Mother of the Bride

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  ‘I can’t believe that I fit into a size fourteen,’ she thrilled, as she studied herself in the mirror. Obviously, the stress of Paddy’s heart operation and the new healthy regime at home was beginning to pay benefits, and she had slimmed down without even trying.

  ‘I do like that, but I’m not sure if the colour is you.’ Fran sighed.

  ‘Well, I really like it,’ Helen insisted, thinking that it was a very definite possibility. She asked the shop owner to hold it for her. ‘I’d really like my daughter to come and see it, too.’

  Exhausted, they took a lunch break, beating the crowd into Café Mao. They ordered a tossed chicken salad with chilli and lime dressing.

  ‘Let’s head for town,’ said Fran as they finished up, and downed two creamy cappuccinos.

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ Helen pleaded. But Fran was too hard a task-master, and insisted they head for town.

  ‘We’ve got Arnotts, BT’s, Pamela Scott’s and Clerys to go through, plus the boutique in the Westbury Centre and a few other places . . .’

  ‘We’ll never get through all that!’ protested Helen.

  ‘There’s late opening tonight,’ reminded Fran, as they pulled into the busy city-centre car park off Grafton Street. ‘So we’ve plenty of time.’

  As they walked through BT’s, looking at the expensive designer ranges, Helen admired them but couldn’t see herself wearing most of them. Besides, Paddy would freak out if she paid that kind of money for an outfit.

  ‘This Louise Kennedy two-piece is gorgeous,’ said Fran, passing it to her. ‘Try it on, and try this Italian one, too.’

  The Italian fitted dress was far too tight on Helen, and the assistant made it quite clear that it didn’t come in a bigger size. The Louise Kennedy was in a warm gold colour, and was absolutely beautiful. Helen studied herself in the dress with its matching coat, both in a light satiny material. She really did like it, and to her surprise could imagine herself wearing it.

  ‘Wow!’ said Fran admiringly when she came out of the fitting room. ‘That is really lovely on you. It’s exactly the kind of thing you need.’

  ‘I really like it, but I’d love Amy and Ciara to come and see it, too.’

  ‘We have only one in your size in this colour,’ explained the assistant, ‘but I’d be pleased to hold it for you till the weekend.’

  Helen agreed as she took the dress off and put it back on the hanger. She was dying to see the girls’ reaction.

  ‘Now, let’s head downtown,’ bossed Fran.

  ‘But surely we don’t need to?’

  ‘We are leaving no stone unturned,’ laughed Fran. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you a hot chocolate on the way.’

  Helen sent Paddy a text to say that she was staying on in town and wouldn’t be home till late. Paddy replied, telling her that Ciara was going to cook him dinner: a vegetable curry. Helen smiled to herself. More power to Ciara if she got him to eat some vegetarian dishes!

  Clerys on O’Connell Street, one of Dublin’s oldest stores, was busy as usual, but Helen saw a number of things that caught her eye, and decided to try on a few things there. She liked a navy lace suit which was exquisitely made and felt beautiful on.

  ‘I could see myself wearing this.’

  ‘It is lovely, but I don’t think navy is your colour,’ said Fran candidly.

  They spent another half an hour there browsing, before heading over to Henry Street to Arnotts.

  ‘My feet are killing me,’ complained Helen, ‘and I’m getting a headache. I need to sit down and get something to eat.’

  ‘Time enough for that when the shop shuts at 9 p.m.,’ declared Fran, as they went up to the huge fashion floor.

  ‘I can’t take any more,’ Helen begged. ‘Please, Fran, can’t we call it a day? I have two really nice outfits being held for me, isn’t that enough?’

  A look of hesitation passed over her best friend’s face and Helen had visions of the two of them finding a cosy table in one of the restaurants in Temple Bar and ordering dinner.

  ‘Just a quick look around,’ insisted Fran, leading the way.

  Helen couldn’t believe it! The floor was filled with a huge array of beautiful clothes for all ages, with a great selection of Irish designers. There was no way they were going to be out of here quickly. They spent half an hour just sorting through all the different designers the shop carried.

