Double Wedding

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Get it over and done with,’ she urged herself, as Nancy fumbled with her handbag and dropped some loose change on the pavement. Taking advantage of a lull in the fast-moving traffic, Liz nipped across the road and bent down to help the other woman pick up her change. ‘There you are, Nancy.’ She handed the coins to her. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Thanks, Liz, I’m fit to be tied to tell you the truth,’ the other woman responded crossly, taking a cigarette out of her bag and lighting it. She inhaled great deep puffs from it, and squinted at Liz through the smoke.

  ‘What has you fit to be tied?’ Liz asked kindly, thinking how careworn the other woman looked. Her brown hair was lank and unkempt and liberally streaked with grey. Her teeth were stained yellow from smoking; her face lined and grey-looking. It was hard to believe that they were around the same age.

  ‘That Nadine was skipping school, and the headmistress called me in. Talk about making me feel small, she’s a right rip, that one. Wouldn’t let me smoke or anything. I felt about six years old,’ Nancy grumbled. ‘It’s all Bill’s fault. Nadine’s never got over him leaving and of course he’s got no time for us now that he’s ensconced in the lap of luxury up in Dublin with that floozy of his.’

  Liz gave a resigned sigh as Nancy launched into a tirade that lasted as far as the pharmacy. ‘I have to nip in here for a prescription,’ she fibbed. ‘I was just wondering if you knew whether Carol wanted a wedding cake of her own or are they going to share the one cake between them? I’ve got a discount for Jessie’s and Mike’s. If Carol would like I can get a discount for her if she wants a cake of her own. And I suppose we should exchange guest lists. I know Mike and Jessica want to keep their list small and intimate. They don’t have a fortune to be spending,’ Liz rattled on airily.

  Nancy took another deep drag on her cigarette and looked at Liz, puzzled.

  ‘Guest lists! Wedding cakes! What on earth are you talking about, Liz?’ She gave a wheezy cough that came from her toes.

  ‘Er . . . the wedding,’ Liz said patiently. She didn’t get an overpowering whiff of alcohol as one so often did with Nancy, so why was she being so obtuse? She must be preoccupied with Nadine’s misbehaviour.

  ‘Are Jessica and Mike getting married? That’s nice,’ Nancy said dully.

  ‘Yes, they’re having a double wedding with Carol and—’ Comprehension dawned. Oh heck! Liz thought in dismay. It looked like Nancy knew nothing about the wedding. Hadn’t Carol spoken to her mother about it? What sort of a weird shower were they? Liz wondered as Nancy stared uncomprehendingly at her.

  ‘A double wedding,’ she said slowly. ‘Carol and Jessica? Well, the little bitch, she never said a word to me about it. And is she expecting me to pay for it while that two-faced creep of a father of hers spends a fortune on that new brat of his and his mistress!’ The last was uttered with slit-eyed contempt.

  ‘Jessica only mentioned it to me last week,’ Liz backtracked hastily. ‘I’m sure Carol will talk to you about it soon. They’re all on the Shannon this weekend. Isn’t it great to be young?’ she added with false gaiety, wishing heartily that she hadn’t given in to her impulse to talk to Nancy.

  ‘Is that right?’ Nancy said sniffily. ‘You seem to know far more about my daughter than I do. But then I’m always the last to know anything around this place. Nobody tells me anything. But they’re quick enough to come telling me things when it concerns my kids,’ Nancy complained bitterly, lighting a fresh cigarette from the butt of the other one. She flicked it on to the road angrily. ‘I know nothing about any wedding, Liz, so I can’t be of any help to you. Bye.’ She marched on down the road, anger and frustration emanating from every pore of her thin, waif-like body.

  ‘Oh bloody hell,’ muttered Liz, as she slipped into the pharmacy and bought herself a packet of Nurofen that she didn’t need at all.

  The minute Jessie had told her about this double wedding notion she knew there was going to be trouble. It hadn’t taken long, she thought grimly as she paid for her tablets and set off for home.

  * * *

  Nancy Logan hurried across the bridge that spanned the Avoca river, oblivious to the ducks that gabbled gregariously at the riverbank or to the small pleasure craft bobbing on the white-capped waves. A neighbour saluted her but she never noticed her as she hurried along angrily, her shoulders hunched, her face drawn and tight-lipped.

