by Maeve Binchy
“No. This is a tour bus. We can stay on it all day if we want or get off and explore something and get back on another. It's a great way of seeing Dublin. I'm going to suggest David does it too. Maybe we could go together, the three of us, and the twins, if they're ever going to take any time off again.”
“Fiona, what do people earn in this country to be able to pay prices like this? Look at what they charge for coffee!”
“Why do you think we're all racing out to Aghia Anna?” Fiona laughed and patted the old, lined hand on the table.
When David arrived the next day, Fiona met him and took him to his lodgings in Barbara's flat.
“She won't mind?”
“No, this is my room when I stay here. I've been wandering around for the last few weeks: Declan's house, my parents’ house and here. She'll be glad of the company.”
David gave her another hug.
“I'm so pleased to see you so happy after …after everything.”
“And you too, David. I'm taking you off on a bus tour of Dublin right now. We're meeting Vonni at the start point. And the twins. But I won't even begin to explain who they are exactly.”
“It's all like a dream, Fiona. And the sun is still shining, like when we waved good-bye to the others at the Café Midnight in Aghia Anna,” he said, taking out his notebook and pencil for the journey.
She had forgotten just how much she liked David. Wasn't he just great to have come over for her wedding?
The two days before the wedding were busy for everyone. Vonni had been invited with Paddy Carroll and Muttie Scarlet and their associates to have a drink in their pub. She explained that she didn't drink herself due to early excesses, and they all nodded gravely as if that could have been their own problem had things not been different.
Barbara had taken David to a pottery exhibition, where he met a lot of craftsmen and -women who invited him to different parts of Ireland.
Claras daughter Adi had left for South America with Gerry to save some forest. Linda, on the other hand, had got a major arts program on television to cover Nick Hickey playing alto sax at a jazz evening in the record shop. Clara and Hilary had been in the audience, bursting with pride over the two of them.
Peter Barry and his new lady friend, Claire Cotter, had sent a wedding gift of half a dozen linen table napkins and had already taken two dancing lessons so that they wouldn't look foolish on the floor.
Father Brian Flynn had invited his Polish priest friend Father Tomasz from Rossmore to attend the wedding in the hope that he might send more weddings their way and that it might also distract him from St. Ann's Well, which he had become altogether too fond of.
The twins had practiced so well that they were sure everything would work perfectly. Their nerves had calmed down.
Lavender had seen the wedding menu and told her patients that if they stayed with the smoked salmon and salads they couldn't go far wrong.
Johnny had said there was no better exercise than dancing and had shown some of his stiffer patients how to look and feel more limber. He had to borrow a tie for his role as best man.
Tim, who was coming to the wedding with Lidia, thought privately that the place was a fire hazard and that those twins would probably burn it down on the day. So he quietly installed more fire extinguishers and fire blankets just in case.
Ania had delivered the wedding dress to Fiona's parents, the waistcoat to Declan and the wall hangings to Father Flynn.
She had made a moss-green silk flower for Clara, arranged flowers for the two mothers and done boutonnieres for Johnny and Carl.
“What are you wearing yourself?” Carl asked.
“I haven't thought,” Ania said.
“You know the dress you wore to my parents’ party?”
“Ye-es.” She spoke doubtfully.
“I never saw it properly.”
“It isn't much to look at now. The sleeves had to be removed. It looks a bit sad now.”
“Could you make new sleeves?” he wondered.
“I'd need to get lace,” she said.
“Let's go and buy some lace.”
“You mean new lace in a shop?” She was overwhelmed by such extravagance.
“That's what I mean,” Carl said affectionately.
Frank Ennis tried on his outfit. He was afraid he looked like a mad old sailor. Maybe the blazer wasn't a good idea. He wished he'd said no to the invitation, saying that sadly he would be elsewhere. He would be hopelessly awkward and out of place.
Lar and Judy and Mrs. Kitty Reilly were all gearing up for it. Kitty Reilly had now discovered St. Ann's Well in Rossmore and was praying that the place be made the new Lourdes or Fatima. Her children were very impressed that she had been invited to the wedding of a young doctor. That was class. They were less impressed by the venue. An immigrants’ church in the backstreets of Dublin. A hall where these people ate their foreign food.
The Walsh family were going together. Carl was going to push his mother in her wheelchair and Ania was going to wheel Bobby. Ania knew the church and the hall. She knew exactly where they would be settled.
The house move had taken place. Rosemary would be coming to live in the new apartment in a couple of weeks’ time. She was only on day-release for the wedding. And she was trying very hard to be nice. She was grateful for suggestions, instead of scorning them.
Ania had said that Rosemary might want to wear something smart for the wedding and that Bobby should ask her to choose from her outfits. Rosemary said that this was very thoughtful of Bobby and she would like a long cream skirt and a brown velvet top. She fussed about what gift they should send until Carl begged Ania to ask Fiona what they wanted and to tell them quickly before everyone went insane.
Fiona said that she and Declan would just love a picnic basket so that they could go up the Head of Howth or out to sit in Killiney Strand. Rosemary rang the top stores and ordered the last word in picnic baskets.
