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

  There was a spring in both their steps as Mr Longford saw them to the door. It was at the thought of young Emer’s face when she opened this special gift safely tucked inside Noreen’s handbag.

  ‘Shall we have a fish and chip supper?’ Malachy had suggested as Noreen linked her arm through his and, even though it wasn’t Friday and they never ate fish on any day except Friday, Noreen said that was a grand idea indeed and very nice it had been too.

  Emer, Noreen saw now, was undoing the clasp. She got up from her seat. ‘Here I’ll help you with that. Pass me my glasses, Malachy.’ He did so and she slid them on to the end of her nose instructing her niece. ‘Hold your hair up, Emer.’ She placed the chain around her neck and, peering through the bottom of her lens, secured it. ‘There we are. Now then, let’s have a look at you.’

  Emer’s thick waves fell back down around her shoulders and she swivelled in her seat to show her aunty the necklace.

  ‘Sure, you look a picture, Emer,’ Noreen said, feeling the smarting of tears in her eyes as she gazed at her nearly grown-up niece. Her heart swelled at what a beautiful young woman she was becoming. Malachy too, made an approving noise and Emer got up, eager to see her gift for herself. ‘I’m going to have a look in the bathroom mirror.’

  Noreen waited for her niece to disappear and then, winking at Malachy, she went into the kitchen to retrieve the Victoria sponge she’d laboured over. How pleased she’d been to see a deep cake emerge from the oven which sprang back when pressed as it should do. The airy sponge was filled with fresh cream and she shook the icing sugar on top, the finishing touch. She wouldn’t bother with candles. They’d already had a birthday celebration at Rosamunde and Terry’s with the younger children all squealing with delight over the chocolate cake their mammy had made. It wasn’t long before their faces were covered in buttercream and the floor littered with crumbs as with mouths stuffed full of cake, they begged their sister to open her presents.

  Emer had been keen to come back with her aunty and uncle to stay the night because she was going to catch the bus to town to go to the cinema with her friends as a birthday treat in the morning. The shop was only five-minute’s walk from where the bus stopped. Noreen had been unable to resist making the sponge even though none of them needed any more cake. As she carried it out to the table, Malachy, with his sweet tooth, sat up a little straighter in his chair at the prospect of two slices of cake in one day and Emer who’d re-joined her uncle at the table clapped her hands.

  ‘You spoil me, Aunty Nono!’ She beamed up at her, her cheeks rosy with pleasure at all the attention. Noreen put the cake down and sliced a fat wedge for the birthday girl. She knew she spoiled her but she was worth the spoiling and sure, it wasn’t like they had anyone else to fuss around.

  Chapter 13

  Aisling looked in the mirror as Tara, whose own hair was cut in a symmetrical jet-black bob a la Uma Thurman, Pulp Fiction, pulled her hair back from her shoulders. ‘Did you bring in any pictures of what you had in mind, Aisling?’ Her gravelly voice suggested she spent a lot of time standing around out the back of the salon on cigarette breaks. She had an incredible number of piercings too, which were making Aisling wince just looking at them. She glanced down the row of mirrors where she, Moira, Leila, Roisin and Mammy were lined up. ‘We’re like sitting ducks,’ she’d heard Moira mumble as she flopped down into the chair and began to flick through a magazine for hairstyle ideas.

  ‘I did, yes.’ Aisling was prepared and she retrieved her bag from beside the chair where she’d put her carefully chosen cuttings from one of the bridal magazines, Leila had given her. The first picture she held up to show Tara was of a pretty blonde woman whose hair was slicked back and piled on her head in a loose top knot, flowers entwined in her hair, and Aisling thought the effect was ethereal.

  ‘Nope.’ Tara tapped her black booted toes on the floor. ‘Won’t work. Your face is too round.’

  ‘I told her she’d look like Moonface with some sort of deposit on top of his head, you know yer funny little man from the Faraway Tree books, with that style,’ Moira said to Tara.

  Much to Aisling’s satisfaction, Tara looked at Moira as though she’d flown in from Mars. She would have liked to kick her sister but she wasn’t close enough and she wished she’d been quicker off the mark when they arrived at the salon; she’d have made sure Leila was sitting next to her.

