A Wedding at O'Mara's (The Guesthouse on the Green Book 6)

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘And for your information, madam, you couldn’t possibly know what colour my underpants are, because I am wearing the thing.’

  Aisling frowned her mind beginning to boggle. ‘What thing?’

  ‘You know, the thing. The thing you girls all get about with.’

  Her three daughters shook their heads with no clue as to what she was on about.

  ‘The thing, the string thing that goes up your—'

  ‘Jaysus wept, Mammy, the thong,’ Moira cringed. ‘Too much information!’

  Roisin went pale, wondering if there was a reason her mammy had stopped wearing the underpants that came up to her chin.

  Aisling, aghast, said, ‘No, Mammy, it’s my day and I don’t want to see your arse every time I step into the changing room. You’re to put some sensible knickers on before we go.’

  The bickering carried on all the way up the stairs to the family apartment.

  Chapter 10

  Madame Mullan with her gleaming blonde chignon and exquisitely cut yellow silk wrap dress was like a golden vision and Aisling had whispered this sentiment to Moira moments after they’d arrived at the Bridal Emporium. They’d received the sort of welcome reserved for royalty or Westlife as they piled boisterously in the door of the boutique but as their feet sank into the luxuriously thick pile carpet and they’d taken in their surrounds, they’d quietened down. The Bridal Emporium was the type of establishment where it felt appropriate to whisper reverently, a bit like being in church. Moira had whispered back that Madame Mullan reminded her of a giant dandelion but in a good way. Aisling wasn’t sure what to make of that comment but she’d begun to feel a tad nervous at Madame’s effusiveness. She was, after all, a shopkeeper, albeit a golden one, and shopkeepers were only ever that nice to people they thought were going to spend loads of money.

  Mammy was giving her and Quinn a very generous contribution toward the wedding but even so, this place reeked of the green stuff in a way that was making her tummy jump about. Especially with Quinn making noises about house buying and the like. And was that a runway? There was a raised platform with curtains leading into the fitting rooms from which, she presumed she’d emerge. A cluster of seats were arranged in front of the stage for the bridal party to pass verdict. Aisling sniffed, detecting the hint of a floral fragrance floating on the air. Chanel No. 5 perhaps? She shook the nerves aside; she’d come this far, now was not the time to worry about her finances. She sniffed again, wondering what the odds were of Madame Mullan using the same air freshener Mammy had been doing the hard sell on lately. Anyone would think she was getting a backhander from the company the way she went on about it. Moira elbowed her. ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That sniffy thing you’re after doing, it makes you look like a gingery seal coming up for air.’

  She ignored Moira as she pondered whether she’d made a mistake coming here. She caught sight of her face, pale and slightly drawn, in the reflection of one of the freestanding gilt framed mirrors that seemed to be dotted about the place. They were all set to a flattering angle but still, she wished she hadn’t. Maybe she should have gotten over herself and gone back to Ivory Bridal Couture; at least she knew what to expect there. It didn’t feel right though not after last time. It would be a bit like rendezvousing with her ex. She glanced nervously at Leila who smiled back at her reassuringly and she felt a little better until Moira broke rank and made a beeline for a rack of shimmering sheaths.

  ‘Oh, Aisling, this is gorgeous, so it is, look,’ she held the wisps of soft lilac fabric up against her and had a delirious look on her face that said she was imagining herself on the red carpet, about to give her Oscars’ night speech, or something like.

  It was also microscopic, Aisling noted with alarm. Well not quite, but in Aisling’s experience the less fabric the more expensive it was likely to be. An internal tug-o-war ensued. She wanted to march over and inspect the price tag but at the same time she didn’t want Madame Mullan over there to think she was a penniless hick. She was still wrestling with herself as Moira whipped the same dress in pink and baby blue off the rack and trotted off toward the dressing room. Happy as a pig in muck.

  Leila whispered in her ear, ‘Discourage her, no matter how gorgeous she looks. You need to keep three things in mind. Price tag, headlights and Uncle Colm. Alright? Remember this is a winter wedding not a Maldives getaway.’

  Aisling nodded obediently.

