It's Got To Be Perfect

by Claire Allan

  “Many many Modern Bride magazines died to make that Life Plan,” Darcy replied with a snigger.

  “Mock all you want,” I said, “but both of you would kill to have a pictorial collection of the finest in bridal couture and don’t you forget it.”

  It had been hard to leave. Part of me just wanted to creep back into her gorgeous spare room and sleep but she said she was going to try and talk to Gerry again when he came home and I figured it was best we stayed out of the way. Besides, I think Fionn would have actually cried real tears if she hadn’t got to spend the night in the Westbury after spending a decent whack of Alex’s money on the room.

  I had hugged Darcy as we left, climbing into a taxi with Fionn assuring me she had enough euro to pay the fare and that she knew enough of Dublin to know if the driver went the long way round to try and rip us off. I probably hugged Darcy a little too tightly, but in the absence of having anything remotely useful to say I thought a hug was good as anything.

  When we reached the hotel, Fionn coerced me into stopping in The Marble Bar for a cocktail before retiring to our room. I was pretty sure that my attire of jeans, flip-flops and swollen ankle was not typical of the clientele of the bar but Fionn told me we had to. We were on our holliers, after all, she said, and the cocktails were said to be fab. The bar, she said, was the thing of dreams and it was indeed exceptionally pretty. It was the kind of place Manna aspired to – classy art-deco-influenced interior and beautiful leather chairs which begged you to lounge across them while you sipped your cocktail and waggled your Manolo Blahniks on the end of your toes. Me? I crouched into a chair, trying to hide my fat ankles in my very non-designer flip-flops under me. The cocktail, did however, take the sting off the embarrassment and as I sat back, I tried to relax – but my mind was back with Darcy and Gerry and whatever was happening there.

  At least, I thought, it took my mind off the fact that I still hadn’t heard so much as a peep from Ant and that Pearse was sabotaging my career and that my ankle hurt like the bejaysus.

  “Should we go shopping tomorrow?” Fionn asked and I shrugged. The thought of the fine boutiques and designer stores of the capital did give me a frisson of excitement – but the thought of hobbling around same with my sore ankle left me a little cold. Not to mention I just wanted to be with Darcy even though she was going to be at work and it would look very strange if I lumped along with her. I don’t think – even though in my head I liked to think I looked seventeen – that I could pass for a work-experience intern. Besides, I knew feck all about fashion. I was a Primarni girl through and through, and while the thought of the boutiques excited me, I doubted I would spend much money. After all, I didn’t have Alex’s credit card to use and for some reason Pearse no longer let me use his.

  “We’ll see,” I said, sipping my Cosmopolitan.

  “Humph! That’s what I say to Emma when she asks to do something I have absolutely no intention of letting her do.”

  “Yes, Best Mammy in the World.”

  Fionn’s eyes misted over momentarily. “Do you think so? I mean really? God, just talking to Darcy tonight made me realise how lucky I am. Do you think, Annie, that Alex and I will be okay?”

  “Apart from the credit-card bill? I’m pretty sure of it. We just have to find a way to deal with Rebecca.”

  “All I can do is be myself,” she said determinedly. “Would it be bad if I phoned her now?”

  “Rebecca?”

  “No – Emma! I miss her. Although I would probably have to phone Rebecca to get through to her. Would that be bad?”

  I looked at my watch. It was almost nine. There was every chance in the world that Emma would already be in bed and given that Fionn was on a rather potent cocktail it might not be the best way to try and win over Rebecca’s affections.

  “Leave it till tomorrow, darling.”

  “But I miss her. God, Annie. I love her so much. She’s a right wee madam but I miss her all the same. And God, can I admit this, I’m jealous as fuck of Rebecca!”

  I’m sure my eyebrow raised itself to a new height. What did Rebecca have that Fionn didn’t? Fionn was the one getting ready to walk up the aisle with Alex, and Emma would live with them at least half the time. There was nothing at all to be jealous of, as I saw it.

  “But why?”

  “Because she gave him something I’ll never be able to. His first child. Even if we do have kids, he’ll have been there before. He’ll have heard another woman tell him she’s pregnant. He’s already held someone’s hair back as they threw up. He’s rubbed a pregnant woman’s back. He’s held a hand as his child – his first child – was born and his life changed in that moment in a way I won’t ever be able to change it. We might have children, but he is already a father. It’s a bit of a ‘been there and done that’ situation.”

  “But he hasn’t done it with you,” I answered. “Surely it would be different.”

  “Emma is his number one. She always has been and she always will be.”

  “He’ll love your children just as much, I promise.”

  She shrugged her shoulders before looking around to catch the attention of a handsome barman. “Enough of the doom and gloom,” she said to me as he walked over. “More cocktails, please?”

  He smiled back, telling us in a cheeky Dublin accent that he would be right with us.

  Fionn looked around her. “Right,” she said. “Let’s see if we can spot any wannabe c’lebs and ask them if they need PR representation? We can go back to Bawb and become the toast of the office and Pearse and his wanky restaurant can go to hell!”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said, clinking my glass against hers.

