Unbeknownst to Emma, as well as saving up to buy a house, Adam had been putting a little bit of money aside each month to buy the perfect engagement ring for Emma. He had been scouting in jewellers’ windows and had fallen in love with a vintage solitaire dating from the 1940s. The diamond was held in place with four small clasps and was set onto a delicate white-gold band. It was breathtakingly stunning and when the stone caught the light, its clarity allowed it to shine straight through. On being told how much it was he nearly died on the spot, but after he had left the shop he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The ring epitomised Emma, it was elegant and timeless, a perfect match for the woman he loved. So every week he checked back in the window praying it wasn’t sold until eventually he had saved up enough for it. Coming out of the jewellers that day he couldn’t keep the grin from his face. He had been so careful walking down the street, keeping his hand over the box inside his jacket pocket. His excitement was written all over his face and he was petrified that Emma would guess what was up.
He had also bought a fancy wicker picnic basket, with a red-and-white check cloth lining, in an overpriced lifestyle store. It had an inbuilt cooler bucket, proper cutlery and champagne glasses. He had stocked it with Emma’s favourite foods – a salad with olives and goats’ cheese, a smoked salmon and ricotta quiche – and he had also brought chilled champagne and strawberries.
They had set off for the Wicklow countryside early the next morning. They often went walking there so nothing seemed out of the ordinary to Emma. They had trampled through the long meadow grass, speckled red in places with wild poppies, walking for ages until there was no one around them. Eventually they came to the edge of the field, where the land sloped gently down towards the water’s edge. They had sat up against a knobbly oak tree and Adam served up the picnic. Emma was so impressed with the picnic basket that she hadn’t noticed that he had been too nervous to eat anything. His heart had been pounding manically against his ribcage; he couldn’t ever remember being this nervous before. He had swallowed hard and asked Emma Fitzpatrick to be his wife, listening to his shaky voice as if it was coming from someone else entirely. He had watched her stunned face, as her mind caught up with what was happening, change into an expression of pure joy. He opened back the lid on the small, black jeweller’s box which contained the vintage solitaire and when he saw it again glistening in the sunlight, he knew he had made the right choice. With trembling hands, he had slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand.
“Yes, of course. Yes. Yes. Yes, of course I will marry you!” she had screamed at him before throwing her arms around his neck.
He would never forget that moment as he had thought he might burst with happiness. They had sipped their champagne and admired the ring on Emma’s slender finger. They laughed and cried and hugged and then cried some more.
They had wasted no time in setting a date. Emma had always dreamed of a Christmas wedding and although it was only six months away they managed to find an old manor house in County Kildare that was available. They had kept it small and intimate – she didn’t want a large wedding, so it was just their family and close friends.
The night before the wedding, Adam found himself at home alone. Emma had followed tradition and had stayed in her parents’ house, sleeping in her childhood bedroom. Adam had missed her in that short space of time; the house felt empty without her and the bed was cold on her side. He hated being away from her and, even if it was only for one night, he couldn’t wait to see her again. After only a few hours apart, he already felt like he had so much to tell her.
He had stood nervously at the altar, shifting from foot to foot, zoning out on the conversation that his groomsmen were having. He barely registered the flowers decorating the pew ends or the organist warming up with Bach’s ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ in the background. He shook hands with and greeted their guests as they came in and took their seats but his mind was elsewhere. Then he had heard the organist begin to play Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D’, which was the piece that they had chosen as their processional, as a hush fell on the congregation. When he had turned around and seen her standing at the back of the church linking her father, framed by the parted doors, looking serene and more beautiful than he had ever seen, he had lit up with happiness and pride. Her tall slender frame was enhanced by the delicate lace of the dress. He had felt so alive, so in love, so physically brimming with joy that it felt as though it was bubbling up inside of him and spilling out over their guests in the church. He watched in awe as she walked gracefully towards him with careful strides. They shared a smile and he had felt his eyes prick with tears.
When her father had handed her over to him, he had squeezed her hand tight to assure her that they would have a wonderful life together. He could almost feel her touch now. As the priest had pronounced them man and wife, the feeling of goodwill radiating from their guests standing in the pews was almost palpable.
Later in the day they had both sneaked hand in hand up to the bridal suite, just to take a few minutes out for each other from the madness going on downstairs in the reception. Sitting under the canopy of the chintz drapes on their four-poster bed, they couldn’t help talking over each other in excited bursts about how fantastic their day had been so far. He could remember looking into her eyes, deep into their depths and she had gazed right back at him with that same intensity. This was to be the start of the rest of their lives. They hadn’t needed to say anything; they just sat like that for a moment, taking it all in. It had probably lasted only for a few seconds but it had felt timeless, it would always stay with him. That feeling of pure joy – yes, they had once been happy.
15
Friday couldn’t come fast enough for Zoe. She’d had Emma’s dress hanging on the outside of her wardrobe all week and every time she looked at it she got butterflies in her tummy. When the day finally dawned, she was excited about seeing Steve again but nervous too. She just wished she could relax and enjoy it but instead she was obsessing over every detail. Hair up or down? She had finally decided on up. Should she wear a necklace or just leave her neckline bare? In the end she chose to wear a simple silver chain that trailed downward to form a knot just below her collarbone. Would he make sure to introduce her to everyone? What if he left her standing on her own all night?
