A Wedding at O'Mara's (The Guesthouse on the Green Book 6) Read online

  Her hands pleated the table napkin for want of something to do with them and she turned her gaze to the salt and pepper shakers in an effort to avoid making eye contact with Paula who was clearing a nearby table. Her corneas were beginning to burn from not blinking when Quinn’s voice startled her.

  He loomed over the table making her feel small and inconsequential. It wasn’t like him to take such a bullying stance. ‘I don’t understand you, Aisling.’ It was said loudly enough to turn the heads of the couple at the closest table. Aisling glared at them, daring them to say anything. They went back to their meals.

  ‘Sit down and lower your voice, Quinn,’ she ordered, forgetting she’d planned on being contrite and sufficiently grovelling so he could say his piece and be done with it.

  He pulled a chair out and sat down heavily across from her before pulling a folded wad of papers from his pockets which he spread on the table in front of her. The light was dim but not dim enough she couldn’t see she was looking at a printout from their joint account.

  ‘When we opened this account, we had this much to put into it.’ He jabbed at a figure she couldn’t quite make out at the top of the row of numbers. Nevertheless, she nodded before looking away n,ot able to sustain eye contact with him when he was clearly furious. ‘The problem is, Aisling, this much has gone out since we opened the account. He shuffled the papers and pointed to another piece of paper. ‘And this is now our balance.’

  He paused and she wasn’t sure what he expected her to do, gasp suitably aghast at her expenditure maybe? When she remained silent, he carried on. ‘The balance in our account is nothing like it was when we applied for our loan at the AIB because in the space of a few weeks you’ve spent it on – hmm, let me see,’

  Aisling wanted to put her hands over her ears as he began to reel off a list of expenses that had, at the time, seemed so necessary in the planning of their wedding day but now, listening to the sums involved, came across as ludicrous luxuries nobody in their right mind needed. She wondered if pleading temporary insanity might help her case.

  At last his voice trailed off and she looked up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she squeaked, hoping to see the anger leach from his face.

  ‘Sorry isn’t good enough, Aisling. We’re going to lose out on the Crumlin Road property because you had to have flowers that cost enough to feed a small nation and a honeymoon in a fecking igloo.’

  She opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out and Quinn jumped in once more. ‘We don’t have enough for the deposit anymore.’ The anger had gone out of his voice, replaced by a weariness that to Aisling’s mind was far more worrying.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘What’s it all for?’

  ‘I don’t understand?’

  ‘A horse drawn carriage. I mean for fecks sake, Aisling.’

  She tried to summon up the words to explain all the extravagance but couldn’t because she didn’t understand it herself.

  ‘I tried to involve you.’ The words sounded feeble to her own ears and trying to pass the buck wasn’t going to make their situation any better.

  ‘Not hard enough obviously.’

  Anger rankled. ‘Hang on a minute, Quinn. That’s not fair. I did try but every time I brought the topic up you tuned out so, I went ahead and did what I thought was best. You’ve not shown any interest in our wedding from the get-go.’

  ‘Oh, so you behaving like you’re Victoria fecking Beckham is all my fault, is it?’

  ‘I didn’t say that but maybe if you’d sat down with me once or twice and looked at some of my suggestions, we might have found some middle ground.’

  Quinn made an unattractive snorting noise. ‘There’s been no middle ground where this wedding’s concerned, not from the moment you accepted my proposal. You’ve been like a woman possessed.’ He hesitated as though debating whether he should take the next step.

  ‘Go on say it,’ she taunted, unable to help herself. It was happening, as she’d known from the moment he slid the diamond ring on her finger it would.

  ‘You’re not the woman I thought you were.’

  They looked at each other, blinking and catching their breath and, as what he’d said sank in, Aisling wrenched the ring from her finger and slid it across the table toward him. She pushed her seat back and weaved her way blindly across the floor. She was vaguely aware of Alasdair’s voice calling after her, not Quinn’s, as the tears she’d held back the whole time she’d been in the bistro poured down her cheeks. She hoped for the briefest of seconds he’d come after her, contrite and offering her a way to make everything okay but the door to the restaurant remained closed. Her heart was in a vice, being squeezed so tight she could hardly breathe, as she made her way home, penning a letter to self all the way.