  Back in the room, and back under the duvet I tossed and turned a bit more before drifting off into a thankfully dreamless sleep. It had been a strange day indeed. Darcy and Gerry were on the rocks. I was nearly killed. Fionn was jealous of Rebecca the Witch and I learned that two cocktails in a very swish bar could knock me three sheets to the wind.

  26

  Fionn was not to be appeased. She wanted to go shopping. And she wanted to do lots of shopping. She had already planned a route down Grafton Street and Henry Street and then a trip on the Luas to some of the finer out-of-town centres.

  While I tried to squeeze my still swollen foot into a flat sneaker, she slipped her dainty little toes into a pair of impossibly high heels.

  “Are you serious? You’ll be murdered!”

  “Fashion knows no pain,” she said stoically. “If I’m going to swan into some posh boutiques I want them to think I mean business – even if I’m only window-shopping. Flat shoes do not say ‘serious shopper with bags of money’.”

  “No, they say ‘feck me, it’s a long walk down that street and I almost got killed yesterday so I reserve the right to wear flats’!”

  “Well, don’t be getting all annoyed with me if they do a Pretty Woman on you and tell you they’ve nothing for the likes of you.”

  “I don’t intend to visit anywhere fancier than H&M, so I’m sure me and my inferior trainers will do just fine.”

  “Even if I promised to treat us to something very fancy for lunch?”

  “Sorry, Fionn, but I’m hoping to meet Darcy for lunch,” I said, conscious of the fact I hadn’t heard how she was doing. “And besides, we need to decide what we’re doing, whether we’re going back to hers for tonight or staying another night here.”

  “True. But I don’t think my suitcase would go well with the fancy shoes as I traipse around the city. And I don’t think we should be annoying Darcy just yet – or at least I shouldn’t be annoying her anyway. I’m thinking I’ll keep this room for at least tonight – you can stay here, or there, depending on how things are which means you absolutely can go shopping with me this morning and meet Darcy for lunch. Everyone’s a winner.”

  I could tell that there was no way she was going to be dissuaded from her shopping plans and I figured it might well distract me from the worry. At that moment my phone beeped
into life and my heart soared. It could well be that Darcy was texting to tell me everything was just okay with her and Gerry and things were going to be exactly how they should be.

  But no, it was an unfamiliar number – a Southern one – and I wondered had it been sent to me in error.

  “How are you today? Recovered from your brush with death?”

  I stared at my phone, confused.

  “What? What is it?” Fionn asked.

  “A text. Not sure who from, but whoever it is knows about my brush with death yesterday.”

  It wasn’t Darcy’s number and I wasn’t expecting a cheery text from Gerry any time in the next century.

  Owen. It had to be Owen Reilly.

  “Well, who did you tell about that?” Fionn wanted to know.

  I texted the number back with a quick “Who is this?” message. It bleeped back “Owen”.

  “Owen,” I said aloud.

  “Owen?” Fionn echoed. “Who is Owen?”

  “Erm, Owen . . . Owen Reilly . . . the man who saved me.”

  “He introduced himself to you?”

  “Yes. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “I think I would remember if you told me about making the acquaintance of a handsome stranger.”

  “I didn’t say he was handsome.”

  “But he is, isn’t he?” she said with a wicked glint in her eyes.

  “I suppose,” I said, shrugging my shoulders “To be honest, I was too busy trying not to pass out with the pain, and shock, to really notice.”

  “You always notice,” Fionn said. “It’s one of the things I admire about you so. The ability to notice who is around and how they rate out of a ten, regardless of whatever else is going.”

  “Near-death experiences are an exception to that rule.”

  “Whatever,” she said, flicking her hair and turning to face the mirror to touch up her make-up. “But tell me about him anyway. I need whatever details you have and I need them now.”

  “Well, he’s Owen. He’s a child psychologist – which means he works with children, not that he is some Dougie Howser type of character. He is quite strong – I mean he was able to knock me out of the way of the taxi and that’s no mean feat. And he walked me back to the hotel to make sure I was fine.”

  “And now he’s texting you. It’s all so romantic.”

  I rolled my eyes. “To be honest, Fionn, I’ve had enough of romance.”

  “Pish!” she said emphatically. “I know all about you and your plans – your Life Plan, your dreams of a big white wedding. You can’t tell me that you, Annie Delaney, are off romance – especially not when it charges into your life in a Superman style and literally sweeps you off your feet.”

  “There was no sweeping off feet. He actually bashed into me and knocked me down. And no romance. He helped me because he was there and he could. And he walked me back to this hotel because he is a gentleman. And, believe me, after Pearse and Ant, I’m done.”

  “Ant? I thought he was done a long time ago? Was he not simply a two-night wonder?”

  I blushed, remembering how she didn’t know about my afternoons in his bed at the beach and how I had kept that from her for some inexplicable reason – how I had kept from her the fact that he hadn’t been at all bothered at my clearing off to Dublin and that it seemed, when I wasn’t there to service his every whim, he really wasn’t interested at all. In fact, of all the things I was sure Ant was interested in, romance was certainly not one of them.

