‘It’s a really nice thing to be involved in, but a lot of work.’
‘Mmmm, I’m sure it is,’ Amy said, putting her wallet back in her handbag. ‘Listen, Jess, I’ll give you a shout next week, as we have to get shoes for you and Ciara.’
Jess prayed that she wouldn’t be expected to wear killer high heels or the like for the wedding, but thinking of Ciara knew that Amy’s sister would point-blank refuse to put anything on her feet that didn’t suit her. She’d probably want to wear trainers.
‘Take care of yourself,’ Jess urged, as they both walked up to catch the late-night Luas tram. She had never seen Amy so uptight and distracted. ‘And remember to give my love to Dan.’
Chapter Thirty-one
Amy watched from the corner of her eye as Dan packed his large blue sports bag for the weekend. They’d had a massive row the night before, screaming so much at each other she was sure the couple in the next apartment must have heard them fighting. Dan was insisting that they go away for the weekend, while she had told him they were staying in Dublin.
‘Amy, the surf report is good, so it’s going to be a great weekend!’ Dan begged, trying to get her to change her mind as he checked and packed his new wetsuit and his surf gear and equipment. ‘Come on, Amy, you’d better get a move on, as we want to be able to leave first thing after work tomorrow!’
‘I told you that I’m not going!’ she said angrily. ‘We can’t go! There is far too much to do.’
Amy had no intention of wasting her time watching the lads surf in freezing cold water. It might be March, but the weather, as always for St Paddy’s weekend, was bitterly cold, and when the sun did deign to make an appearance it was usually followed by heavy rain showers.
‘Dan, the weather forecast is bad, and there are lots of things we need to do this weekend.’
‘Lahinch was booked months ago!’ he spat out, furious with her. ‘Conor’s girlfriend Kim is going, and Jamie is bringing Sophie, and Liam and Jade are going. We can’t cancel now! It’s going to be great crack, and the houses we’ve rented are literally on the beach.’
‘OK, it sounds great,’ she said grudgingly, ‘but we’ve too much on: we need to meet that photographer we picked and run through things with him in person. And I promised to go with Ciara and Jess to look for shoes to go with their dresses.’
‘You just don’t want to go away with me to Lahinch!’ he said, standing up. ‘Admit it!’
‘’You’re a hundred per cent right,’ she said angrily. ‘I don’t want to go! I’ve got far too much to do with the wedding.’
‘You are obsessed with the bloody wedding!’ he shouted, glowering at her. ‘It’s all you ever talk about or think about! The wedding! The fecking wedding!’
‘Dan, that’s not fair!’ she argued, hurt by his accusation. ‘We’re getting married in less than twelve weeks’ time and there is so much to do!’
‘Well, you just go bloody do it, because I’ve had enough of flowers and menus and invitations and music and readings and what kind of tie or waistcoat I have to wear, and all that crap! I’m sick of it.’
Amy stopped. She had never seen Dan so angry.
‘Dan!’
‘Don’t Dan me!’ he countered fiercely. ‘I’ve had enough of this bloody wedding, morning, noon and night. It is all you ever talk about. You used to be fun, a laugh, but now you’ve totally changed. You’re not the Amy I proposed to in Venice! You’ve turned into some weird kind of Bridezilla!’
Amy couldn’t believe what he was saying.
‘I should never have said that we would get married. We were happy as we were, now it’s all changed.’
‘What do you mean?’ she whispered, conscious of a sinking feeling in her stomach.
‘I mean, maybe we should think about this whole marriage thing, and if it is really what we want.’
‘It’s what I want,’ she said firmly. ‘I love you. I want us to be married and spend the rest of our lives together.’
Her sentiments were greeted by a yawning silence. What was Dan thinking! What did he want?
