40

I can’t believe I’m going to Majella with more bad news, but as I’m heading over to her to work on the calligraphy, I get a call from Mikey Maguire to say he can’t accommodate drinks next Friday night before the wedding.

‘What?’ I shriek down the phone as he explains that the food safety people had been in and told him he had to have the seats reupholstered as they’re holding ‘noxious fumes’. We’ve been complaining about the smell of Guinness farts rising out of them for the past ten years, and now he’s decided that this Friday is the day he’s going to replace them?

‘It’s Majella’s wedding drinks, Mikey,’ I plead as I arrive at BallyGoBrunch and stick my head in to Carol to give her a thumbs-up. She smiles back at me and wipes a bead of sweat off her forehead. I don’t know how she does it – she’s been here day and night the past few days, working off a detailed spreadsheet. Apparently Mammy was able to give her a crash course in the basics of Excel and then off she went inputting times and amounts and everything we need to get these bloody canapés out the door. Just the sight of the kitchen has started to give me such anxiety about next weekend. Mikey isn’t budging about the drinks and I’m forced to give up. I only hope they’ll be able to squeeze us in at the bar in the Ard Rí.

I knock on the door of Majella’s apartment and walk in. It feels so cavernous now that the other Morans and Willy have moved back to the bungalow. She’s sitting in the middle of mounds of cards, black ink all over her hands.

‘Oh, thank God, Ais, I keep making a balls of the Spanish ones,’ she says, getting up and stretching her legs.

I drop my bag on the floor beside the door and take a deep breath. ‘I think you should sit back down, Maj.’

Her eyes instantly widen and she reaches for the table to steady herself. ‘Jesus Christ, what is it now? I’m not able for any more bad news, Ais. I’m starting to think this bloody building is on an Indian burial ground or something.’

‘Well, it’s not good news,’ I admit.

‘Let me guess! The church is gone up in flames? My father’s broken his two legs? Pablo has cold feet?’

I laugh. I just can’t help it. As if anything could stop Pablo from marrying her.

‘It’s not the wedding – it’s about Friday,’ I continue. ‘I was just on to Mikey Maguire. They’re closing for the night.’

She twists her face in disbelief. ‘They don’t even close on Good Friday any more! What reason did he give you?’

‘He’s getting the seats done. Finally.’

She sighs. ‘That’s something at least. The bang of farts can’t be healthy.’

We set to working through her guest list and writing out the place cards as fancy as we can, mostly in silence with the low hum of Coldplay in the background.

Majella sings along to ‘The Scientist’ absentmindedly, and I realise this is the calmest I’ve felt in weeks, maybe months. Ruby was right about calligraphy. I join in with her and we laugh.

‘We’re like larks,’ she says and I nod in agreement and we fall silent again.

‘Aisling?’ Maj says, interrupting my daze of lettering and ticking names off the list. ‘Are you okay? You’re nearly taking the arm off yourself.’

I didn’t even notice how much scratching I was doing.

‘Helping with the wedding isn’t too much for you, is it?’ she asks. ‘I know the café is busy at the moment and you must have been months planning the hen. Don’t be afraid to say no to me.’

I know Majella means this, but she also wanted the best hen in the world and I wanted to give it to her, same with the wedding. And she deserves the best too. She’s looking at me with so much concern in her eyes that I almost blab about Emilia Coburn and the food, The Peigs and everything.

‘Not at all, I’m grand,’ I say, sitting on my hands.

‘How are things with you and James?’

How are things with me and James? Not great, if I’m honest with myself. I’m niggling at him about things around the house. The dishwasher. The way he keeps turning off the shower switch while I’m in the shower. He’s trying his best but there’s something off. It’s so hard to put my finger on it, though, because he’s so nice. My poor lost boy.

‘We’re okay,’ I say tentatively and shift awkwardly in my seat. ‘He’s been so busy I’ve barely seen him.’

‘You should book a holiday.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ Nowhere near Buckleton, though. Christ, the thought of ever going back there again.

‘And the café?’

I grimace.

‘Aw not that too?’ Majella looks concerned.

‘I’ve just started to dread it,’ I explain. ‘It’s nothing like I thought it would be. I love a spreadsheet as much as the next person, possibly even more, but I’m drowning in the admin. I feel like I’m sinking. Carol is so capable but I forgot to put payroll through last week. One of Karla’s standing orders bounced. She was bulling, and rightly so.’

‘You definitely need a holiday, bird. You need to get away from all this for a while. You’ll come back feeling way better, I swear.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ The thought of fleeing is actually blissful. I’m mad to take flight and have been fantasising about packing it all in. Even a light coma sounds appealing at this stage.

‘I was thinking,’ I say to her, trying to change the subject to something a bit more positive. She’s the bride, after all. ‘You have your something borrowed?’

‘The locket from Abuela Sofia,’ she confirms.

‘You have your something new and your something blue?’

‘Dress, and a corner from Pablo’s blue boxers sewn into the lining.’

‘Well, I’m going to give you your something old.’

‘Aw, Ais, really?’

‘Of course. I’m your one and only bridesmaid.’

‘Are … you going to tell me what it is?’

‘You’ll find out on the Big Day.’