  ‘Look, look!’ shouted Fran excitedly, passing Helen a fuchsia-pink suit. ‘Try it on!’

  It was stunning, but Helen couldn’t see herself sitting in St Mary’s in such a bright-coloured suit, and looking around the rails picked out three other things that took her interest.

  Fran was right. The pink suit was a wow, but the jacket was too tight on her and they didn’t have a bigger size. The black and grey top and skirt was expensive and sexy, but too young for her. As she pulled on the peacock-blue silk fitted dress with its round neck and cinched-in waist Helen immediately fell in love with it. She couldn’t believe it! It was perfect.

  The colour shimmered on her, and made her eyes look bluer than ever, and even though she was wrecked-looking the material gave her skin a golden glow. Holding her breath, she pulled on the short cropped bolero jacket with the mid-length sleeve that went with it. She turned around, looking at herself in the mirror, and felt excitement bubbling as she stepped out to show Fran.

  Her friend’s face said it all.

  ‘Buy it, Helen! You have to buy it!’

  The length, the style, the colour and – she had taken a sneaky look – even the price were perfect. It had been designed by a young Irish designer called Celine Conroy, who had won some prestigious fashion award in New York.

  Two other women who were in the fitting rooms beside her backed up Fran’s advice to buy it at once.

  ‘If I was your size and had such a figure, I’d buy it,’ admitted the plump blonde in the next stall. ‘It’s only gorgeous on you.’

  The shop was beginning to shut, and a few of the sales girls added their approval.

  ‘I’d really like my daughters to see it first,’ Helen said, looking at herself from every angle with satisfaction.

  ‘We have a full returns policy.’ The dark-haired girl who was serving her smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Then I’ll take it,’ Helen decided. ‘I’ll pay by Visa Card if that is all right.’

  Half an hour later, as she and Fran sat in Milano’s sharing an antipasti starter, Helen still couldn’t believe that the Mother of the Bride outfit she was going to wear to Amy’s wedding was sitting in the large black-and-white bag beside her. She had a blister on her foot, was sure she had walked miles and was exhausted from trying on, but she felt triumphant that she had found the exact outfit, the perfect thing for the wedding, and it made her feel beautiful . . .

  She took a sip of her wine. Thank heaven, there was no need to go traipsing the country, hunting out shops in Kildare or down in Wexford or Wicklow, as the very best rig-out had been found. It was incredible. Fran was right to have pushed her.

  ‘Thanks so much, Fran. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  ‘Cheers to the beautiful Mother of the Bride!’ Fran smiled as they toasted the occasion.

  Fran was tucking into her creamy mushroom risotto when she suddenly stopped eating. ‘Helen, you need shoes! And a bag!’ she said excitedly. ‘And are you going to wear a hat or a headpiece?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Helen protested. ‘Give me a chance, Fran! I’ve literally just bought my outfit.’

  ‘Well, next week you and I are off on the hunt again,’ promised Fran. ‘Did you notice the lovely shoes they had in Clerys? And did you see the soft clutch bags in Harvey Nicks?’

  Helen took a deep breath, excited. This was only the start of it!

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Helen didn’t know where the weeks went. The days of summer seemed to run together, she had so much to do, helping Amy organize the wedding. Ciara, to their great surprise, had passed her exams and taken off
to Thailand with six friends.

  ‘I’ll be back five days before the wedding,’ she promised, disappearing with a backpack.

  Ronan had gone on a three-week holiday to Poland with Krista, who wanted to show him all the sights in her home country.

  Paddy was getting back on his feet. Every day he was a little bit stronger and able to walk farther. His concentration and interest in things around him was gradually improving, too. Despite his complaints, he was sticking to a low-cholesterol diet, and was under the good care of Doctor Galligan and a physiotherapist in the hospital. Even his sense of humour was returning, which was a very good sign. Helen knew that he’d been nervous about his six-week check-up in the Blackrock Clinic with his cardiologist Doctor Clancy and his surgeon Mr Mulligan, but when the time came Paddy passed all the medical tests with flying colours. His bypass had been a complete success, and Mr Mulligan reassured herself and Paddy that he was well on the road to recovery.