  ‘Come on, let’s check out the wedding gowns.’ Leila pulled her toward the headless mannequins posed in a group of three, all draped in sumptuous silks. ‘Oh, these are stunning, Ash,’ she said, pausing in front of a sophisticated ivory dress that had Aisling sighing wistfully. She’d never get away with that, not with her thighs. Leila however put it more tactfully. ‘Ivory’s not your colour. We need diamond white or champagne would be lovely. Have you a particular style in mind?’

  They both looked at the row of dresses spanning the length of the emporium. The opposite wall was devoted to the bridesmaids and the back wall catered to the mother of the bride. Aisling hadn’t a clue where to start and was grateful she had her friend here to help her. ‘I suppose I’d like a mermaid trumpet-style dress with lace, lots of lace.’ She wondered why Leila was staring at her sympathetically and then it dawned on her. She’d described the dress she’d chosen the last time. She pressed her lips together in a grim line. ‘What I should have said was I want the exact opposite of a lacy mermaid trumpet dress.’

  Before they could even begin their search however, Moira poked her head through the curtains, about to be the first to strut the catwalk as she demanded everybody stop what they were doing. When she was certain she had everyone’s attention she flung the curtains open and struck a hands on hip pose, one shapely leg thrust out of a split between the lilac wisps as though she had indeed stopped for a photo call on the red carpet.

  Madame Mullan was a bee to honey as she took the two steps to the platform and homed in on Moira to begin adjusting the straps and pinching the dress in at the waist before looking toward Aisling expectantly.

  ‘It’s lovely, and you look a picture, Moira. But don’t you think you might be a little cold on the day and that material is awfully sheer. It’s going to be February after all. Madame Mullan do you have anything with long sleeves you could show Moira? In a more, erm, substantial fabric perhaps.’

  Moira scowled at her sister, ‘Should we wear our flannelette nighties and be done with it,’ she muttered, stomping back into the fitting room while Madame Mullan fluttered off, a golden butterfly gone in search of bridesmaids’ dresses in a more appropriate style.

  Leila patted Aisling on the back. ‘Well done you.’

  Aisling mustered up a smile and began to sift through the heavy dresses on the rack. They were beautiful, all of them, but some were too fussy, some too simple. The perfect dress had yet to put in an appearance.

  ‘Ash, what do you think of this one?’ Leila asked, breaking her price tag first rule.

  Aisling’s breath caught at the sight of the dress her friend was holding up with some difficulty for her to see. ‘It’s like something from a fairy tale.’

  ‘Fabulous isn’t it? It makes me wish I was getting married so I could wear it. Look at the way it ties at the back here. Oh, I can so see you in this, Aisling.’ The note of excitement in Leila’s voice was catching and Aisling reached out to touch the neckline above the bodice gently.

  ‘Are those crystals do you think?’ she asked, admiring the way the light was catching them.

  ‘They’re Swarovski crystals, all hand sewn on. A divine gown. I can see you’re both women of exquisite taste.’ Madame Mullan had floated over to catch the tail end of their conversation. ‘Shall I put it in the dressing room for you to try.’

  Yes, she was a definite fecky brown noser, Aisling thought, looking at Leila who was nodding emphatically.

  ‘You definitely want to try.’

  Aisling didn’t want to ruin the mome
nt by asking how much it cost so she trailed behind Madame Mullan, nearly bumping into Moira who was dressed in her civvies once more as she exited the fitting room. ‘I’ve several dresses for you to look at, as soon as I’ve hung this in the dressing room for our bride-to-be, here,’ Madam Mullan directed at her and Moira nodded, more interested in the gown she had over her arm. ‘Wow! That’s gorgeous. What colour do you call that?’

  ‘It’s champagne,’ Madame Mullan said. ‘The perfect choice for madam’s delicate colouring.’

  ‘Can’t wait to see you in it, Aisling.’

  Aisling felt a spark of excitement at her younger sister’s unusually generous words. It was a gorgeous, fabulous fairy tale dress and she couldn’t wait to step into it. A little voice spoke up. She suspected it belonged to her conscience because it was telling her if she were going to be buying a house in the foreseeable future then she should check out the price before going any further. There was no point falling in love with the gown and then not being able to justify the price. She hesitated but only briefly before telling her conscience to feck off away with itself as she traipsed on into the fitting room.

