Double Wedding

by Patricia Scanlan

  * * *

  Mike glanced at his watch and pulled the hood of his windcheater over his head as the rain began to pelt down and in the distance, towards the sea, a crack of thunder rolled across the heavens and flashes of lightning rent the glowering skies. Back to normal, he thought wryly, the sunny balmy weather they’d enjoyed on the river a distant memory. He quickened his pace. He didn’t want to be late. It was almost five. He broke into a quick jog, turning into the well-tended landscaped grounds of his destination. A couple of minutes later he was at the car park and he waited patiently, sheltering under a nearby tree until he saw her running lightly down the steps, trying to get her umbrella up as she ran.

  Mike stepped out from his place of shelter.

  ‘Jessie, Jessie,’ he called, his heart lifting at the sight of her. She stopped, stunned, and then her face broke into the biggest smile ever and she ran to him and flung herself into his arms.

  ‘Oh, Mike, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I really missed you. I love you. I’m really, really sorry.’ She was nearly crying and he hugged her tightly to him, never wanting to let her go.

  ‘I’m sorry too, I was a shit. I love you, Jessie. Let’s never do that again,’ he said fiercely, before bending his face to hers and kissing her with a passion that left them both breathless.

  16

  ‘He was waiting for you in the car park,’ Carol said faintly. ‘Did you let him have it?’

  ‘No.’ Jessica sighed. ‘I was just so glad to see him we fell into each other’s arms. It was a silly tiff, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ Carol couldn’t hide her exasperation or her disappointment. ‘You’re too soft with him, Jessica. You let Mike walk all over you,’ she remonstrated. Honestly, there were times she could murder her friend. Didn’t she have any backbone? She wouldn’t have given in so easily.

  ‘He made the first move, he came to meet me,’ Jessica pointed out sharply.

  ‘Don’t take the nose off me!’ Carol said tartly. ‘Did he say anything about Gary?’ She tried her best to keep her tone casual.

  ‘Not really,’ Jessica hedged.

  ‘I suppose he spent the rest of his time on the Shannon getting pissed.’

  ‘Something like that,’ Jessica agreed. ‘Are you going to contact him?’

  ‘What for? I gave him his ring back. He didn’t exactly bend over backwards to give it back to me, did he?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Jessie had to agree.

  ‘Look, I’ll let you go, I’ll see you at the club during the week,’ Carol said briskly. ‘Glad everything’s OK for you. Bye.’ She hung up the receiver, ran upstairs to the flat and threw herself on her bed. So Jessie and Mike were back together. That row hadn’t lasted very long, she thought contemptuously. Jessie was a doormat.

  At least she wasn’t. Bitterness engulfed her. Gary hadn’t contacted her. Or wasn’t likely to either. Well, she was damned if she was going to give him the satisfaction of getting in touch with him. She looked at the silver-framed photo she had of him on her mantelpiece. Curly black hair, in need of a cut, heavy-lidded, sexy chestnut-brown smiling eyes with the longest, blackest lashes she’d ever seen. A lopsided grin that could lift her heart more than anything else in the world. Heartache smote her. Could she live with not seeing him any more? The last few days had been pure misery. Waiting for him to ring to say he missed her, yet knowing in her heart of hearts that it wasn’t going to happen.

  Some of her clothes and make-up were in his flat, and a couple of Elvis tapes that she really liked. She had a perfectly legitimate excuse for calling him, she argued with herself. But Gary would like it if she did that. He’d see it as a weakness in her. He’d take it as a sign that she was missing him and regretting what she did. She had a better idea. Carol jumped up off the bed and went to a box on the top of her wardrobe. Pulling out a notepad and paper, she sat down again and wrote swiftly:

  Hi Gary,

  Could you do me a favour, please? I’ve left some clothes and my Elvis tapes in your flat, could you bung them into a bag for me and leave them at reception in the club?

  Cheers,

  Carol.

  She wrote his address on the envelope, folded the letter and sealed the envelope. Cool and casual, perfect, she thought with satisfaction. He wouldn’t be expecting a letter from her. It was much more formal and distant than an email. That would give him something to think about. She rooted in her wallet. She had a stamp somewhere. Finding it, she stuck it viciously on the envelope. Two minutes later she had changed into her jogging gear. There was a sub post office in Phibsboro; the bastard might even get the letter first thing if she posted it before last post.