  Thank heaven, she thought, trying not to let Paddy see the tears in her eyes.

  To celebrate they went down to Glebe House with Amy and Dan for Sunday lunch. Eve had welcomed them warmly, fussing over Paddy, asking all about his operation, and telling him how well he looked.

  The dining room was busy, and after lunch, when things had quietened down, Eve had joined them to run through some of the arrangements for the reception.

  ‘Is there any way we can squeeze any more than seventy people into the dining room?’ asked Amy hesitantly.

  ‘Obviously when we have guests here for dinner we have a lot of couples dining, and they need slightly more space and privacy than tables of family and friends celebrating an occasion, so in the dining room we can usually only seat up to seventy. But for a wedding we would be using bigger tables, and we could top and tail each table, which would get another two people on each one. I couldn’t do that in the restaurant,’ explained Eve, ‘but at a wedding people don’t mind being a bit on top of each other.’

  ‘How many extra do you think we might be able to fit in, then?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Well, I suppose we could get it up to about ninety.’

  Helen knew that Amy and Dan were trying to finalize their guest numbers.

  ‘The other thing we did at Trudy’s wedding was that instead of a last-supper arrangement for the wedding table we used both sides.’

  ‘Last supper?’ quizzed Dan.

  ‘What I mean is, at most weddings the bridal party’s table faces out into the room, so that everyone can see the bride and groom and best man and bridesmaids. They have no one seated opposite them, which is actually a bit awkward. What we did for Trudy was to have people sitting opposite each other, which gave us a few more spaces. I suppose, all in all, we could stretch the seating to about ninety-five, maybe with a squeeze to ninety-eight guests in the room – but that is the very limit!’

  ‘Oh, Eve, thank you,’ said Amy and Dan, delighted.

  Helen could see that Paddy was relieved that, at just under a hundred guests, the numbers being catered for were substantially less than had been originally planned, and there was no fee for hiring Glebe House. Amy’s wedding budget was now far more manageable.

  ‘What about flowers for the tables?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Well, if you want to hire a florist to do your own arrangements you are very welcome. But as you know, Helen, we usually have flowers from the garden on every table, which is just part of the service,’ Eve offered. ‘Trudy is a dab hand at doing them – she loves it. She did a course in floristry about four years ago.’

  Helen looked at the beautiful bunch of sweet peas and lavender on the table, and the huge glass vases filled with summer roses over on the sideboard, and knew that Eve and Trudy would do a far better job than most florists.

  ‘Oh, we’d be more than happy to go with the flowers from your garden,’ exclaimed Amy, ‘They’re beautiful.’

  Then they discussed the menu. Amy and Dan had studied it already in great detail, and had a rough choice written out.

  ‘We’d like fish to start,’ said Dan. ‘We thought either the prawns or the fresh salmon with a leaf salad, followed by roast Wicklow lamb, baby potatoes, garlic potatoes and peas, and a dessert.’

  ‘For dessert we do a lovely nougat ice cream, and serve it with macaroons and roasted peaches,’ suggested Eve. ‘Or there is the house special: a light chocolate and fig tart with home-made vanilla and honeycomb ice cream. And, of course, we have strawberries from the garden.’

  ‘They all sound delicious,’ said Dan, who was a total dessert man.

  ‘Would you like to sample some while you are having your coffee?’ Eve offered.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ they all agreed.

  The desserts were mouth-wateringly delicious, and after much deliberation they opted for the chocolate and fig tart with ice cream. It was irresistible, and Dan and Paddy cleaned their plates.

  Eva smiled as she jotted down all their choices.

  ‘Will there be a vegetarian option?’ Helen asked, thinking of Ciara.

  ‘There is always a vegetarian option,’ Eve nodded, ‘and if people don’t like the lamb we can offer fish as an alternative: a nice monk-fish in a champagne sauce.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ agreed Amy.

  ‘I’ll email you the exact costing on your menu,’ Eve said, as she ran through the arrangements with them.

  There would be a welcome champagne reception when people arrived, with cheesy nibbles and iced mini cupcakes, which would be served on the terrace overlooking the gardens and lake, weather permitting, and if not, inside in the main drawing room.

