Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (6 page)

He should get back to the cottage. There was a lot to do before he left for the church. Plus he had a guest. Yeah, breakfast with Jonas was something to look forward to. He hooked his water bottle.

“Gav!”

He whipped round.

Jonas was pounding down the sand toward him, clad in an old T-shirt and what appeared to be swimming trunks. A lit cigarette dangled from one hand. His dark hair stood on end, and thick stubble shadowed his jawline. Despite his disheveled appearance, he looked better than Gavin felt.

“Morning.” He grinned at his friend. “Didn’t expect to see you up this early, never mind jogging.”

“Trying to get fit. The sedentary lifestyle and all that.”

“Bollocks,” Gavin said with a laugh. “You’re sickeningly fit for a man who sits on his arse all day and writes.”

“Mental exertion, mate. Crafting stories uses a lot of energy.”

“Yeah, right. More like a high metabolism and good genes. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I’m jogging, aren’t I?” Jonas took a drag from his cigarette. “I’m trying to set an example for Luca.”

“With fags and beer?”

“Shut up.” Jonas grinned. “At least I’m not about to get hitched.”

“You could give it consideration. Luca’s nearly five.”

A shadow flitted across Jonas’s tanned face. “You’re distracted, mate. I told you Susanne and I are on a break.”

“Another one?” How many times had they broken up since Luca’s birth? Four? Five?

Jonas shrugged. “Nah. Same break as last time we spoke of it. This one’s just lasting a while. Luca’s diagnosis hit Susanne hard.”

“For feck’s sake. He’s on the autism spectrum, not terminally ill.”

His friend gave him a sharp look. “It’ll be fine, okay? I don’t need relationship advice from a reluctant groom.”

If Jonas had punched him in the gut, Gavin couldn’t have felt more stunned. “Reluctant? Where did you get that impression?”

“Come on, Gav. We’ve been friends since secondary school. You’re not exactly what I’d term a blushing groom.”

“A bout of pre-wedding jitters. It’ll pass.”

“Make sure it passes before eleven this morning.”

Gavin stared out to sea. “Why don’t you worry about your own relationship and let me worry about mine?”

“Sorry, mate. I’ll back off.”

“Forget about it. How about a full Irish breakfast back at the cottage?”

Jonas grinned. “Last one there cooks?”

“You’re on.”

They raced down the beach, neck and neck for the first while until Gavin gained the advantage. He bounded up the slippery stone steps, across Beach Road, and waited for Jonas at the door of the cottage.

“Ha,” he said when Jonas hauled himself up the garden path, gasping for breath. “You’d make the perfect ad for an anti-smoking campaign.”

“Feck off,” said Jonas, panting. “I lost on purpose.”

“Sure you did.” Gavin inserted his key into the lock.

“Self-preservation, mate. You can’t cook for shite.”

Gavin opened the door of the cottage. They were greeted by the sound of retching.

Gavin froze, then legged it into his bedroom, Jonas close behind. “Aw, no.”

“Jaysus,” Jonas said. “Is it my imagination, or is Wiggly Poo regurgitating your wedding suit?”

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Time to play happy families.”

Bridie wrenched open the curtains. Sunlight flooded Fiona’s old bedroom, revealing faded posters of rock bands she’d loved as a teenager and Bridie’s bright orange dress.

“Ugh.” Blinking, she buried her head beneath her pillow. “Not time yet.”

“Olivia’s drinking tea in the kitchen. Says she’s here to lend you a hand getting ready for the wedding.”

Fiona emerged from underneath the pillow. “Does no one trust me to wear appropriate footwear to the church?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Your faith in me is touching.” She threw off her duvet and found her feet. In the wardrobe's full-length mirror, her reflection stared back. A wild bush of dark curls on her head, bags under her eyes, and five kilos above her ideal weight.

“Now that you’re no longer maid of honor, do you have an outfit to wear to the wedding?”

“Nothing fancy,” replied Fiona. “I have a black dress I can jazz up with jewelry.”

“Sounds grand. Don’t forget to remove your lip ring. Deirdre made particular mention of it.”

Fiona stuck her tongue out. “Oh, all right.”