‘I want to spend my life with you, too,’ he admitted grudgingly. ‘But I don’t care about the rest of it! Listen, stay in Dublin! Do whatever silly thing you think needs doing, but I’m going surfing with the lads! There was a time all you wanted was for the two of us to pack up and head off to the West, surf, swim, laze on the beach, walk, just have fun and a few pints and a meal. Now it’s all changed. You’ve changed.’
Dan sounded sad, as if they had lost something, something they would never get back.
Amy was tempted to say ‘Feck the wedding’, and all the plans, and just agree to go with him, fling a few things into her backpack and wrap up warm in her big red fleece! But her anxieties about not having perfect photographs of their big day, or her sister wearing the wrong shoes with her bridesmaid dress just seemed more important. Dan could surely understand that?
‘Dan, just go with the lads. Surf all day. I’ll stay here for the weekend. It’s only two days, and I’ll cook a lovely dinner for when you get back on Sunday,’ she promised, trying to appease him.
Dan said nothing; he just bent down, fiddling with the spare runners and wet socks he had put in the bag.
‘Whatever you want, Amy,’ he said. ‘Whatever! I’m going to bed.’
Amy sat stunned on the leather couch. OK, Dan was upset with her, but at least it was sorted. She went over, turned on her laptop and began searching on the internet for gold strappy sandals for her sister and Jess in some of the Dublin shoe shops they’d visit on Saturday. House of Frazer in Dundrum had a huge selection: maybe they should start off looking there. She also organized to meet Julien Marks, the photographer, to discuss the type of photos they wanted and the arrangements for Castle Gregory. Dan was asleep in bed, his back turned to her, when she finally slid in beside him. They slept side by side, without touching, all night.
In the morning he was in the shower and gone before she had time to say a word to him, just catching a flash of his figure with his sports bag flung over his shoulder disappearing out the door.
‘Have a good time!’ she yelled.
‘See you Sunday,’ he snarled gruffly, not even returning to give her a good-morning kiss.
She tried to shake off her sense of unease about his behaviour, but, not wanting to get in another fight with him, just let it go. She’d text him later.
She kept herself busy all weekend, watching a video with Aisling and Nikki on Friday night, and on Saturday going on a shoe-shopping blitz with Jess and Ciara, which resulted in the two most perfect pairs of high-heeled gold strappy shoes for the girls. She hadn’t been able to resist a pair for herself, too, and planned to wear them on honeymoon.
She’d also met with the photographer in Sandycove. Julien Marks was great, very down-to-earth, but his prices were pretty steep. He showed her the various wedding packages he did, which ranged from the very formal to completely casual. She’d fallen in love with the type of wedding photos he took: some were classic, and others in black and white and colour, were just that bit quirky and different. She was glad that she’d had the chance to run through things with him and discuss the kind of album she wanted to order.
On Saturday evening she’d joined Tara and Sarah and a few friends for pizza and a few glasses of wine down in Dun Laoghaire, getting a taxi home on her own at midnight, as she had no interest in hitting the Leeson Street nightclubs. She had phoned Dan and sent him a few messages throughout the day and evening but his phone seemed to be off, or maybe he had just forgotten to recharge it.
On Sunday she had gone for a brisk walk on Sandymount Strand and tidied the apartment, washing the floor and changing their bed and cleaning the bathroom and shower until they were sparkling. She’d had lunch with her parents, and got two nice steaks and a bottle of Dan’s favourite wine for dinner. He’d be ravenous after surfing all weekend, and she was dying to hear about the trip. The weather had picked up on Saturday afternoon and st
ayed dry on Sunday, so it would have been fine surfing weather. He should be in good form. He’d probably get home by 7 p.m.
She tried to dismiss her concern, and sat down to have another go at the invitation list, adding even more friends’ names to the sheet in her bulging pink Filofax, and deleting a few cousins that she hardly ever saw. By eight she was panicking, and kept phoning and texting Dan, wondering where he was. At ten o’clock she rang Liam to ask if he was still with Dan.
‘He’s with me,’ admitted Liam. ‘He’s staying in my place for the night but I’ll get him to phone you tomorrow.’
