Regrets

by Caragh Bell

  ‘I’m fine, totally fine.’

  She didn’t look it.

  ‘I mean, there’s a lot to organise but I’m on top of it. I’m fine, I’m fine.’

  ‘You said that already,’ said Lydia gently. ‘I’m here now to help. Delegate. I can go to the florist’s – I can negotiate with the hotel. Just give me a list of things to do.’

  Sam’s eyes filled with unwanted tears. ‘It’s just Craig doesn’t give a toss. It’s like the wedding is of no importance. He can’t understand why I’m so stressed. He thinks it all can be sorted the week before.’ She sniffed. ‘I asked him if he would prefer sugared almonds or chocolates for the wedding favours. He didn’t even answer, Lyd. He just stalked out muttering about first-world problems.’

  ‘Andy was the same. It nearly drove Sarah mad. Men don’t see it like we do.’

  Samantha took a huge gulp of wine. ‘We keep fighting over silly things. He wants all his cousins at the wedding. I suggested that we don’t invite kids. He freaked out …’

  ‘Don’t worry. This is all normal.’ Lydia patted her arm.

  ‘I mean, I’ve asked him a billion times to write out some wedding vows and he keeps forgetting. He seems to think that it will all magically come together a few days before. I’m completely stressed out!’

  This is perfect for one of my columns, Lydia thought to herself, rubbing her friend’s back in comfort.

  Silence ensued for a moment. Samantha sipped her wine, her pretty face troubled.

  ‘When are we doing our hair trials?’ Lydia asked, changing the subject.

  Samantha brightened. ‘I’ve booked us in for next month. I’m putting mine up. I think you should too. In a chignon.’

  ‘Simple is best,’ agreed Lydia. ‘I’ve been thinking about the hen night too.’

  Sam giggled. ‘I was afraid to ask. Are you going to tell me or is it a surprise?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking about Dublin. I’ve said it to Laura and a few others. How about the May Bank Holiday weekend?’

  Samantha gasped. ‘That sounds perfect! Don’t tell me any more. I’m so excited!’

  ‘That way we have an extra day off to recover.’

  ‘Oh, Lyd! That is great. It’s really happening, isn’t it?’

  She looked younger. Booking the hen night seemed to put things in perspective. They chatted about it and Lydia could see that she was very excited about wearing the fake veil, being obliged to complete the list of forfeits and getting gifts from the rest of the party.

  With Colin’s help, she had sourced a Beauty Queen style sash on eBay that could be personalised. Lydia had ordered them to print The Future Mrs Dillon on it. Sam would love it; she was sure of it.

  ‘I’m not going to tell you any details but prepare for lots of fun. Colin is helping me.’

  Samantha hugged herself in delight. ‘Then I’m guaranteed the works. Strippers and champagne – even plastic willies.’

  ‘We’ll try to be classier than that,’ objected Lydia. ‘It doesn’t have to be that kind of hen night.’

  ‘I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.’ Samantha winked. ‘I want to go wild!’

  Chapter 16

  Helen Kelly was carving the beef when Colin and Lydia arrived on Saturday evening.

  ‘Just in time,’ she said, frowning as she piled slices of rare meat on a serving platter.

  ‘It was Lydia who delayed us,’ protested Colin. ‘I was in the car waiting for her to pack her bag.’

  ‘Mr Perfect.’ Lydia made a face and poured herself a glass of wine. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  Helen shrugged. ‘He has started gardening again so I presume he’s out the back.’ Putting some tinfoil over the meat, she wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘Come here to me, darling. I need a hug.’

  Lydia relaxed into her arms and sighed. ‘It’s so good to be home, Mum.’

  ‘It’s good to have you home,’ Helen murmured into her hair. ‘How’s the new job?’

  ‘It’s great. I’m not really sure what I do exactly, but it’s good fun.’

  She ambled into the sitting room, to find Molly splayed out on the couch.

  ‘Hey, Mol.’

  ‘Hey. Welcome home.’ She didn’t even look up. ‘Is Colin with you?’

  ‘Can’t you hear him?’

