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

by Michelle Vernal

  Quinn nodded and opened a drawer. He gave it an extra tug as it got stuck halfway nearly pulling the whole thing out. Aisling eyed the oven, noticing the splashes of grease on the wall behind it. She fancied she could smell bacon fat and not in a tempting Mrs Flaherty way either. She pondered over opening the back door to get some fresh air but decided against it. The sooner they completed their tour of the house the sooner she’d be out of here. Instead she contented herself with looking out the window to where a spindly tree waved its boughs in the wind and a washing line spun round in a maniacal pirouette. The fence surrounding the nondescript garden was buckled in places. Quinn nudged her. ‘Are you ready to take a look upstairs.’

  She nodded and followed him from the room, refusing to look at Niall for fear of setting him off on more sales patter. Quinn skipped up the stairs and she bunny-hopped up them after him, her skirt making it impossible to do anything else, wondering if the musty smell permeating downstairs would be worse up there. Quinn wandered in and out of the first two bedrooms while she gave them a cursory glance over. The bathroom made her shudder but if she were honest, she could see all it needed was a good scrub. The shower head was over the bath and the plastic curtain had a mouldy edge to it. It was a set-up that brought to mind the verruca she’d gotten one year at the public baths. She couldn’t muster up enthusiasm to match Quinn’s as he turned the handle on the shower and announced the pressure was good. She let him lead her through to the smallest of the three bedrooms not listening to his prattle that it was big enough for a small double. He was already wording the advert to rent the house in his head, she realised, seeing his face was lit up with an excitement she hadn’t once seen in the march toward their wedding.

  ‘Ash,’ he said, opening the wardrobe door and poking his head inside it.

  ‘Yes.’ He was taking leaving no door unopened to a new level. A wardrobe was a wardrobe for fecks sake and she played out a scenario where she pushed him inside it and shut the door.

  He popped back out and the sight of his eager face sent guilt pinpricking through her. He only wanted the best for them. It wasn’t very nice of her to be plotting to shove him inside a cupboard. He couldn’t read her mind though and carried on excitedly, ‘I think we should go for it. Subject to a building inspection obviously but I can’t see how we can go wrong.’

  She could see he wanted her to agree with him. To share in his enthusiasm but she couldn’t. What he was saying about financial security and investments for the future all made sense but she had a bad feeling. ‘I’m not trying to burst your bubble, Quinn, but I have a lot on my plate at the moment with the wedding.’ She shook her head, ‘I’m struggling to find room to think about anything else.’

  ‘I know that, Ash. But if we don’t act now, we’ll miss out. Who knows when a buy like this will come up again?’

  Quinn didn’t often dig his heels in. He was the sort of fella who went with the flow but he wanted this property, she could see it in the determined set of his jaw. She wanted to react the way he wanted her to, she did. He deserved it. Sure, look at the way he’d agreed to their honeymoon at the Ice Hotel. Marriage was about compromise and this was her moment to capitulate and agree, yes this would indeed be a good investment for them. He placed his hands on either side of the tops of her arms his blue eyes boring into hers, willing her to agree.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be hard, Ash. We can arrange to take possession after our honeymoon. It’ll be one visit to the bank, there’ll be a few papers to be signed with a solicitor, that’s all. I’ll arrange the building inspection but I think we should move on this. It’s a smart move. We’ll regret it if we procrastinate.’ She barely heard him as he told her the figure he’d like to offer. She trusted him to have worked it all out but still the words he wanted to hear wouldn’t come. She managed another nod, wanting to make him happy. There was a part of her that loved the way he was thinking ahead for them and for, hopefully, one day in the not too distant future, their children. He pulled her to him and she enjoyed the feeling of security being in his arms always gave her. ‘Do I take that as a yes, let’s go for it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her reward was a kiss and she returned it, glad he was pleased and wishing she could get rid of the sense of unease that had assailed her since she received his text the night before. He held her hand tightly as they headed back down the stairs to find Niall. He looked up from his phone as they appeared in the kitchen once more.

