Mother of the Bride (8 page)

Jay, she suspected, saw himself as the next Bram Stoker.

She was helping her boss Henry Dunne to cash up, and lock away some of their most expensive editions in the safe, when Jay appeared. Henry nodded to him and told her that she could finish up.

‘Thanks, Henry,' she called, grabbing her black leather coat as Jay took her hand.

‘Let's eat,' he suggested, and they found a table in a small Vietnamese restaurant over a jeans shop. Ciara ordered a traditional vegetable and rice dish.

Two of Jay's friends were putting on a two-man show in the Project at eight o'clock and he wanted to see it. ‘Fergal says that they have only sold a few seats, so we'd better go along.'

Ciara's feet were killing her, and she wasn't really in the mood to watch some crap play, but she went along with what Jay wanted to do on a Saturday night. The theatre was half-empty and the Beckett inspired monologues of the two main characters were a shambles. What a waste of a Saturday! she thought, as they left and went for a drink in Porterhouse.

‘Let's go back to my place,' he suggested half an hour later, bored by the noisy pub.

Back in Rathmines, in the second-floor apartment, they both watched a pirate copy of the latest Quentin Tarentino film. Jay loved it, and kept stopping it and replaying it over and over again, as they smoked and laughed and made love and eventually fell asleep together.

At 10 a.m. Ciara woke with Jay asleep beside her. She studied the tattoos on his back and arms, noticing that he had got a new one of an owl near his shoulder blade. She kissed it and he stirred.

‘Love the owl,' she whispered.

‘I got it a few days ago,' he explained, leaning over. ‘Just came to me that I needed an owl, and I went down to Pete and got him to do it.'

Pete Freedman lived on the landing below, and ran a small tattoo parlour off Essex Street.

Ciara ran her fingers over Jay's skin, tracing the owl's outline.

‘Lisette gets a tattoo,' he said nonchalantly.

‘What kind of one?'

‘A dragonfly.'

She rolled over on her side. She had considered on and off over the past five months getting a tattoo to prove her individuality and her love for Jay, but she knew if her parents or family saw it there would be war. Also, she wasn't into needles and pain!

‘Pete's the best in the business,' Jay said, kissing her shoulder. ‘You tell him what you want and that's what he'll do. He's a true artist.'

‘I'm just not sure.' She sighed.

‘You're beautiful,' he soothed. ‘My beautiful dragonfly.'

She liked Jay calling her that, and the thought of a dragonfly tattoo perched on her pale skin was appealing.

‘Do you think Pete would do it?' she asked.

‘Pete can do anything once I ask.'

‘I've to go in a few hours,' she explained. ‘I've an assignment due on Tuesday, and I've got to work on it. Plus I've an essay to write.'

‘You do what you've got to do, Ciara,' he said, rolling over on his side. ‘I just want to chill today.'

Ciara knew that Jay hated being tied down to any form of routine. She saw him twice a week maybe, and that seemed enough for him. He worked in a big computer call centre during the week, telling her
that it was only a stopgap till he got some kind of recognition for his writing. She had asked him a few times since they had met to come to her house, even when her parents were away, but he always had some excuse not to. Even on the night of her sister Amy's engagement party he hadn't bothered to show. Jay was like that, immersed in his own life. He was mature, and so different from all the other guys she had dated, who were students and spent their time hanging around the UCD and Whale, the unofficial college hangout, trying to impress everyone with their drinking and stupid talk and stupid music. Jay cared about all kinds of things, and had big plans for the future. He talked about getting out of Dublin and moving overseas.

‘New York or San Francisco, that's where it's at,' he explained. ‘There's plenty of opportunity and none of the bloody begrudgery and putting you down you get here. People outside Ireland want new voices, experimentation.'

Ciara knew that one day Jay would make it big in whatever field he chose: his writing, his poetry, his scripts. He said she was his muse, and she loved watching him work, and the intensity that surrounded him. He made her feel grown-up. She loved to listen to him read out loud to her or to pore over his laptop screen, trying to make sense of his words and imagination. Jay was confident that it was only a matter of time before he was discovered. He wanted to immortalize her. Immortalize his characters. Being with Jay was so surreal and removed from college life and everything else around her.

