Whose Life is it Anyway? (36 page)

‘Everyone they’ve ever met,’ he grumbled. ‘It’ll look ridiculous – twenty people on my side of the church and two hundred and twenty-three on yours.’

‘I’ll lend you some of mine.’

Siobhan came in. ‘I’ve just been to pick up the bridesmaid’s dress. It’s gorgeous. She’ll have the flower girls’ ones ready in a few days’ time.’

My sister had volunteered herself as my bridesmaid and her five daughters as my flower girls. She had also taken it upon herself to organize the dresses without consulting me. She had asked in passing if I liked pink, and when I said, ‘Not really,’ she ordered it anyway.

‘Let me see,’ I said, handing Pierre his coffee.

She pulled the dress out of the bag. It was a big meringuelike creation made of fuchsia pink satin. The underskirts were pale pink netting and the bodice was covered with pale pink lace.

‘Oh, my God,’ I said.

‘Isn’t it amazing?’ She beamed. ‘What do you think, Pierre?’

‘I’m speechless,’ he said, trying to hide his shock by taking a gulp of coffee.

‘Didn’t Noleen do a great job? The pink lace was her idea. She’s so creative. She’s a friend of Auntie Pauline, and she used to make clothes for Barbara Cartland. Imagine! Princess Diana’s step-grandmother!’

‘Is this lady making your dress too?’ Pierre asked me.

‘No, I bought mine ready made, so there’d be no surprises.’

He looked mightily relieved.

‘Are the flower girls going to be the same colour?’ I asked.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Siobhan. ‘You can’t have flower girls in fuchsia. They’ll be in lilac.’

My stomach sank. Lilac! I hated lilac. Not as much as I disliked fuchsia, but pretty close. My wedding was turning into a farce. I had no control over it whatsoever. Thank God I’d bought my dress myself, in peace, much to Mum and Siobhan’s annoyance. They thought it was far too plain and were furious that I hadn’t included them in the choice. But I knew that involving them would have meant ending up in something made by a friend of the family, and while their craftsmanship might be good, they would never have agreed to something so simple and unfussy. In some cultures less is more. In Irish culture, more is more.

Mum came bustling in, carrying a large bouquet of roses. ‘Oh, is that the bridesmaid’s dress?’ she said, somehow spotting the neon meringue. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

‘I know,’ said my sister. ‘And wait’ll you see it on me. I look amazing.’

‘Well, I’m glad to see you’ve lost a bit of weight anyway,’ said Mum. ‘How did you do it? I’ve eaten nothing but bread and butter for the last two weeks and I haven’t shifted a pound.’

‘I’m doing the cabbage-soup diet, but Liam says I’ll have to give it up. The house stinks of boiled cabbage.’

‘And you’re breaking wind like a drunken sailor,’ said Finn, who had just come in.

‘Finn! We have a guest,’ Mum said, as Pierre laughed.

‘Sure he’s nearly one of the family, God love him,’said Finn.

‘That’s disgusting,’ said Siobhan, blushing.

‘It’s true, though, isn’t it? Your husband told me himself,’ said Finn.

‘I’ll kill him,’ said my sister, grabbing her phone and storming out to give her husband a roasting.

‘You shouldn’t wind her up. She’s bad enough as it is,’ I scolded.

‘Do you like these?’ Mum asked, changing the subject and handing me the bouquet.

There were about twenty roses tied in a bunch – ten red, ten pink. ‘They’re lovely, Mum, but I was going to carry a single flower.’

‘What? One flower? Everyone’ll think we were trying to save money on the bouquet. You can’t have one measly flower on your wedding day.’

‘I thought a single white lily would be nice.’

‘White? Lily? It’s not a funeral, Niamh. I never heard the like. No, you’ll have a nice big bunch of roses like this and let that be the end of it.’

‘But, Mum, I –’

‘I’ve ordered them now and it’s too late to change. It’s not easy, you know, trying to organize a proper wedding with only a few weeks’ notice. If it wasn’t for your aunties I’d be lost altogether.’

Before she began to tell me how ungrateful I was, I jumped in. ‘Mum, the bouquet is beautiful – and you’re right. One flower would look silly. Let me know what I can do to help.’

‘I agree, the roses are lovely,’ Pierre added.

‘I told you,’ Mum said to me. ‘Now, I’ve booked you in for a hair trial with Maggie down the road. She does lovely up-styles. We’re going there at three today.’

‘I can’t, Mum. I’m dropping Pierre to the airport.’

‘It’s the only appointment she has all week,’ said Mum.