“In that case, I’ll leave you girls to get ready.” She fastened a matching orange hat to her head. “I’m due to give The Major a lift to the church. And check his attire. That man cannot be trusted to wear a matching tie.”

Fiona bit back a laugh. The Earl of Clonmore—more commonly known as The Major—was Olivia’s grandfather and Bridie’s favorite frenemy. They argued about life, the universe, and everything during bridge, bingo, and flower shows.

Fiona threw on her dressing gown and went out into the kitchen.

Olivia was seated at the kitchen table, drinking tea and perusing the morning paper. She wore a beautiful emerald dress, and her auburn hair was pulled into a chic chignon. She looked up when Fiona came in. “Wow, Fee. Conditioner is your friend.”

“Morning to you, too, Liv.”

“Right, girls. I’m off.” Bridie grabbed her handbag off the kitchen counter. “Be at the church before eleven.”

“Yes, Bridie,” they chorused.

When she left, Fiona turned to Olivia. “I love her to bits, but she’s driving me mad. As far as she’s concerned, I’m still a kid. And when I’m around her, I revert.”

“Tea?” Olivia indicated the half-full pot on the table.

“No, thanks. I’ll hit the shower and get dressed; then we can spend a productive hour cyberstalking people we used to know way back when.”

Olivia laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

Fiona showered, dressed, and applied more makeup than she usually wore. She was fiddling with her hair when Olivia knocked on her bedroom door.

“Shall I?” She pointed to Fiona’s hair straighteners.

“It’s hopeless. I can’t seem to tame it.”

“Never fear. Olivia is here.”

Within fifteen minutes, Olivia had Fiona’s hair straightened and tamed.

A glamorous stranger stared back at her from the vanity mirror, straight-haired and red-lipped. “You’re a genius. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Olivia glanced at her phone. “We have over an hour before we’re due at the church.”

“My aunt asked me to clear out my storage boxes. Want to laugh at our school yearbook photos?”

“Sounds like the sort of thing mature adults would do,” Olivia said. “Go get them.”

“Bridie’s got my old photo albums and mementos stored under the bed.” Fiona bent down and pulled out a couple of boxes. “I keep meaning to sort through them and take the ones I want to save home to my apartment in Dublin. I guess this weekend is as good a time as any.”

Olivia lifted the lid off the first box and leafed through a small photo album. “These are from our school trip to Berlin in third year. Oh, my God. That was the time I shaved my head, and the nuns had a conniption.”

“There are even worse ones of you in here,” Fiona said. “Irish college the summer before the Leaving Cert. You dyed your hair pink, and I dyed mine blue.”

“Gosh, we look a state.”

Olivia lifted the lid off the second container and rifled through its contents. “Looks like this one is from your year in the States. I have fond memories of the time we met up in San Francisco. Hey, here’s a picture of you with your host family. Do you keep in touch?”

“Christmas cards.”

“Oh, wow!” Olivia held up an elegant wooden box emblazoned with Chinese characters. “You still have your little memory box.”

“What?” Fiona dropped the envelope she was holding. A prickle of foreboding snaked down her spine. What had she kept in that box?

“I have no idea what happened to mine,” Olivia said. “Do you remember the day we bought them in that little shop in Chinatown?”

Gavin… Las Vegas…
oh, feck!
She tried to yank it out of Olivia’s grasp.

“No way.” Olivia was grinning. “I want to know what you hid in the false bottom.”

“Give it here.”

Olivia had already opened the box and located its false bottom.

Fiona’s heart rate accelerated into the fast lane.
Feck, feck, feck!

Olivia was holding papers in her hand. “Ah, you’re a sly one. Photos, eh?”

“I’m serious. Give me the box.”

“Hold on a sec… here’s one of you and Gavin. Huh?” Olivia raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You look pretty cozy. Where was this taken?”

Fiona’s stomach performed a stunt worthy of an acrobat. “Las Vegas.”

“Vegas, eh? Where’s Muireann in these pictures?” Olivia put her hand back into the box and extracted more photos and papers. She flipped through them and then paused. “What the hell?”

Shite!
Olivia must have found the photo of her and Gavin kissing. Why hadn’t she destroyed it years ago? Why had she been soppy and sentimental and kept it?

