Double Wedding

by Patricia Scanlan

  7

  ‘Feeling better?’ Gary said drily as he detached himself from a group at the bar and gave Carol a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Nothing wrong with me, never better,’ she replied snootily. The bloody nerve of him to be so casual about it all. It was eleven thirty on Sunday morning and she hadn’t heard a toss from him since Friday night.

  ‘I didn’t think there was much point in phoning you, you being in such a bad mood and all.’ He grinned at her.

  ‘Yeah, well, why would I not be in a bad mood when I’m engaged to an ignorant bastard?’

  ‘Ooohhh, nasty!’

  ‘Not nasty, merely truthful. I’ll have a Club Orange, please.’

  ‘Wild woman, aren’t you?’ he teased.

  In spite of herself, Carol relaxed and smiled at him. He was here now, she was glad to see him, there was no point in having aggro between them for the rest of the day.

  ‘So will we have a knock-up before you take me to lunch?’ she inquired.

  ‘OK, go change when you’ve finished your drink. Where do you want to go for lunch?’

  He was extremely laid back and agreeable, she thought suspiciously, wishing she knew what he’d been up to and whom he’d been with. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking, so she shrugged and said, ‘I’m easy.’

  She changed into her whites and they played a couple of games, neither of them giving an inch. Later, as they sat eating lunch in the Royal Dublin, Carol said casually, ‘Jessica and I were talking and she thinks a double wedding would be a good idea after all.’

  Gary lowered the forkful of food he was about to eat and looked at her, puzzled, to say the least.

  ‘I didn’t think she was that gone on the idea. She certainly didn’t give that impression,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Well, obviously when she had a think about it she changed her mind,’ Carol replied nonchalantly, but she’d noted the flicker of dismay in his eyes and felt that old familiar niggle of fear that Gary was less than committed to the idea of marriage.

  ‘And when are they thinking of getting married?’ he asked warily.

  ‘Don’t know. Another year or so at least, I’d say.’ She kept her gaze firmly on her plate.

  ‘Maybe we’d be better off on our own?’ He toyed with his roast beef.

  ‘You liked the idea on Friday night.’ Carol struggled to keep the irritation out of her tone.

  ‘I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought. Just say they want to get married somewhere we don’t want.’

  ‘Is there anywhere you don’t want to get married? I thought you didn’t give a toss.’ She looked at him sternly.

  ‘Well . . . I . . . I . . . ’ he blustered.

  ‘Yes?’ Her stare never wavered.

  ‘I think I’d like a registry office marriage,’ he said feebly.

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Gary, we’d never get away with that,’ Carol said briskly, doing a magnificent job of hiding her disquiet. ‘I think a double wedding is the perfect option and I told Jessica so,’ she added emphatically.

  ‘Oh! Oh . . . right so.’ Gary took a gulp of his wine, looking far from happy.

  Carol felt like thumping him. Talk about making a woman feel cherished and wanted when it really mattered. Well, at least she’d broached the topic. That was the first hurdle cleared. The next thing was to set a date. She was going to pin Jessica down and get things sorted. Jury’s or the Burlington were nice hotels, she mused. Or they could get married in the airport church and have their reception at the Airport Hotel and be ready to fly out on their respective honeymoons. It was a pity she hadn’t seen Jessica and Mike on Saturday night. They weren’t in the pub when she popped in, neither were they at home.

  She hoped they’d be at the tennis club later in the afternoon. The four of them usually met up in the club on Sunday afternoon and had a couple of drinks. Jessica was working this Sunday but it was only until one-thirty. That would give her plenty of time to get home, have lunch and get to the club by mid to late afternoon. She was definitely going to bring up the subject.

  At least things were moving in the right direction. After a constructive chat with Jessica, decisions could be made and firm plans could be put in place. Carol rubbed the band of her engagement ring with her thumb. Sooner rather than later if she had anything to say about it, she’d also be wearing a gold band on that selfsame finger. And Gary’d be wearing a matching one on his ring finger too. Carol smiled to herself. Their exchange of wedding rings would be the most fulfilling moment of her life, she had no doubt about it.

