by Zara Keane
Jonas grinned. “Last one there cooks?”
“You’re on.”
They raced down the beach, neck and neck for the first while until Gavin gained the advantage. He bounded up the slippery stone steps, across Beach Road, and waited for Jonas at the door of the cottage.
“Ha,” he said when Jonas hauled himself up the garden path, gasping for breath. “You’d make the perfect ad for an anti-smoking campaign.”
“Feck off,” said Jonas, panting. “I lost on purpose.”
“Sure you did.” Gavin inserted his key into the lock.
“Self-preservation, mate. You can’t cook for shite.”
Gavin opened the door of the cottage. They were greeted by the sound of retching.
Gavin froze, then legged it into his bedroom, Jonas close behind. “Aw, no.”
“Jaysus,” Jonas said. “Is it my imagination, or is Wiggly Poo regurgitating your wedding suit?”
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Time to play happy families.”
Bridie wrenched open the curtains. Sunlight flooded Fiona’s old bedroom, revealing faded posters of rock bands she’d loved as a teenager and Bridie’s bright orange dress.
“Ugh.” Blinking, she buried her head beneath her pillow. “Not time yet.”
“Olivia’s drinking tea in the kitchen. Says she’s here to lend you a hand getting ready for the wedding.”
Fiona emerged from underneath the pillow. “Does no one trust me to wear appropriate footwear to the church?”
“Frankly, no.”
“Your faith in me is touching.” She threw off her duvet and found her feet. In the wardrobe's full-length mirror, her reflection stared back. A wild bush of dark curls on her head, bags under her eyes, and five kilos above her ideal weight.
“Now that you’re no longer maid of honor, do you have an outfit to wear to the wedding?”
“Nothing fancy,” replied Fiona. “I have a black dress I can jazz up with jewelry.”
“Sounds grand. Don’t forget to remove your lip ring. Deirdre made particular mention of it.”
Fiona stuck her tongue out. “Oh, all right.”
“In that case, I’ll leave you girls to get ready.” She fastened a matching orange hat to her head. “I’m due to give The Major a lift to the church. And check his attire. That man cannot be trusted to wear a matching tie.”
Fiona bit back a laugh. The Earl of Clonmore—more commonly known as The Major—was Olivia’s grandfather and Bridie’s favorite frenemy. They argued about life, the universe, and everything during bridge, bingo, and flower shows.
Fiona threw on her dressing gown and went out into the kitchen.
Olivia was seated at the kitchen table, drinking tea and perusing the morning paper. She wore a beautiful emerald dress, and her auburn hair was pulled into a chic chignon. She looked up when Fiona came in. “Wow, Fee. Conditioner is your friend.”
“Morning to you, too, Liv.”
“Right, girls. I’m off.” Bridie grabbed her handbag off the kitchen counter. “Be at the church before eleven.”
“Yes, Bridie,” they chorused.
When she left, Fiona turned to Olivia. “I love her to bits, but she’s driving me mad. As far as she’s concerned, I’m still a kid. And when I’m around her, I revert.”
“Tea?” Olivia indicated the half-full pot on the table.
“No, thanks. I’ll hit the shower and get dressed; then we can spend a productive hour cyberstalking people we used to know way back when.”
Olivia laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”
Fiona showered, dressed, and applied more makeup than she usually wore. She was fiddling with her hair when Olivia knocked on her bedroom door.
“Shall I?” She pointed to Fiona’s hair straighteners.
“It’s hopeless. I can’t seem to tame it.”
“Never fear. Olivia is here.”
Within fifteen minutes, Olivia had Fiona’s hair straightened and tamed.
A glamorous stranger stared back at her from the vanity mirror, straight-haired and red-lipped. “You’re a genius. Thank you.”
“No problem.” Olivia glanced at her phone. “We have over an hour before we’re due at the church.”
“My aunt asked me to clear out my storage boxes. Want to laugh at our school yearbook photos?”
“Sounds like the sort of thing mature adults would do,” Olivia said. “Go get them.”