  Molly strained her ears. ‘Is that him chirping in the kitchen? Well, he better not comment on how much beef I eat, because I warn you I’m planning to stuff my face.’ She rested her head against a cushion and flicked through the Sky channels.

  Lydia sat on her dad’s favourite armchair and watched the fire flickering. She loved their sitting room. The walls were a warm russet colour with tasteful pictures hanging randomly here and there. Two large bookcases stood by the gable wall, piled high with novels, cookery books, manuals and magazines. A mahogany dresser, inherited from Nanny Alice after she died, stood majestically over by the window. It was filled with Helen’s prize Wedgwood china and her canteen of Newbridge King’s silver, which she received on her wedding day. Molly called that dresser the ‘Christmas dresser’, as it contained items that only surfaced at that time of year.

  ‘Have you seen Baby Seán lately?’ enquired Lydia, stretching out her legs. ‘Has he improved?’

  Molly frowned in concentration, waving the remote control around frantically. ‘Why won’t Friends series link for me? This bloody remote is a disaster. Sorry, Lyd, say again?’

  ‘Has our nephew improved? Is he sleeping now?’

  ‘Christ, no. Sarah is demented. You know the way she’s always so perfect? Like, with perfect hair and all that? Not anymore.’ Molly giggled. ‘I called over during the week and she answered the door in her pyjamas. It was four in the afternoon. For you and me? Totally normal. For Miss Control Freak? Not a good sign.’

  ‘Where was Andy?’

  ‘At work, I suppose. Anywhere but at home, I’d say. Mini Seán is the best contraceptive ever.’

  ‘Kids? Dinner!’ called Helen from the kitchen.

  ‘Thank God,’ said Molly, jumping to her feet. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’

  Dinner was delicious. Helen had made Yorkshire puddings to accompany the meat. She had also roasted some parsnips in honey along with a bowl of crispy, bubbling cauliflower cheese.

  Colin groaned in pleasure. ‘You are a master chef, Auntie Hel. A culinary genius.’

  She ruffled his curls affectionately. ‘Eat up now. Lydia says that Val is on some vegetarian craze.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ protested Lydia. ‘The broccoli and lemon thing was yummy.’

  ‘Still and all, you need your protein.’ Helen poured gravy over her potatoes.

  ‘So, how was work?’ Seán Kelly looked at Lydia expectantly. ‘Are you settling in?’ He was beaming, plainly delighted that she was home and had a job.

  ‘It’s good,’ she said carefully. ‘I mean, I’m not really sure what I’m actually doing, but I’m really busy.’

  ‘Things will work out, Lyd,’ he asserted. ‘You have your foot in the door, that’s the main thing.’

  Colin held up an empty wine bottle. ‘Uncle Seán? Do you have any more?’

  ‘In the shed,’ he answered. ‘Take anything you like, but don’t touch the French stuff. It’s the last of our stock from that booze cruise to Brittany last year.’

  Colin made a face behind his back. ‘I should’ve brought my own,’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘Where’s Ollie?’ asked Lydia, helping herself to some cauliflower. ‘It’s not like him to miss a dinner like this.’

  ‘Alannah wanted him to go to her parents’place this weekend.’ Helen looked crestfallen. ‘And so it starts.’

  Seán patted her back. ‘He’ll always come home. That man follows his stomach and by all accounts she isn’t a great cook.’

  Colin arrived back with a bottle of Chianti. ‘The best of a bad lot,’ he explained. ‘French is my favourite, but what can I do?’

  ‘I’d need my own vineyard to k
eep you in wine,’ said Seán drily.

  ‘Baby Seán cut a tooth,’ announced Helen. ‘It’s one of the bottom ones. Sarah bought him his own toothbrush already, to prevent tooth decay.’

  ‘Tooth being the operative word,’ said Colin, shaking his head. ‘She’s unreal.’

  Molly giggled. ‘When he finally gets a strand of hair, she’ll be shampooing it and conditioning it and trimming it!’

  Lydia laughed. ‘It will all be done properly anyway.’

  ‘Lay off my best girl,’ warned Seán.

  ‘Oh, please!’ argued Lydia. ‘You totally favour her.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Molly fervently. ‘It’s like Sarah and Ollie are the chosen children, Lyd. We were afterthoughts.’

