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

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘Salsa,’ Antonio stated passionately, ‘connects you with others. It is sexy and energetic. We come together to be our true selves and to be in the moment. Salsa is magic.’

  ‘Jaysus, feck, he knows that little speech off by heart,’ Quinn muttered, receiving a sharp elbow once more.

  And on the count of three, away they went again. It was going to be a long night, thought Quinn as he stuck his bottom out and quickstepped toward Aisling.

  Chapter 24

  Aisling let Moira daub the deep conditioning treatment on her head. She’d asked her sister to give her a facial but she was going the whole hog massaging the conditioner into her scalp. She closed her eyes, feeling her shoulders relax. ‘You’re pretty good at this.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Moira said, piling her sister’s hair on top of her head before disappearing into the kitchen. ‘I need the cling film.’

  ‘Why?’

  She returned with the box and pulled a length from it before ripping it off the serrated edge. ‘I’m going to wrap it around your head so it keeps your scalp warm, it makes the treatment more effective.’

  ‘Will you leave me holes to breath?’ Aisling was alarmed.

  ‘I’m not going to mummify you, you eejit.’ She covered her sister’s scalp in the cling film and then told her to go and knot a towel around it.

  Aisling disappeared into the bathroom to do as she was told. She pulled the towel off the rail and twisted it into a turban before glancing in the mirror. Jaysus, if those circles under her eyes got any deeper, she’d look like one of those little red pandas. She’d not been sleeping properly for ages now, not since Quinn proposed. The problem was, each time she was about to nod off, she’d remember something she had to do between now and Valentine’s Day and her eyes would fly open and she’d begin panicking. It was a vicious cycle and she didn’t know how to calm herself down. She leaned into the mirror and whispered.

  Dear Aisling,

  I’m getting married in a week and a half and instead of feeling excited about what should be the most amazing day of my life, I’m terrified something’s going to go wrong. Please give me some advice as to how I can shake this feeling. Oh, and any tips on how to stop Mrs O’Flaherty trying to tempt me away from my Special K and over to the dark side would be appreciated too.

  Yours faithfully,

  Me

  Mrs Flaherty, their apple-cheeked breakfast cook who worked Monday to Friday was not impressed with the weight loss challenge Bronagh and Aisling had inadvertently undertaken thanks to Moira. She was a woman who did not believe in dieting, although apparently she was partial to the odd bet, but Moira was sworn to secrecy as to who she was backing. She’d been heard to mutter on many an occasion you couldn’t trust a person who didn’t wipe their plate clean with their bread. Diet was an offensive word and it did not feature in her vocabulary. As such, she was employing sabotage techniques like standing at the bottom of the stairs with a plate of freshly fried, crispy bacon long enough to ensure it didn’t go cold by the time it reached the hungry guest who’d ordered it. Long enough though for the tempting aroma to fill the reception area causing the two women to pause in their morning’s stair aerobics, mouths watering, resolve weakening. Moira was having none of it though and she’d taken to keeping the can of fancy air freshener Mammy was after recommending on Bronagh’s desk. She’d spray it liberally and reception would smell like bacon and Arpège perfume.

  Aisling turned side on to peruse her shape in the mirror. So far, she’d avoided temptation and the dance lesson the other night on top of the stairs routine seemed to be yielding results she thought, smoothing her sweater and not seeing any lumps or bumps. She’d never be a waif but aside from the cling film on her head and circles under her eyes she was looking good.

  With one last flick over her reflection she went back to the living room where Moira was waiting with a tube of something in her hand. ‘A face mask,’ she said, waving it. ‘It’ll work wonders.’

  ‘Is it your clay one?’ Aisling said, sitting down.

  ‘No, that’s expensive. This one will be grand.’

  ‘Charming, I get the bargain basement beauty treatment. Well, for your information, your whizz bang, pricey one gave me spots anyway.’

  ‘I don’t recall you asking me if you could use it,’ Moira said.

  ‘It was payback for pinching my Valentino sandals.’

