What Becomes of the Broken Hearted?

by Claire Allan

  “I’m sure Rose would be fine at the shop without me . . .”

  “Kitty, you have a bridal photo shoot to plan for a glossy magazine. You have dresses to choose and locations to scout. Such opportunities do not present themselves all that often.I believe you may also have some lovely brides wanting to buy frocks. Go on with yourself and text me and tell me when we are all meeting for the Big Showdown.”

  I nodded and set about getting ready for work.

  “It’s like a mad house in here today,” Rose said, flustered, as I walked through the door and straight into a huge bouquet of flowers which had just been delivered from James.

  I sat them behind the counter (I say ‘sat’, I mean ‘threw’) and looked back at Rose. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked a little flustered. Her glasses were sitting on the end of her nose as she stared at the computer screen on the cash desk and handed me several slips of paper.

  “I know you like your messages in emails but this silly computer is acting the bollocks. Now, I’m giving you these messages, but from the top of my head we have had two appointments booked in for midweek. Your three-thirty has cancelled – says she has a stomach bug and doesn’t want to boke all over her dress.She wants to rearrange for the same time next week but we’re booked up so you might have to call her and see what suits you both as it’s a fitting. I’ve had two calls from suppliers – shipments have been sent out. Deliveries should be here on Tuesday. It’s orders and a few new samples that you ordered. James called. Your mother called – asked if you could give her a ring. Northern People have been on the phone checking the best time for the photographer to call down for a preliminary scout and asking what size your samples are so they can book the models. Oh, and this one is important, JaneKelly called. She needs a last-minute alteration. Her wedding is at two.”

  “But the dress was fine on Thursday?” I said.

  “Yes, but it appears one of her bridesmaids may have had a minor falling-off-the-wagon incident with her diet and may need a little help before she busts at the seams.”

  “Oh, right – well, Rose, my lovely, you’d best grab your trusty repair kit and scoot on over there.”

  “We have an appointment due in twenty minutes. Will you manage on your own?”

  “Course I will,” I said, thinking it really was about time we hired another member of staff. I’ll just have to close the door and get on with it.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, hurrying upstairs for her sewing box.

  When she came back down she kissed me on the cheek.

  “Those are lovely flowers,” she said, glancing at the discarded bouquet behind the desk. “You should put them in water.”

  I smiled at her but as soon as she left lifted themand rammed them as far into the bin as I possibly could. Then, returning to the cash desk, I set about replying to my emails (unsurprisingly the computer worked perfectly for me – Rose never was good with technology) and setting up the photo shoot. I arranged for Liam to call down at three thirty to check out the location for the photos and he told me he would bring Erin with him, which was perfect because one of the dresses due to arrive on the following Tuesday would be hers. I’m sure she had more than enough on her plate to be worrying about without worrying if her dress would arrive on time. This would make things just that tiny bit easier. Oh, and I could show her the dress I thought would be perfect for her to wear for the photo shoot.

  I was about to text Mark and James both when my ten thirty appointment arrived, nervously shuffling in the door and glancing around as if she wasn’t really meant to be there.

  “I booked an appointment,” she said nervously. “Justine Duffy?”A woman I assumed to be her mother and two similarly nervous-looking bridesmaids stood behind her.

  “Ah Justine!” I said. “Welcome to The Dressing Room! Why not have a seat and we can chat about what you have in mind?”

  She perched nervously on the edge of the chaise longue. It never failed to surprise me how some women could be so very nervous about choosing their wedding dresses. They came in almost pale with nerves as opposed to buzzing with excitement. I sat down opposite her and smiled my best professional smile.

  “Now I know this can be a little nerve-racking, but let’s try and make it fun. We cater for a wide range of tastes and budgets here. We have an in-house seamstress who can do any last-minute adjustments and we carry a wide range of accessories. I know that can sound a little overwhelming – but I can assure you now we don’t do the hard sell. I’m not happy unless you are one hundred per cent happy with the gown you choose and I will always recommend you go away and consider your decision before you place an order with us. So please try and relax.”