  Humiliation seared through her. Twice this day she had suffered mortification and indignity. This was the third time she had been called to the school over her youngest daughter Nadine’s behaviour and she was at her wits’ end with her.

  Miss Mackenzie, the headmistress, had been scathing. ‘It’s not good enough, Mrs Logan. We will not have the reputation of the school affected by your daughter’s totally unacceptable behaviour. She has had two previous warnings. This is her last. I won’t tolerate it, Mrs Logan. I suggest you deal with her in an appropriate manner,’ the headmistress upbraided. ‘For example, curtail her social activities. I’ve heard reports of her drinking in pubs in the town. Put a stop to it. I know she’s not the only one, nevertheless she seems to be the one who causes the most trouble,’ lectured the other woman bossily. ‘No wonder she’s missing school if she’s hungover.’

  Nancy felt like slapping her smug fat face. Unthinking, she took her cigarettes out of her bag and prepared to light up. ‘Mrs Logan, this is a non-smoking school!’ Miss Mackenzie’s beady black eyes reminded Nancy of two wizened little prunes as she glared at her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, shoving her fags back into her bag, mortified and raging at being made to feel like a six-year-old.

  ‘I sincerely hope this is the last time I have to speak to you about Nadine, because she is very definitely on her last chance in the school. I hope I make myself clear, Mrs Logan.’ The principal picked up a sheaf of papers and swept out of the office, leaving Nancy trembling with fury.

  ‘Bloody, snooty cow, who the hell do you think you are? No wonder a man wouldn’t have ye,’ she muttered, as she opened her bag and took a hasty slug of the small bottle of vodka she’d brought for comfort. Tears smarting in her eyes, she left the parlour where the interview had taken place and walked as fast as she could down the beeswaxed polished corridor, the sound of her heels clacking noisily breaking the inexorable silence. Had that arrogant, self-important woman no idea of the hardships Nancy had endured? Her husband deserting her, leaving her with two strong-willed daughters to rear alone. Nadine was wild and unruly purely because she had no father’s firm, guiding influence, Nancy thought sorrowfully as she let herself out of the convent and breathed the salty tangy breeze that whispered through the foliage of the tree-lined driveway.

  It was an enormous relief to be out of the oppressive atmosphere that brought back bad memories of her own school days. Nancy took a surreptitious slug of her vodka and hurried through the wrought-iron gates, deeply relieved that the ordeal was over. She felt beleaguered and oppressed. She didn’t know how to deal with Nadine. Her daughter took no notice of her. Grounding her didn’t work; she’d sneak out anyway and just tell Nancy to shut up when she tried to remonstrate with her. How did you deal with a teenager who ignored you?

  Nancy had tried stopping her allowance, but Nadine had just stolen money from her purse. Carol was no help, she hardly ever came home, and when Nancy tried to talk to her husband he just muttered excuses on the phone and hung up. It made her feel helpless and hopeless, and there were times when she hated her youngest daughter for being an affliction that she could no longer bear.

  The final straw had been meeting Liz Kennedy and finding out that Carol was getting married and she hadn’t even mentioned it. Carol might as well have slapped her across the face. She was a selfish, ungrateful daughter who had forgotten very quickly the sacrifices her mother had made for her. If it weren’t for Nancy pushing her, she wouldn’t be in that well-paid, safe, secure job in Dublin. As soon as Carol had got her job, she’d shaken the dust of Arklow from her shoes and left her mo
ther and sister to manage as best they could with no help from her. She needn’t come running to her looking for money to pay for her goddammed wedding.

  Tears slid down Nancy’s cheeks as she hastened across the bridge. She couldn’t wait to get home and close the door on the world. There was no one she could turn to, no one who understood her misery. She was beleaguered and alone, and it was no wonder she was often tempted to swallow a handful of pills and drink herself into oblivion and end her miserable existence.

  * * *

  ‘Come on, Carol, have a drink,’ Gary urged. He was busy barbecuing steaks and salmon, and having drunk several cans of beer he was cheery and feeling no pain.

