11

It takes me about thirty seconds to figure out exactly what’s going on, and the whole time I’m panicking about the alpacas. Surely the noise will kill them stone dead? But I look around and there are no alpacas, only people smiling and my name spelled out in helium balloons and streamers and banners and basically all the party tat China has to offer. ‘Celebration’ by Kool & the Gang is pumping out of the sound system.

Faces swim in front of me – Baby Chief Gittons still in his county jersey, I can only imagine the stench; Sharon; Miss Maloney, my senior infants teacher – while Majella presses a glass of Prosecco into each of my sweaty palms.

‘Feliz cumpleaños to you, Aisling!’ It’s Pablo. He’s wearing his good party sombrero. I’m stunned. Like, really stunned.

‘Did you really think we’d let your thirtieth go without marking the occasion?’ Maj hoots, grabbing me for a quick selfie. ‘You should have seen your face, bird.’

‘But what … where … the dress?’ I stammer.

‘I had to think of something that would make you come running,’ she says with a shrug. ‘I know you take your bridesmaid’s duties more seriously than quite possibly anything else.’ She’s not wrong.

‘So it’s not green then?’ I reply, draining the second glass of fizz while waving hello at Constance Swinford who’s striding around purposefully with Grainne Gleeson trotting at her heels, wearing an apron and taking notes.

‘Oh, it is. It’s desperate. Back to the drawing board. Sadhbh was just saying I could –’

‘Sadhbh is here? I thought she was in Singapore this week!’

‘I was lying! Happy birthday, bitch!’ She appears in front of me and kisses me on both cheeks. This is what three months of international travel has done – she used to be content with constant hugs. I’m so shocked to see her that I barely have time to process the fact that she’s wearing a boiler suit. But she is. She’s wearing a boiler suit to a party. Not that she doesn’t look deadly in it, as per usual, even with the preposterous fur-lined loafers on her feet, but still.

‘Oh my god, I can’t believe it. Sadhbhy! You’re back in BGB!’ And then my blood runs cold. I never asked her about The Peigs and now Majella is only twelve feet away. What am I going to do?

‘What are we, chopped liver?’ I swing around and there are Elaine and Ruby beaming back at me. ‘Welcome to your dirty thirties, Ais.’ Before I know it, the three of them have drawn me into a group hug and for a split second I screw my eyes shut and breathe in their expensive perfumes and imagine we’re back in our swanky Dublin penthouse, sitting around under blankets getting mouldy on Pinot Greej. When I broke up with John and moved to Dublin to become an independent woman like Beyoncé told me to, I never imagined I’d wind up with a whole new gang of best friends. God, we had some good times in that place, and wasn’t life so much simpler? No 5 a.m. starts or cash-and-carry runs or the pressure of paying wages and people’s livelihoods and rent depending on me back then. And I was never more than twenty minutes away from a Penneys. I can’t remember the last time I was in Penneys. I’m like a hostage to the café sometimes.

‘Lads, I can’t believe you’re all here,’ I say, feeling a bit teary. The Prosecco is obviously kicking in.

‘Did you really not suspect anything, pet?’ It’s Mammy, wearing the Going Out Gilet I got her last Christmas.

I look down at my feet. ‘I would’ve put on my good wellies if I did.’

It’s her turn to hug me then. I’ve become very partial to a good Mammy hug in the past year or so. ‘Happy birthday, my Aisling,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘I wish Daddy was here tonight. He’d get some craic out of all of this, wouldn’t he?’

‘He would,’ I sniff back at her.

There’s now a swarm of people around me, slapping me on the back, passing me gift bags – very handy, I’ll use those again – and telling me I don’t look a day over twenty-nine. All the usual birthday craic. And even though I’m right there in the middle of it, smiling and nodding and wiping away the odd tear, it all feels so surreal, like I’m floating above it and looking down.

I think about all the surprise parties I’ve been an accessory to over the years: Maeve Hennessy’s pimps-and-hos-themed twenty-first, Liz and Shem Moran’s silver wedding anniversary, Auntie Sheila’s sixtieth that was at her house and that she clearly knew about because she arrived wearing more sequins than Liza Minnelli. The convoluted plans and flimsy excuses to get people where they need to be at the right time. The hysteria when word comes through that the mark is on the way. I can’t believe that it was all going on around me today and I never copped.