  ‘Well, what did you think?’

  ‘We can definitely see the potential,’ Quinn countered.

  Niall sensed he had them on the hook and in case they hadn’t heard him the first time he repeated his earlier sentiment of this being a sought-after area and how he had another couple interested in viewing the property. The sense of urgency he was instilling in them made Aisling feel panicked, which was what he intended, but her head had started to hurt again, too. She was supposed to be meeting Leila in an hour and now she’d agreed to go ahead and do this, she wanted Quinn to cut to the chase and make an offer so they could find out whether or not it would be accepted and she could put some distance between herself and Niall.

  Quinn squeezed her hand. ‘We’d like to make an offer,’ he said, before repeating the figure he’d told her he thought they should put on the table. Niall looked pleased but gave no clue as to whether they stood a chance going in with the figure, he’d just been given. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and tapped out a phone number his face a blank canvas as he waited for it to be answered. Despite her misgivings, now they’d come this far, Aisling wanted it all to pan out. She found herself holding her breath as Niall began to speak and Quinn’s grip on her hand became vicelike. The agent was Mr Cool as he relayed their price. His end of the conversation gave nothing away and it wasn’t until he’d hung up, he flashed his mega smile and said, ‘If you’re prepared to stretch to another two thousand then you’ve got yourselves a deal.’

  Quinn glanced to Aisling and she mouthed go for it. What difference, given the vast sums involved with buying a house, would two thousand punt make?

  There were a few hurdles to jump before they got to the finish line though. The other couple might come in with a better offer, the building inspection might throw up unseen issues, or Mr Cleary might turn down their application for a mortgage. Niall however was full of bonhomie and as they went left and he turned to the right outside the front gate. Aisling was tempted to look back over her shoulder to see if he was fist bumping the air or doing an excitable shin to shin side kick like in the old movies. She didn’t though, focussing instead on steadying her breathing and wishing Rosi was there with her. She had tricks up her sleeve that would help make you feel calmer and she could have done with her sister intoning, ‘in, and out’ in that irritating hypnotic voice she used. It was only when she was settled in the passenger seat of Quinn’s car once more, she felt able to catch her breath. Quinn was on a high and he talked all the way to Blackrock slapping the steering wheel from time to time, the adrenalin coursing through his bloodstream. She barely heard him as he yapped on about whether they should renovate the kitchen which might generate a better rental or leave it as it was until they’d paid a chunk off the house.

  His grin however was infectious as he pulled up outside the charming whitewashed building from which Leila ran Love Leila Bridal Services. Her mouth twitched and stretched into a broad smile. She was pleased he was pleased and she was sure she’d come around to the idea. It did make sense. ‘Right then.’ Quinn slapped the steering wheel once more. ‘I’ll phone Michael and get the wheels in motion.’

  ‘Who?’ she frowned, her mind drawing a blank at the name.

  ‘You know Michael.’

  She looked at him blankly and he sighed. ‘Ash, you’re so old school. Mr Cleary from the AIB.’

  ‘Oh, yeah of course. Sorry.’ She’d never get her head around calling a bank manager by his first name.

  ‘He’ll probably want to check through our ac
counts to see everything is in order before approving the loan but he seemed fairly confident it wouldn’t be a problem the other day.’

  And there it was, the reason Aisling felt sick about this property. It was nothing to do with the weeds sprouting through the cracked pavers, or the ancient oven and old carpets. It was the thought of that old bloodhound, Mr Cleary, poring over her bank statements and realising not only did she not have an outstanding savings record, but she had these last couple of weeks been spending up large. Astronomically so. Bank account draining so. She was frightened as to what Quinn would have to say when he found out exactly what this wedding of theirs was costing because her gut instinct told her, he would not be happy.

  She tried to brush aside the sudden panic not wanting him to pick up on anything being amiss. His lips felt papery as they grazed her flushed skin and telling him she’d speak to him later, she turned the handle and clambered out of the car. It was a relief to put some distance between them.