Amy wanted to scream at Liam and demand that he send Daniel back to her straight away, but instead she just said, ‘I see.’
She didn’t sleep a wink all night, and dragged herself into work the next morning, leaving her phone on all day – even when she went to meetings – in case Dan tried to contact her. She felt sick and panicky, and couldn’t concentrate, snapping at Niamh Owens – the new junior in the firm – and doing her utmost to keep out of her boss’s way. Norah had antennae about personal troubles, and Amy had no intention of discussing herself and Dan’s problems with her. At ten past five she escaped the office and rushed home. She sat on the couch drinking coffee till almost nine, too nauseated and tense to eat.
A few minutes later she heard Dan’s key in the lock and jumped up to greet him.
‘We need to talk,’ he said slowly. Amy noticed he had not brought home his bag. Like a zombie, she followed him into the sitting room.
Dan paced up and down the wooden floorboards.
‘I don’t think we should get married now,’ he said firmly.
‘What do you mean?’ she demanded, her stomach lurching. ‘Do you want to delay the wedding? Put it off for a few weeks?’
She could feel hysteria rise, threatening to engulf her, as if she had been hit by a tidal wave and was being swept under.
‘No, Amy, I want to call the whole thing off. I’m not ready to get married to you at the moment.’
‘That bastard Liam has put you up to this!’ she cried furiously.
‘Liam has nothing to do with it,’ he said patiently. ‘Liam was actually trying to persuade me to go ahead with things. No, this is totally my decision. I’ve had all weekend . . . more, to think about it. Funny, when you are out there on a board in the water on your own, things become clearer.’
Amy sat staring at the glass coffee table, tempted to kick it or fling it and have it break into a million pieces, to shatter it like her heart.
‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I should have said something earlier, but you were so caught up in all the arrangements that I just didn’t know what to do.’ He ran his tanned fingers through his hair. ‘Every time I did try to say something you just kept on going . . . it was like a big juggernaut powering ahead and I had no control or say over it.’
‘Dan . . . I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel that way.’ She sobbed. ‘I love you.’
‘I know,’ he said, softening and giving her hope. ‘I love you, too, but I still don’t think we should get married . . . not till we both feel it is right.’
Amy sat stunned on the couch, not knowing what to say or do.
‘I’m going to stay with Liam for a bit, give you time to sort things out. Maybe we should wind things down for a bit . . . just see how it goes.’
Amy felt like she couldn’t breathe. She had to get up and go to the balcony window for air, trying to suck it into her lungs.
‘I’m sorry, Amy, honest, I am.’
She fiddled with the ring on her finger.
‘Do you want it back?’
He didn’t answer her, and, wordless, Amy slipped the diamond off her finger and put it on the coffee table between them.
They both stared at it, and Amy watched as almost in slow motion he picked it up and held it.
‘It’s still yours,’ he said, holding it in the palm of his hand.
‘Well, you keep it, then,’ she said. ‘You paid for it.’
He reeled, as if she had punched him, and she wondered when they had started being so cruel to each other.
He slipped the ring into his pocket, and Amy was immediately filled with regret, noticing the pale circle on her ring finger and aware of the gaping hole that had been torn in her heart by the man she had thought she was going to marry.
‘What will we say to people?’
‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘Whatever you want to tell them is fine with me.’
She sat totally still as Dan went to the bedroom and grabbed some clothes from the wardrobe: his good jacket and trousers and a few shirts and ties.
‘Dan, please don’t go. We can work things out,’ she begged, losing control and standing up in front of him, like a small child trying to block his escape.
‘I’ll talk to you in a day or two,’ he said calmly, sidestepping away from her. ‘Take care of yourself.’
She stood like a statue for half an hour after he’d left, listening for the sound of his door key, the door reopening, imagining that somehow she had made a mistake, dreamed this, and that Dan would walk in and hug her and kiss her and never let her go . . .