She got dressed in the lace gown she had borrowed from Emma. When she put it on it made her feel fantastic once again. The bodice of her dress fitted perfectly over her breasts before it gently fell away, skimming over the areas she didn’t want attention drawn to. Not trusting the hairdresser not to do something overly fussy, she had done her own hair by twisting it into two rolls on each side of her head using Kirby grips to pin it all into place at the back. When she looked at herself in front of the mirror, she felt good. She just prayed Steve would like it.
Bang on eight o’clock she heard her buzzer go. She hurried out and opened back the door to see Steve standing there dressed in a tuxedo with a tall bunch of gladioli in his arms.
“Hi, there!” He smiled and handed her the flowers. “You look stunning, really beautiful.” He stood back, admiring her.
“Why, thank you! You’re not looking too bad yourself!”
His tall stature suited a tux, his broad chest filling the jacket handsomely. He was cleanly shaven and his usually messy hair had been brushed back. His eyes twinkled and she had to do everything in her power not to jump on him there and then.
“Are you sure I look okay – I always feel a bit funny in these things?” He started tugging at the neck of his shirt. “I think after the years of wearing a suit in the bank I have a phobia of the things now.”
“Well, I must say it suits you. You look very handsome.”
* * *
As they walked into the room, Steve nodded and greeted people he knew standing at the bar. He was proud to have Zoe on his arm. He knew some of the people were looking at her as they tried to work out who she was. He led her over towards a group of men and wom
en. Zoe saw a waiter go past with a tray of champagne – she grabbed two glasses and handed one to Steve before taking a long sip from hers. She barely knew him and here she was about to meet his friends.
“Well, you’re a dark horse, Steve – are you not going to introduce us?”
“Barry – this is Zoe. Zoe, these are some of the other stand-holders at the market.” He named each person as she shook hands with them one by one.
“So, Zoe, how long have you two been going out together?” a lady he had introduced to her as Yvonne enquired.
They both squirmed awkwardly and she could see Steve’s cheeks go red.
“We’re not . . . well . . .” he looked at Zoe, “not yet anyway.”
“Oooooh!” one of the other women said.
“I mean, we haven’t known each other very long.”
“I see. Well, how did you meet?” She continued her line of interrogation even though she could see they were both wriggling in front of her.
Zoe jumped in to save Steve who was going redder by the second. “It’s a long story.”
He flashed her a grateful smile.
Finally they were saved by the gong calling everyone to take their places for dinner.
“Phew!” Steve sighed as they took their seats, which were thankfully on a different table to the group that they had just walked away from. “Sorry about that – Yvonne is forever trying to set me up with her friends. And she’s so nosy – she just keeps digging until she finds out all the details.”
“I can see that!”
Knowing that they would be serving the most discerning of customers, the hotel had prepared a wonderful banquet featuring the best of Irish produce including crab-cakes, duck and turbot, finishing with a dessert of pear-and-almond tartlets. Zoe was grateful that her dress was an empire line and would hide her stomach, which had grown after all the rich food that she had eaten.
After the plates had been cleared away it was time for the annual award ceremony. Zoe was surprised to see Steve had been nominated in two categories – one for ‘Best Cheese Producer’ and the other for the ‘Best Artisan Producer’. He blushed when she asked him why he hadn’t said anything about it.
“Ah, you know yourself – these things don’t really mean anything. It’s just hours of boring speeches and clapping hands on cue while some fella in a fancy suit presents a bit of crystal.”
“Stop being so modest!” Zoe chided as she rubbed his arm affectionately.
Although he didn’t win the ‘Best Artisan Producer’ award, he did receive a runner-up prize for his oak-smoked cheese. Zoe clapped enthusiastically as he went up on stage to receive it.
“I’m very proud of you,” Zoe whispered when he returned to his seat and although she knew he was embarrassed, she could tell he was delighted at having won.
Once all the awards were given out, the tables were cleared away to make a dance floor and the band started.
“Here, let’s dance,” Steve said, and he led Zoe onto the dance-floor.
As he took her in his arms, Zoe was surprised to find Steve was a good dancer. He twirled her around the floor to sounds of the old Rat Pack, moving with ease and confidence.
“I wouldn’t have had you down as a good dancer!” Zoe whispered in his ear.
“I’m full of surprises, me!”
After a while, breathless from all the dancing, they sat down for a bit.
He leaned in towards her. “Here – why don’t we get out of here? It’s stuffy anyway. I hate all this pretentiousness.”
“Do you not want to stay till the end?”
“Nah – we’d only be attacked by Barry and Yvonne again anyway.”
He led her by the hand as they left the room and stood outside in the evening air.
“That’s better,” he said, loosening his bow-tie. “Here, you look perished – put this around you.” He placed his big jacket around her shoulders.