‘Chilling is good.' She laughed, slipping back into the warmth of his arms, reluctant to leave him.

Helen brushed the chocolate-covered crumbs off the kitchen chair before she sat down. Fran's kitchen was always a mess, no matter what time of the day or night you called. Her best friend certainly wasn't house-proud, and believed that houses should be lived in to their full capacity. Underwear lay drying on the clothes horse over near the radiator, while umpteen baby toys were scattered under the coffee table, and the kitchen table was covered with a mess of the newspapers and gardening magazines which Fran was always reading.

‘Katie and baby Saoirse were here earlier.' Fran smiled. ‘That baby is a wild child! She has every press and drawer in the place pulled out the minute she crosses the door, and this morning she made a beeline for poor old Suki's bowl, and I caught her eating a fistful of cat food! I don't know how Katie keeps up with her.'

Helen wondered how she would cope when her time came to be a grandmother. She wasn't sure that she would be as easy-going and relaxed as Fran, who seemed to relish the role, seamlessly moving from being the mother of five to a grandmother.

‘Do you want sugar in your coffee?'

‘No, thanks, I've cut back. I have to lose at least a stone before
the wedding, now that Amy and Dan have finally set the date and picked a venue.'

‘Oh, that's great news!' exclaimed Fran, sitting down. ‘When's the wedding?'

‘It's on Saturday the sixth of June in Castle Gregory.'

‘A castle!'

‘Yes. It's about twenty minutes' drive from Kilkenny. Paddy and I went down with them last weekend, and it's ideal. Wait till you see it, Fran! It's perfect for a wedding, and it even has a small church close by. Here, I brought you over a copy of the brochure to have a look at.'

‘God, Helen, it looks fabulous!' Fran said, as she studied the photographs. ‘It must be costing you a fortune.'

‘Well, it
is
very pricey. Paddy is going on and on about the cost of it. But when you see the place it's worth it, and it is really what Amy and Dan want. They are getting married on the first Saturday in June, so mark it up on your calendar.'

‘I hope Amy realizes how lucky she is!' said Fran, looking at the glossy brochure.

‘She's a great kid, Fran. Paddy and I have always planned to pay for the girls' weddings. Though God knows what kind of wedding Ciara will have, that's if she ever gets married. She told me the other day she doesn't believe in marriage and thinks that monogamy is a waste of time!'

‘God, maybe she's right, and marriage isn't for everyone. Greg and Sandra seem to be happy enough living together with their two kids without any pieces of legal paper or church blessings. It's all changed since our day.'

‘Well, maybe Amy's will be the only wedding! And we want to do it properly. You know how it is.'

‘Of course, it's a big day in everyone's life! We shared the wedding costs with Katie and Brian when they got married. Everything adds up, you know, and we tried not to cut corners as Katie had her heart
set on what she wanted, but we did have a strict budget and we stuck to it.'

‘Fran, it was a great wedding, with that little blue wooden church, and then the lovely old-fashioned hotel in Enniskerry. We all had such a good time, and it was great to be able to get taxis home at the end of the night instead of forking out for B & Bs. The only bad thing is that everyone coming to Amy and Dan's will have to stay the night!'

‘Don't worry, the young crowd are always up for a night away! And it'll be good for me to get Tom away from the office and work for a night.'

‘It's funny,' laughed Helen, ‘but now that the castle and church are booked, I'm finally beginning to realize that Amy is actually getting married! She's grown-up and gone from us.'

‘It's the beginning,' advised Fran sagely, ‘not the end. It is a change when your daughter or son marries, and suddenly you have a son-in-law or daughter-in-law about the place, and then grandchildren. Life changes, and the family pattern shifts and alters as new people become part of it.'

‘What happens if it changes too much, and we rarely see her except for the odd dinner invite?'

‘That's not going to happen,' assured her friend. ‘Look around you. Katie's here with the baby every day practically, and I mind Greg's boys two days a week after school. Honestly, some days it feels like I'm running a crèche. Married daughters need their mothers.'