Chapter Thirty-two
Amy sat in the apartment as it got darker and darker, too shocked and scared to move.
It felt like she had been in some sort of accident: a head-on collision with some huge vehicle which had left her broken and battered and unable to stir. She was like a bird that had been hit by one car and sat waiting for another to come along and finish it off.
She was breathing; she could hear the raspy gasp of her breath, and feel her heart beat, but hadn’t the courage or energy to move or do anything but sit there.
The bedroom seemed miles away, and she somehow pulled the woollen throw from the back of the couch over herself and huddled there as hour after hour passed.
She heard the sound of midnight sirens and lonely middle-of-the-night cars, busy taxis, grinding street-cleaners and bin lorries, and gradually the rumble of early-morning traffic. She ignored it all, just sat there.
Her mobile rang somewhere in her handbag in the bedroom . . . she ignored it.
Dawn’s first light gradually forced its way into the living room, sneaking over the balcony and through the curtains, and she retreated to the bathroom, where she was violently sick. She sat there as wave after wave of nausea washed over her. Eventually, clammy and exhausted, she staggered to the bedroom, where she fell into bed and the glory of oblivion.
It was late afternoon when she finally woke: to the dreadful realization that Dan was gone and their wedding plans had just been some silly dream that she had believed in.
What was she going to say? What would she tell people? How could she explain that she had let the man of her dreams, her soulmate, slip through her hands because of her own crass stupidity?
She longed to turn back time to last weekend, to pack her bag with her wetsuit and togs and jeans and fleece hoodie and join Dan and his friends. To walk the beach, surf, swim, play! To have the wind whip through her hair and cover her with sand, Dan and herself making a game of kissing and rubbing it away at night in the little house overlooking the beach!
‘No . . . noo,’ she cried, frightening herself with the moan that escaped her.
Her phone rang again. She reached for it, hoping that Dan’s name would come up. There were a load of missed calls and text messages but nothing . . . absolutely nothing from him. Pain assaulted her again, and she ran to the bathroom.
She barely recognized the girl staring back at her in the mirror: she was a mess, eyes red-rimmed, nose snotty and streaming, skin ghostly white, hair all over the place. She looked mad, crazy! Back in bed she curled up, wanting to die. Wishing the pain would stop and that she could break free from it.
The phone rang again. It was Jess.
‘Amy . . . I’ve been trying to get you all day. Are you OK?’
Good old Jess, who always knew when somethi
ng was wrong with her, when she was upset or frightened or scared.
‘No!’ she blurted out, beginning to cry. ‘Dan and I have broken up. The wedding is off.’
She could hear Jess’s shocked intake of breath.
‘You’ve had a fight,’ Jess said calmly. ‘You’ll get over it!’
‘No, Jess, it’s over,’ Amy bawled, breaking down. ‘He’s gone to stay at Liam’s . . . I don’t know what to do.’
‘I’ll be there as quick as I can,’ Jess said, putting down the phone. Amy could imagine Jess grabbing her car keys and going out to her green Golf and driving determinedly to her apartment.
Thirty minutes later she opened the door for Jess, who seemed to take the situation under control almost straight away, putting on the kettle and opening the curtains to let some light and air into the place.
‘Sit down!’ she ordered in her teacher’s voice. ‘You need a cup of tea and something to eat.’
Jess made her eat soft fingers of buttered toast, and sweet milky tea laden with sugar. ‘You’ve had a shock,’ she said.
Amy’s mouth felt dry as she tried to speak and recount, step by step, what had happened the night before. And her refusal to go to Lahinch with Dan, and the litany of cancelled nights and days and weekends that had built up over the past few months.
‘Am I that bad, have I been such a cow to Dan because I wanted everything to be perfect for our wedding day?’ she anguished.
‘You have been obsessed with the wedding,’ Jess said carefully. ‘It’s as if nothing else mattered to you for months. Maybe Dan felt even he wasn’t that important to you any more, you had got so caught up in it all.’
Amy howled again.
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