Fiona and Declan had stared at it dumbfounded when it arrived. They had only meant an insulated bag that would keep beer cool. This was a huge basket with leather straps and brass buckles and proper cutlery and plates and glasses and even napkins. They could hardly wait to take it on its first outing.
By the wedding morning, Barbara and David had become great friends. They had been to the theater together. They had walked by the Liffey and they had taken the DART out to the seaside, where Barbara pointed out the houses of pop singers and actors.
He was interested in everything—including Barbara.
She told him about the dress and the fear the zip might split.
“Why don't I sew you into the dress?” David suggested.
“Are you serious?”
“Totally. I can make big loopy stitches, give you room to breathe. Dance even?”
“Dance? David, if I get down that aisle, I won't move again for the rest of the day.”
“Wait till you see the stitching job I'll do,” David promised. “You'll be dancing until dawn.”
The two mothers were congratulating each other on getting this far.
“I think it was your talking to Declan that did the trick,” Maureen said.
“No. You knocked some sense into Fiona.” Molly was anxious to give equal praise.
“I don't think I did that much, Molly. We've always been terrified of Fiona.”
“She's the sweetest, gentlest girl I ever met,” Molly Carroll said, and not for the first time Fiona's mother wondered at the different faces of ourselves that we showed to different people.
Fiona woke on the day to find her sisters standing by the bed.
“We brought you scrambled eggs and toast,” said Ciara.
“And fresh orange juice,” said Sinead.
“Thank you so much. I'm going to miss you,” Fiona said.
“We never did this before,” Ciara said anxiously.
“No, that's not true, but it's still very nice. What time's Barbara coming?”
“She's downstairs having
coffee with Mam. She's looking terrific.”
“Is she dressed?”
“Yeah, she's all glammed up. She says you're to take your time. Have a shower and she'll come up and help you then.”
“If I eat much more of this, she'll have to sew me into my dress.”
“That's what your friend did to her apparently. David. He sewed her into her dress. She was telling Mam.”
Fiona shook her head. Her sisters were both daft. They never got the right end of any stick in their lives.
There was a crowd outside the church when Fiona and her father arrived. Father Flynn had encouraged everyone to come and cheer on the wedding. There were even photographers and journalists asking where the bride and groom were from. They were disappointed to find out that they were both Dubliners. They were hoping this would be more exotic, maybe even a celebrity wedding.
• • •
“Thanks, Dad, for everything,” Fiona said at the church door.
“I can't tell you how happy your mother and I are today. Like when we think …” he stopped.
“Let's not think about things like that, Dad. Not today,” Fiona said.
“How did you get to be so bloody serene all of a sudden?” Barbara hissed at her.
“How did you get into that dress?” Fiona hissed back.
“David sewed me into it this morning. He's a peach, David. Why didn't you ever tell me?”
“I did tell you.” Fiona was stung. “That's why I got you to give him a room.”
“Girls!” Fiona's father was very firm. “Enough of this. The music is playing. We have to walk the walk.”
And as the sun shone through the windows of what had once been a biscuit factory, Fiona heard the music begin. If her life had depended on it, she could not have identified what they were playing, even though she had chosen it herself. She saw everyone in the church stand up and they got a nod from Father Brian at the altar.
They were off.
At the altar, Declan turned around. Walking slowly toward him was the most beautiful girl in the world. She looked dazzling in her Indian silk dress, she carried yellow and white roses in a bouquet. The dress was plain and classic, letting the fabric speak: it was like some designer creation, yet Declan knew it had been made by Ania, with advice from her mother.
The church was crowded, but Fiona never once looked around her to take in the surroundings: she walked on toward him, her face one big radiant smile. She was going to be his wife in a few moments from now.
Declan closed his eyes for two seconds at the wonder of it all.
Hilary didn't care who saw her crying; she didn't even bother to wipe her face.
Clara felt a tear coming out of the corner of her eye, and to her astonishment Frank Ennis passed her a tissue.
There might have been fifty such scenes in the congregation— but Declan and Fiona saw none of them.
Nothing could take their eyes away from each other.
Father Flynn had asked only one favor, that the speeches be kept brief. He had been told by a very wise person that there was one rule to remember: you can never be too short or too flattering. He told this to Fionas father, who might easily have been long-winded. He also mentioned it to Johnny, who as best man would certainly have felt it necessary to make some risqué jokes—but one look at Father Flynn's face made him lose the original script.
The photographer, Mouth Mangan, was as good as his word and remarkably speedy. There was no endless hanging about. Father Flynn took his business card in case they should need his services again.
The hall was a delight. The huge buffet tables were so welcoming, and a legion of Simon's and Maud's friends were doing what was called work experience: passing drinks around and helping people to fill their plates.
Everywhere Fiona and Declan looked they saw friends and well-wishers. Fiona felt bathed in such happiness she could even be nice to Rosemary Walsh.
“Thank you again for the really wonderful picnic basket,” she said. “It was such a generous gift.”
“Good, good. You wrote a very nice letter. One does try. It's such an odd thing to want. Bobby and I thought the only thing to do was to try and get you a top-class one.”
“And you did, Mrs. Walsh. It's quite splendid. Can I introduce you to anyone? My mother? Declan's mother?”