  ‘Let’s see what else you’ve got there,’ Tara said.

  Aisling showed her the next one which was a half up, half down do of cascading waves.

  ‘That’s more like it.’

  ‘Can I see.’ Maureen poked her head forward trying to see past Roisin, Leila and Moira to where Aisling was sitting. She reminded Aisling of a turtle.

  ‘Don’t show her,’ she hissed, but Maureen asked again only louder and Tara wasn’t ready for a stand-off with the bolshie little woman down the end. Accordingly, the picture got passed down the line.

  ‘No,’ Maureen said shaking her head. ‘Not with those ends of hers. Tara could you not give her a little snip.’ She demonstrated with her thumb and index finger exactly how much she’d like her to take off Aisling’s ends.

  Tara looked at Aisling with an eyebrow raised questioningly and Aisling shook her head emphatically. ‘Mammy,’ she peered past her bridesmaids. ‘I don’t want my hair trimmed. I want it as long as possible on the day. I’ve been growing it, so I have.’

  ‘But, Aisling, that’s not a style.’ She showed the picture to the stylist who’d drawn the short straw with Mammy on account of her being the youngest. ‘Look, Polly, you can’t call that a hairstyle, now can you?’ Poor Polly looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. She was a girl who’d been raised not to argue with her mammy.

  ‘Aisling, your woman there looks like she’s been rolling around in the haystack prior to saying her nuptials with her intended.’

  Aisling had had enough. ‘Mammy, give that picture back right now. It’s my wedding and my hair.’

  Maureen reluctantly passed the picture to Roisin who handed it on. She turned to Polly and said, ‘It’s a sad day when your own daughter won’t let you have a say in her wedding, so it is.’

  Polly made a sympathetic sound and refused to look in Aisling’s direction as she began to titivate Maureen’s hair. Mercifully, Aisling saw she was distracted by Polly who was asking her what she had in mind.

  ‘I was thinking curls, pin curls perhaps. I quite fancy the idea of looking like an olde worlde Hollywood starlet.’

  ‘Bit long in the tooth for starlet, Mammy,’ Moira said. ‘Think Golden Girls, Polly.’

  Roisin snorted. ‘Curls? I told you, Mammy. It’s a fact, people do begin to resemble their pets.’

  ‘Not much hope for you then,’ Moira bounced back with. ‘Come to think of it, I can see the resemblance between you and Mr Nibbles. It’s in the cheeks.’

  It was the second time Moira missed receiving a kick on account of her sister not being able to reach.

  Leila spoke up before the stylists could begin in earnest. ‘We need to all have the same style obviously. Aisling what were you thinking?’ She took charge.

  ‘An updo of some description since I’m wearing mine half up and half down.’

  ‘I’m mammy-of-the-bride,’ Maureen piped up. ‘I can have whatever style I want. Curls it is, Polly and don’t you say another word on the subject.’ She eyeballed Roisin.

  Moira told Tegan, who was sensing her client might be trouble, that she didn’t want anything severe. ‘I was thinking more Andrea Corr so if we’re to have it up think relaxed, bedhead that sort of thing,’ she informed the stylist bossily.

  ‘There’ll be none of the bedhead, thank you very much, Tegan. I’ll not have bedhead bridesmaids at a child of mine’s wedding,’ Maureen interrupted.

  Tegan, Sten and Ciara, the stylists assigned to the bridesmaids, all froze and looked to Leila. She seemed the most sensible person here.

  ‘Perhaps not bed hair but we don’t have
to go all out ballerina bun either.’

  The three stylists all nodded and put their heads together murmuring in a hushed manner as they conferred. It was Sten who addressed them.

  ‘I have suggested the latest updo that is storming Amsterdam.’ His dark goatee quivered with excitement as he made his announcement. It looked at odds with the bleached crop of hair on his head and he was also clad head to toe in black.

  Moira perked up. ‘Amsterdam, well it’s bound to be cool then. Go for it, Tegan.’