  With grim purpose she let herself out of the flat and began to jog up the NCR. The downpours of earlier had lessened and a sultry, thundery, oppressive heat hung like a dank, dirty grey dishcloth over the city. She hated running in this type of weather, it made her feel hot and sticky, but she had a purpose and she quickened her speed as she ran past Mountjoy. She swerved to avoid a puddle and bumped into a Garda who had just emerged through the prison gates. ‘Ooops! Sorry,’ she apologized, coming to a stumbling halt.

  ‘Hey, what’s the hurry? You dropped your letter.’ He bent down and picked it up for her.

  ‘Oh, oh, thanks,’ she said, flustered. He grinned at her.

  ‘I could arrest you for deliberate assault, but I’ll just give you a caution this once.’ He had smiling hazel eyes and spoke with an attractive West of Ireland accent.

  ‘That’s very kind of you. I wouldn’t fancy a night in there.’ She indicated the prison behind her.

  ‘I’ve seen you jogging before. Do you live near here?’ he asked conversationally.

  ‘Yes, just down the road,’ she said in surprise.

  ‘Do you ever jog into the pub?’ he asked, hazel eyes twinkling.

  ‘Depends who’s in there,’ she flirted, enjoying herself.

  ‘If I was there in an hour might you jog your way in and buy me a drink for saving you from prison?’ He arched a black eyebrow at her.

  ‘Well, I don’t think there’s any reason that I couldn’t. Anything has to be better than prison,’ Carol found herself saying.

  ‘The name’s Sean. Sean Ryan.’ He held out his hand.

  ‘Carol Logan,’ she reciprocated, enjoying the feel of his firm handclasp. He wasn’t bad-looking at all, she thought approvingly. It would be good for her to go for a drink with him. Especially today when she was so down. Something might come of it, and she could make sure Gary got to hear she was dating a Garda. That would give him something to think about. Her eyes sparkled in anticipation. The day or rather the evening was turning out a whole lot better than anticipated.

  ‘OK so, Sean Ryan, see you in Arthur’s in an hour.’

  ‘If not I might have to come and arrest you for fleeing the jurisdiction. What number did you say you lived in?’ he teased.

  ‘I didn’t.’ She grinned. ‘See ya.’

  She jogged off beaming. ‘Eat your bloody heart out, Gary Davis, I’ve just found myself another man. Ha!’ she murmured, excitement lending a spring to her strides.

  * * *

  Jen Coughlan flung her briefcase on to the sofa, poured herself a glass of chilled Chardonnay and switched on her answering machine. Hearing Gary’s breezy tones ring out into her lounge gave her a start, and she took a long sip of her wine before replaying the message. So he was footloose and fancy-free. She couldn’t help the way her heart leapt at the news. The engagement must be over and he wanted to see her again. What went wrong there? Could she go through that rollercoaster with him again? Agony and ecstasy, she thought wryly, opening the doors to her French windows to stand on the small wrought-iron balcony of her apartment overlooking the Grand Canal.

  Gary Davis was a womanizing shit, she knew that better than anyone, and when he had dumped her and started going out with that iceberg Carol Logan she’d been gutted. When she’d heard they were engaged, she couldn’t believe it
. And then he’d come back to her for a couple of one-night stands, sort of hinting that he wanted them to get back together but never actually doing it. Finally she’d put her foot down and told him to get lost.

  And now this. Typical Gary behaviour. She could tell him to get lost time and again for all the notice he took of her. Jen gazed across the rippling gunmetal water of the canal to where the traffic crawled along bumper to bumper in the evening rush. She didn’t even notice, she was in such a state of turmoil. Why on earth would she even consider going back to him? He was out of her life, let him stay out of it. What was it about him? Jen sighed deeply. She was an intelligent woman in a high-powered position, climbing up the ladder of success. She was attractive, desirable and could have anyone she wanted within reason. Why did she want him?