  Dear Aisling,

  I’ve lost the man I loved through my own stupidity. How am I supposed to get through this?

  Yours faithfully,

  Me.

  Chapter 30

  The banging on her bedroom door woke Aisling with a start. She was lying on her side in a tangle of sheets and for one blissful moment she couldn’t understand why her eyes were glued together. She prised them open and it was like peering through the slats in a venetian blind. The realisation she was still in last night’s clothes and the reason her eyes were so swollen was because she’d cried herself to sleep, broke over her. With a small moan she dug around in the trenches recalling how she’d swept in through reception last night, ignoring Nina to take to the stairs. She’d been desperate for the sanctity of her bedroom where she could let her tears out in peace. Poor Nina had received the rough end of the stick from Bronagh, and then later from herself. She owed her an apology.

  Moira had been out and she’d locked her bedroom door before throwing herself down on her bed and sobbing into her pillow. It must have been in the small hours when she’d finally crashed out only to be woken a short while later by the familiar clatter of the rubbish bin in the courtyard below. She’d padded over to the window in time to see Mr Fox making his escape with whatever leftover treat Mrs Flaherty had tossed out. He turned, as he always did, and looked up to where she was a ghostly outline looking down at him. She waved through the frosted glass and he flicked his tail before flattening his back and disappearing under the wall.

  Now the memory of what had transpired with Quinn was like a bucket of cold water being tossed over her. She was no longer engaged. She was right back where she’d been when Marcus left her. A jilted bride-to-be. The difference this time was, she only had herself to blame for the predicament she was in. It was down to her own stupidity and the realisation made her breath feel ragged as it caught in her chest. The banging started up again.

  Maybe it was Quinn! The thought was a spurring jolt. He might have seen, in the cold light of day, that what she’d said last night had an element of truth to it. He had switched off when it came to their wedding. He could’ve come to his senses and be prepared to talk things through. It wasn’t too late. They could sit down together to discuss what was frivolous and what was a necessity. Moira’s voice blew out the tiny flame of hope she’d been fanning. ‘Aisling, what’s going on?’

  ‘Go away, Moira.’

  ‘Paula told Tom you gave your ring back to Quinn and walked out of the bistro last night in tears.’

  She should’ve known it wouldn’t take long for the jungle drums to begin beating. She repeated herself, ‘Go away, Moira. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘What was that? I can’t hear you, Aisling. I need to know you’re okay, open the door.’

  She knew full well her sister had heard her; she was trying to trick her into opening the door.

  When it didn’t work, Moira changed tack. ‘Aisling, if you come out, I cross my heart hope to die promise I’ll waive stair-climbing today and I’ll personally go downstairs to ask Mrs Flaherty to whip you up one of her specials and not say a word to Bronagh about you breaking your diet.’
r />   Aisling didn’t answer. She’d be sick if she tried to eat and what was the point in dieting and doing the stairs anyway? No point whatsoever now she was no longer getting married. She rolled over on her back and, as she stared up at the ceiling, she felt dead inside.

  ‘I’ll ring Mammy and tell her you won’t come out of your room.’

  ‘Do your worst, Moira,’ Aisling threw back.

