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

by Michelle Vernal

  Aisling nearly laughed with the relief of it all.

  ‘What I was trying to say, Aisling, before you started nitpicking was, a marriage needs three simple ingredients to thrive. I like to call it the three ‘c’s’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Communication and compromise.’

  ‘That’s only two.’

  ‘I can’t remember the third, it might have been compassion or care for one another. I told you to stop picking holes. You get the idea.’

  ‘Well Quinn and I aren’t doing very well are we, Mammy? We haven’t even gotten to the church and we can’t find a way to compromise.’

  ‘Ah, but you will, Aisling, because you and Quinn are like me and your daddy. You’re meant to be together.’

  A voice bellowed, ‘Can I come out now?!’

  Aisling and Maureen looked at one another and exchanged complicit smiles. ‘No, you can’t!’

  Chapter 31

  Cormac O’Mara stood in the guesthouse lobby, larger than life for a little man, his Louis Vuitton luggage abandoned on either side of him as he waited for Maureen to bring the last case in. He’d been unable to carry it all himself because he was a man who believed in packing for all occasions, except it would seem he thought, shaking off the cold, the inclement Irish weather. He was making a statement in his trademark crumpled linen suit which was highly unsuitable for flying and for the country he found himself back in. He refused to kow-tow to the norm though, or to be sensible. He’d had far too many years doing so as a younger man in Dublin and it had nearly quashed his spirit. A quick check was in order next, to ensure the infernal wind gusting down the street outside hadn’t dislodged his hair. He patted the top of his head, yes, yes, all was as it should be.

  The woman who’d worked here since time began and whose name he tried to conjure, Breda or Brenda, something like that was staring over at him. He bared the perfectly aligned teeth he’d spent a small fortune on in her direction.

  Bronagh blinked, feeling warmed by the glow of his neon smile. Cormac was the first of the wedding guests to arrive at O’Mara’s. The guesthouse was at the sole disposal of family and friends for the next four nights. It had been no mean feat to ensure the window of time had been kept clear and it had all been for nothing. Sparks were sure to fly when he learned he’d had a wasted journey she thought, frantically swiping the telltale biscuit crumbs off her lap and getting to her feet. Her calves were sore from this morning’s stair climb. She’d tried to get out of it, telling Moira all bets were off until Aisling made an appearance in reception and confirmed she was still in the running. Moira was having none of it and had warned Bronagh, given Aisling’s lovesick state the odds were against her. Bronagh’s competitive streak had reared and bucked and she’d taken to those stairs as though she were entering into the Olympic stair climbing race. She’d earned herself a biscuit or two, she reassured herself, turning her attention to Cormac O’Mara.

  She’d only met him a handful of times and each time she’d been struck by yer man’s resemblance, not to his late brother, God rest his soul, but to Elton John. She’d have loved to ask him if he could give her a few lines of Rocketman but had never summoned the nerve. She swept out from behind her desk, her hand extended, ‘Welcome home, Mr O’Mara. It’s grand to see you.’ The consummate professional.

  ‘Please, call me Cormac, Brandy.’ He returned her handshake briefly.

  ‘Bronagh,’ she corrected, wondering whether all those rings on his fingers had left an indentation on her palm. He smelt very nice too, for a man who’d just come off a long-haul flight, and she tried not to sniff too obviously. The scent of pine made a pleasant change from the Arpège and fried bacon. Cormac was too busy looking about the entrance of his childhood home to acknowledge his gaffe. She marvelled over him being short and well- padded where his brother had been tall and lanky. There were similarities too though in certain expressions and she wondered if Maureen felt her loss keenly all over again when she caught sight of them.

  The door opened once more and the woman herself, windswept and hobbling like Quasi Modo, appeared with the last of Cormac’s designer bags. Pooh pranced in alongside her, all sugar and spice and all things nice. Bronagh eyeballed the poodle, she had the measure of him right enough. He was not to be trusted.

  ‘Jaysus wept,’ Maureen muttered, dropping the bag down next to the others. ‘Are you after moving back to Dublin, Cormac?’

  ‘Not a chance, Mo. LA is the land of sunshine. It’s been good to me whereas Ireland is the land of—’

  ‘Rainbows,’ Maureen stated firmly.

