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,