  ‘Well, you were two surprises,’ admitted Helen. ‘But in a good way.’

  Colin burst out laughing. ‘Go, Helen and Seán! I can’t imagine you two being irresponsible.’

  ‘Booze, kids. It has a lot to answer for.’ Seán refilled his glass. ‘Anyone for a top-up?’

  Colin held out his glass eagerly. Lydia shook her head. She was full to the brim.

  She activated Facebook on her phone and noticed a message from Mathis. Scanning down through it, there was no real news. He was busy, he missed her and he was wondering how she was getting on back at home.

  She put her phone back in her pocket. She would message him back later when she was in bed. There was nothing so pressing that it demanded an immediate response.

  Frowning, she sipped her wine. If she was honest, she had barely thought of him over the last week. What with work, Sam and meeting up with old friends, she hadn’t the time. What did that mean? Had they reached the end of the road?

  No, not yet. She needed a date to the wedding. She knew it was selfish to use him like that, but it was essential that she had a man on the scene when she finally met Luca again. She had imagined it time and time again. She would nod coolly in his direction and smile benignly at his fiancée. Of course, she would look her best. Then she would walk away. They didn’t have to be friends. They could perform their duties perfectly, without being best buddies.

  Molly started gathering plates. ‘Get up, lazy,’ she ordered, nudging her sister. ‘Mum is exhausted.’

  ‘Calm down, Mol,’ reassured Lydia, pulling her back down. ‘That’s why I invited Colin. Let him off.’

  Luca pressed ‘send’ and sat back in satisfaction. He had booked the perfect bachelor party. A weekend in Dublin.

  They were going to race sports cars in Mondello and then hit the bars in the city. Despite his suggestion that they go to Amsterdam, Craig had been adamant that he wanted to celebrate his last official night of freedom on Irish soil. Dublin was a great town and had lots to offer. A lot of his law buddies had ended up in the capital as well, which made it all more convenient.

  He texted Tyler and told him to book a flight. Craig wasn’t bothered about how many attended and Ty was dying to see Ireland.

  ‘That’s awesome!’ he said when Luca told him about his plans. ‘There’s a whole city of red-haired Irish women waiting for me.’

  Craig whooped when he heard the news. ‘Ah, Luca, that’s great. Where are we staying?’

  ‘I booked this place called The Gresham? It’s on O Connell Street.’

  ‘Wow, that’s swanky for a stag party. Are you sure that they even take stag parties?’

  Luca smiled. ‘Well, I didn’t exactly explain the purpose of our visit. Plus, we’ll barely be at the hotel – it’s just a bed to sleep in.’

  ‘No shenanigans then.’

  ‘Well, don’t rule out being tied to a lamppost.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Craig tried to sound cool. ‘I mean, let’s keep it civilised.’

  ‘So, we start on the Friday and go through until the Sunday,’ continued Luca. ‘I’ve booked my flight so we’re all set. I think it’s like a holiday in Ireland or something? You guys don’t work on the Monday, I know that.’

  Craig groaned. ‘Please don’t say you’ve booked the May Bank Holiday weekend!’

  ‘Sure. I figured you could recover on the Monday.’ Luca sounded surprised. ‘Ty just booked his flight too, man. Is there a problem?’

  ‘It’s the same weekend as the hen party.’ Craig let out a sigh. ‘And the same bloody city. What a joke!’

  Luca’s blood went cold. ‘Is the hen the bachelorette? You mean, Sam will be in Dublin that weekend?’

  ‘You’ve got it in one.’

  Luca closed his eyes.

  She would be there. No doubt. Talk about lousy luck. Why didn’t he check with Craig? No, typical Luca. Jump in head first.

  ‘Do you want me to change it, buddy?’ he said eventually. ‘I can cancel the flights and try and rearrange the hotel.’ He groaned inwardly at the thought of it. He had spent hours grappling with websites and bookings and he could see Tara giving him suspicious looks from her office. He was supposed to be organising the spring show at the gallery. Instead, he had just spent the entire morning looking up activities, hotels and flights.

