them they’re great all the time. He said you only have to look at The X Factor to see these saddos coming in who can’t sing and they think they’re gifted cos their parents told them they had amazing voices and they’re actually crap.’
Shannon leant over the table and stuck her face close to Ollie’s. ‘So what are you saying? That Dad can’t tell me I’m gorgeous because I’m ugly?’
‘You’re not ugly, but you’re not gorgeous neither,’ Ollie said.
‘Well, you look like a cross between a ferret and a slug.’
‘Enough,’ Sarah said. ‘Can we all please be nice to each other?’
‘Dad started it.’ Shannon glared at him.
‘I give up,’ Darren said, and picked up his tea.
They all ate in silence for a minute.
‘Can I row down the Liffey in a bathtub naked?’
‘What?’ Sarah and Darren stared at their son.
‘Here we go again with the madness.’ Shannon sighed.
‘Bear did it down the Thames in London for charity. It was deadly. I was going to do it for – for – I dunno, kids in hospital or something.’
Darren buttered his toast. ‘Let me get this straight, you want to row down the river Liffey in the centre of Dublin, bollock naked, in November?’
Ollie nodded. ‘Yeah. Deadly, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, it’ll be deadly all right because you’ll die of hypothermia,’ Darren said.
Ollie frowned. ‘I knew you’d try and stop me. I can cover my body in Vaseline to keep warm.’
Shannon put her face into her hands and groaned. ‘If you let him do that, I am leaving this family for ever, I swear. I’d rather be homeless and live in a skip than suffer the mortification.’
‘Why do you have to be naked?’ Sarah asked.
‘Because Bear was.’
‘Why was he naked?’ Darren asked.
‘Dunno,’ Ollie said.
‘To show off his assets.’ Sarah grinned. ‘He’s easy on the eye, I’ll give him that. Very hunky.’
Darren put down his toast. ‘Hunky? Is he? I thought he was an odd-looking yoke. I suppose he’s muscly from all that climbing. Still, though, could he not have done it in a pair of shorts?’
‘I’d say women donated more to see all of him.’ Sarah giggled.
‘OMG, you are so embarrassing, Mum,’ Shannon said. ‘And none of this is funny. If he does this, we’ll be the butt of everyone’s jokes.’
‘Butt!’ Darren cracked up laughing.
‘So are you saying I can do it if I wear jocks?’ Ollie asked.
‘In your dreams, son.’ Darren spread jam on his toast.
Ollie slammed his spoon onto the table. ‘I don’t have any more dreams, Dad. You’ve crushed them all.’
‘Maybe if you had normal dreams, like being a doctor or a fireman, Dad would support you, but rowing down a river in a bathtub with your willy hanging out is not NORMAL!’ Shannon roared.
Sarah reached over and patted his arm. ‘Ollie, there are lots of things you can do that don’t involve rowing a bathtub down the Liffey in the middle of winter. We love you and we don’t want you to die of cold. Maybe we could try talking to Vinny and see if we can get you back into the Scouts.’
Ollie snorted. ‘The Scouts are a bunch of muppets who go camping two miles up the road, sit around a rubbish little fire toasting marshmallows and telling crap ghost stories.’
‘Sounds all right to me,’ Darren said. ‘Better than freezing your bollocks off in a feckin’ bathtub.’
&nb
sp; ‘You just don’t get it, Dad. I want adventure.’
Darren sighed. ‘I know you do, son, but breaking bones and collecting scars isn’t the way to go about it.’
‘I can’t wait to be eighteen, get out of Ireland and join the SAS.’
Darren spluttered over his tea. ‘You can’t just stroll over to England and join the SAS, Ollie.’
‘Yes, you can. I looked it up. You start by joining one of the SAS reserve regiments, they recruit normal civilians, and you serve with them for eighteen months and then if you’re good enough, which I would be if I was allowed to actually do stuff, you can get into the real SAS.’
‘Great. Only eight more years to wait. Can they not take you sooner?’ Shannon asked.
Sarah felt her heart tighten. Ollie was impulsive enough to do something like that. ‘Ollie, there is no way you’re joining the army and going to any war. I just can’t let you, love. Rowing down the river in your birthday suit is one thing, guns and war is another.’
‘But, Mum, the SAS kill the bad guys. They’re heroes.’
‘The ones that don’t get killed are. What about the ones who die or come home with no legs?’
‘No legs? Well, at least that’d stop you nicking my stuff and embarrassing me in public,’ Shannon put in. ‘Every cloud.’
‘Shannon!’ Sarah snapped.
Ollie rubbed his nose. ‘Why would it stop me doing anything? Sure you can get false legs. Look at your man, Oscar Whatshisname?’
‘Pistorius?’ Darren said.
‘Yeah, him, he runs like the wind on those fake legs.’
‘Let me get this straight. You want to join the SAS to kill bad guys, and if you get your legs blown off, you’ll be happy enough with the false ones?’ Darren asked.
‘Well, not happy, like I won’t be having a party to celebrate losing my legs, but I’ll be grand.’
Sarah slapped the table. ‘Can we please stop talking about lost limbs? Now, you two, off upstairs. I need to talk to your father in private.’
Sarah closed the kitchen door and locked it.
‘Jesus, what’s going on? You haven’t locked the kitchen door since you told me you were pregnant with Ollie. You’re not pregnant, are you?’
Our Secrets and Lies Page 16