  ‘No, Gary, I’m fine,’ Carol said edgily. She hated it when her fiancé tried to force drink on her. Drink meant loss of control, and if she lost control, God knows what she would end up doing. She’d sleep with him at the very least, she knew that. And that would be the end of them.

  ‘Party pooper,’ Gary taunted, but she ignored him and busied herself buttering thick chunks of Vienna roll to accompany their barbecue.

  ‘Sure you wouldn’t have a glass of wine?’ Mike urged. ‘We have plenty.’

  ‘OK, then, just a glass of red, Mike. Thanks,’ Carol agreed. One glass wouldn’t kill her. Red wine in moderation was supposed to be good for you, but one was her limit. What Mike or Gary didn’t realize was that she had a deep fear of alcohol. She had seen the effects drink had on her mother. She reckoned Nancy was an alcoholic, although her mother would deny it vehemently. Alcoholism ran in families. She was afraid to go too far down the road of drink in case she was inexorably sucked into it.

  She knew the others thought she was a goody-goody, keeping off alcohol as some part of a healthy living option. They didn’t understand. None of them understood. People at work thought she was stand-offish for not going to booze-ups any more. She’d gone to enough of them to dread the invitation to one. They always ended up the same, with people legless drunk by the end of the night, the more flaky ones hurling abuse at colleagues or bosses they disliked.

  Once at a leaving do she’d seen a girl from a firm of solicitors throwing a glass of beer over her boss because he told her to calm down. When another colleague had intervened she’d abused her with a tirade of invective ending in the C word. Everyone in the pub thought it was hilarious, but it made Carol feel tense and sick. She hated it when Gary got drunk. Drunks enraged and frightened her, made her feel helpless and out of control.

  She took the proffered glass and sipped gingerly. ‘Good girl,’ approved Gary. ‘We’ll have you squiffy in no time.’

  Carol said nothing. She sat on a rock looking out over the river, watching the sun begin to dip in the sky. It was a glorious evening. Birdsong and the cry of sheep intermingled with the slap of water against the boats and jetty and the sound of laughter and conversation as the various boat crews prepared their evening meals. Some chose to eat on their boats, others, like themselves, choosing to barbecue. The aroma from Gary’s smoking barbecue was tantalizing, and Carol’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. She was starving. It had to be the result of having spent most of the day on the river.

  If Gary hadn’t ruined it for her with his postponement of the wedding, it would have been a perfect day, she thought sadly as she sipped the rich, fruity red wine and ate a spare rib that her fiancé had cooked for starters.

  She looked at Jessie and Mike, arms around each other’s waists as they watched the sunset companionably from the river’s edge. There were no uncertainties in their relationship. They always seemed so united. So rock solid. Perhaps Jessie was right. Perhaps it was time to face the fact that she and Gary were far from perfect together. In fact, comparing them to the other couple, Carol sometimes felt they were an unmitigated disaster. If Gary truly wanted to marry her, he wouldn’t have humiliated and rejected her by postponing the wedding.

  Maybe it was time to cut her losses and end it once and for all.

  13

  ‘Come on, woman, take me to bed.’ Mike yawned and stretched. ‘It must be the fresh air, I can’t keep my eyes open.’

  ‘Don’t forget we were up at the crack of dawn,’ Gary reminded him as he opened another can of beer.

  ‘True, and we had a hair-raising drive—’

  ‘Watch it,’ Jessica giggled. She was pleasantly tipsy. It was close on midnight and it had been a long day.

  ‘How ’bout you, sexy?’ Gary raised his glass to Carol.

  ‘I’m whacked too and cold,’ she said tiredly. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘The double bed?’ Gary inquired hopefully. ‘I’ll warm you up.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Carol said shortly. ‘Night, all.’

  Mike and Jessica exchanged glances. ‘Let’s make ourselves scarce,’ he murmured.

  They clambered on to their lightly swaying boat and climbed down the stairs to their cabin. Carol followed and made her way to the two-berth cabin at the front of the boat. She grabbed the extra quilt and sheets for the double bed out in the lounge, added the pillows to her load and dumped them on to the leatherette couch that turned into a bed.