  A moment later Aisling found herself alone with the dress which Madame Mullan had hung up telling her she’d be back to assist her with the grand reveal in ten minutes. She fluffed off to show Moira, Roisin and Leila her suggestions in the bridesmaid department. Aisling gazed around the spacious fitting room, breathing in the subtle fragrance of flowers clinging to the air thanks to the aromatherapy diffuser on the occasional table. A pile of wedding magazines and a box of tissues were artfully arranged next to it and in the corner was a white Queen Anne styled chair with a plush red velvet seat. She clambered out of her trousers and was pleased the lighting was subtle. Otherwise she’d have been gasping at the sight of her flesh in all its bare, fluorescent glory reflected back at her, thanks to the floor to ceiling mirrors. Her sweater was halfway over her head when Mammy’s voice echoed around the room.

  ‘Holy God above tonight, Aisling, could you not have put underwear on!’

  Aisling pulled the sweater off feeling her hair frizz out from the static. ‘Mammy, don’t shout and what are you on about? I have a bra and knickers on. Sensible, suitable ones too.’

  Maureen’s hand rested on her chest and her expression was one of relief as she got nearer. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph thank God you do. It’s the colour. I couldn’t see it when I walked in. You gave me a terrible fright, so you did. You girls don’t normally wear beige undergarments.’

  ‘They’re not beige thank you very much, Mammy, the colour is nude.’ Jaysus, Mammy could be an ignoramus; as if she’d ever wear beige anything, Aisling was outraged at the very thought. ‘And I chose it so my bra straps wouldn’t be glaringly obvious when I tried the dresses on.’

  ‘Yes, well nude is exactly what I thought you were.’

  Aisling shook her head and mumbled, ‘Give me strength,’ before moving toward the dress.

  ‘I’ve come to help you get into that. Moira’s got your Madame one running around like a headless chicken.’ She looked to where the dress was shimmering under the lights and her gasp was audible.

  ‘Aisling, oh my word.’ The hand went to the chest once more. ‘It’s beautiful, so it is.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it? Leila spotted it.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see you in it,’ She echoed Moira’s sentiment. ‘Come on.’ Maureen was pleased to feel useful as she carefully removed the dress from the hanger and helped her daughter into it. ‘Alright now then, let’s zip you up. Raise your arms.’

  ‘Go slowly, don’t pinch me.’ Aisling said as her mammy began to inch the zipper up.

  ‘That only happened the once, Aisling.’

  Once was more than enough, Aisling thought wincing at the memory of the formal dress she’d insisted on squeezing into for her high school leavers dance.

  ‘Alright so. We’re a quarter of the way there, on the count of three it’s time to breathe in. Alright?’

  Aisling nodded assent.

  ‘One, two, three.’

  She sucked everything in with all her might but still Maureen could only get the zip halfway up. ‘I don’t want to force it, Aisling, and breathe out or you’ll be after fainting. I’m sure it can be let out a little.’

  ‘It won’t need to be. I’m on track to have lost five pounds by D-Day.’

  Maureen stepped away from her daughter in order to give her a head to toe once over. Her hands formed a steeple which she held to her mouth and she began blinking rapidly.

  ‘Mammy, you’re not going to cry, are you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Her voice wavered in a manner that said that’s exactly what she was about to do.

  Aisling looked at her reflection and a smile began to form on her lips as she felt her anxiety unknot itself and float away. How could anything go wrong on her wedding day if she looked like this? Sure, she felt like a princess.

  ‘Mammy, I love it’ Her voice was quiet as she took in the sheer long sleeves and high neckline iridescent with crystals. The bodice beneath was corset styled and she held her hair up and looked in the mirror behind her so she could see the pearl beading which began at the top of the corset ribbons and finished at her neck. The heavy sateen fabric of the skirt had a lace overlay and it flowed from the waist without being full. She turned this way and that, not quite believing it was her looking back at her in the mirror.

  ‘Aisling O’Mara, you are perfect.’ Maureen sniffled, reaching for a tissue from the box on the occasional table and giving her nose an almighty blow.