“Bridie’s got my old photo albums and mementos stored under the bed.” Fiona bent down and pulled out a couple of boxes. “I keep meaning to sort through them and take the ones I want to save home to my apartment in Dublin. I guess this weekend is as good a time as any.”
Olivia lifted the lid off the first box and leafed through a small photo album. “These are from our school trip to Berlin in third year. Oh, my God. That was the time I shaved my head, and the nuns had a conniption.”
“There are even worse ones of you in here,” Fiona said. “Irish college the summer before the Leaving Cert. You dyed your hair pink, and I dyed mine blue.”
“Gosh, we look a state.”
Olivia lifted the lid off the second container and rifled through its contents. “Looks like this one is from your year in the States. I have fond memories of the time we met up in San Francisco. Hey, here’s a picture of you with your host family. Do you keep in touch?”
“Christmas cards.”
“Oh, wow!” Olivia held up an elegant wooden box emblazoned with Chinese characters. “You still have your little memory box.”
“What?” Fiona dropped the envelope she was holding. A prickle of foreboding snaked down her spine. What had she kept in that box?
“I have no idea what happened to mine,” Olivia said. “Do you remember the day we bought them in that little shop in Chinatown?”
Gavin… Las Vegas… oh, feck! She tried to yank it out of Olivia’s grasp.
“No way.” Olivia was grinning. “I want to know what you hid in the false bottom.”
“Give it here.”
Olivia had already opened the box and located its false bottom.
Fiona’s heart rate accelerated into the fast lane. Feck, feck, feck!
Olivia was holding papers in her hand. “Ah, you’re a sly one. Photos, eh?”
“I’m serious. Give me the box.”
“Hold on a sec… here’s one of you and Gavin. Huh?” Olivia raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You look pretty cozy. Where was this taken?”
Fiona’s stomach performed a stunt worthy of an acrobat. “Las Vegas.”
“Vegas, eh? Where’s Muireann in these pictures?” Olivia put her hand back into the box and extracted more photos and papers. She flipped through them and then paused. “What the hell?”
Shite! Olivia must have found the photo of her and Gavin kissing. Why hadn’t she destroyed it years ago? Why had she been soppy and sentimental and kept it?
“Fiona.” Olivia’s rosy cheeks were pale, her voice uncharacteristically tremulous. “Is this a marriage certificate?”
Chapter Seven
“AW, FUCK!” Gavin tossed his water bottle to the ground and inspected the damage.
Wiggly Poo gave a final retch, then bounded up to Gavin and licked his hand.
“Get off me, you bad dog. Look what you’ve done.”
Wiggly Poo retrieved the remnants of Gavin’s wedding suit trousers from his dog basket and deposited them at his master’s feet.
“Are you expecting praise for massacring my trousers?”
The dog wagged his tail.
“Do you think we should call the vet?” Jonas leaned against the doorframe of Gavin’s bedroom, a smile curving his lips.
“That fecker ate my wedding suit.” Gavin held up the shredded trousers. “He deserves to be sick.”
“You’re a heartless dog daddy.” Jonas was laughing. The traitor!
“For the last time, it’s not my dog.”
“Whatever you say, mate.” His friend straightened and reached
for Gavin’s suit jacket. “He’s after puking all over this, too.”
“What the hell am I going to do?” He threw open his wardrobe and rifled through his clothes. “Muireann’s going to kill me.”
“An unfortunate start to married life,” Jonas said dryly. “Have you no other suit you could wear?”
“None Muireann would deem acceptable. It has to be a morning suit.”
“Okay. You hop in the shower, and I’ll ring the suit rental place on Patrick Street.”
“Shouldn’t we take the dog to the vet first? If I need to take him, it’d better be now. We’re not due at the church until eleven.”
“Nah. He looks remarkably cheerful for a dog that just threw up. We’ll give him breakfast and see how he fares.”
“Right.” Gavin leaned his head against the wardrobe door, thoughts racing, chest heaving. “Dammit. Muireann will be pissed. She was dead set on me wearing that suit.”
“Shower. Shave. I’ll take care of the dog and the phone call.”
