It had given her shy of eight weeks in which to organise everything. Thank the Lord for Leila. The gods had smiled down on her the day her best friend had decided to launch her own wedding planner business. This wedding would be a rip-roaring success because Love Leila Bridal Planning services was backing her all the way. Sure, if it weren’t for Leila, she’d be headed straight for the registry office dragging Quinn along behind her. Leila had the power to get them in with places that otherwise would have told them to come back in a year when they had space free in the diary. Of course, it wasn’t the first time Leila had planned a wedding for her which was why Aisling had no intention of dilly-dallying for a year while all the arrangements were made. Sure, anything could happen like it had once before. She’d been let down weeks out from her wedding, which obviously was a blessing as, with the benefit of hindsight, her ex-fiancé was an eejit of the highest order. It hadn’t felt like a blessing at the time though. It had been the most humiliating experience of her life.
Oh, she knew right enough Quinn wouldn’t let her down but there was still the fear. The omnipresent fear she couldn’t shake that unless she expedited matters something would go wrong. She sighed, and filled the vase. She should be feeling excited and full of the joys of being a bride-to-be. Instead she was an anxious, hungry wreck. She began to pen one of her imaginary letters, something she hadn’t done in a long time.
Dear Aisling,
I’m getting married soon and I want to know how I can make this gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach go away, and please don’t tell me to eat a lovely, great big slice of chocolate cake with fresh cream filling and a ganache icing because that won’t help.
Yours faithfully,
Me
Chapter 3
‘Aisling have you had any further thoughts on the reception’s seating arrangements?’ Maureen O’Mara asked her daughter.
‘Leila and I were going to go over those again at lunchtime, why?’ Aisling knew she was going to regret asking like she was already regretting having answered the phone. Mammy was driving her round the bend with her daily guestlist updates. She’d only nipped upstairs for a quick sandwich before she headed out to meet Leila. It was not on her to-do list to sit and listen to Mammy gabble on about who wouldn’t be seated next to whom and who was allergic to what. She’d already been delayed by having to sort Ita out on her way upstairs.
She’d spotted their self-titled Director of Housekeeping on the first-floor landing. She’d been pretending to look for supplies in the cupboard at the end of the hall where all the cleaning products were kept. Aisling had tiptoed toward her, guessing she was engrossed in a game on her phone. ‘Ita, could you make up room six please. The Fenchurch family are arriving within the hour and they need the cot as well,’ she’d said, in a voice designed to let her know she knew exactly what she’d been up to.
Ita had banged her head on the shelf above her and hastily shoved her phone back in the pocket of her smock. She’d picked up a bottle of detergent before scurrying off with a wounded look on her face. It had annoyed Aisling that she should be made to feel guilty over the way she’d spoken to her and she’d stomped up the rest of the stairs to the family’s apartment on the top floor wishing she could be made of sterner stuff, like Moira.
If it had been the youngest O’Mara, she’d have told Ita to get off her idle arse and get on with the job she was being paid to do without so much as a second thought. Aisling had set about slapping two pieces of soft, white bread together, sandwiching the thick spread of honey between them as the telephone had begun to shrill. She knew who it would be before she picked up but she also knew from experience that it did no good ignoring Mammy, she’d track you down eventually.
Now, she flopped down on the armchair by the window and took a deep breath. The light doing its best to shine in through the windows was weak and wintery but at least it wasn’t raining. She sniffed; it smelt a bit doggy in here. That was down to Pooh. She’d have to spray the air freshener about the place. Mammy was after buying her a can in order to stop her complaining about her bringing the poodle to visit. The downside of this was she’d bought the one that smelled like her favourite perfume, Arpège, so now the apartment either smelled of poodle or Mammy. She kept looking over her shoulder expecting to see one or both of them lurking in the shadows.
She took a bite of her honey sandwich and the sweet burst on her tongue was comforting. She chewed as Mammy informed her, ‘I’m after hearing from your great aunt Noreen down in that godforsaken place she lives in again. I think they only got the electricity last year. In a right state she was. She says she won’t enjoy her meal if she’s put at the same table as your aunt Emer. There’s bad blood between those two, not that anybody knows why. Although I’m sure Emer’s mammy, Rosamunde, knows what’s gone on but she’s not saying. Anyway, Noreen says she’ll not be held responsible for her actions if Emer winds up next to her. Your father’s side of the family always were a pain in the arse except for his mammy and da, God rest their souls.’ she sniffed.
Noreen wasn’t technically Aisling’s great aunt at all. It was all very