  * * *

  Jessica sipped a cup of coffee as she sat in the control room waiting for the guests to emerge from studio. Five minutes to go and she’d be escorting them to reception and her morning’s work would be finished. The producer yawned and rubbed a hand over a stubbly jaw. ‘That’s it, I’m going on the dry, definitely,’ he vowed, as he did every Sunday. Jessica grinned.

  ‘I’ll get you another cup of coffee,’ she soothed. She slipped out of studio to get the required coffee, thinking how much more relaxed it was working in the Radio Centre on Sunday, compared to a weekday. The corridors, usually humming with the constant flow of people, were graveyard quiet. Studios were empty, and the huge open-plan offices upstairs were almost deserted. In comparison to the frenetic activity on the daily programme she worked on, the Sunday magazine show was a doddle, and Jim Collins, the producer, was so laid back he was almost horizontal.

  ‘It’s a good show. Lots of phone calls on the lack of sportsmanlike behaviour in football and rugby. Eddie is giving it socks,’ Jim said with satisfaction when she came back with the coffee.

  Eddie Doorley was a sports commentator with an unpredictable temper, and his inclusion on a programme panel always promised a lively, sparky show. She could see him through the glass panel gesticulating wildly, his face fire-engine red as he made a point.

  ‘Go, Eddie, go,’ Jim chortled as he gave Ronan Dillon, the presenter, the signal to wind it down. Half a minute later, the mic went green and the four guests began to emerge, Eddie still in full flow. Jessica presented them with their fee forms to sign, congratulated them on their performances, and before they knew it was leading them up the stairs at the end of the corridor, to reception and the exit.

  ‘Well done, Jessica, thanks,’ Ronan said wearily. ‘I didn’t want to have to sit listening to Eddie jawing for another half-hour.’

  ‘Me neither, Ro,’ Jim agreed. ‘Are you on for a pint up in Kileys?’

  ‘Too right I am. Jessica?’ He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  ‘Not today, thanks, Ronan, Mike’s starting his finals tomorrow. We’re going to hit a few balls around on the tennis court so he’ll loosen up a bit.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Jim approved. ‘Are you on next weekend?’

  ‘Nope, you’ll have to cope without me.’

  ‘Aw, Jessie, that means we’ll probably have Viv Reid and you know what a fusspot she is. How can you do this to me?’ Her producer groaned.

  ‘Ah, don’t fret, you’ll survive, just have an extra couple of scoops on Saturday night.’ She patted him on the arm. The three of them walked up the stairs together, joking and laughing, and as Jessica walked across the foyer to the automatic doors she thought how fortunate she was to be in a job that she thoroughly enjoyed. Carol worked in the Civic Offices and she was forever moaning and groaning about how stressful her job was. She was constantly telling Jessica how lucky she was.

  She felt a little guilty thinking of Carol. She and Mike had been in bed enjoying a welcome, sexy interlude when there’d been a knock on the front door. ‘Oh no!’ she groaned, lifting her head from Mike’s shoulder. ‘Who on earth is that?’ She slipped out of bed and peered out of the window. ‘Oh heck! It’s Carol. Why can’t she give me a break?’ she muttered, drawing back hastily, afraid she’d be seen.

  ‘You’d better let her in.’ Mike threw her dressing-gown at her.

  ‘I don’t want to.’ She scowled.
‘I just want to spend a bit of time with you, Mike. I had her all this morning. Every time they have a row I have to endure an earbashing. I don’t care if you think I’m a wagon, I’m not answering the door. She knew that I was going to be with you tonight, she’s just being a selfish cow,’ she exploded, feeling frustratingly guilty as the doorbell shrilled again. She looked at Mike.

  ‘It’s up to you,’ he said.

  ‘Aw, Mike, now you’re making me feel bad.’ She grabbed her dressing-gown and pulled it on, her heart sinking as she prepared to go downstairs. She glanced out of the window and saw Carol’s retreating form in the deepening dusk and didn’t know whether to be sorry or glad.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  Mike held out his arms to her. ‘That’s settled then, and don’t feel bad – you were going downstairs to let her in so you’re not a wagon. Now come here and destress me.’

  ‘It’s me that needs destressing,’ she said grumpily as she got back into bed. ‘Just when I was feeling nice and relaxed.’