  Chapter 26

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee assailed Aisling’s nostrils as she pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth of Leila’s familiar work space. There was comfort to be found, knowing that, in the small kitchenette out the back, there would be a plate with the fresh French pastries her friend picked up for her clients to enjoy on her way into work each morning. She loved the calming and neutral colours Leila had chosen to decorate the office with. They hadn’t been chosen randomly she’d confided to Aisling. The pale pastels adorning the walls and soft furnishings were designed to counteract the nervous tension of her brides. The idea was that Leila’s was a haven where the pressure of trying to keep both sides of the family, along with the bridal party, happy during the lead up to your wedding dissolved once you stepped over the threshold.

  Leila’s goal was for her brides to feel confident she had their dream day under control. She wanted them to sink down in the sofa and let her fuss around making them coffee. Then, she wanted to see their shoulders visibly unknot as they forgot their diets and tucked into a well-deserved buttery croissant while she brought them up to date with the planning of their big day. The feminine pink walls were adorned with black and white prints of famous brides through the decades. Aisling’s favourite, and the one her gaze always settled upon, was Audrey Hepburn. Inexplicably, this was because she always felt like she was gazing upon a fairy when she looked at the elegant, timeless beauty.

  Now, as she stood in the entrance swivelling in her heels on the mat in case there’d been anything untoward on those threadbare carpets at the Crumlin Road property, she unclenched her jaw. It would take more than the sanctuary of Leila’s to relieve her headache though, it was a constant, dull pressure above her right eye. A little like a hangover which wasn’t very fair because she hadn’t been drinking the night before and did not deserve this punishment. Leila glanced up from her worktable, straightening the papers she’d been poring over and placing them back in a folder. She looked especially pretty today with her hair twisted back in a loose plait which softened the look of her fitted pant suit. For Leila’s part, she gave her friend a cursory once over. ‘You mean business, Ash,’ she said, taking in the jacket and skirt ensemble. She hesitated as she registered the lumpy blotches decorating her friend’s face. ‘What happened?’

  For the briefest of moments, Aisling wondered if her unease about the wedding was written all over her face. Leila knew her inside and out after all, but then she remembered the hives and even though she knew it wouldn’t help matters her hand touched her cheek rubbing at the itching patches self-consciously. ‘Do you mean these?’

  Leila nodded. ‘Don’t rub it. You’ll only make it worse.’ She was hoping it wasn’t some sort of facial shingles brought on by stress. If it was, then Aisling had brought it on herself. It was exasperating insomuch as she’d offered her services as a gift to make sure her best friend relaxed and enjoyed every minute of the lead up to her big day. Despite her best efforts to convince her it was all coming together nicely, Aisling seemed intent on winding herself up into a permanent state of anxiety. She’d even seen her biting her nails the other day, a habit she’d grown out of in her early teens.

  ‘In one word, Moira. That’s what happened.’

  ‘What did she do?’ Leila was bewildered.

  ‘She gave me a facial last night, that’s what, and she used this cheap, green shite that resulted in an allergic reaction.’

  Leila clamped her lips together to try to stop the giggle threatening to burst forth as she imagined the scenario post-facial in the family apartment at O’Mara’s last night. She wouldn’t have liked to be Moira but it would have been funny to be a fly on the wall.

  ‘You better not laugh,’ Aisling warned, wagging a finger at her. ‘Because I don’t feel like laughing, I feel like crying.’

  ‘Oh, Ash, what’s wrong? And I wasn’t going to laugh,’ Leila lied, forcing herself to swallow the giddy bubbles of mirth. ‘Honestly, your face. It’s not that bad. I hardly even noticed it.’

  Aisling glared at her. ‘When someone says ‘honestly’,’ she made inverted fingers, ‘they’re always lying.’

  ‘Okay, sorry, but they’ll go right?’ Have you got something for them?’