  Bronagh raised an eyebrow. Mo indeed.

  Cormac had not been about to say the country where he’d grown up was the land of rainbows but he swallowed his words. There was nothing to be gained by allowing his acerbic tongue to get the better of him and besides he was fond of Mo, a name he’d called her from the get-go. It was for this reason he’d decided to behave himself and as such he changed the subject. ‘The old place is looking good. I hope you’ll be giving me the grand tour.’

  ‘Of course I will, and this,’ Maureen arced her hand in a sweeping movement, ‘could have all been yours, Cormac, if you hadn’t of been so desperate to get on the boat and leave us all behind.’

  Bronagh’s eyes widened at the thought of this flamboyant man at the helm of the guesthouse. She wondered if he knew Elton – he did live in Los Angeles after all. Sure, they were always rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous out there. Patrick was after telling her he knew yer man, Cruise. They frequented the same juice bar. She wondered if Patrick, Cindy and Cormac all went to the same dentist.

  ‘A decision that worked out well for us all.’

  ‘That it did.’

  They smiled at each other and Pooh nuzzled up next to this new member of his family.

  ‘He likes you.’ Maureen was pleased. Cormac hadn’t made a fuss like Roisin over sitting in the back of the car when she’d picked him up from the airport. He said he was used to it. Apparently, he had a driver over there in Los Angeles.

  ‘Where’s the bride-to-be? I thought she’d be here to greet me, given you’ve officially handed over the baton, Mo.’ Cormac pouted. He was a little put out. He’d come a long way after all and the least his middle niece could do was be here when he arrived.

  ‘Erm, Aisling’s upstairs. Moira’s at college and said to tell you she’s looking forward to seeing you.’ She pursed her lips knowing full well Moira was hoping her fashion-king uncle had brought gifts from the Land of Plenty with him. ‘Patrick and Cindy are due in the day before the erm, ah, the erm wedding because Cindy had a bra commercial to film and Roisin’s arriving from London with young Noah tomorrow.’ She’d filled Roisin in on the unfolding drama of Aisling and Quinn but had told her she should still come because it wasn’t over until the fat lady sings. Roisin had shaken her head, and told her mammy that she wasn’t fat, cuddly yes, but not fat. Maureen had been put out and had huffed she hadn’t been speaking literally. ‘Noah’s a dote so he is,’ she told Cormac, her arms already itching with the urge to wrap him in a big hug. ‘Now then, Cormac, let’s get you settled in your room and then we’ll go upstairs and have ourselves a nice cup of tea and catch up.’

  ‘Green tea?’ Cormac asked hopefully.

  ‘Sure, tea’s tan not green and anything else isn’t tea, you eejit,’ Maureen tutted before telling him she’d find their housekeeper, Ita, and get her to give them a hand with his luggage. She was eager to get Cormac away from the reception area. He was prone to dramatics and she had a feeling they were in for an explosion when he learned Aisling had announced the wedding was not going ahead despite her best efforts to talk sense into her daughter yesterday. The way things currently stood, he’d had a wasted journey.

  For his part, Cormac may not have seen his sister-in-law for a good while but she had a face he could read like a book and he raised an eyebrow.

  It was a lovely shape so it was, Bronagh thought, looking on an
d smoothing her own pencil thin ones. His skin had a glowing sheen to it too, she noticed. She could do with more glow; she’d have to ask him what products he was after using.

  ‘Is there something I should know, Mo?’

  Maureen ignored him. ‘Pooh, you stay there with your uncle Cormac.’ She took to the stairs calling out Ita’s name.

  Bronagh began whistling Rocketman and looking everywhere but at Cormac.

  Chapter 33

  Maureen found Ita looking shifty in Room 3, and enlisted her to help them haul Cormac’s luggage to his room. The housekeeper obliged with far more grace than she would have Aisling, but then it wasn’t Aisling who was friendly with her mammy and liable to tell tales. She’d have liked to have had a few moments to admire the strange little man with the mat on top of his head’s Vuitton cases because one day she’d travel the world with expensive luggage but for now she did as she was asked and followed Maureen’s lead dragging the case up the stairs to Room 5.

