Bronagh patted her middle; the fabric of her skirt was shiny and stretched tight. ‘I’ve lost three and a half pounds myself and I have to say I’m feeling marvellous for it. And, remember I’ve the menopause to do battle with too.’
Bronagh must be going through the longest running menopause on record, Aisling thought and her skirt didn’t look any looser than it had done last week. She reckoned it was a tactic and Bronagh was trying to psych her out. They eyed one another. She was very competitive was Bronagh, Aisling thought. This silly competition was all down to her too because as soon as Aisling announced she wanted to lose half a stone for her wedding, Bronagh had been all for putting money on who’d reach their target weight first. She said it would keep them motivated if they were dieting for high stakes. Aisling would have been content with sticking a photo of Cindy Crawford in her swimsuit on the fridge but Moira had been lurking in the background and it was her that had egged them both on. Sure, it had been like a scene from a women’s prison with her little sister’s carry-on. She might as well have been yelling, ‘Fight, fight, fight!’
Aisling was not one to back down from a challenge and in the end, she’d wagered a tenner that it would be her that lost her poundage first. After all, the odds were in her favour given it was her wedding she wanted to be in fine fettle for. Moira having already cleared it with Aisling that she would not be paying for her bridesmaid dress – given she was a poor student, but that in no way meant she’d wear some frothy pink ensemble and look like an eejit either – had seen a way to supplement her income instantly. She was running a book on the great weight loss race. So far, Aisling was the favourite but, Moira had stated over her toast that morning watching as Aisling lovingly caressed the honey jar, it could change, just like that. She’d clicked her fingers for effect and Aisling had shoved the pot back in the cupboard and retrieved the Marmite instead.
‘Have you done the stairs this morning?’ Aisling asked Bronagh.
Moira had also taken it upon herself to be both women’s personal trainer. Neither had asked her to do this and as such when she’d asked for payment for services rendered, they’d both told her to feck off. She’d not given up though and had said she’d do it out of the goodness of her heart. When she’d appeared in reception in joggers with a whistle around her neck both women had told her to feck off once more, but to no avail. In the end, Bronagh had climbed the stairs on the condition Moira hand over the whistle. She’d hidden it like she had the custard creams.
‘I have. Moira made me do it before she left for college. It wasn’t easy in this skirt I can tell you but I made it to the top floor with no rests, that’s a first for me. What about yourself?’
‘She’s got me booked for a session after dinner.’ Aisling frowned. To avoid temptation at Quinn’s she’d been eating her meals here at O’Mara’s under the watchful eye of Moira. She was fed up to the back teeth with salad and lean meat or vegetables and lean meat. She wanted a great big burger with fries, lots of skinny fries. Stop it, Aisling.
The door to the guesthouse opened and it was a welcome distraction to watch a giant bouquet of flowers with legs walk toward them. It was their fortnightly arrangement of blooms for the reception desk from Fi’s Florists and Aisling recognised young Caitlin, Fi’s new apprentice’s voice as she said good morning to them both.
‘Here I’ll take those, Caitlin, they’re gorgeous. Did you arrange them?’ Aisling took the flowers and inhaled the sweet aroma from the gardenias. Were they edible, she wondered, and would she have gardenias in her bridal bouquet? She filed the latter question away to bring up with Leila when they met for lunch or in her case lettuce leaves.
‘I did, thanks. How’re the wedding plans coming along, Aisling? It’s not long to go now.’ The young girl’s cheeks were flushed from the cold outside and the tip of her nose bright red; she sneezed.
‘Bless you.’ Bronagh immediately said.
‘Sorry, I’ve a bit of a sniffle.’
Aisling took a step back, she could not afford to get sick, not now when she had so much on her plate (a bad choice of metaphor), she decided. ‘Grand, thanks, Caitlin. Everything’s coming along nicely.’ She liked to think the more she said this the more she’d believe it. The power of positive thinking and all that.
Bronagh put her hand up to her mouth and mouthed, ‘She’s a complete nightmare.’ to Caitlin who grinned.
‘Well I’d best be off and carry on with my rounds.’
‘Thanks very much,’ Aisling called over her shoulder, carrying the flowers through to the kitchen. The guest’s lounge room was empty and she made a note to self to replenish the tea and coffee sachets once she’d sorted the bouquet. She always found the act of placing the fresh flowers in the vase therapeutic and hopefully it would improve her mood. She didn’t like being snappy and edgy; it wasn’t like her and it wasn’t all down to the fact she was about to start gnawing on her arm if she didn’t get some sustenance in her shortly. It was her own fault. She’d set a ridiculously tight timeframe in which to organise her wedding. Everybody thought she was mad. Quinn included. They’d gotten engaged on Christmas Day and