  Madame Mullan announced her presence, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Aisling as she made all the right noises before titivating with the fabric. Maureen was sniffling away and Madame Mullan passed her the box of tissues, well used to tearful mammies. ‘Why don’t you go and join the rest of the bridal party and ask them to take a seat?

  Maureen gave a final sniff before doing as she was asked.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  Aisling’s stomach fluttered at the thought of showing her sisters and Leila her dress and she nodded as Madame Mullan arranged her in front of the curtains before pulling the cord and opening them.

  She was suddenly vulnerable as she stood under the lights. Would her sisters and best friend see what she and Mammy had seen or would they think the dress ostentatious? She knew she could count on Moira for an honest opinion. She smiled tremulously looking from one to the other. Delight and admiration was mirrored back at her and her worries settled as she enjoyed her moment in the sun. Roisin joined her mammy with the sniffling, Leila clapped her hands together and Moira got up and jumped on stage throwing her arms around her sister as she said, ‘You look amazing, Ash.’ It was all the confirmation she needed.

  Chapter 11

  Aisling sipped her champagne enjoying the sparkly, seductive flavour that was making her feel even more giddy than she already did. It was a lovely touch on Leila’s part, the cracking open of a bottle of Moet to celebrate her having chosen her dress. She’d arranged the glasses to be on hand prior to the appointment with Madame Mullan who’d declined a glass even though she should be celebrating given how much Aisling was going to be spending this afternoon. Leila had even thought to bring a bottle of bubbly grape juice for Moira, a gesture which made her want to hug her, so she did. ‘You’re the best wedding planner in the world,’ she’d gushed as Moira popped the cork on her fizz.

  Now her gaze flitted to where her dress was hanging on the rack beside the counter awaiting the equivalent of a down payment on a house before she’d be allowed to take it home where it belonged. The sensible part of her brain, the part that told her nobody needed to spend that much on a dress decided to put in an appearance. But then she recalled how the dress had made her feel. It truly was a Cinderella dress and what sum did you put on a gown that made you feel like you were the star of your very own fairy story?

  Would Quinn buy into her fairy tale dream or would he see pound signs whe
n he saw her in the dress. Perhaps when she told him they were saving on the shoes he’d come around to what it cost. He could be quite thrifty when he wanted to be could Quinn. To appease him she’d wear the Prada satin pumps she’d tucked away from her first attempt at getting married. They would go perfectly and she held no fear of being jinxed where shoes were concerned, besides which, she knew she’d be hard pressed to find another pair she loved as much. So, it wasn’t much of a compromise at all on her part to roll with the shoes she already had but Quinn didn’t need to know that. Come to that there was no need for him to know how much this dress and the bridesmaids’ dresses, once decided upon, were setting her back. Men hadn’t a clue when it came to things like that anyway. Again, she ignored the niggle that given they were about to share the rest of their life together he should be privy to how much the wedding was costing them but, it wasn’t as if he’d asked. When she had tried to broach things with him his eyes had glazed over as if she were doing a long and involved maths equation.

  She’d been reluctant to climb out of the dress; she’d have liked to have stayed in it forever and if she’d had her way, she’d have worn it home. She’d pictured herself riding on the top of the double decker bus as it rumbled through the streets of Dublin, waving to all and sundry. But then she’d seen it was still raining outside and had changed the fantasy to her sitting in the back of a taxi with tinted windows. The windows had to be tinted because people always wondered who was behind them. She could roll them down when they were stopped at the lights and give the peasants, whoops, pedestrians, going about their normal working day a wave. Gosh, the champers was going to her head, she thought, eyeing the flute glass, knowing her cheeks had flushed pink.

  That the dress was meant for her was a given. Madame Mullan had seized the sales opportunity gushing about how rare it was to find the perfect gown so quickly. Aisling fancied she could see the dollar signs in her eyes and hear her brain making a ker-ching sound. She’d only been brave enough to look at the price tag once she’d taken the precious dress off and had nearly fallen over at all the zeros. There was no going back though and a song had sprung to mind, Sinead O’Connor’s Nothing Compares to You. It was now stuck in her head.