  Because he was damn sexy and great fun and she’d never felt as alive and living on the edge as she had when she’d been with him. The challenge of keeping him at her side had been all-consuming and her life with him had been an emotional see-saw. When it was good it was very, very good, and when it was bad it was the pits. She grimaced at some of the hurtful memories, remembering what it was like waiting for him to ring. Remembering what it was like watching him flirt with other women.

  Who had ended the engagement? It had to be him. She couldn’t see Carol doing it. When she’d got engaged she’d been insufferable, flashing the ring around. Why had he ended it? Was it because Gary had finally realized that she and not Carol was the woman for him? His phone call seemed to substantiate that train of thought. Jen felt a rising sense of excitement.

  Perhaps at long, long last Gary Davis had come to his senses. She walked back into her apartment and kicked off her high heels. Pouring herself another glass of wine, she switched on the News and drew her long legs up under her on the sofa. She wasn’t going to call him tonight. She didn’t want to seem too eager. But now that there was a chance of getting together with him again she was dying to call him. She picked up the phone, tempted, but reluctantly replaced the receiver. Over-eagerness would be a fatal mistake. She’d give it a day or two and contrive to bump into him in the club. That would be the best way to do it, Jen decided as she stretched like a cat and picked up the phone to tell Lindsay Richards, her best friend, the latest.

  * * *

  Gary checked his messages before leaving the office, miffed beyond measure that neither Carol nor Jen had been in contact. He must be losing his touch, he thought wryly as he shrugged into his jacket. It had been a boring, boring day. Women shouldn’t be allowed to have computers. One dope, convinced she’d had a crash, hadn’t checked her connections and it had taken him two seconds to plug in her adapter properly. A needless call that had taken a half-hour’s bumper-to-bumper driving. Another old idiot, who was writing a play, had called to say a virus had deleted his magnum opus. He wanted an expert who knew what he was about, immediately. Needless to say ‘back up’ did not figure in his vocabulary. The old coot had managed to file away his ‘masterpiece’ in his Excel file and then had the cheek to blame the error on the computer rather than his own ineptitude.

  The only vaguely meaty challenge Gary had had was trying to get to the root of a systems failure in a local newspaper office. He’d spent four hours grappling with the problem, finally getting the system up and running to his satisfaction. Back in the office to finish his paperwork, he’d been a little taken aback that there were no personal messages for him.

  He drove home, confidently expecting a message to be waiting for him on his home machine, and was very put out when he saw that there was no flashing light indicating a message of any sort. The least Carol could do was give him a reason for ending their engagement. It was a bit much throwing his ring back at him without having the manners to explain her reasons. And Jen could have called. She was the first woman he’d contacted since becoming single and free.

  Feeling extremely disgruntled, Gary poured himself a beer and changed into his gym gear. A workout was definitely called for. Women! Who needed them?

  * * *

  Carol popped her letter in the post-box and hurried along to a phone-box further up the street. She dropped a couple of coins into the box and dialled her mother’s number. Might as well get it over and done with. She’d been putting it off all day.

  ‘ ’Lo?’ Nancy muttered, still obviously the worse for wear.

  ‘Hi, Ma, it’s me. Sorry I couldn’t ring until now but we were very busy at work,’ she lied.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Well, you rang me earlier about the wedding,’ Carol said patiently, the old familiar tightness in her stomach.

  ‘Did I? I don’t reme . . . don’t remember,’ her mother slurred.

  ‘I rang just to let you know that I won’t be getting married. I broke off my engagement to Gary.’

  ‘Good. Thash very good. No man’s worth it. I should never have married your fath—’

  The beeps went and Carol went to put another few coins into the phone. Then she thought wearily, what’s the point? She hung up agitatedly. She stepped out of the phone-box unsure what to do. If she was going to call in at the pub she’d never have time to go for a jog in The Phoenix Park, so she decided to head for The Broadstone, and up by the Black Church on to Dorset Street. She could then stroll back up the NCR to ACD’s. She wasn’t going to change clothes. That might give the wrong impression, she decided, as she got into her rhythm, her feet pounding the pavements, exhilarating her as she pushed her body to the limit.