  Justinelooked at me, and breathed out, exhaling a knot of tension she had obviously been holding within her. “I never thought I would ever get to this day,” she said. “I just want to look my best.”

  I looked at her, her fine, glossy blonde hair, her small frame, her delicate cheekbones. I had no doubt whatsoever we could make her beautiful.

  “You will be stunning. You really will. At The Dressing Room we aim to take your breath away and that of your husband-to-be as you walk down the aisle.”

  She smiled broadly, and her mother and bridesmaids smiled too as I reached for my notepad and pencil.

  “Are you married yourself?” her mother asked as three sets of eyes glanced down at where my wedding ring used to live.

  I glanced myself. The indentation was still there. I baulked – not sure how to answer. Yes – legally I was. No – technically the vows of our marriage had been broken. Emotionally – yes, I hadn’t quite made that leap yet. I opted for a smile and a “Sort of” and hoped they weren’t the nosy kinds. Clare’s mother blushed and I laughed a little too loudly to show I was fine and then we set about choosing a dress.

  In the end Justine’s dainty doll-like figure worked best in a figure-hugging dress with stunning lace detailing. They all cried. I may even have shed a tear myself – and when they were gone I looked once more at my finger and vowed to go out and purchase the biggest, flashiest cocktail ring money could buy, to wear at the earliest opportunity.

  I picked up a text from Ivy to say the locks had been changed and she would give me the keys when we met for the big old James meeting, which reminded me that I hadn’t texted James yet. To be fair, I didn’t really know what to say to him. Was I simply to say we needed to talk without giving him any idea what we would talk about? I didn’t want to give him any notion whatsoever that ‘needed to talk’ was code for ‘needed a quick shag’ or ‘I need to tell you I love you’ but I didn’t want to be so cold as to tell him how I really felt over a text. My fingers hovered over the buttons on my phone before I typed out a quick Can we talk? Starbucks at 6? message. It had barely been sent before a message pinged back to me with YESwritten in capital letters complete with a smiley face afterwards.It was fair to assume he had probably taken the message to mean more than it did. I phoned Ivy to fill her in on this latest development and ask if I should text him back just to clarify that this was not a booty call of any description but her advice was to leave things be. “No point in digging any deeper,” she said.

  Next I texted Mark. Locks have been changed. Have new set of keys for you. I hoped this would adequately convey that I was not being a hard-hearted bitch – not yet anyway. Of course, being that texts are very much open to being misconstrued he came back with: To the shop? Is all okay?

  Quickly I replied: To the house. All okay. Just being cautious. Which, because when he wasn’t being a cheating horrible bastard he was actually quite protective, prompted him to text back telling me he was worried and that I could talk to him if I needed to. Which I thought was a bit ruddy rich considering his recent behaviour. Slamming the phone down on the cash deskin a fit of rage I swore loudly just as Rose walked back in, followed by our twelve o’clock appointment who was looking mildly terrified.

  Rose raised her eyebrows at me and made
a strange series of facial contortions I took to mean “Are you okay?” and even though it was the very worst thing I could do in the situation I could not stop myself from barking back: “Oh, just the usual. Men! Being feckers. Big lousy cheating feckers.”

  My bride-to-be, who thankfully was only coming in for a fitting and not to choose a gown, looked on horrified.

  “I think I’ll come back another time,” she said slowly. “Call me to rearrange,” she added as she started to back out the door.

  I should have called her back, of course, but I just stood there limp while Rose flapped a bit and then stepped into the save the day.

  “Please, pet,” she said. “Never mind Kitty here. She’s upset. Come in and I’ll sort you out. I’ve seen your dress and it is beautiful! Kit, why don’t you take a tea break and I’ll take it from here.”

