Aisling didn’t answer. She’d be sick if she tried to eat and what was the point in dieting and doing the stairs anyway? No point whatsoever now she was no longer getting married. She rolled over on her back and, as she stared up at the ceiling, she felt dead inside.
‘I’ll ring Mammy and tell her you won’t come out of your room.’
‘Do your worst, Moira,’ Aisling threw back.
No reply was forthcoming and Aisling shut her eyes, hoping she could sleep forever like Aurora from Sleeping Beauty. It was an ironic thought given she was guessing she was anything but a beauty at the moment. She closed her eyes again but they flicked open of their own accord as she examined what had happened between her and Quinn. In the half light of her bedroom it was becoming clear to her she’d pushed away the person who meant the most to her in the whole world because she hadn’t felt deserving of him. In a roundabout way Marcus McDonagh had reached out from her past, refusing to let her move on and accept Quinn’s love wholeheartedly. She’d subconsciously been sabotaging their relationship by behaving like an extravagant eejit. There she’d been burning up her credit card as though she were some sort of cashed-up celebrity. And what did it matter, any of it? The dress, the carriage, the place settings – in the big picture they didn’t mean a thing. What her wedding should have been about was standing alongside Quinn and turning to look him in the eyes. She should have been focussing on how it would feel to see her love for him reflected back at her in his face as he told God, their family and friends he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
AISLING MUST HAVE DOZED off again because this time when she woke, she could sense the lateness of the morning by the way chunks of filtered light broke through the curtains. She strained her ears listening out for Moira and caught the swish of whispering. So, Moira had made good on her threat and called Mammy. She had a more pressing problem than the fact her mammy was standing outside her bedroom door pow-wowing with her baby sister as to what they should say to lure her out. Aisling knew it wouldn’t be whatever pearls of wisdom they shouted through the door that brought her out. It would be the fact she was desperate for the loo. The days of the chamber pot were long gone unfortunately and she was going to have to visit the bathroom, like it or not.
She sat up, vaguely aware her eyes were still hot and heavy. Her hand smoothed her hair but it had matted itself into a frenzy of knots, thanks to her tossing and turning. It would take more than running her fingers through it. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, surprised to feel the floor firm beneath her feet. She’d almost thought she might fall through it like Alice going down the rabbit hole because that was how she felt, as if she’d fallen through into some strange world she no longer recognised.
She moved toward the door and flung it open, stepping back as Mammy and Moira staggered forward nearly falling on top of her. ‘That will teach you for pressing your ears to my door. Now, get out of my way because I need to go to the loo.’ Aisling pushed past them and through to the lavatory, locking yet another door behind her. She rested her head against it for a moment and then yelled out, ‘And don’t stand outside the door. That always gives me stage fright. I’ll talk to you when I come out.’
She heard a gratifying creak as they moved away. It was with trepidation she opened the door after flushing but the coast was clear and she slipped into the bathroom next door. A hot shower and a change of clothes was in order if she had to deal with Mammy and she knew without looking, she and Moira would have taken up camp on the sofa and neither would be leaving until they’d got to the bottom of what had gone on between her and Quinn.
A STEAMING MUG OF SWEETENED tea was placed on the table in front of her along with a plate of thickly buttered toast. Aisling stared at it, watching the golden puddles pool and melt into the toast.
‘You’re no good on an empty stomach, Aisling.’ Maureen fussed around her. ‘You’ve never been able to make rational decisions when you’re hungry. Personally, I’m pointing the finger for all this bother at...’ She flapped her hand in Moira’s direction.
Moira dropped the piece of toast she’d been chewing on down on the plate and straightened from where she’d been slouched over the kitchen worktop. ‘That’s not fair, Mammy. I was trying to help. Aisling was the one who wanted to lose a few pounds for the wedding.’
‘Don’t talk with your mouth full. And did she want the spotty, red face too? Look at her, I mean look at her. People will be giving her a wide berth thinking she’s contagious. What were you thinking?’
The hives were clinging on stubbornly. Aisling was blaming stress but there was no need for Mammy to point them out quite so emphatically. It wasn’t the spots that had caused all this trouble.
‘I didn’t know she’d react to the pack I used,’ Moira pouted.
‘You know full well your sister has always had sensitive skin, young lady. Sure, she spent half her childhood slathered in the E45 because of some rash or other.’
Aisling didn’t have the energy to protest this exaggeration. From memory she’d only had a nasty rash once. It was from eating too many strawberries. There was