  ‘There, see if I care any more,’ she muttered. She had spent the day trying to pretend that everything was normal between herself and Gary, and at times, as they’d enjoyed the first leg of their jaunt, it had seemed like it was. But then she’d see her fiancé joking, laughing, having fun with the others, seemingly without a care in the world, and resentment would flare and her good spirits would dip and it would be a struggle to maintain her equilibrium.

  The cumulative disappointments of her relationship coalesced into a heaviness of heart that was almost physical. Today had been the toughest day she’d had in a long time, she reflected, as she walked slowly back into her cabin and began to undress. That’s what her relationship with Gary was lately, disappointment after disappointment. Was that what her life with him would be like? Was that what she wanted? She couldn’t keep running away from it any longer. It was time to face facts.

  With grim determination Carol took off her engagement ring. There was no point in wearing it any longer. The charade was over. She placed it on the little shelf at the side of her bunk. Her finger felt naked without it. So many hopes had been invested in that ring, now all dashed. Well, at least she wasn’t a total doormat and that could only be a good thing. It was a very small consolation.

  Ten minutes later she was lying in one of the narrow bunks, listening to the steady, rhythmic swish of the water against the bow. She felt strangely calm. Even making the decision to end her engagement was a relief. Waiting for Gary to end it was doing her head in. At least she was the one to do the dumping. Better than being dumped for sure, she comforted herself.

  Carol lay curled up and wide-eyed in the dark. They were sailing to Athlone tomorrow, and she was going to get off the boat and take a train or bus to Dublin. Now that she had made up her mind she wanted out. And she didn’t want to spend another minute in Gary’s company. He’d hurt her for the last time, she thought forlornly, as hot, salty tears ran down her cheeks on to her pillow.

  The boat creaked and dipped as he stepped on to the deck, and she hastily wiped away the tears, determined that he wouldn’t find her less than composed. He’d had a good bit to drink, so there was no point in giving him his ring back tonight. It wouldn’t have the impact on him that it would if he was sober. Come to think of it, she didn’t even want to talk to him now. She switched out her light and heard him curse as he stumbled on the stairs.

  ‘Hey, hey, Carol, you could have made up the bed for me,’ he whispered loudly, sticking his head around her door. ‘Come on out and make the bed with me and sleep in it with me. Having a ride with the boat rocking up and down will be brilliant. Come on, Hon, let’s give it a lash.’

  Carol’s lips tightened. Gary was incredible. He never let up. He was such a self-centred bastard. It was always about him . . . always. Never, ever about her. Fury suffused her and put iron in her soul. She was glad he was
drunk, otherwise she would have rounded on him and all the hurt and anger she had swallowed down this past year would have erupted into a volcano of fury. And that wasn’t how she wanted to walk away. She was going to walk calmly, coolly, just as she always was with him when the stakes were high. He was never going to know how deeply she felt. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, she thought bitterly, as she heard him curse under his breath and close her door none too gently.

  To her surprise, she slept well. Anger and heartbreak had turned to exhaustion and the gentle swaying motion of the boat had a womblike quality that rocked her to dreamless sleep. She woke just as the dawn was breaking through the pearly mists on the river. Quietly she climbed out of her bunk, wrapped a fleece around her and made her way up on deck. Mike and Jessica were already there, watching the sunrise with delight.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Jessie enthused, motioning to the majestic grey stone tower rising out of the pink-tipped wisps of misty dawn with a white-gold sun rising behind it. The beauty of the scene before her was so mystical, so ethereal, that her breath caught in her throat. Loneliness smote her. A scene like this was for sharing just the way Mike and Jessica were experiencing it. Would she ever be able to share beauty like this with anyone? Not with Gary, that was for sure. He’d never see such magnificence. He’d be too busy whingeing and moaning about being up so early.

  With a resigned sigh, she left Mike and Jessica to their magic moment and climbed below deck to put the kettle on for a pot of tea. She clattered around the small galley hoping that she would wake Gary up and annoy him, but he snored on oblivious. She brought her friends up two mugs of hot steaming tea and a plate of buttered toast and marmalade. They fell on it gratefully and Carol envied them their simple enjoyment of life. When they asked her was she not joining them she made the excuse that it was too chilly. She didn’t want to be a gooseberry and besides, horrible though it was to admit, she was jealous of their closeness and happiness when her own relationship was falling disastrously apart.