  ‘I’ll relax you,’ he said lazily, his blue eyes smiling into hers as he drew her close against him and cupped her breast in his hand. He stroked her lightly, teasing her as his hands slid down to the silky skin between her thighs, and soon Carol’s unwelcome visit was the last thing on her mind.

  It had been a lovely, sensual night, made all the more so because they had the house to themselves. If Carol hadn’t called it would have been perfect.

  Jessica hurried down the steps of the Radio Centre, inhaling the warm summer air appreciatively. They’d been blessed with the weather for the past week and there was no sign of it breaking. Maybe it was going to be one of those scorchers of a summer that she and Mike would be really able to enjoy once his exams were over.

  She waved at the security guard as she drove out of the sprawling complex with its attractive landscaped grounds. The traffic was light along the Stillorgan dual carriageway and she was home in twenty minutes. The smell of roasting chicken wafted into the hall as she let herself into the house and her mouth started to water. She was starving. Mike must be cooking. He was a great cook, far better than she was, and he often made them Sunday dinner. She hadn’t expected him to cook today, she thought he’d be stuck into his books.

  ‘Hiya.’ She poked her head around the kitchen door. Mike was stirring a pot of gravy and the aroma wafting up under her nostrils reminded her of Sunday dinners at home in Arklow. ‘Mushy peas as well!’

  ‘The whole enchilada. Roasties, stuffing, and baked parsnips,’ her fiancé informed her smugly as he whipped the crispy, succulent golden chicken out of the oven and whacked her with the tea towel when she pilfered a spoonful of stuffing. ‘Stop it! You’ll ruin your appetite.’

  ‘Just as well we’re not playing a match later. I won’t be able to run around the court after this feed.’ She licked the spoon appreciatively, savouring every crumb. ‘What made you decide to cook a dinner? I thought we were having salad and cold meats.’

  ‘Ah, when I went to do the shopping I saw these plump little organic chickens and I got the longing for a few roast potatoes.’ He took out his tray of crisp, sizzling roasties and Jessica groaned, knowing a pig-out was imminent.

  ‘Just go and sit down,’ Mike ordered. ‘You’re getting under my feet, I’ll have it dished up in a minute.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said meekly, plonking on to a chair at the round dining-table in the small, extended kitchen.

  ‘This is scrumptious, Mike,’ she enthused appreciatively a few minutes later as she bit into a crispy roast potato. ‘How come you always get yours so crispy? Mine are always soft and soggy.’

  ‘Have your oil and tray really hot and give the potatoes a shake in a colander after you’ve parboiled them before you oil them,’ Mike instructed authoritatively.

  ‘Yes, Delia,’ she jeered affectionately, and he laughed.

  ‘You may mock, but it’s just as well I can cook or we’d starve. The least you could do is go on a cookery course before you marry me. I mean, who else could make a cup of coffee with gravy granules?’

  ‘Swine. I was pissed, I thought it was the coffee jar I was using. They’re practically the same. How totally ungallant of you to even mention it.’

  ‘And what about the time you got your paprika and your nutmeg confus—’

  ‘Stop, just stop it right now or I’ll call off the engagement,’ Jessica warned.

  ‘Promises, promises,’ Mike scoffed, and got his hair pulled for his impudence.

  They strolled hand in hand into the club later that afternoon and saw Carol waving gaily at them. ‘Hi, you guys, I thought you were never going to come.’

  ‘Well, we did actually, twice.’ Mike’s eyes glinted.

  ‘Lucky bastard,’ Gary said enviously.

  ‘Tsk,’ tutted Carol. ‘All you pair ever think about is sex.’

  ‘Well, at least he’s getting it – all I’m doing is thinking about it,’ Gary retorted.

  ‘Oh, shut up and go and buy a round,’ his fiancée snapped, not at all amused.

  ‘Better do what I’m told,’ Gary said drily as he got up to go to the bar.

  ‘Girls, excuse me, I just need to have a word with Ronnie Condon for a minute.’ Mike excused himself. Ronnie, the affable rotund club administrator, was very popular and great fun.

  ‘That Gary is an insensitive bollix,’ Carol fumed as Jessica sat down beside her.

  ‘Ah, lighten up, Carol, it was a joke.’

  ‘No it wasn’t,’ she said sulkily.