“I don't think so, dear. Who is that lady with the lined face and the colored skirt? The one who looks like a Gypsy.”
“That's Vonni. She came from Greece specially.”
“And is she a Gypsy?”
“No, not at all. She runs a craft shop there.”
“And is she Greek?”
“Irish.”
“Heavens! She does look interesting.”
“I'll bring her over to meet you,” Fiona said and made her way over to Vonni's side. She clutched Vonni's arm and whispered, “Only one really poisonous person here and she said she'd like to meet you. She was the one who behaved so badly to Ania. Remember, I told you?”
“Lead me to her,” Vonni said, with a gleam in her eye.
“Gently, Vonni,” Fiona warned.
“Like silk,” Vonni promised.
Everyone said the speeches were a delight: short and warm. What more could you want?
The food was delicious and Fiona had asked for three cheers for the caterers whose first official function this was. Only the cake and the dancing remained.
Vonni had love-bombed Rosemary Walsh almost out of her wheelchair with her praise and delight for the new Irish, and how they had arrived just when the Celts needed them. Rosemary had never met such a forceful argument and found herself stammering agreement.
Linda and Nick told their mothers that they didn't want to upstage Fiona's day, but they thought they might well get married in this church and have the reception in this hall.
“You're getting married ?” Hilary and Clara spoke in unison, their mouths round in shock and pleasure.
They had hoped and plotted that the two young people would get together, but actually getting married? It was beyond their wildest dreams.
Ania kept an eye on the wheelchairs so that she could give any assistance if it was needed.
“Ania?”
“Yes, Mrs. Walsh?”
“I wanted to ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“It's a bit awkward.”
“Do you want to go to the bathroom, Mrs. Walsh? I can take you there easily.” Ania was ready to be helpful as usual.
“No, no, nothing like that. It's about what I said to you and to Carl. I am so sorry.”
“But that's all a long time ago. It's long ago. Forgotten now.”
“Carl hasn't forgotten. His face is cold and hard. He is my only child. If you and he were to marry, you would be my only daughter-in-law and your children my only grandchildren. I can't bear to think that I have lost all this with my stupid remarks.”
“No, no, believe me, Mrs. Walsh.”
“Could you call me Rosemary?”
“No, that would be difficult. Look—Carl must take his own time to make his peace. Me? I have made my peace with you. I love your son. I hope to make him happy, but I don't want to do anything to force his hand. Is that the expression?”
“That's the expression, Ania. You are very bright. I am just a blind person.”
“You are a person who needs some wedding cake. I will go and get you some,” said Ania.
Rosemary watched her in her elegant dress go across the room talking to this person and that. She realized that only a few weeks ago she herself was doing that at her ruby wedding party.
And look at her now.
Tom and Cathy Feather came just as the cake was being sliced to see how their protégés had fared. It all seemed to have been a glorious success. They had followed all their training too about leftovers. These had been sealed in plastic bags and put into the freezer.
The dancing had started. The bride and groom began to dance to the music of “True Love.” Then
the parents and their spouses. The best man went over to ask the maid of honor, but she was already dancing with David, so Johnny asked Fiona's sister Ciara instead. Then Declan's uncle asked Hilary to dance. Carl and Ania followed them to the dance floor. Linda and Nick danced close together, planning their own wedding. And Tim and Lidia joined them. They had their plans too. They were going to buy and renovate a house out on the coast. Bobby reached over and took Rosemary's hand.
“That's what I have for you, Rosemary. ‘Love forever true.’ That's the way it feels to me,” he said.
“Thank you, dear Bobby,” she said.
It had been a long time since she had called him “dear Bobby”
Clara looked up as Frank Ennis approached her. He looked very well, almost roguish, in his outfit.
“You promised me a dance,” he said.
“And I'm delighted you remembered.”
“You're the most stylish woman in the room,” he said as they danced together.
He was lighter and less blundering than she might have expected.
“Thank you. You look pretty racy yourself. What about the lady you're meant to be escorting?”
“She's having an affair with a bottle of wine,” Frank said.
“Right, no guilt then.” Clara smiled at him.
“Are you properly divorced and everything?” he asked as they negotiated a corner.
“Yes, I will be shortly,” she said.
“Good,” he said.
“What has this got to do with the hospital board?”
“Nothing. It's me. I won't see you at work anymore and I want to see you socially.”
“Why won't you see me at work anymore?”
“Your year is up next month,” Frank Ennis said.
“Oh, balls, Frank, I'm not leaving. There's far too much to do. Far too many battles to be fought and won. You know that. I know that.”
And he said nothing. Just put his arms around her more closely as the whole heart clinic and their friends and relations danced to the music of “Hey Jude.”
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maeve Binchy is the author of numerous best-selling books, including her most recent novel, Whitethorn Woods, in addition to Nights of Rain and Stars, Quentins, Scarlet Feather, Circle of Friends, and Tara Road which was an Oprah Book Club selection. She has written for Gourmet; O, The Oprah Magazine; and Good Housekeeping, among other publications. She and her husband, Gordon Snell, live in Dalkey, Ireland, and London.