  ‘Fair play.’ Moira was feeling magnanimous thanks to a very pleasant few hours whiled away with Tom that afternoon. She squeezed the gloopy green contents of the tube into the palm of her hand and told her sister to look up as she began to slather it all over her face. ‘You look a little like Shrek.’

  Aisling closed her eyes, not bothered with making a rebuttal. It was nice to be pampered, especially because it meant she had to stop, sit and do nothing for a while. She flexed her feet, her big toe was still tender from where Quinn had trodden on it at their dance lesson. It had brought tears to her eyes, although she didn’t know if it was because of that or the fact he’d looked like he had something unpleasant in his pants as he’d minced toward her. She’d finally nailed the razzmatazz as Maria said her opening sequence of steps was called sometime after nine pm when she was nearly dead on her feet and at the same time Antonio had declared he was satisfied with Quinn’s tags, taps, kicks and flicks. They were dismissed with an all the best for the wedding by the South American couple who were keen to see the back of their two left footed students and lock up the studio for the night.

  ‘I’m done in,’ Quinn had said, and Aisling had told him they’d have to practice every day if they wanted the routine down pat for the wedding. Quinn had muttered something she thought might have been for fecks sake but she couldn’t be sure. She’d let it slide given his hang over.

  ‘There we are, all done,’ Moira said to her now, holding her green hands up. ‘I’ll go and wash these. That mask might feel a little tight and tingly but it’s nothing to worry about, alright?’ Aisling was about to open her mouth and reply but Moira held her green hand up once more, ‘Don’t speak, let it harden and do its thing.’

  It was a chance to reflect on the day, Aisling thought, leaning her head back on the sofa as she mulled things over. The guesthouse had been busy with a group checking out first thing that morning in order to begin their tour around the Irish countryside. Bronagh, thankfully, was running on full throttle once more. The week had gotten off to a slow start for them after their big night out but Bronagh had been particularly pasty-faced on Monday morning. She’d told Moira she could forget it if she had any plans on making her do the stairs and also, she’d better not be thinking about getting married any time soon because she was not able for another hen night. Ita too had been very quiet and Aisling suspected from the length of time it took her to make up Room 3 she might have been having a sly forty winks in there.

  She’d let it all waft over her head. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, well at least she didn’t think it was. She couldn’t be sure when it came to Ita and sure, they’d all had a grand night out together. The mask tightened and her skin began to feel hot beneath it and more than a little tingly. ‘Moira,’ she called out, feeling it crack around her mouth. ‘I’m going to wash this off, it’s burning.’

  Moira appeared in the doorway. ‘It says on the tube you’re to leave it on for twenty minutes, it’s only been ten.’

  ‘Don’t care.’ Aisling pushed past her sister to the bathroom and splashed tepid water over her face before getting the nearest flannel and rubbing the stuff off.

  ‘Moira!’ she bellowed, looking in the mirror and seeing her face was a blotchy red mass as though she’d gotten the sunburn. ‘Get in here now.’

  Moira peered around the bathroom door and winced seeing her sister. ‘Jaysus, Aisling, you look a fright. You don’t want to be going downstairs with your face like that, you’ll frighten the guests so you will.’

  ‘Fix it. This is your fault.’ Her voice was low and steely and Moira could
tell she meant business.

  ‘Listen, you rinse the conditioner out of your hair in case we have to go to the emergency doctors, you don’t want to be sitting about in the waiting room with the cling film on your head.’

  ‘Moira!’

  ‘I’ll ring Mammy, see what she says.’ Moira scarpered. Aisling ran the shower and while she waited for the water to heat, she peered into the mirror. This was not good, her face felt hot and itchy. The last thing she needed was an allergic reaction. She stripped off and got in the shower rinsing off the thick conditioner.

  She hoped her skin might have settled down once she got out of the shower but no, if anything the steamy water had made it worse. She got dressed and went in search of Moira.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Mammy says you’re to use the E45 cream.’

  Moira held out a tube of their mammy’s go-to fix it all cream she’d found tucked away in the first aid kit and Aisling slathered it on. It did feel better.