  And as for Owen – he was nothing. He was a nice man who was kind enough to enquire after me the day after my accident but that was all – a nice man, with a nice smile and nice manners who lived 200 miles away from my home and who I would most likely not see again – never mind run off into the sunset with.

  “Ant? No. Well, yes. Well, actually, I don’t want to talk about it just now. I thought he was more. But he wasn’t.”

  “You can’t just leave it at that.”

  “Yes, yes, I can.”

  “No. You want to know all the details of my relationship and Darcy’s and you need to tell me about yours.”

  “It was hardly a relationship.”

  “But it was more than just two nights and some edible knickers?”

  “A little – but not much. Not as much as I thought anyway. Look, Fionn, really. Do I have to go into this? You were right, it seems. He was using me for sex. And while I wanted to think it was something more and I suppose I hoped it would be in a way – even though he has a disgustingly hairy back – it’s not. And that’s done. Just like Pearse is done and just like Owen is just a nice man who didn’t mind risking his life to knock me over. The only aisle I’ll be walking up any time soon will be the one you walk up when I’m wearing my gorgeous dress and being the very best bridesmaid in the entire world. I burned the Life Plan for a reason, Fionn. Because it was bollocks. All of it. I was never going to get my perfect ending. Life doesn’t work that way – Jesus, look at me now – five minutes from losing my job, relationship-less with a sister and a friend in the shit with their love lives. If you two – sensible heads that you are – can’t get it right, then I have feck all chance. So that’s that then. Discussion over.”

  “You should still text him back,” she answered with a wink and I threw my phone across the room in a fit of pique before locking myself into the unbelievably gorgeous bathroom and saying more bad words than I had ever said before in my life. And it felt fucking good.

  We were walking down Grafton Street when my phone (rescued from under the gorgeous bed in the gorgeous hotel room) beeped to life again.

  “Taking the rest of the day off. I need you,” Darcy had written and I felt my heart sink again.

  I showed it to Fionn.

  “Darcy?”

  “Yep.”

  “I need to go, alone,” I said and she nodded.

  “Okay, I’ll shop on and I’ll see you whenever. You know where I’ll be – spending up a storm. There are a few wedding boutiques I feel the need to visit.”

  Her words were light but she looked as emotional as I felt. We knew that chances were Darcy and Gerry had not come to some happy conclusion overnight. I hugged her tightly and limped off in the direction of a taxi rank to find a cab to take me to Waterloo Road (I had now memorised the address) and I didn’t even care if he took me the long way round or overcharged me. Darcy was worth it. Suddenly I was glad my own life was in the shitter and that I had come to Dublin to get my head sorted. At least, for once, I could be there for Darcy when she needed me although what the feck I was going to say to make her feel better was beyond me.

  I felt slightly sick as we wound through the busy Dublin streets, veering in and out of the bus lane and dodging cyclists, while I watched the taxi-meter clock up the fare at a shocking rate.

  I was not looking forward to this. Not one bit.

  27

  “Gerry is moving out,” Darcy said in a very matter-of-fact manner as she switched on the kettle and sat two cups on the worktop. “So I’m going to have to get a room-mate. I think one of the younger girls at work might be interested. I mean, it’s a great location, isn’t it? And our – my – spare room is lovely. Just no way I could pay the rent on my own.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing – just stared at the teacups and tried to still the thumping of my heart.

  “I’m going to go to work tomorrow, even though it’s a Saturday. I’ll find something to do. He’s picking up his stuff then. Best I’m out of his way. But I’m hiding all my favourite CDs and DVDs tonight – there’s no way he’s taking those. I might pack up some of his books. Feck knows he has enough of them. Still, I’ll be able to fill the bookcases with photos and trinkets like I always wanted. Waste of the good floor-to-ceiling cases, if you ask me, all those books in them. He’s staying with his mother tonight. So, you know, you are welcome here.”

  “I’ll be here,” I said.

  “It’s no Westbury,” she said with a half-smirk and poured
the hot water into the cups before dunking some teabags into them.

  “The Westbury can wait,” I said.

  “Grand job. You can help me pack then. Feck knows I’m useless at it. I’d break something, no doubt. But best I sort through his clothes. I mean, wouldn’t want you handling his smalls.”

  She was being very, very jovial about it all, but she wasn’t making eye contact which meant that really she was just about holding it together. It was going to come crashing in around her soon and I knew that I absolutely had to be there when it did, even though the very thought of it scared the absolute shite out of me.

  “I’ve no biscuits,” she said, opening one of the shaker-style cupboards and lifting out a packet of Ryvita. “Will this do? Don’t suppose it will, really. I mean, who eats Ryvita with their tea? Even if you put something nice on it, it’s still not a good dunker, is it? I mean, I should have got some chocolate biscuits in when I knew you were coming. Come to think of it, I asked Gerry to pick some up on his way home from the college on Tuesday night and he didn’t bother. He must have forgotten.”