“Jonas, you’re a star. Thank you.”
“No worries. Now get moving.” Jonas picked up Wiggly Poo. “And don’t have a panic attack in the shower.”
“Not panic. Asthma.” Gavin gestured toward Wiggly Poo.
Jonas arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, right.”
Gavin stripped in his en suite bathroom and stepped into the shower. He blasted it at top power, relishing the feeling of the needles of water stabbing his back. Everything would be fine. He’d find a solution. Even if he couldn’t wear the suit Muireann had chosen, he wouldn’t show up at the church in his birthday suit.
He washed, shaved, and dressed with as much speed as he could muster in his groggy state. Jeans and a T-shirt would do until he got a suit at The Black Tie. By the time he entered the kitchen, Jonas had breakfast on the table.
Gavin sniffed the air in appreciation. “A full Irish. Jonas, I might marry you instead.”
“I figured a culinary coronary would be a fitting end to the morning.”
“Woof!” Wiggly Poo dashed under the kitchen table and buried his snout in Gavin’s crotch.
“Wiggly Poo. We need to have a word about your manners. Crotch sniffing is not socially acceptable.”
“You’re not seriously going to leave the poor creature saddled with that name?”
“I dunno.” Gavin examined the dog. “It sort of suits him.”
Jonas speared a fried mushroom. “I spoke to Nora at The Black Tie. She’s rooting in the back for a couple of suits for you. Said it’s a pity you’re so tall.”
“I won’t be shrinking between now and the ceremony. Whatever she has will have to do.”
“Right-o. Eat up, and we’ll go by after we drop the dog off.”
“Sure your aunt realizes what she’s letting herself in for?”
“Ignorance is bliss, my friend. Besides, Mary’s good with dogs. She’ll be grand.”
“It’s her house I’m worried about.”
He piled his plate high with rashers, sausages, black and white puddings, fried mushrooms, and tomatoes. On one point Jonas was correct: he was the superior cook. “Delicious.”
“The dog seems to like it, too.”
“What the…” Wiggly Poo had hopped up on the chair next to Gavin’s and was helping himself from Gavin’s plate. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.” He scooped up the puppy and placed him beside his food bowl. “Bad doggy. You’ve worse table manners than Bernard.”
“If he tucked into your grub with such gusto, looks like he won’t be needing a vet,” Jonas said, grinning.
Gavin’s mobile rang. He glanced at caller display.
His fiancée. Damn. What was he going say about the suit?
“Muireann.” His voice rang with false cheer.
Jonas mimed a hangman’s noose, complete with comical facial expressions.
Gavin flipped him the finger. He strode into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. “How are you this morning? All ready for the wedding?”
“What’s wrong, Gavin?” She sounded peevish. “Did something happen?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“Your tone of voice. Is Wiggly Poo okay? You took him for a morning walk, right?”
Damn He knew he’d forgotten something. “Yeah, sure.”
“Good.” Her tone was clipped. “I’m calling to remind you to bring the rings.”
“That’s Jonas’s job.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m calling you. Jonas is about as reliable as a leaking boat.”
“That’s a bit harsh.”
“But accurate.”
“Jonas is my friend, Muireann. I don’t bitch about the twins.”
Silence.
“Sorry. I want today to be perfect,” she said.
“Fine,” Gavin said. “I’ll make sure he has them.”
“By the way, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I wanted to mention it to you last night, but we had that disagreement.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m late.”
“Late?”
“My period, silly.”
Gavin’s blood turned to ice. “Come again?”
“It might be due to wedding stress, but I’m usually so regular.”
His mouth formed silent words. Seconds of tense silence stretched into a minute.
“Aren’t you going to say anything, Gavin?”
“I… that’s… great.” He tasted bile and swallowed hard.
“I know we hadn’t planned to start trying for another few months. Sometimes, these things just happen.”
They did? Surely not when people were vigilant about birth control.
“I knew you’d be pleased,” she continued. “I haven’t bought a pregnancy test yet, but I thought the news would cheer you up before you have to face the crowd in the church.”
“That’s great,” he repeated, feeling sick.