  ‘Look, if you pair are going to have a row and be in a snit, Mike and I will just go and start whacking a few balls around,’ Jessica said irritably, wishing she was over with Mike and Ronnie. The two were guffawing heartily at the bar.

  ‘Oh, don’t be like that, please, Jessie. Let’s talk about the wedding and cheer ourselves up,’ Carol wheedled.

  ‘I was perfectly cheered up until I met you two,’ she felt like saying, but she refrained from comment with difficulty. Sometimes two minutes in Carol’s company was enough to put her in a bad humour. She’d once worked on a programme about self-help books and read in one of them that people could be divided into categories called ‘Drains’ or ‘Radiators’ in terms of the energy they put out. Right now, Carol was being her drainy self and Jessica didn’t feel like spending the afternoon trying to cheer her up. There were times when she would make a huge effort and finally manage to get the other girl in good form, and by then she’d be totally drained herself and fit for nothing. When she’d seen the drains and radiators comparison, she’d understood it completely.

  ‘Have you any ideas? When are you thinking of doing it?’ Carol asked anxiously. ‘I told Gary that you’d changed your mind. So at least he’s getting used to the idea that there is actually going to be a wedding. So this is as good a time as any to start making plans. Have you any?’

  ‘Well, yes, actually. Mike and I discussed it,’ Jessica said slowly. ‘Er . . . we want to get married this year in Kilbride church and we want to have the reception in The Four Winds Hotel.’

  Carol stared at her, stunned, and Jessica felt her insides tighten. This was it, for once in her life she was sticking to her guns. If Carol wasn’t happy she could nix the idea of a double wedding, and Jessica wouldn’t mind one little bit because right now she was heartily regretting her ill-judged, impulsive offer.

  8

  ‘This year! Kilbride! The Four Winds!’ Carol rattled out each exclamation like bullets from a machine-gun. ‘You want to get married in Wicklow!’ She couldn’t have been more shocked if Jessica had said she wanted to get married on the moon.

  ‘Why? Where did you think I’d want to get married?’ Jessica looked at the other girl in astonishment. How could this be such a surprise to her?

  ‘I thought you’d like a Dublin wedding. I mean, I thought you’d go for a fairly up-market hotel like Jury’s or the Burlington or even Clontarf Castle or the Regency.’ Carol was clearly dismayed. ‘Most of our friends a
re in Dublin.’

  ‘Most of our families are in Arklow,’ Jessica pointed out.

  ‘But sure they’d love a day out. Going to a hotel at home is no treat,’ she retorted heatedly. ‘And The Four Winds. Sure that’s not much bigger than a blinking guesthouse,’ she said derisively. ‘It’s not a proper hotel at all.’

  ‘Look, Carol, even if we wanted to, we couldn’t afford the hotels you’re talking about. Certainly not if we’re getting married this year. And we’d have never got a date. They’d be completely booked out. And The Four Winds is lovely. We like it,’ Jessica retorted.

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t be getting married for another year at least,’ Carol glowered.

  ‘When we talked about it, Mike said he didn’t want to be in Wicklow all week and then travelling up to Dublin at weekends. Once he starts working we’re going to rent a place even though it’s money down the drain, especially when we’re trying to save for a house too.’ Jessica took a deep breath. ‘So, Carol, we’re not going to be spending a fortune because we just don’t have it. We just want a simple, homely wedding and we’ll quite understand if you want to do your own thing. So feel free to say no to what we’re planning. Much better to say no to things now than to have misunderstandings later on.’

  ‘Oh!’ Carol murmured, deflated by Jessica’s uncharacteristically firm tone and by the stark choices presented.

  ‘Why did you decide on Kilbride rather than Templerainey church? Templerainey is far bigger. It’s got a much longer aisle,’ she said sulkily.

  ‘I just really like Kilbride. It’s such a lovely, small country church. And if we’re not having that big a wedding we won’t all be rattling around in it. Anyway, Dad’s funeral was from Templerainey, it’s got sad memories. Both Mike and I like Kilbride.’ Jessica defended her choice spiritedly.

  ‘Well, it looks like you’ve decided everything,’ Carol said tartly.

  ‘As I say, you don’t have to do what we’re doing. Do your own thing by all means.’ Jessica was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She glanced around looking for Mike, wishing he would come back and rescue her.