  Craig shook his head. ‘No, no. It’s no big deal. Dublin is a big town. It’s unlikely we’ll run into them anyway.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘And if we do, we’ll run a mile.’ Craig sounded cheerful. ‘Look, the bottom line is, we get to go mad.’

  ‘You got that right.’ Luca’s face was set in a grim line.

  There was no way he was meeting her before the wedding. It would only be when absolutely necessary. Lately, she filled his thoughts. He had become so good at blocking her out of his mind. Now, it was like an itch had resurfaced. An itch he couldn’t ignore, one that demanded to be scratched.

  He was planning to fly in for the bachelor weekend. Then, he would not be seen again until the actual wedding. He had his own big day to organise; Charlotte had it down, but he still had stuff to do. Mimi had taken over the flowers and the decoration of the Four Seasons. Christian had imported the wine and champagne from France. Tara had sorted the invites and created wedding lists in all the best stores of New York.

  He had to write some vows, get fitted for a suit and book the honeymoon. Charlotte wanted a surprise destination and he relished the challenge. He was torn between Fiji and Mauritius. She loved the sun; both of these destinations offered private villas with beach access and twenty-four hour staff at your beck and call.

  He didn’t believe in fate or destiny. It was all a pile of bullshit, in his opinion.

  Yet, he couldn’t deny that something celestial was interfering in their lives. Something was pulling him back to the past.

  Shaking his head, he minimised the party plans on his screen and activated the brochure for the art show.

  ‘You got that flyer, honey?’ Tara’s eyes were shrewd.

  ‘Sure thing, Mom. Just finishing it off.’

  Chapter 17

  Charlotte climbed up the ladder of the pool, her body glistening with droplets of water. Reaching back, she squeezed her blonde hair. Her white bikini highlighted her tanned skin, brown from a week in Bermuda with her mother.

  Luca watched her with an impassive face as she walked towards him. Her body was in its prime toned and there wasn’t an ounce of excess weight anywhere. Her obsession with the gym and her fixation on macrobiotic food were really paying off. She really was gorgeous.

  ‘You going in?’ She flashed him a brilliant smile as she rubbed her body dry with her towel.

  He shook his head. ‘Nah. It’s still too cold.’

  She wrapped the towel around her waist. ‘This is the best weather we’ve had for years during Easter break. You should totally take advantage.’

  ‘I’ll pass.’ He settled back into his lounger and closed his eyes.

  Charlotte was right. The sun had been shining all weekend. Charlotte’s parents’ summer house was situated by the sea near Martha’s Vineyard. Architecture wise, it was based on a Spanish colonial villa, with low tiled roofs and white walls. It boasted a tennis court, an indoo
r cinema, a sauna and a pool. Her parents had invited them for Easter break and so they had come down two days before.

  Luca liked her parents. Her father, Frank, was an attorney like his daughter; he was loud and opinionated but had a heart of gold. He too was the descendant of a French family who had emigrated during the twenties.

  His great-grandfather, Phillippe du Maurier, had arrived on a ship in 1923, determined to make a new life for himself. The Statue of Liberty welcomed him in all her majestic glory as the boat sailed by. Her determined face and her defiant stance had inspired him; he had stared at her awestruck as they passed. It was then he decided that ‘Liberty’ would be his namesake. Fast forward three years and he was running a successful ladies’ clothes store, called ‘Liberty Designs’, where he sold new and innovative French couture. These dresses challenged the status quo and offered American women their own taste of Chanel-esque fashion at affordable prices.

  As the Roaring Twenties continued, Phillippe’s fortune grew. Soon he was supplying all the major stores in New York with anything from beads to head pieces. As women’s skirts got shorter, Phillippe got richer. Soon, he was well-known around New York as a man of standing and power. Frank, his great-grandson, chose not to inherit the family business. Instead, he went to Harvard Law School and gave the CEO job to this younger brother Maurice, retaining a share of the thriving business himself. He met Charlotte’s mother, Victoria, at a Red Cross function at the Plaza in the mid-eighties and fell madly in love. She was a Southern belle from Atlanta. Her soft drawl and blonde beauty enchanted Frank and they were married within a month. They were an odd-looking couple: Frank was small and squat with black hair and a moustache, Victoria was tall and blonde.