  Maureen had personally done a sweep of Cormac’s room before she’d left to collect him. It was important to her that he saw first-hand what a success she and Brian had made of the guesthouse, even after all these years. Room 5 with its old-world elegance was a nod to the Georgian grandeur of the building. It afforded a grand view over the Green and as such it was one of her favourites. The pillows had been plumped by her personally, the bathroom inspected, and the bed smoothed. Her reward for her efforts came when Cormac made appreciative murmurs as he inspected his quarters. ‘It’s hardly recognisable from the days when Mammy and Dad ran the place.’

  ‘It was different times and they did a grand job. We just brought it up to date,’ Maureen said loyally; she’d been fond of Brian’s parents. They’d been good to her and the bitter feelings between Mr and Mrs O’Mara senior and Cormac had been nothing to do with her. Like she’d said, it was different times. Cormac had been long gone when she’d come door knocking to the guesthouse seeking work, never dreaming she’d marry the handsome young man who’d opened the door to her and that one day they’d run the place. Brian hadn’t spoken of his older brother often. On those few occasions when Cormac had come back to Ireland it had been clear to her why he’d gone. It was a truth the family had refused to acknowledge and in doing so had ensured he could never be at home in his own country. It saddened Maureen to think he’d shared his home with his partner Ricardo for over twenty years but even now wasn’t comfortable bringing the person he’d chosen to spend his life with here to Ireland to meet them.

  On the bright side her brother-in-law was a particular so and so but he was happy with the room she’d chosen for him and that was high praise. She was pleased because, once she got him away from Ita’s flapping ears and up to the privacy of the family apartment to explain what was going on with her daughter, he was going to be anything but happy. A sudden movement caught her eye. ‘Don’t even think about it, Pooh,’ she warned the poodle, who was inching toward the bed having decided it was as good a place as any for a siesta. Pooh froze and gave her what she recognised as his affronted look. The ‘as if I would do something like that’ expression. Ita was still loitering in the doorway. ‘Thanks for your help.’ She dismissed her with a smile but she wasn’t quick enough to stop Cormac from whipping out his wallet.

  He handed a wad of notes to Ita who looked like the cat who’d got the cream. The American guests were her favourite and thanking him, she stuffed the money in the pocket of her smock before taking herself off. She could sense Maureen’s disapproval of her taking the tip from him given he was family. Well, tough, she’d interrupted her in the middle of a game of Snake and her phone was burning a hole in her pocket. It was high time she got back to it.

  ‘Come on then, Cormac, let’s get you upstairs,’ Maureen said, giving him the card he’d need to access his room. She shooed Pooh out of the door ahead of her and headed up the last flight of stairs.

  Cormac dawdled up behind her, muttering about elevators having been invented for over a hundred years. The apartment was, again, vastly different from his childhood memories where everything had seemed tired and worn out like the building itself. Maureen had a flair when it came to interiors. He liked the ambience she’d created. What he didn’t like was the growing sensation that all was not as it should be. Maureen had begun to act skittish as she moved about the kitchen fetching cups and saucers and there was still no sign of Aisling.

  ‘Mo, I have swapped the beautiful sunshine and palm trees of LA for winter in Dublin. Please tell me the wedding is going ahead this Saturday.’

  If he’d been hoping she’d be taken aback by the intimation anything was wrong then he’d have been disappointed. He watched as her mouth performed a dance of indecision before she called out, ‘Aisling O’Mara, get out here now and explain to your uncle Cormac, who’s flown all the way from Los Angeles what’s going on.’

  It took a moment or two but Aisling mooched forth looking like she’d been sleeping rough and Cormac gave her a head to toe once over before stamping his Versace clad foot. ‘No, absolutely not, Aisling. Not a second time. I’m not having it.’

  Aisling stared at him dully, she’d have thought Mammy would have told everybody not to come. She was the one in charge of the guest list. She tried to catch her eye but Maureen was feigning great interest in the tea she was brewing.

  ‘You are not cancelling on me twice, Aisling. Now, sit yourself down and tell me what’s happened.’