  Aisling nodded. ‘Mammy put us onto the E45 cream which helped a little and I made Moira go to Boots first thing too. She hadn’t even done her hair and she said it was mortifying which served her right because this,’ she jabbed in the direction of her face, ‘is mortifying.’

  Leila concentrated on keeping her face in a duly concerned expression.

  ‘They should be gone by tomorrow,’ Aisling continued. ‘And if they’re not then she will be demoted from her position as bridesmaid to toilet attendant duties at the reception.’

  At the picture invoked of Moira handing out wads of toilet paper in exchange for penny donations, Leila did laugh.

  Aisling wasn’t trying to be funny though. ‘It’s not my face that’s bothering me. Well, it is obviously, because no one wants to walk around with itchy, red lumps by choice but it’s not why I feel sick.’

  Here we go, Leila thought, donning her professional hat. She was well versed with comforting her brides to be, she prided herself on her ability to do so, but on a scale of one to ten Aisling was coming in at a nine-and-a-half on the Bridezilla scale. ‘You poor thing, come on, sit yourself down on the sofa and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.’ She hesitated, normally she’d offer a pastry but Aisling was supposed to be dieting.

  Aisling solved her conundrum, ‘And can I have a pastry. One of the ones with the drizzle of white icing and chocolate filling? Please.’

  ‘Of course, you can.’

  Aisling flopped down on the sofa and pulled the cushion out from behind her back hugging it to her stomach. Leila who’d been about to head to the kitchenette paused, her mouth dropping open.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like I suddenly sprouted a second head?’

  ‘Ash, oh my God, you’re not pregnant, are you?’ Leila whispered the word pregnant as though disapproving eyes were everywhere, her own were like blue gobstoppers.

  ‘What?’ Aisling glanced down at her midriff and realising she was holding the cushion over it. She tossed it down the opposite end of the two-seater before smoothing out her sweater. Not quite flat as a pancake but hardly six months gone. ‘No, wash your mouth out.’

  ‘Jaysus! You had me worried there. It was with you saying you felt sick and then asking for a pastry and the bulge of the cushion.’ Leila fanned her face with her hand at the shock of it all as her voice trailed off. She had enough sense not to add that given Aisling had also been behaving like a hormonal wreck these last weeks she could hardly be blamed for jumping to conclusions. Instead, she said, ‘Sorry, Ash. I’ll go make that coffee and then you can tell me all about it. How does that sound?’

  Aisling leaned her back against the plush fabric, placated. ‘Grand. Oh, and Leila don’t tell anyone about the pastry, okay? There’s money involved.’
>
  ‘I won’t.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘It’s our secret.’

  Leila disappeared out the back and Aisling consciously tried to relax. She flexed her fingers and rolled her head around in slow circles. Everything would be alright. It would all be fine. She was paranoid that was all, once burned and all that. Sure, in just over a week she’d be Mrs Aisling O’Mara-Moran and the stress of the build-up would be behind her. All she’d be left with were stunning photographs and her memories. It’d be like what she’d heard about giving birth, you forgot all about the icky bits afterward. By the time Leila returned to place a pretty china mug with a curl of steam rising from it in front of her, along with a plate on which the promised pastry sat, she was feeling better. She nibbled on the sweet treat and equilibrium was restored as the sugar hit her bloodstream. Leila returned with her own coffee and once Aisling saw she was settled down the other end of the sofa, she began to talk.

  Chapter 27

  ‘Did I tell you Quinn has been making noises about us buying a house as an investment?’ Aisling dabbed up the pastry flakes on her plate as she waited for her friend to reply.

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘His idea is that we’ll pick up a doer upper, that doesn’t need too much doing up and rent it out. We’ll pay it off that way.’

  ‘Not a silly idea,’ Leila said, sipping her drink and looking over the rim at Aisling.

  ‘It’s not, I agree, and I love the way he’s thinking about our future but you have to admit his timing is shite.’