  Leila agreed it sounded grand. Only Roisin was dubious but the Dutchman was somewhat intimidating so she wasn’t about to argue. She watched as he began sorting through his trayful of hairstyling accessories with a studious expression on his face. She tried to relax in the seat but her shoulders, everything come to that, were tense and she realised her hands were in tight fists. The last time she’d let anyone near her hair it had been a disaster. Her fringe had wound up closer to her hairline than her eyebrows. It was not a look she wore well, although mercifully Shay hadn’t seemed to notice. By the time it had finally grown back to a respectable length though she’d been sick to the back teeth of people talking to the expanse of forehead between her brows and fringe.

  Think about Shay, she told herself and her fists unfurled; her shoulders too loosened at the memory of the night she’d spent with him. They’d met up once she’d gotten back from their successful outing to the Bridal Emporium. It had been so lovely to see him again and they’d gone for a quick bite to eat although neither of them could concentrate on the food placed in front of them as they stared into each other’s eyes. A game of footsie under the table had ensued which had caused their breathing to quicken and pupils to dilate so they’d decided to skip dessert and had hotfooted it straight back to Shay’s place for an entirely different and not so quick after dinner digestif.

  Roisin’s mouth curved into a smile she couldn’t control as she recalled the way he’d propped himself up in bed on one elbow afterward, looking down at her with a softness in his eyes that made her feel like she was the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. It was one of those moments she wished she could bottle so she could uncork it and relive the memory on those lonely nights in London when Noah was at his father’s and she found herself home alone. It was hard being in separate countries, even if they were only a hop, skip and a jump from each other. On the bright side of things though she’d be back in Dublin for the wedding in a fortnight. It wasn’t too long to wait.

  She realised Sten thought she was smiling at him and she noticed he’d sucked his stomach in because the slight paunch under his shirt had vanished. He was also pulling a moody pout in the mirror and looking at her in what he obviously thought was a flirtatious manner but which in Roisin’s opinion gave him an unhinged look. Jaysus wept, just her luck she thought as her phone rang. The timing was perfect and she was grateful for the intrusion. She shot the Dutchman an apologetic glance. ‘Sorry, Sten, I’ll have to get this it could be my son or my boyfriend.’ She wasn’t missing the opportunity to say hello to either, even if it did make Sten’s goatee quiver once more. He snorted huffily through his nostrils and began digging out bobby pins from his tray.

  Roisin retrieved her phone from her bag and upon answering it was greeted by her son’s sing-song voice. He was all excited to talk to her even though she’d only been away for a night and he spent every second weekend with his dad, anyway. It was lovely, Roisin thought feeling all warm inside and refusing to meet Sten’s eyes in the mirror as he began tapping the comb he was holding in the palm of his hand as if to say, time is money. She listened to Noah fill her in on how much fun he was having. He’d been to see a film with his daddy and had been allowed an enormous bucket of popcorn. He didn’t stop to draw breath as he informed her Granny Quealey was cooking him chicken nuggets with no vegetables not even a carrot for his dinner. Roisin rolled her eyes, that woman and her double standards.

  ‘Where are you, Mummy?’

  ‘I’m at the hairdressers with Aunty Aisling, Aunty Moira, your nana and Aisling’s friend Leila. We’re having a practise session to see how we’re going to wear our hair on the day of the wedding.’

  ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, Noah.’

  ‘Can you please tell Nana she needs to look like Nana for the wedding.’

  The poor child was still traumatised by his nana’s post-Vietnam holiday braids, Roisin thought. ‘I will.’

  ‘Mummy, can you please do it now.’

  ‘Alright, I’ll hold the phone out so you can hear me tell her.’ Roisin turned to Mammy whose hair was being clipped into a round coil. ‘Noah’s on the telephone, Mammy, and he says you’re to look like you at Aisling’s wedding.’ She heard a tinny voice say, ‘Tell Nana I used my manners, I said please.’ ‘He said please, Mammy.’

  ‘Who else does he think I’m going to look like?’ Maureen held out her hand. ‘Here give that to me, I’ll talk to him.’