  No reply was forthcoming and Aisling shut her eyes, hoping she could sleep forever like Aurora from Sleeping Beauty. It was an ironic thought given she was guessing she was anything but a beauty at the moment. She closed her eyes again but they flicked open of their own accord as she examined what had happened between her and Quinn. In the half light of her bedroom it was becoming clear to her she’d pushed away the person who meant the most to her in the whole world because she hadn’t felt deserving of him. In a roundabout way Marcus McDonagh had reached out from her past, refusing to let her move on and accept Quinn’s love wholeheartedly. She’d subconsciously been sabotaging their relationship by behaving like an extravagant eejit. There she’d been burning up her credit card as though she were some sort of cashed-up celebrity. And what did it matter, any of it? The dress, the carriage, the place settings – in the big picture they didn’t mean a thing. What her wedding should have been about was standing alongside Quinn and turning to look him in the eyes. She should have been focussing on how it would feel to see her love for him reflected back at her in his face as he told God, their family and friends he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  AISLING MUST HAVE DOZED off again because this time when she woke, she could sense the lateness of the morning by the way chunks of filtered light broke through the curtains. She strained her ears listening out for Moira and caught the swish of whispering. So, Moira had made good on her threat and called Mammy. She had a more pressing problem than the fact her mammy was standing outside her bedroom door pow-wowing with her baby sister as to what they should say to lure her out. Aisling knew it wouldn’t be whatever pearls of wisdom they shouted through the door that brought her out. It would be the fact she was desperate for the loo. The days of the chamber pot were long gone unfortunately and she was going to have to visit the bathroom, like it or not.

  She sat up, vaguely aware her eyes were still hot and heavy. Her hand smoothed her hair but it had matted itself into a frenzy of knots, thanks to her tossing and turning. It would take more than running her fingers through it. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, surprised to feel the floor firm beneath her feet. She’d almost thought she might fall through it like Alice going down the rabbit hole because that was how she felt, as if she’d fallen through into some strange world she no longer recognised.

  She moved toward the door and flung it open, stepping back as Mammy and Moira staggered forward nearly falling on top of her. ‘That will teach you for pressing your ears to my door. Now, get out of my way because I need to go to the loo.’ Aisling pushed past them and through to the lavatory, locking yet another door behind her. She rested her head against it for a moment and then yelled out, ‘And don’t stand outside the door. That always gives me stage fright. I’ll talk to you when I come out.’

  She heard a gratifying creak as they moved away. It was with trepidation she opened the door after flushing but the coast was clear and she slipped into the bathroom next door. A hot shower and a change of clothes was in order if she had to deal with Mammy and she knew without looking, she and Moira would have taken up camp on the sofa and neither would be leaving until they’d got to the bottom of what had gone on between her and Quinn.

  A STEAMING MUG OF SWEETENED tea was placed on the table in front of her along with a plate of thickly buttered toast. Aisling stared at it, watching the golden puddles pool and melt into the toast.

  ‘You’re no good on an empty stomach, Aisling.’ Maureen fussed around her. ‘You’ve never been able to make rational decisions when you’re hungry. Personally, I’m pointing the finger for all this bother at...’ She flapped her hand in Moira’s direction.

  Moira dropped the piece of toast she’d been chewing on down on the plate and straightened from where she’d been slouched over the kitchen worktop. ‘That’s not fair, Mammy. I was trying to help. Aisling was the one who wanted to lose a few pounds for the wedding.’

  ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full. And did she want the spotty, red face too? Look at her, I mean look at her. People will be giving her a wide berth thinking she’s contagious. What were you thinking?’

  The hives were clinging on stubbornly. Aisling was blaming stress but there was no need for Mammy to point them out quite so emphatically. It wasn’t the spots that had caused all this trouble.

  ‘I didn’t know she’d react to the pack I used,’ Moira pouted.

  ‘You know full well your sister has always had sensitive skin, young lady. Sure, she spent half her childhood slathered in the E45 because of some rash or other.’

  Aisling didn’t have the energy to protest this exaggeration. From memory she’d only had a nasty rash once. It was from eating too many strawberries. There was no point mentioning this to Mammy though. She’d twist the story around so instead of being a greedy girl with a penchant for strawberries it would morph into Aisling’s first foray into stress eating. She’d blame it on the falling out she and Leila had had. The falling out part was true; they’d had a stand-off over who was the best looking member of Duran Duran. She was with John and Leila was backing Simon and ne’er the twain do meet. The point of this silent debate she was having was, the only reason she got a rash from strawberries was because she ate too many of the fecking things.