Seeing her lip quiver, Pierre said gallantly, ‘Don’t be silly, darling. I’ll grab a taxi. It’ll be easier – you won’t be stuck in traffic on the way back.’

And so my fiancé, whom I wasn’t going to see for a week, was sent back to Dublin for his final week’s work in a taxi while I went to the hairdresser’s.

‘Niamh, this is Maggie Harvey. She’s Bill Hegarty’s sister’s niece.’

I looked blankly at Mum.

‘You remember Bill? He’s a good friend of your father. They used to go to the races together. He owns the hardware shop, Hegarty’s.’

‘Ah, yes.’ I hadn’t the faintest clue who she was talking about, but everyone was related in one form or another so it was much of a muchness, really.

‘Well, love, what style were you thinking?’ asked Maggie. ‘Would you like it all up with curls falling down at the side and a tiara?’

‘God, no,’ I blurted out. ‘To be honest I’m looking for something really simple. Maybe just a blow-dry and a clip in one side.’

Mum and Maggie laughed.

‘Simple? On your wedding day? I don’t think so,’ said the hairdresser. ‘You can’t look the same as always on your wedding day. It has to be special – dazzling.’

‘Why don’t you put it up in a big sweeping bun, then have little flowers all over your head?’ Mum suggested.

‘Oooh, that sounds nice. And we could curl a few bits at the sides,’ said the curl-pusher.

My heart sank. How was I going to persuade them that I didn’t want big hair with things stuck into it like a bloody bird’s nest? ‘Really, Mum, I’d prefer to have it down. Pierre likes it down,’ I said, using what leverage I could.

‘We could have it down with a few bits up at the side and maybe a few curls,’ said Maggie, trying to avoid a fight in her salon.

Mum pursed her lips and crossed her arms. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You’ll do it your way regardless of what I think anyway.’

‘Come on, Mum, that’s not true,’ I said, wanting to avoid a confrontation with her. It was bad enough that Dad was almost ignoring me, without having Mum annoyed too.

‘Arriving home with a fiancé none of us had met. Announcing you’re off to live in Canada. Telling us you have to have a wedding organized in a few weeks’ time. Getting your poor father into a terrible state.’

When she put it like that I felt ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I have landed you in it. I didn’t mean to pounce it on you like that but I was scared you’d react badly to Pierre being black and that you’d try to stop us getting married, so I waited until the last minute. I was wrong. You’ve been really great and I appreciate everything. I just wish Dad would come round. Look, if you want me to have my hair up, I’ll do it. Whatever you want.’

‘What I want,’ she said, getting emotional, ‘is for you to be here in London, near me, and not off on the other side of the world. I’ll miss you.’

‘Oh, Mum,’ I said, hugging her as Maggie busied herself discreetly at the back of the salon. ‘I know it seems really far away, but you can come and visit and it won’t be for ever. In a few years’ time Pierre can apply for a job back here in England and we’ll be together again. I’ll come home as much as I can. I’ll miss you too,’ I said, beginning to cry.

‘Come on, now, no tears. This is a happy time,’ she said, going into mother mode.

‘I know and I am happy, but it’s a bit scary too. Overwhelming, really.’

‘Of course it is, pet. Getting married is a big enough ordeal without moving country too. But he’s a wonderful man. He certainly loves you and you light up in his company. You can’t ask for more than that. I think you’ll be very happy. I hope so.’

‘Thanks, Mum. For everything.’

‘OK. Now, that’s enough of that. We’ve hair to sort out. Maggie, you can come back over. We’ve finished with the tears for now. I need you to make this girl beautiful. Now, I think we’ll try that up-style bun I mentioned,’ she said, as I sat back and surrendered.

45

The next two weeks were a blur of organizing, being bombarded with questions, aunties running in and out with advice, food, stories, tiaras, shoes, hugs, drinks, dry-cleaning and warm, wonderful support. I’d miss this: the fuss, the camaraderie, the fun, the laughter and the drama. It was home. It was what I was used to. Things would be very quiet in Canada.

As time flew by and my excitement grew, it was tinged with sadness that my father had still not come round. He was civil about the arrangements and he didn’t say anything overtly negative about Pierre, but he was still cool towards me, which hurt. But there was nothing I could do. He didn’t approve and probably never would. I just had to hope that, one day, he’d realize I had made a really good choice of husband. But not to have his support at such an important time in my life and to feel his disappointment every time he looked at me was devastating.