“I’ll see you at the church in a couple of hours. This wedding is going to be perfect.”
“What’s this?” Olivia clutched a piece of paper in her hand.
Fiona stared at her, and her heart began to race. “It’s nothing,” she said and tried to snatch it from Olivia.
Olivia took a step back and held the certificate out of reach. “Like hell it’s nothing. This says you married Gavin Maguire in Las Vegas eight years ago.”
“We didn’t, though. Not really.” Fiona’s voice cracked with desperation, and her palms began to sweat.
“You didn’t really marry?” Olivia’s eyebrows reached the ceiling. “You’ll need to rephrase that for me, Fee. Perhaps I’m slow on the uptake after last night’s debauchery. I thought one was either married or not, no in between.”
“We exchanged vows. However, the officiant didn’t register the marriage.”
“Whoa! Back up a sec. Officiant?” Olivia blinked. “If you had an officiant, how is the marriage not legal?”
“It’s… complicated.”
“So explain it to me in easy-peasy words.”
Fiona regarded Olivia’s stubborn expression and sighed. “You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?”
“No way. I see a marriage certificate between you and Gavin—the groom in the wedding we’re about to attend—and I want answers.”
“Okay, fine. It’s not what you think. This is only a provisional cert and the officiant was a drunk Elvis impersonator.”
“Fee! Tell me what happened.”
“Remember when Muireann and her pals came to stay during my year in Flagstaff, Arizona?”
“Uninvited, if I recall correctly.”
“Yeah. You know Muireann. She showed up with Gavin, the twins, and a couple of other lads in tow. She wasn’t going out with Gavin yet, but it was only a matter of time. They stayed in the Flagstaff area for a few days and planned a trip to the Grand Canyon.”
“And didn’t invite you.” Olivia finished her thought.
; “Of course not. It was kind of embarrassing. My host family let me have the weekend free to spend with them, and they took off without me.”
“Sounds like the Muireann we know and love,” Olivia said dryly. “How did this all lead to you, Gavin, and a dude in an Elvis suit?”
“I’m getting there, Liv. Bear with me. Anyway, they’d been gone a couple of hours when I got a call from Gavin. He’d realized I’d been left behind against my will and told Muireann and the others to go on without him. They’d left him somewhere along Route 64. He called me to come collect him because he was stranded.”
“And muggins complied.” Olivia shook her head. “Thank goodness you’ve developed backbone in the intervening years.”
“Oy! Do you want me to finish telling the story, or not?”
Olivia picked up her mug of tea. “Sorry. Go on.”
“I collected Gavin. He was in a pisser of a mood. I asked if he wanted us to drive to the Grand Canyon. He said no. Didn’t want to run the risk of running into Muireann and the others until he’d had time to calm down. He wanted to know what I planned to do with my weekend off. I said I was toying with the idea of heading to Vegas but wasn’t sure I had the nerve to go on my own.”
“Ha! So says the woman about to embark on a world trip alone.”
Fiona gave a wry smile. “We’re talking about twenty-one-year-old me. The idea of walking into a restaurant on my own terrified me. A bar or casino? Forget it.”
“And Gavin oh-so-conveniently suggested he accompany you?”
“Yeah. I was shocked, to be honest. Also a little excited. I’d always had a crush on Gavin, but it was clear Muireann was making a play for him, and Muireann always gets what she wants. I didn’t seriously think anything would happen between us that weekend, but I was willing to go and have a laugh.”
“By the look of that photo, you had more than a laugh.”
“Put it this way—turns out Long Island iced tea contains five shots of alcohol. Who knew?”
“Oh, dear,” Olivia said with a laugh. “How many did you down?”
“I lost count after the third.”
Olivia winced. “Ouch.”
“Indeed. I vaguely recall chatting to a drunk Elvis impersonator in a bar. Either we bought him a drink, or he bought us a round. He’d lost his job and his wife had kicked him out. Anyway, he told us he’d worked as a wedding officiant at a local chapel until they fired him a couple of weeks before. We thought this was funny. With the alcohol flowing, we thought everything was funny.