  ‘Be quiet the pair of you.’ She slapped the table to distract herself as much as Mammy and Moira. They blinked at her and then both spoke over the top of one another. ‘Tom said Paula said you threw your ring back at Quinn.’ ‘Moira’s after telling me you’ve called the wedding off.’

  Aisling shook her head. ‘Do you want to know what happened?’ It was a stupid question and her answer lay in their frenetic nodding.

  She took a gulp of her milky tea and then began to talk, ‘Quinn wanted us to buy a house on the Crumlin Road as a rental investment. We’d been to the bank and had a verbal agreement with the manager as to what sum we could borrow based on the deposit we had.’

  ‘Very sensible young man, your Quinn, one in a million so he is,’ Mammy said.

  ‘He’s not my Quinn, Mammy. Not any more, because I’m not sensible I’m a fecking eejit.’

  Maureen didn’t have the heart to tell her to watch her mouth.

  ‘I spent the best part of the deposit on the wedding without telling him.’

  ‘So, it’s your fault.’

  Moira that’s not helpful,’ Maureen snapped. ‘But Aisling what about what I offered to put towards the wedding.’

  Moira’s gaze whiplashed toward her mammy. ‘You never said you were giving Aisling money, and me a poor student.’

  Maureen gave her youngest child a look that could curdle milk straight from the cow and Moira busied herself with her toast.

  Aisling shrugged. ‘It’s all gotten out of hand, Mammy. The dress, the bridesmaids’ dresses, the photographer, the pumpkin carriage—’

  ‘The pumpkin what?’ Moira snorted. ‘Who do you think you are, Cinderella?’

  Aisling swung around in her seat, her temper fraying. ‘And you didn’t help with your poor student routine. Do you have any idea how much those dresses cost? Did you even look at the price tag?’ Her voice was shrill.

  ‘Don’t blame me,’ Moira shouted back. ‘You offered.’

  Aisling drew breath but Maureen intervened. ‘Moira O’Mara, go to your room right now and don’t come out until you’ve something helpful to say,’ Maureen ordered.

  ‘Mammy, I’m twenty-five. You can’t send me to my room.’

  ‘You’re still my daughter and not too old to feel the back of my hand.’ Maureen stared her daughter down – the M
ammy Whisperer – Moira slunk off to her bedroom.

  ‘I don’t know where we got that one from.’ She shook her head watching her go. She let Aisling drain her tea before leaning across the table and smoothing a wisp of hair stuck to her daughter’s cheek. ‘Well, my girl, what are we going to do to fix this? Your Uncle Cormac is somewhere over the Atlantic about now. Great Aunty Noreen telephoned to say she and Great Aunty Rosamunde are riding up together, not to mention the Brothers Grimm will be dusting off their suits about now.’

  Aisling bit back the smile that came unbidden at her mammy’s referencing of her brothers.

  ‘I don’t know how to fix it though, Mammy. What do I do?’

  ‘Aisling, you are a marvel at sorting other people’s lives out but when it comes to your own,’ she shook her head. ‘Talk to him,’ she offered up simply. ‘If you can’t talk to each other then you shouldn’t be getting married. Your daddy and I had an unspoken rule in our marriage.’

  Aisling looked up meeting her mammy’s dark eyes. ‘What was it?’

  ‘We’d never go to sleep on an argument.’

  Aisling sparked at the blatant fib. ‘Mammy, that’s not true! I remember you giving Daddy the silent treatment for nearly a week when we were small.’

  ‘Ah, well now, Aisling, that was different. Your daddy had been very bold.’

  Aisling’s scalp prickled. She never had found out what the week was about where Mammy had communicated through Roisin, ‘Tell your daddy, I said he can cook his own tea tonight.’. Had he been unfaithful? ‘What did he do, Mammy?’ she half whispered, fearful of finding out.

  ‘He spent the money I’d set aside for a new dress to wear to my friend Geraldine’s birthday party on an engine overhaul for the car.’