Helen remembered how much she'd needed her own mother to give a hand with Amy, who was a colicky baby. Her mother's arms had always welcomed them, and she'd insisted on babysitting regularly to let Helen and Paddy get a few hours off. Sometimes when she'd dropped the kids to her mum's, Paddy and herself used to just go back home to a quiet house and get into bed and sleep.

‘Yeah, you're right, Fran.'

‘Anyway, Helen, the first thing you need to get through is the wedding. It breaks down into two lists. The big wedding stuff: the dress, the bridesmaids, the flowers, the cake, the invitations, the music, the menus, the guest list, the table settings . . . And then there is the Mother of the Bride stuff. Your dress, your hair, your shoes, your bag, the house, the garden. Believe me, it's just as well that Amy isn't getting married until June, as there is so much to do.'

Helen secretly thanked heaven she had a friend like Fran to help her.

‘Now, tell me, what kind of wedding style is Amy going for?'

‘I'm not sure,' Helen hesitated. ‘We haven't really discussed it yet.'

‘Well, you need to, because it determines the whole wedding plan. Is it going to be a very formal wedding with big bouquets and flowers and tuxedos, or is it going to be more standard, with cocktail wear and suits and posies and ribbons? Or will Amy and Dan go eclectic and quirky?'

‘I don't think they have decided yet,' Helen said, making herself a second coffee.

‘Get the wedding magazines,' advised Fran.

‘Magazines!'

‘Wedding magazines will be your bible for the next few months. You'll never read any magazine as much as you will read them,' confided her best friend. ‘You know something, I really miss them. I used to spend hours reading them. Katie would buy loads and we used to love browsing through their pages. I think Katie found them a great help. Now she spends all her time reading baby catalogues and parents' magazines. There's always something. Here, do you want some shortbread?'

‘Fran, I've got to cut back. No biscuits, chocolate, cakes or sugar. Carmel Quinn is sleek like a greyhound, wait till you see her.'

‘I suppose it'd do no harm to trim down a bit,' agreed Fran honestly.

‘Fran! I thought you'd be on my side.' Helen laughed.

‘I am, but being Mother of the Bride is something you've got to put your best foot forward doing, Helen. God, do you remember? I starved myself to lose a measly ten pounds for Katie's wedding.'

‘You looked stunning,' said Helen loyally.

‘That was honestly the most expensive outfit I have ever bought in my life,' Fran admitted, slipping into the chair across the table from her. ‘I loved the colour and fit of it, and it just made me feel good. It made me confident, so I guess it was worth it.'

‘You looked a million dollars!' Helen laughed. ‘And do you remember how Brian's mother wore that fitted black dress?'

‘I know she was trying to look classy and slim, but it drained her and put years on her. Katie told me she almost cried when she saw the wedding photos.'

‘Now that we are starting to organize things, it's exciting,' confessed Helen. ‘It's all so different from our wedding, which was a small affair with about thirty relations and friends along . . .'

‘The girls do things differently than our day. Sure, I was only twenty when Tom and I got married. We hadn't a clue!'

‘Paddy and I were the same. Everybody thought we were mad getting married when I was barely twenty-three. His parents were dead set against it, and kept telling us that we were too young and poor. By the time I was Amy's age we had the three kids.'

‘Bet you wouldn't change it!' teased Fran.

‘Not a day of it,' insisted Helen. ‘Not a day.'

‘Well, anything you need a hand with, I'm here ready and willing,' Fran offered. ‘I love weddings. I just love them.'

‘Fran, I'll take you up on it,' Helen promised, grabbing her keys and wallet. ‘Listen, I'd better go. I'm collecting Mum and taking her to Poppies for lunch.'

‘How is Sheila?'

‘Great, getting deafer and a bit more demanding, but she's still
living at home. We've home help coming in twice a week, and then I'm around.'

‘You're so good, Helen!' praised Fran. ‘My mother nearly drove me cracked!'

Helen smiled, remembering the hours Fran spent in her kitchen ranting about her mother, who'd had the family all demented with her demands – up until she'd died ten years ago.

‘Do you want to have lunch in my place on Friday?' Helen asked.