  An hour later she pushed open the heavy door of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s. Dark and smoky, noisy and companionable, the pub was busy. She peered around looking for the Garda. He was standing in civvies – jeans and a dark-green Polo shirt - at the bar. He raised his glass at her and waved. She edged her way through the throng and smiled at him. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi, yourself. Did you have a good run?’

  ‘Good enough.’

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘A Club Orange would be fine,’ Carol said gratefully, looking forward to a nice cold drink.

  ‘Sure you wouldn’t like anything stronger?’

  ‘No, thanks. I play tennis and I’m in training,’ she said firmly, and rather liked him when he didn’t press the issue.

  ‘There’s a table over there.’ He pointed to the corner, where a couple were getting up to leave.

  ‘Well spotted,’ she approved, following him to the table.

  ‘It pays to keep your eyes open.’ Sean eased himself into the seat beside her and smiled at her.

  She smiled back. ‘I guess it does.’

  She took a sip of her drink, feeling quite relaxed. It was strange; she didn’t feel the need to be cool and sophisticated with Sean like she had with Gary. There was no pressure on her to make an impression. She’d obviously done that or he wouldn’t have asked her out for a drink. It was a refreshing experience, she thought, surprised, as she sat chatting easily to him, sipping her ice-cool drink.

  * * *

  ‘I think you should ring her, Bill. At least offer to walk her up the aisle, it’s your right as a father. Don’t let Nancy dictate to you,’ Brona Wallace exclaimed indignantly. Bill smiled down at his partner, nestled against his shoulder.

  ‘Carol’s very hostile. I don’t blame her.’ He sighed.

  ‘Look, it’s time she grew up. You’re her father. You sent your hard-earned money home every week for years and still do, she shouldn’t forget that. The least she could do is meet you for a cup of coffee if she’s expecting you to fork out for the wedding.’

  ‘We’ll see. I’ll think about it. Needless to say, Nancy was pissed and extremely aggressive.’

  ‘My poor darling,’ Brona said sympathetically, hugging him tightly. ‘I don’t know how you stuck it for as long as you did.’

  ‘I don’t know either.’ Bill shook his head at the awful memories of his disastrous marriage.

  ‘Call her. I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear from you at a time like this, any d
aughter would,’ Brona said confidently.

  ‘OK, OK, I will,’ Bill declared, kissing her tenderly.

  * * *

  Nadine Logan tottered up the path to her front door, her impossibly high heels killing her. She felt more than a little queasy. She’d drunk a skinful with her friends Martina and Colette, and then they’d stuffed themselves with chips. She hoped her mother was in bed. She’d been drunk when Nadine had come home from school to change out of her uniform. She’d started going on about Carol’s wedding. She hadn’t shut up about it since Liz Kennedy had said it to her the previous week. Nadine was heartily sick of it. One thing was for sure, she thought woozily, she was damned if she was getting tarted up in a long silly dress to be a bridesmaid. No way was she going to look like a prize prat trotting up the aisle of a church after Carol.

  She opened the door with some difficulty; the key was giving her trouble. Her heart sank when she saw the light on in the sitting-room. She waited for her mother to launch into a diatribe, demanding to know where she’d been until this hour of the night. Not a peep. Slowly Nadine exhaled the breath she’d been holding and peered around the door. Her mother was draped across the sofa, head back, mouth open, snoring loudly. The vodka bottle was at her feet. Beside her on the sofa, Nadine could see her parents’ wedding album.

  ‘Why do you do that to yourself?’ she muttered angrily. ‘Forget him, he’s gone.’ She stood looking at her mother and felt a terrible helpless sadness sweep over her.

  ‘Don’t think about it, don’t think about it,’ she ordered, horrified at the lump in her throat and the damp prickling her eyes. Furiously she wiped her eyes. Crying was a weakness she would never give in to. She looked at the open album and saw a photo of her parents smiling into each other’s eyes, happy, carefree. Viciously she tore the page out of the album and shredded it with difficulty. An anger so deep and intense washed over her she could hardly breathe. She grabbed the album and the torn photo and raced out to the kitchen. With hands that shook, Nadine opened the back door and shoved her parents’ wedding album into the rubbish bag, burying it deep into the detritus of potato peelings and milk cartons and mouldy bread and cheese.