They were alone. The full moon cast silvery shadows across the lawn.
“Zoe, I just want to say thank you for coming tonight. I really enjoyed it.”
“I’m glad I came too.”
“I feel like I should do something romantic like you see in the films.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know – point out the stars or something.”
Zoe giggled and he took her in his arms. He leant in so that she could smell the champagne off his breath and began to kiss her slowly. She had been wondering how long more she would have to wait but now that the moment had arrived she savoured it. His lips felt so good against hers, like they had known each other for years. As they kissed deeply, she knew where he would be staying tonight.
16
Adam strolled down Grafton Street towards the pub where he had arranged to meet his brother Rob. After a long day in work, he wasn’t in the mood for another evening in the house on his own, with only his feelings for company and too much time to think. Thinking wasn’t good. So he had emailed Rob at work and they had arranged to go for a pint.
It was the time of the day where the street underwent its transformation for the night. He walked past shop fronts pulling down their shutters, flower sellers tidying up their stalls, while bars and restaurants set their tables and put out their chalk-written menu-boards, readying themselves for the evening trade. Crowds of shoppers gathered around a tinfoil-clad street artist pretending to be a statue. His audience took up the width of the street, forcing people to walk around. Adam kept on walking, weaving left and right through the hordes of people coming at him like shoals of fish.
Rounding a corner, he walked down Castle Street. Its narrow paths were crowded with gangs of smokers standing outside so he turned onto a quieter cobble-locked side-street where crowds were sitting along the outdoor terraces under café-bar awnings, friends laughing and joking.
He caught sight of a man standing under a shop front wearing heavy-set frames with a huge bouquet of blush roses in his hands. He was checking his watch and his eyes darted around the street. The woman he had obviously been waiting for came up moments later, surprising him from behind by putting her slender arms around his waist. He watched as he swung her around to face him. As they embraced and smiled fondly at one another, they were unaware of the man standing watching them only a short distance away. It was the look in their eyes that did it. It caught him off-guard like a blow in the pit of his stomach. Emma used to look at him like that. They used to do this. That couple used to be them. He stared over at them, happy in each other’s arms, chatting animatedly, oblivious to the street life going on around them. They were the centre of each other’s world. ‘I used to have that too!’ he wanted to shout over to them out of sheer petulant rage. ‘That used to be me!’ He watched them walk off then, the man’s arm draped lazily around his lover’s shoulders.
* * *
They used to meet in town every Friday evening after work; it was something they had always done. Friday was their night. The streets were always alive with suits filtering out of offices, relieved to be escaping work for the weekend. You could almost feel the infectious excitement in the air. A stressed Emma would hurry out of A1 Adverts flustered and apologising for being late. She would complain that A1 was sucking the life out of her and how Maureen had landed her with something that was so urgent that it had to be done ‘now’ just as she was about to leave the office for the weekend. But no matter how bad her humour was, she would always light up as soon as she saw him. He knew how to make her smile and lift her out of any mood.
They would have a table reserved, usually in a new restaurant that they had read about in the Sunday papers and they had been dying to try. They would start by ordering a bottle of red wine, instantly helping them both unwind from the pressures of their work. The heavy clunking sound it made as it poured out of the bottle was the sound that said the weekend was here. They would take their time poring over the menu, trying to guess what the other was going to order.
After dinner they would normall
y stroll hand in hand up to their local, Brown’s on the canal, to meet the rest of the gang: a mixture of his and her friends. There was always someone there. In winter they would try to get the seats closest to the turf fire and in summer they would sit outside on a wooden picnic bench overlooking the lock gate until it began to get chilly and they would move back inside. More often than not, whoever was left at the end of the night would pile into a taxi and head back to theirs in Rathmines for another bottle of wine.
The next day neither would have the energy or the inclination to move very far and it would be spent hung over, snuggling on their sofa, eating crisps and chocolate, watching old films like Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Chitty Chitty Bang Bang which they knew off by heart. They were always happiest when they were in each other’s company. That was their routine, as comfy as old slippers, but that was them.
* * *
Adam made his way towards the back of the dimly lit pub, which was quiet enough that evening, but then again the good weather meant most people chose to sit outside. They found a quiet alcove and Rob ordered pints for them both. They sat in and sipped the creamy heads on their pints.
“So how are you? How’re things in work?” Adam asked.
“Good, y’know, busy so can’t complain. How about you?”
“Yeah, same old, it’s grand.”
“And how’s Emma?” Rob knew when his younger brother rang him to go for a pint it was usually because he needed to talk.
“Good.” He paused. It’s fucking shit. “Well, as good as can be expected, I suppose.” He took a slow sip of his pint and placed the glass back on the table.
“Yeah?” Rob said.
The silence sat heavy in the air between them.
“I don’t know if we’re going to get through it, Rob,” Adam blurted out.
“Hang on – what are you saying things like that for?”
“I’m serious, Rob. I don’t know if we’ve much of a future left together. She stays holed up in her room whenever I’m in the house. She won’t speak to me. It’s as if she can’t bear to be around me.”
In a Moment Page 7