  An hour later when her hair had dried and she was sitting in front of the tele with a greasy layer of E45 all over her face, Moira said, ‘At least your hair looks good. If you did a mammy and swished it about you could be on a shampoo commercial. So long as they only filmed you from the back.’

  Aisling glared at her.

  Her phone beeped a message before she could give her sister a mouthful and she saw it was from Quinn. A frown embedded itself between her eyebrows as she read the message.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Quinn. He’s after finding a house he wants us to go and look at tomorrow.’ There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of it.

  ‘You’re not moving out of here! I promise I’ll stop pinching your shoes and I’m sorry I used the cheap, green shite on your face.’ Moira was aghast at the thought of having to do the housework about the place or cooking her own meals.

  ‘You’ve promised me that before and you always break your word.’ Aisling rubbed her temples; her head was hurting. ‘But don’t worry I’m not going anywhere. The house thing is an investment. He’s got a bee in his bonnet that we need to get on the property ladder and rent out whatever we buy as a nest egg. Why he can’t wait until after the wedding I don’t know but he says here,’ she waved her phone, ‘it’s too good not to go and take a look.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘What if my face hasn’t settled down by tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, it might work in your favour, Ash. The estate agent might tell the people selling about your poor, red, spotty face and they might feel so sorry for you they lower the price.’ Her mouth twitched.

  ‘That is so not funny.’

  Chapter 25

  The house was terraced, red brick, and on the Crumlin Road. Aisling felt a surge of pride as Quinn managed with lots of turning of the steering wheel to manoeuvre his car between two others. The parallel park was not something she’d mastered. Driving was something she’d not mastered all that well for that matter. She could get from A to B so long as the vehicle was an automatic and no complicated parking issues arose but if someone else was happy to drive, then Aisling was happy to let them. If it had been down to her she thought as he pulled the handbrake up, she would have kept driving and they’d have wound up walking miles to their appointment. All thoughts of her masterful-parker fiancé dissipated as she spied the For Sale sign outside a dilapidated house with a sinking heart. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting but it was identical to all the other houses on the street. The only thing setting it apart from its neighbours was its air of having been let go.

  ‘It looks neglected,’ she said, peering out the windscreen adding an, ‘unloved,’ for good measure. Quinn had filled her in on the way over; the reason the house was going for a song was because it was an inheritance and the family wanted a quick sale. It explained why it looked unlived in but it didn’t make it any more appealing.

  ‘The garden needs a tidy up that’s all, and you haven’t even seen inside yet, Ash.’ He took the keys from the ignition and turned in his seat to look at her. He looked away quickly for fear she’d think he was staring at the lumps that had appeared on her face since the last time he’d seen her. Hives she’d said, due to a dodgy facial Moira had given her. He thought it as likely it was a reaction to all the stress she was heaping upon herself with the wedding. There was no point saying anything though.

  Aisling could feel the heels of her shoes digging into the mat on the floor of the passenger seat and her hands were clasped tightly, resting on her black pencil skirt. She’d dressed up for the occasion in the hope of moving the focus from her face. The fact she’d power dressed though had done nothing to change her mind where this house buying business was concerned and she’d be quite happy if Quinn were to manoeuvre his way back out of the parking space. She’d give the suited-up man with the slicked back hair who was tapping his foot beside the gate, a cheery wave goodbye as they sailed past him. In fact, what she’d like, more than anything, was for them to go and get a cup of coffee and talk like they hadn’t talked in ages. She wanted reassurance he was excited about their nuptials because she felt like he’d switched off.

  ‘And he’s definitely got the look of a fecky brown noser,’ she muttered, turning her attention back to the waiting agent.

  ‘What was that?’ Quinn asked, opening his door.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come on then and keep an open mind. Remember it needs to be low maintenance and functional, that’s all. It’s not your dream home, it’s a potential rental property.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I will.’ She was already picturing patches of damp, and mouse poo, and all manner of unsavoury things given the neglected air of the garden.