Finally the wedding day dawned. I woke up early and looked round my childhood bedroom. My posters of Duran Duran were still on the wall. My tap-dancing shoes lay in their box alongside my Irish-dancing shoes. My awful green dancing dresses filled the wardrobe, with my tie-dye jeans, illegal
FRANKIE SAYS RELAX
T-shirt and luminous leg-warmers. I loved this room, I loved this house. I’d been lucky to grow up in this big, noisy family, with its love of Irish culture and heritage. It was just a pity it had taken me so long to appreciate it all.

My phone rang, bringing me out of my thoughts. ‘Hello, beautiful,’ said Pierre.

‘Hello.’

‘Any doubts?’

‘None. You?’

‘None.’

‘Jitters?’

‘Only that I don’t say the wrong thing in church.’ He laughed.

‘Just say, “I do”. Father Hogan will handle the rest.’

‘I can’t believe how nervous I am. Maybe it’s the speech.’

‘Keep it short and simple. Don’t try to be funny and no jokes.’

‘I thought a few Paddy jokes would go down well.’

‘Hilarious.’

‘No second thoughts?’

‘No, although I do have a confession.’

‘It’s a bit late for that.’

‘I’m bringing Visa bills into this marriage.’

‘How bad?’

‘Define bad.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘I’ll pay them off when I get a job in Canada.’

‘What did you buy?’

‘Shoes.’

‘They can’t have cost that much.’

‘You haven’t seen them yet.’

‘OK, anything else you’d like to confess?’

‘I’m not taking your name. Niamh Alcee sounds ridiculous.’

‘I can live with that. Is that all?’

‘Just that I love you and can’t wait to be your wife, except for the name part. You?’

‘I’m a little apprehensive about your extended family coming to stay with us in Vancouver. Did you have to invite all your cousins?’

‘It’s called being welcoming, having an open house.’

‘I quite like having my house to myself.’

‘You only children,’ I sighed, ‘never want to share.’

‘To be fair, I’m sharing my wedding day with two hundred and twenty-three of your close personal friends and relatives.’

‘True.’

‘My father just gave me our wedding present.’

‘What is it?’

‘A very generous cheque to help us get settled in Vancouver.’

‘How generous?’

‘I’m not telling you, Imelda Marcos. You’ll blow it on shoes.’

‘
My
father still hasn’t spoken to me properly. He can barely look me in the eye.’

‘He’ll come round.’

‘Maybe some day, but in the meantime it looks like I’m going to have to drag him up the aisle.’

There was a knock on my door. ‘Can I come in?’ asked Dad.

‘Shit, it’s Dad. I have to go. See you in church,’ I whispered, hanging up.

‘Come in,’ I shouted at the closed door.

Dad shuffled in, looking decidedly uncomfortable. ‘I need to speak to you and Pierre before the wedding.’

‘I can’t see him before the church. It’s bad luck,’ I said, determined not to have this meeting. Whatever he had to say, it was bad news and I didn’t want to hear it.

‘Get that fella over here. I’ve a few things I want to discuss,’ he repeated.

‘Like what? You can’t start giving us grief now. It’s too late – we’re getting married in a few hours.’ I was panicking. What on earth did he want to say at this late stage? Was he going to try a last-ditch attempt to break us up?

‘This is my house and you’re still my daughter. Now, get him over here before I cancel the whole day.’ He turned on his heels.

I rang Pierre in tears. ‘I don’t know what’s going on but Dad’s insisting that you come over now because he wants to talk to us. I think he’s going to try to stop the wedding,’ I sobbed.

‘Calm down, darling. Nothing and no one is going to prevent us getting married. Let him say his piece and then we’ll get married anyway. I’ve had enough of this. Be strong. I’m on my way.’

Half an hour later, Pierre, Mum, Finn, Siobhan, Nuala, Tadhg and I were sitting in the lounge looking at each other nervously.

‘What’s going on, Mum?’ I asked.

‘I have no idea, pet. I’m in the dark here too,’ she said worriedly.

‘He wouldn’t say a word to me either, just told me to get over here with Nuala,’ said Tadhg.

‘It looks bad to me. I’d say he’s going to call off the wedding,’ said Siobhan, loving the drama.

‘He’s probably going to give Pierre a lecture on Ireland,’ said Finn, trying to calm us down.

Dad walked in and closed the door.

Pierre turned to him. ‘Now, look here, Mr O’Flaherty, I think I’ve been extremely patient and reasonable, but at this eleventh hour I have to say this to you. I’m going to marry your daughter today, with or without your blessing.’

‘Sit down, please, and let me explain why I’ve asked you here,’ said Dad, calmly. Then, turning to address us all, he said, ‘Thank you for coming at such short notice. I realize this is bad timing and I apologize for that. But I wanted you all to hear what I have to say.’