  I nodded and blushed. Turning to our customer and apologising like a petulant teenager, I then went up to my office and said a long stream of bad words out loud where no one could hear me and I wouldn’t make a holy show of myself.

  Chapter thirty-two

  Erin

  I showered quickly and dressed badly before leaving for work. I didn’t apply any make-up, thinking I could just lift some of my stash from my drawer in the office to fix myself up a bit. My skin was blotchy and my hands were shaking ever so slightly – which wasn’t so much about the drink as it was about a sinking sense that things had just gone horribly wrong with Paddy. Being the type prone to catastrophising, I had already plotted how horrible this would be for everyone. Rightly or wrongly (and it was very much wrongly as far as I was concerned) I would be labelled the girl who had cheated on the man who had cancer. Paddy would tell his entire family and they would decree I was a bitch of the highest order. I would have to tell Sinéad and Grace who would throw the shittiest of shit-fits ever at the thought of the lost revenue for their forthcoming features and would probably sack me on the spot. And on top of all that, the worst thing imaginable, I would lose Paddy.

  Biting back tears I stalked through the office head down until I reached my desk, and kept a low profile as I switched on my computer and checked my emails. There was one from Liam confirming we were going to The Dressing Room at three thirty to plan the photoshoot. I had to fight the urge to open my desk drawer, put my head in and slam the drawer shut repeatedly. As that would more than likely draw a whole heap of attention to me, I just put my head on my desk and prayed that a meteor would crash directly into Derry at that very moment and obliterate life as we knew it.

  I still had my head on my desk when Grace walked past, tilted her head sideways to look me in the face and demanded I follow her into her office.

  “You look like shit,” she said as I sat down. “Are you sick?”

  I put my hand instinctively to my forehead, perhaps hoping there would be some form of fever, making all this horribleness an hallucination of sorts.

  “No,” I said, feeling the clammy coolness of my own temple.

  “Time of the month?”

  “No.”

  “Hung over?”

  “A little,” I admitted, looking up at her.

  “Was it at least a good night?”

  I snorted and laughed and suddenly couldn’t stop laughing even though it was probably the least funny thing in the world ever.

  “I’ll get you a glass of water,” she offered, her face more than a little alarmed.

  “I’m fine,” I said, straightening myself in my chair. “I’m absolutely fine. I’ll get a bacon sandwich and a bottle of Lucozade and put some make-up on and no one will be any the wiser.”

  “Are you sure?You have been under a lot of pressure.”

  “Oh Grace, if you only knew the half of it! But shag it. Sure the show must go on. I’ve a wedding dress to try on and a photo shoot to plan. No bother at all.” And then I started laughing again.

  “I always come here when I’m stressed out,” Grace said, stopping the car at Buncrana beach and looking out over Lough Swilly. “It keeps me grounded. When things were really bad – when I had post-natal depression after Jack was born – we would escape down here and watch the sunset. I know this sounds awfully twee – but sometimes it was just nice to know I was part of something bigger – that the whole world didn’t centre around what was going on in my house.”

  After my second laughter fit Grace had ordered me to her car, saying I was in no state to be in the office and she didn’t want me to be the talking point for the office gossips. She had been there herself, she said, when she had agreed to undergo a life makeover several years ago and she knew it wasn’t a nice place to be.

  In the car on the way to the beach I had told her about meeting Ian. Very kindly she managed not to swerve the car off the road and into a ditch. And I had told her about how Paddy knew we had dinner and how he wasn’t happy about it – but in fairness to him he thought it was more than dinner. I told her – admitted out loud – that things weren’t perfect between us.

  “Things are never perfect between anyone,” she said. “Anyone who says they don’t occasionally want to throttle the living daylights out of their partner is lying. I love Aidan, I really do, and I consider us to be a fairly strong couple, but there are times when I would gladly do time for cracking a vase over his head.”

  I laughed and she smiled and I knew that she meant every word.