  Quinn glanced back at her dubiously. ‘If we can get it for the right price, the rent should cover the loan and outgoings. It comes down to the maths not emotions.’

  ‘I know that.’ Aisling was huffy. It seemed to her he’d already made his mind up about buying the place and he sounded a little condescending. She wasn’t an airhead. All she wanted was her wedding to be her perfect day without major life distractions like house buying getting in the way. She didn’t want them starting their married life by being saddled with a money-pit of a house they had no plans of living in either. Nevertheless, she got out of the car and waited for Quinn to lock it before walking the short distance to the estate agent, who stepped forward with his hand outstretched to greet them. He was all smiles, although Aisling fancied his full wattage beam had faltered as she got closer.

  The E45 cream had helped soothe the itching but the spots were still visible and she’d made Moira run down to Boots as soon as it opened to buy a packet of antihistamines out of her own pocket. She’d taken one as soon as her sister returned and hoped the hives would soon begin to fade. For now, though, at least her hair was shining gloriously and she lurked alongside Quinn observing the vigorous handshaking and much fecky brown nosing on the agent’s part. His name he revealed before opening the gate, its rusty hinge squeaking in protest, was Niall. Holding it open he ushered them in and Aisling trailed behind Quinn, her heel finding its way into a crack in the pavers which nearly sent her arse about face.

  ‘Watch your step,’ Niall said pointlessly. ‘The path and front garden needs a little TLC but it’s all easily fixed and the house has good bones.’

  With a glance to either side she could see the poky front garden was in desperate need of a tidy up. What had once grown there, maybe even flourished, had now withered and needed to be cut back. She couldn’t stop her nose curling even though she knew it made her look a spoiled brat. She also wished Quinn didn’t have such a spring in his step. He looked like a child about to enter a sweet shop and his new best friend Niall’s eyes were gleaming no doubt at the thought of the hefty commission soon to be coming his way if he played this the right way. He produced a bunch of keys and stepping past them unlocked the front door opening it wide.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ he welcomed with a sweep of his hand.


  Aisling took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold, scanning the hallway she found herself in with a critical eye. It was narrow and dark with a threadbare red carpet adding to the gloom. You’d struggle to swing a cat in it she thought as Niall announced he’d let them have a look around on their own. It was all self-explanatory he said and when they were finished, they’d find him in the kitchen. She watched him stride down the hall, counting his steps. Four strides and he was there. It was hardly a house you’d get lost in.

  Quinn was opening a cupboard in the hallway and hearing him make noises about how it was good to have extra storage space, she left him to inspect it, poking her head around the front room. Through the yellowing net curtains, she could see the outline of the garden they’d walked past and in the same red carpet as she’d seen in the hall, she could see the indents of where the furniture had been placed. The wallpaper was peeling in places and the room smelt musty. A layer of dust was visible over the fireplace mantle.

  She didn’t want to look around any further because she already knew the kitchen where Niall was waiting was at the end of the hall. It would have an oven with decades of food etched around the element rings. A washing line that spun around would be visible from the back window and the back garden would be bleaker than the front entrance. Upstairs there would be a bathroom with pipes that would gurgle and moan when the hot water tap was turned and the bedrooms would be boxy. It was exactly what she’d expected. Quinn had joined her in the room and must have sensed she was less than impressed as he nudged her and said, ‘Use your imagination, Ash, a lick of paint, new curtains and carpet, some elbow grease and sure, it will be grand.’

  They made their way to the back of the house to check out the kitchen before heading upstairs. Niall was there as he’d said he’d be. He was leaning against the sink but spying his potential purchasers sprang into action, gesturing to the cupboards and pantry. Quinn was all ears as the agent launched into a spiel. ‘Retro’s all the rage, although of course, for the discerning investor there’s plenty of scope for improvement.’ He leaned toward them conspiratorially. ‘Quinn, Aisling, between me and you, this area’s rapidly becoming sought after, and properties are tightly held. It’s a good time to buy.’