‘How was the wake?’ Carol Boland calls across the crowd with a wink.

‘Was that not a real wake?’ I reply, incredulous.

‘Noel’s brother’s house,’ she goes. ‘We were working on food for tonight on the sly and we needed to get you out of the picture.’ Noel is standing beside her, slapping his thigh he’s laughing so hard, the absolute sleeveen.

‘But there was a hearse parked outside? I talked to that poor man about his dead father for twenty minutes. I ended up saying I’d see him at the burial tomorrow. He cried!’

‘The devil is in the details, Ais,’ Carol says and then turns back to her chat with Mags from Zumba with Mags.

I wheel around to face Mammy. ‘I just can’t believe you went to all this trouble.’

‘It’s your thirtieth, pet. Majella suggested it and Constance and myself thought it would be the perfect opportunity to do a dry run with a crowd to see how we got on in advance of launching the eco farm properly. Sadhbh did all the coordinating from abroad. She introduced me to some great apps. Very handy.’

‘Are you even afraid of the alpacas, Mammy? Or was it all a ruse to get me up here to feed them?’

Her face goes stony. ‘They’re fierce creatures, Aisling. Very cruel eyes.’

Something else dawns on me. ‘Is that why everyone was panicking about the yurts arriving on time?’

‘Sure where else would we put people?’ Majella says. ‘I told Sadhbh she could bunk in with me if the worst came to the worst, but that was only because I thought Don would be coming.’

‘He’s on vocal rest for Tuesday’s show,’ Sadhbh says apologetically. ‘I swear he’d be here if he wasn’t, Maj. He’s raging his schedule is so insane.’

‘I’ll tell you what’s insane,’ Elaine says, arriving at my side with another bottle of Prosecco and filling my glasses, ‘what you’ve done with this place, Marian. Constance gave us a tour of the yurt village and the yoga space and the nature trail earlier. Ruby actually foraged for food.’

‘Blackberries,’ Ruby says proudly. ‘Straight from the bush. I’ve never felt more like Bear Grylls.’

‘All organic and vegan too, girls,’ Mammy says with a nod, even though I’m not convinced she’s 100 per cent on what either of those two words mean. ‘Make sure and tell your pals that if it’s a weekend glamping in the countryside they want, they need to come to ShayMar Farm in Ballygobbard.’

‘ShayMar Farm?’ I don’t think anyone around here’s named their farm. It’s always just Doyles or Ryans or whatever, but I suppose now that the eco farm is a tourist attraction, it needed a name. And this one is perfect.

‘That’s right, pet. Shay for Seamus and Mar for Marian.’

‘Ah, Mammy, that’s lovely.’ Her and Daddy’s names together bring a lump to my throat. She reaches out to take my hand. ‘But what about Constance?’ I say. ‘She’s your partner, isn’t she?’

‘I just couldn’t make the Con work, Aisling. She understood.’

‘It’s fabulous,’ Sadhbh says. ‘I can’t wait to spread the word.’

‘Hen parties a speciality,’ Mammy says, going straight into business mode. ‘Every need catered for. You can book it all online because the website is going to be,’ she takes a breath and leaves a dramatic pause, ‘transactional.’

‘Transactional, Mammy?’ I say, surprised.

Majella looks at me and raises her eyebrows. ‘Transactional, is it now?’

‘Oh yes,’ Mammy says proudly. ‘It has to be in this day and age, girls. Millennials don’t want to be talking on the phone. They want to book their team-building experiences and weekend escapes on their tablets and what have you.’

Sadhbh, Elaine and Ruby all look equal parts amused and impressed.

‘Mammy’s started a computer course in Knock Town Hall,’ I say by way of explanation.

‘Honestly, I don’t know why I resisted it for so long,’ Mammy goes. ‘Tessie Daly just wanted to learn how to send a Gmail and I was only hoping to get quicker at my touch typing, but I’m really enjoying it. I’m actually thinking of getting into coding.’

‘Well, fair fucks, Marian,’ Ruby says, raising her glass. ‘You’re an inspiration to us all.’