  It was a funny thing, Aisling thought, doing as she was told, but when her uncle was mad his American accent became decidedly Irish. Cormac sat down next to her, kicking off his loafers, and she tried not to fixate on his sock clad feet as he began rotating his fat ankles in little circles. He looked at her in a way that brooked no nonsense and she caught a glimpse of her daddy in his features. It made her feel warm inside and she found herself babbling the whole sorry story out. Maureen brought his tea over, making unhelpful mmm noises at different points in Aisling’s monologue.

  When Aisling had run dry, Cormac looked at her. ‘Is that all? You’ve quibbled over a few pounds?’

  ‘It was more than a few pounds, Uncle Cormac.’

  ‘Pfft.’ He made a motion with his hand as though it were a matter too trivial to be bothered with. ‘Well, you don’t need to worry because your fairy godmother is here now. Once I’ve had my tea and my ankles have returned to their normal size, we are off to see that fiancé of yours.’

  Maureen gave a strangled cough as her tea went down the wrong way.

  Chapter 34

  Quinn and Aisling were seated opposite each other at the table in the kitchen of his mammy and daddy’s house. They were both studying the rings left behind by hot drinks over the years, the marks of family life. The sweet smell of baking hung on the air but there was no cosiness to be found in the sugary smells. Aisling had her hands folded in her lap and Cormac was sitting at the head of the table like a presiding judge. She felt as if she’d been called to the headmistress’s office for a playground misdemeanour. If only she could get a rap over the knuckles and be done with it but Quinn hadn’t looked at her, not once, since Cormac had ordered them both to sit down. She felt sick and wasn’t even the slightest bit tempted to help herself to one of Mrs Moran’s brownie biscuits. There was no way she could call her Maeve, not now. Unlike her mammy who’d been all, ‘Now then, Maeve, what are we going to do about these children of ours?’ And whom she suspected right now had her head together with Quinn’s mammy in the living room discussing their eejitty children.

  If Mrs Moran had been surprised to find a washed-out Aisling, Maureen O’Mara, and a little man in a Miami Vice suit and a hair piece standing on her doorstep that damp Dublin afternoon, she’d hidden it well. She’d been gracious, ushering them in out of the cold before fussing about making tea. She’d even managed to retrieve a herbal teabag for Cormac. There was no need for him to know it had been lurking down the back of her cupboard since Ivo had gone out with that girl with the dippy hippy ways a
few years back. If anything, Maeve was grateful that someone was taking matters in hand and she had a feeling that Cormac was the right man for the job.

  Quinn had not come quietly, protesting all the way from his room, but he’d clammed up when he saw the trio of O’Maras standing around the kitchen table. He’d managed to shake Cormac’s hand and mumble hellos to Maureen and Aisling. He was well mannered her boy, even if he was an eejit. He hadn’t looked Aisling in the eye but she’d seen Aisling risk a glance from under her lashes at him. Her mouth had parted a little, startled by his dishevelled appearance. Maeve had tried to talk sense into her son by telling him Aisling had gotten carried away, that was all, but he was cut from the same cloth as his father and it was a stubborn one. She’d even had to remind him to shower like she’d had to when he was a teenager these last few days. She gave a surreptitious sniff hoping he’d remembered to put deodorant on.

  She’d hovered on the edge of the group unsure how this would go but when Cormac asked the young couple to sit down so they could have a chat, his manner had them both doing as they were told. He was a little like a male Judge Judy she’d thought, linking her arm through Maureen’s, assured things were going to be just fine. She suggested they take their tea and enjoy a slice of brownie in the front room. It would be nice to get to know Aisling’s mammy a little better.

  ‘Right then,’ Cormac said, and if he’d had a gavel, Aisling suspected he would have banged it down. Instead he had to make do with placing his mug on the table. ‘Aisling, I want you to explain to Quinn why you behaved like a mad woman over this wedding.’

  Aisling grasped her hands a little tighter and licked her lips. She had nothing to lose by opening up. ‘It doesn’t make much sense, Quinn, but from the minute you put my beautiful ring on my finger I had this sinking feeling something would go wrong. I suppose I felt that because Marcus called everything off, I wasn’t worthy of being married and so to compensate I overcompensated by trying to bury those thoughts in buying and booking things.’