  “People expect a lot from you, Erin. Your situation – it’s not one anyone would envy. I imagine the minute that cancer diagnosis walked in the door the reality of who you and he were to each other changed there and then.”

  “I didn’t think it had.”

  “How could it not? I’d hate to live like that,” she said bluntly. “It must feel like walking on eggshells all the time. I hate walking on eggshells. Can I be brutally honest? When you said you were getting married part of me thought that was absolutely lovely and another big part of me thought, and don’t get offended, that you were completely off your head.”

  Her honesty made me smile, even though it should have felt like a sucker punch to the stomach.

  “A cancer battle is hard enough without throwing a wedding into the equation.”

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said wryly.

  “I’m not saying it was a bad idea . . . just . . . you know . . .” she trailed off.

  “I know.”

  “Will Paddy listen when you talk to him?” she asked as we walked along the beach, my feet burrowing into the warm sand.

  “I don’t know. Probably. Hopefully.”

  “You have to do what is right for the pair of you,” she said. “Don’t worry about anyone else. Don’t worry about the wedding planners or the florist or his family or your family. Don’t even worry about the magazine – although I would give Sinéad some distance. Talk it out – do what suits you both. Do you want to marry him?”

  “I’ve probably always wanted to marry him, or at least to be with him. I just didn’t want the wedding. I’ve tried to convince myself over the last few weeks that it’s all grand and it will be a great day. I actually do love the dress I’ve chosen, but the faff and the pressure and the expectation . . .”

  “All anyone really expects is that the pair of you get through this, in whatever way you can and how you choose. I’m really sorry if I pushed the whole thing a little bit too hard. I should have known something was up . . .”

  I stopped and turned to look at her. “Grace, you have been a huge support to me these last few months. Don’t feel bad. It was just one of those things which spiralled out of control.”

  We walked along the beach a little more, chatting as we went. We even stopped for lunch on the way back.

  Eventually I glanced at my watch and realised the time.

  “We should get back,” I said. “I need to tidy myself up before the meeting at The Dressing Room.”

  Grace raised an eyebrow. “You still want to go?”

  “It’s arranged. It’s work and, until I know d
ifferently, it’s all still going ahead. So yes, I’ll go.”

  “If you’re sure?”

  “Never ask me if I’m sure. I’m not sure about anything anymore.”

  Standing in the changing room in The Dressing Room I looked at the bride in front of me. My hair hung loosely around my face, still windswept from the walk on the beach with Grace. My make-up was scant, only barely covering the excesses of the night before. I could most definitely do with a light smattering of spray tan before the proposed photo shoot. My eyes looked tired, bloodshot even. But the dress was beautiful – very chic. Kitty had outdone herself once again – handing me a dress almost as elegant and flattering as the one I had chosen for myself but different enough so that it gave no clues to as to my actual gown. The lace-covered dress, with delicate lace-capped sleeves and a satin sash under the bust, was beautiful. It clung in all the right places and it would look amazing in the pictures. Liam had been more than happy with the setting on the city walls and the shop for the pictures. We talked about bringing a few props onto the walls, and trying to convince the tourists to stay back for a bit. Liam had wandered out with his light gauges making all sorts of frames with his fingers while Kitty and I had looked on. She seemed distracted and I most certainly was distracted.The whole experience felt a little surreal – Liam with his imaginary cameras, Kitty looking on a little bewildered. Rose was smiling and, if I wasn’t mistaken, flirting just a little bit with Liam as Kitty and I looked on.

  “Is she always like that?” I asked.

  “What, nuts?” Kitty laughed. “Yes. She kind of is.”

  I watched her pose in front of Liam in more and more theatrical and provocative poses and I laughed. “I’d best tell Liam to get his coat,” I laughed. “I’d say he’s pulled.”

  Kitty laughed uproariously. “I don’t think my dad would be too happy about that. She’s married to him.”

  “She’s not your mum, is she?” I asked in shock, which caused Kitty to laugh more.