“Fiona.” Olivia’s rosy cheeks were pale, her voice uncharacteristically tremulous. “Is this a marriage certificate?” 

“AW, FUCK!” Gavin tossed his water bottle to the ground and inspected the damage.

Wiggly Poo gave a final retch, then bounded up to Gavin and licked his hand.

“Get off me, you bad dog. Look what you’ve done.”

Wiggly Poo retrieved the remnants of Gavin’s wedding suit trousers from his dog basket and deposited them at his master’s feet.

“Are you expecting praise for massacring my trousers?”

The dog wagged his tail.

“Do you think we should call the vet?” Jonas leaned against the doorframe of Gavin’s bedroom, a smile curving his lips.

“That fecker ate my wedding suit.” Gavin held up the shredded trousers. “He deserves to be sick.”

“You’re a heartless dog daddy.” Jonas was laughing. The traitor!

“For the last time, it’s not my dog.”

“Whatever you say, mate.” His friend straightened and reached for Gavin’s suit jacket. “He’s after puking all over this, too.”

“What the hell am I going to do?” He threw open his wardrobe and rifled through his clothes. “Muireann’s going to kill me.”

“An unfortunate start to married life,” Jonas said dryly. “Have you no other suit you could wear?”

“None Muireann would deem acceptable. It has to be a morning suit.”

“Okay. You hop in the shower, and I’ll ring the suit rental place on Patrick Street.”

“Shouldn’t we take the dog to the vet first? If I need to take him, it’d better be now. We’re not due at the church until eleven.”

“Nah. He looks remarkably cheerful for a dog that just threw up. We’ll give him breakfast and see how he fares.”

“Right.” Gavin leaned his head against the wardrobe door, thoughts racing, chest heaving. “Dammit. Muireann will be pissed. She was dead set on me wearing that suit.”

“Shower. Shave. I’ll take care of the dog and the phone call.”

“Jonas, you’re a star. Thank you.”

“No worries. Now get moving.” Jonas picked up Wiggly Poo. “And don’t have a panic attack in the shower.”

“Not panic. Asthma.” Gavin gestured toward Wiggly Poo.

Jonas arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, right.”

Gavin stripped in his en suite bathroom and stepped into the shower. He blasted it at top power, relishing the feeling of the needles of water stabbing his back. Everything would be fine. He’d find a solution. Even if he couldn’t wear the suit Muireann had chosen, he wouldn’t show up at the church in his birthday suit.

He washed, shaved, and dressed with as much speed as he could muster in his groggy state. Jeans and a T-shirt would do until he got a suit at The Black Tie. By the time he entered the kitchen, Jonas had breakfast on the table.

Gavin sniffed the air in appreciation. “A full Irish. Jonas, I might marry you instead.”

“I figured a culinary coronary would be a fitting end to the morning.”

“Woof!” Wiggly Poo dashed under the kitchen table and buried his snout in Gavin’s crotch.

“Wiggly Poo. We need to have a word about your manners. Crotch sniffing is not socially acceptable.”

“You’re not seriously going to leave the poor creature saddled with that name?”

“I dunno.” Gavin examined the dog. “It sort of suits him.”

Jonas speared a fried mushroom. “I spoke to Nora at The Black Tie. She’s rooting in the back for a couple of suits for you. Said it’s a pity you’re so tall.”

“I won’t be shrinking between now and the ceremony. Whatever she has will have to do.”

“Right-o. Eat up, and we’ll go by after we drop the dog off.”

“Sure your aunt realizes what she’s letting herself in for?”

“Ignorance is bliss, my friend. Besides, Mary’s good with dogs. She’ll be grand.”

“It’s her house I’m worried about.”

He piled his plate high with rashers, sausages, black and white puddings, fried mushrooms, and tomatoes. On one point Jonas was correct: he was the superior cook. “Delicious.”

“The dog seems to like it, too.”

“What the…” Wiggly Poo had hopped up on the chair next to Gavin’s and was helping himself from Gavin’s plate. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.” He scooped up the puppy and placed him beside his food bowl. “Bad doggy. You’ve worse table manners than Bernard.”