  Roisin passed it over and Sten took the opportunity to tug and twist Roisin’s hair into the beginnings of a bun. He told her off for tilting her head, all business now he knew there was no chance of any post-hairdo shenanigans. She was straining to listen to what her mammy was saying to her son and managed to catch. ‘Alright, Noah, Nana promises there’ll be no teeny-tiny plaits and no Ronald McDonald fuzzy hair either. I can’t wait to see you. Mammy’s after telling me she’s got your suit all sorted. Sure, you’ll be the grandest pageboy who ever walked up the aisle, so you will. Oh, and before I go, be sure to tell Mr Nibbles, Nana loves him too. Yes, with all her heart. I’ll pass you back to your mammy now.’

  Roisin took the phone back and said her goodbyes to her son. She put her mobile back in her bag and decided she’d best sit statue still from here on in. She wasn’t risking annoying Sten further. She’d learned the hard way, hairdressers wielded a lot of power. Her eyes swivelled to her right but her head didn’t move as she looked at Mammy in the mirror. To use Aisling’s favourite turn of phrase, she was such a fecky brown noser. All that business about being sure to tell Mr Nibbles I love him. She was only saying it to get one up on Noah’s Granny Quealey. If the gerbil found his way into her undergarments, he’d be history. She returned her gaze to the mirror in front of her to see what was happening to her hair. Oh, dear God, what was Sten doing? She was beginning to resemble a praying mantis. What were those pieces of hair he’d pulled loose doing? They looked like tentacles for feck’s sake.

  ‘You like it?’ he asked, catching her eye in the mirror. ‘Like I said, this look is hot, hot, hot in Holland.’

  Well it could fecking well stay in Holland, Roisin thought, looking to her sister and Leila who were looking back at her, eyes wide with alarm.

  Um, perhaps we could have something a little more traditional?’ Aisling asked upon seeing her bridesmaids. ‘Something a little more...' she tried to find the word she was looking for but Moira jumped in for her.

  ‘Something more human and less insect-like would be good.’

  Chapter 14

  Maureen was the first out of the doors of Hair She Goes and she announced to Aisling, Roisin, Moira and Leila who followed that she would head home from there. ‘I’ve a dog who’ll be desperate to see me and he’ll need a walk before we paint the town red.’

  ‘But your curls will drop in the damp sea air, Mammy,’ Aisling pointed out.

  ‘I thought of that, Aisling, I’ll wear a headscarf.’

  ‘And will you show everyone you pass on your walk your wartime ration card, Mammy.’ Moira said.

  ‘Don’t be clever with me, young lady. And if you’d paid attention in your history classes at school, you’d know Ireland was neutral in the war. Besides, it wasn’t me who was after looking like she belonged on a twig in the Amazonian rain forest.’

  Moira couldn’t think of a comeback because Mammy was right. At least middle ground had been reached and the antennae were no more. They were all relatively happy with the outcome, especially Aisling, wh
ich was the main thing, Leila had pointed out once the stylists had stepped back to admire their handiwork.

  Roisin rubbed her scalp, Sten had been unnecessarily firm with the pulling of her hair and placement of bobby pins once he’d learned she had a boyfriend and there would be no riding happening once the salon closed. She, for one, was glad to be out of there.

  Arrangements were made for Mammy and Leila to be back at O’Mara’s later that evening for drinks, hen party games and, what Moira promised would be plenty of craic, before the limousine came to pick them up and take them out on the town. With that, the bride and her two sisters made their way back to the guesthouse.

  The trio piled in through the door, giggling, a short while later. ‘What’s so funny?’ James asked looking wary. The student manned the front desk on a weekend during the day while Evie, a fellow student, did the evening shift. She’d be on board in forty minutes at four pm. He wished it was four o’clock now. Giggling groups of women like this made him nervous.

  ‘What do you think of our hair, James?’ Moira asked, patting hers.

  ‘You all look the same.’ He’d yet to grasp that women preferred more flowery nuances.

  ‘That’s the idea,’ Roisin said. ‘We’ve been for a trial run at the hairdressers for Aisling’s wedding.’