I look down at my wellies and around at everyone else in their finery. ‘I might run and get changed.’

‘Hang on, Ais!’ Majella calls from where she’s wiping what I assume is alpaca shite off her boot. How did I not even notice she was dolled up when I arrived? The snakey so-and-so. I hang back for her and she slings her arm through mine. ‘You don’t mind, do you Ais? I know you said you didn’t want anything but you’ve been so good to me with the wedding and I just –’

‘No, no. It’s great.’ I sigh. ‘Do you know what it was? I was just feeling a bit left behind, you know? Single again and living at home with Mammy on my thirtieth birthday. It’s not what I had imagined for myself. Remember the diary?’

‘I said it before and I’ll say it again, twenty-seven out of thirty is a very respectable score. You’re flying! And you don’t need –’

I cut her off. ‘I know, I know. New Aisling doesn’t care about settling down and getting the ring and all that, but with James gone now I’m feeling a bit, I don’t know, lonely, I suppose. Thank God work is mad enough to keep me busy.’

Majella gives me a big smile. ‘I think you’ll be just fine. And besides, have you finished Moby Dick yet?’

She’s got me there. I’ll have to renew it from the library again. ‘Thirty, Majella. It’s so old.’

‘It’s the new twenty,’ she says with a smile.

‘I know. And I am grand. Onwards and upwards, eh?’ I squeeze her arm and she peels away from me back to the party.

‘Onwards and upwards, bird,’ she calls behind her. ‘Now go and change those wellies. The state of you.’

I’m walking back towards the house through the yard, which is decked out in fairy lights, repeating a mantra Colette Green said she writes on her mirror and says to herself when she’s brushing her teeth.

‘I will have patience in the timeline of my life. I will have patience in the timeline of my life.’ Now, I think Colette was asking for good thoughts for her scented drawer liners to be stocked in Brown Thomases, but sure everyone has their goals. I break into a little jog, desperate to put on a bit of brown mascara and a slick of Heather Shimmer, not to mention losing the wellies. While I’m at it, I decide to have a quick controlled cry here in the safety of the dark yard. Between panicking about Majella’s wedding dress and then the shock of the party, my nerves feel like elastic bands stretched to breaking point. I look behind me and can see all my friends through the big shed window. Pablo is swinging Majella around and going to do himself or someone else an injury. Sharon and Cyclops are kissing on a bale of hay. I let the hot tears fall down my face, my shoulders heaving. It feels good. I turn to head into the house and fix myself up and there’s a crunch of footsteps on the gravel. I freeze. Not a bloody alpaca, surely?

‘Are you alright, Aisling?’

It’s John. Of all people. I swat at my face, wiping the tears away with my palms. It’s dark enough that maybe he can’t see that I’ve been crying. Although he’s not deaf.

‘I was just tightening a few things up in the yurts. Your mother asked me to do one last check. She said there was the party tonight, alright, but I didn’t think it would be –’

‘Oh no. No. You should come. It’s grand. Is Megan …?’

‘She’s at a hen. Galway, I think. I got a picture of no fewer than three blow-up dolls. My mother nearly saw it. Can you imagine?’

‘Jesus. Wigs on the green.’

The following four excruciating seconds of silence threaten to turn into five but he breaks it, thank God. ‘Your mother asked if I know anything about websites. She wants to make the eco-farm site transactional.’

John has always been something of a technological guru to Mammy, despite the fact I’ve told her multiple times he’s a mechanical engineer and doesn’t in fact work in IT. ‘He’s in computers,’ I overheard her proudly telling everyone at my Granny Reilly’s funeral, me and John’s first public appearance since we got together at my twenty-first. All my aunts were convinced he was going to be the next Steve Jobs.

‘You don’t know anything about making websites,’ I retort.

‘I watched a few YouTube tutorials,’ he replies with a smile. ‘It’s very hard to say no to her. You don’t mind?’

‘No, no, not at all.’

‘Okay. Well, happy birthday, and … look after yourself, okay?’

He crunches away across the gravel and I relax my shoulders down from around my ears. I need another drink. I need another ten drinks. I need another ten drinks and then I need to maybe drunk-text James. Life is too short for this carry-on.