She opened her mouth to protest but no sound came out and Quinn jumped in once more. ‘We don’t have enough for the deposit anymore.’ The anger had gone out of his voice, replaced by a weariness that to Aisling’s mind was far more worrying.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, not knowing what else to say.
‘What’s it all for?’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘A horse drawn carriage. I mean for fecks sake, Aisling.’
She tried to summon up the words to explain all the extravagance but couldn’t because she didn’t understand it herself.
‘I tried to involve you.’ The words sounded feeble to her own ears and trying to pass the buck wasn’t going to make their situation any better.
‘Not hard enough obviously.’
Anger rankled. ‘Hang on a minute, Quinn. That’s not fair. I did try but every time I brought the topic up you tuned out so, I went ahead and did what I thought was best. You’ve not shown any interest in our wedding from the get-go.’
‘Oh, so you behaving like you’re Victoria fecking Beckham is all my fault, is it?’
‘I didn’t say that but maybe if you’d sat down with me once or twice and looked at some of my suggestions, we might have found some middle ground.’
Quinn made an unattractive snorting noise. ‘There’s been no middle ground where this wedding’s concerned, not from the moment you accepted my proposal. You’ve been like a woman possessed.’ He hesitated as though debating whether he should take the next step.
‘Go on say it,’ she taunted, unable to help herself. It was happening, as she’d known from the moment he slid the diamond ring on her finger it would.
‘You’re not the woman I thought you were.’
They looked at each other, blinking and catching their breath and, as what he’d said sank in, Aisling wrenched the ring from her finger and slid it across the table toward him. She pushed her seat back and weaved her way blindly across the floor. She was vaguely aware of Alasdair’s voice calling after her, not Quinn’s, as the tears she’d held back the whole time she’d been in the bistro poured down her cheeks. She hoped for the briefest of seconds he’d come after her, contrite and offering her a way to make everything okay but the door to the restaurant remained closed. Her heart was in a vice, being squeezed so tight she could hardly breathe, as she made her way home, penning a letter to self all the way.
Dear Aisling,
I’ve lost the man I loved through my own stupidity. How am I supposed to get through this?
Yours faithfully,
Me.
Chapter 30
The banging on her bedroom door woke Aisling with a start. She was lying on her side in a tangle of sheets and for one blissful moment she couldn’t understand why her eyes were glued together. She prised them open and it was like peering through the slats in a venetian blind. The realisation she was still in last night’s clothes and the reason her eyes were so swollen was because she’d cried herself to sleep, broke over her. With a small moan she dug around in the trenches recalling how she’d swept in through reception last night, ignoring Nina to take to the stairs. She’d been desperate for the sanctity of her bedroom where she could let her tears out in peace. Poor Nina had received the rough end of the stick from Bronagh, and then later from herself. She owed her an apology.
Moira had been out and she’d locked her bedroom door before throwing herself down on her bed and sobbing into her pillow. It must have been in the small hours when she’d finally crashed out only to be woken a short while later by the familiar clatter of the rubbish bin in the courtyard below. She’d padded over to the window in time to see Mr Fox making his escape with whatever leftover treat Mrs Flaherty had tossed out. He turned, as he always did, and looked up to where she was a ghostly outline looking down at him. She waved through the frosted glass and he flicked his tail before flattening his back and disappearing under the wall.
Now the memory of what had transpired with Quinn was like a bucket of cold water being tossed over her. She was no longer engaged. She was right back where she’d been when Marcus left her. A jilted bride-to-be. The difference this time was, she only had herself to blame for the predicament she was in. It was down to her own stupidity and the realisation made her breath feel ragged as it caught in her chest. The banging started up again.
Maybe it was Quinn! The thought was a spurring jolt. He might have seen, in the cold light of day, that what she’d said last night had an element of truth to it. He had switched off when it came to their wedding. He could’ve come to his senses and be prepared to talk things through. It wasn’t too late. They could sit down together to discuss what was frivolous and what was a necessity. Moira’s voice blew out the tiny flame of hope she’d been fanning. ‘Aisling, what’s going on?’
‘Go away, Moira.’
‘Paula told Tom you gave your ring back to Quinn and walked out of the bistro last night in tears.’
She should’ve known it wouldn’t take long for the jungle drums to begin beating. She repeated herself, ‘Go away, Moira. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘What was that? I can’t hear you, Aisling. I need to know you’re okay, open the door.’
She knew full well her sister had heard her; she was trying to trick her into opening the door.
When it didn’t work, Moira changed tack. ‘Aisling, if you come out, I cross my heart hope to die promise I’ll waive stair-climbing today and I’ll personally go downstairs to ask Mrs