  Ronan’s friend Paul played classical guitar, and would entertain the guests before they went into dinner, and Amy and Dan had booked a great group called Surf Club to play after the meal and for dancing.

  ‘It all sounds perfect to me,’ said Paddy. ‘Absolutely perfect.’

  ‘Yes, it’s exactly what we want,’ agreed Dan, excited.

  ‘Well, you can let me know whatever you decide.’ Eve smiled as they thanked her and said their goodbyes.

  ‘Let’s go for a stroll around the garden!’ Helen proposed, as they stood on the front steps.

  ‘We all need to walk off that great lunch,’ said Paddy, as they headed off down towards the lake. Amy and Dan had their digital camera with them, as they wanted to get a few photographs of the gardens and house basking in the beautiful July sunshine.

  * * *

  On the way home Helen listened happily as Amy and Dan went through all the lovely wedding plans for their reception in a few weeks’ time, poor Paddy asleep against her. The local church choir and their regular soloist, who sounded like he should be on stage, had agreed to sing at the wedding Mass in St Mary’s.

  ‘We’re trying to pick out music for the ceremony,’ Amy explained. ‘But there are so many songs. We keep listening to religious CDs of hymns and choirs on our iPods.’

  Helen laughed. It certainly made a change.

  ‘And Bibi is back on board about making the cake; she’s so good.’

  ‘I told you she would; she loves being involved with friends’ weddings.’

  ‘Did I tell you that Carmel has offered to do all the church flowers?’ said Amy, turning around to face her. ‘She’s always doing fabulous arrangements at home in their house, and she’s done a few functions and church things before. Mum, what do you think?’

  ‘I think it would be wonderful to have Dan’s mum involved,’ said Helen, genuinely meaning it. ‘Having Carmel doing the flowers will make them very special.’

  ‘She said that she’ll try and do whatever I have in mind.’

  ‘And we’ve finally made a decision about our honeymoon and are off to California and Hawaii,’ added Dan. ‘Great beaches.’

  ‘And great surfing,’ added Amy.

  Helen couldn’t believe it when Amy showed her the wedding invitations that had come from the printers. She and Dan had decided to use a photo that he had taken of the swans on the
lake, with Glebe House and gardens behind it.

  ‘Jilly in work helped me with my design and the print layout on it,’ said Amy proudly.

  Helen and Paddy were allowed to invite twenty-eight guests to the wedding, and without hesitation had gone for immediate family and their own close friends. Those who had stood by them during Paddy’s illness came top of the list. Carmel, much to their surprise, had without complaint whittled the Quinn guest list down to twenty-eight, too.

  On Wednesday and Thursday night they opened a few bottles of wine as they sat at the big kitchen table in Blackrock writing all the invitations to the ‘end-of-summer wedding celebration’ at Glebe House, and checking the list of names and addresses as they put them in their pretty gold envelopes.

  Jess had wonderful calligraphy-style handwriting, and was coopted by Amy into writing the names on each invitation, while Amy and Helen packed the envelopes with a map to Glebe House and a brochure for those who wanted to stay the night.

  ‘All the people we love and care for will be there and that’s what matters,’ said Amy, as with only five weeks to go before the wedding the invitations finally went off.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Jessica Kilroy took her job of arranging Amy’s hen night very seriously. As Amy’s chief bridesmaid and very best friend she wanted to be creative, and organize something a bit different from the usual drunken hen party spent staggering around Temple Bar or Kilkenny, or Galway or some English city, with pink Stetsons and a pair of wings on. That was certainly not Amy’s style! She wanted the hen weekend to be really memorable.

  Jess had considered a pampering weekend in a fancy spa or hotel, with dinner, but even though it sounded lovely it wasn’t very exciting. A shopping trip to Paris or New York was too expensive, and going over the border to Newry or Belfast certainly didn’t have the same cachet!

  After a brilliant weekend with her family down messing around on their old boat on the Shannon the idea came to her. Sailing was one of her favourite pastimes and suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, it hit her: the Shannon and a boat!