42

I just have to drop into Mammy’s for two minutes to collect my bridesmaid dress and Majella’s something old, and then I can head to the Ard Rí in time for the wedding-eve drinks the hotel was luckily able to accommodate. I had dropped the precious garment bag in weeks ago in a rush and asked Mammy to hang it up for me. For luck it’s not the type of material that creases badly so it shouldn’t need to be steamed or anything. For some reason special dresses like these – bridesmaid, wedding, communion, maybe even debs – have to be stored in other houses. It’s like an unspoken rule. God forbid I might have my bridesmaid dress in my own wardrobe at James’s. And of course, it would be criminal if Majella’s wedding dress was in her own house. What if Pablo suddenly somehow developed X-ray vision and could see it? What if he lost the run of himself and looked? No, Majella’s dress had actually been in my wardrobe until she collected it earlier.

Mammy’s car isn’t there but the back door is open and I let myself in, looking over the wall and noting the new scarecrow standing tall and proud over the vegetable patch. James must have found the time to get it finished – fair play to him. He never said. I take the stairs up to my room two at a time, and as soon as I push the door I sense something is different. Wrong. The atmosphere is … off. As I walk in, I see that my little single bed is still there but everything else is different. The walls are bare and a larger desk has replaced my ancient one, and on it stands a new computer, printer and stacks of Mammy’s paperwork and files for the eco farm. Where is all my stuff? It hits me like a punch in the stomach. I go to the wardrobe and fling it open. Almost empty apart from a few Good Coats and the one garment bag. My bridesmaid dress. At least that’s still there. I sit on the bed, trying not to cry, and reach under it, feeling for my boxes. My hand claws the air, though. There’s nothing there. I get down on my hands and knees and peer under the bed but the empty space yawns back at me. Not even a ball of dust. I scream. I can’t help it. What has she done? All my things. My memories. My photos Blu-Tacked to the mirror and my posters and my Irish dancing medals. All gone. Why didn’t she tell me? Can I never come home again? I stay on my knees for a minute or two, fighting back the tears, and then remember I was supposed to be at the Ard Rí twenty minutes ago and pull myself together. I stand up, take out the garment bag and head back downstairs. I hear Mammy’s car pulling into the driveway and look out the kitchen window to see her unloading bags from the boot. The yurts are completely booked out for tomorrow night so she has a busy weekend ahead. I don’t even go out to help her, I’m that annoyed. She bustles in the back door, her arms laden, getting a fright when she sees me standing there.

‘Aisling. Jesus, you nearly put my heart through the roof.’

‘My car is outside.’

‘I know, but you’re just standing there like the grim reaper. Will you grab a few bags for me, good girl?’

‘I don’t really have time.’

She’s barely listening, though, and rushes back out to the car, calling behind her. ‘There’s some activity going on at Maguire’s this evening. Fierce coming and going, out and in.’

Out of nowhere a ghostly voice booms, ‘Playing. Blowing in the Wind. By. Bob Dylan.’

Mammy comes back into the kitchen and drops more bags. ‘ALEXA. WILL YOU GIVE OVER?’

She stops and looks at me. ‘Aisling, what’s wrong.’

‘My room, Mammy.’

She hits her hand off her forehead. ‘Jesus, of course. You haven’t seen it.’ Then she beams. ‘Well, what do you think?’

She looks delighted with herself but her face soon falls. ‘What’s wrong, love? Do you not like it? You were only complaining recently about having too much stuff.’

She’s right, I suppose, I was. I was feeling frustrated with myself for not fully embracing the move into James’s place and still having so much stuff at home. I didn’t think she’d do this, though.

‘I needed an office, pet,’ she says gently. ‘I can’t keep all my paperwork for the farm in the kitchen. It was Tessie’s idea – she has me roped into moving up a level in the computer course. I needed a proper desk and a good chair and your old room, well, it’s the perfect space for it. Sure aren’t you all grown up with your own place now?’

My eyes fill with tears and I rub at them angrily. ‘Where is my stuff, though?’ I wail, scratching at my hives. ‘I need one of the boxes from under the bed. Did you throw them all out? There was one with a red lid.’

‘Of course not, love. They’re all in the attic. Paul helped me put them up there. I was delighted to see him up and about actually, he was –’

‘Mammy, I need that box! It has Majella’s something old in it.’

‘Don’t panic. We can get it down.’

‘I don’t have time now. I’ll make do.’

‘You got the dress, though?’ She nods at the garment bag.

I feel bad for being angry with her. But she could have just asked me before doing it. ‘I did. Thanks.’

‘It’s a lovely dress. A most unusual colour, that dusty pink.’

‘What? It’s not pink.’

I reef the zip on the bag down and, sure enough, a swathe of pink fabric comes into view. ‘Mammy. This isn’t the one I gave you.’

‘It is, Aisling. There was only one dress in that bag.’

I stare at the offending pink number trying to figure out what’s happened. I had so many deliveries coming and so many of the same coloured bags that I must have lost track and sent the wrong dress – well, the right dress – back.

‘This isn’t my bridesmaid dress. I’ve kept the wrong one.’

I can feel a cold sweat working its way over my shoulders and up the back of my head and my breathing gets shallower and shallower. I start to cry but it just comes as heaving breaths.

‘Aisling, pet, sit down here and calm down and have some water.’

I sit in the chair she offers me, still clutching the garment bag, and do my best to calm down like she says. She waits a few minutes for my breaths to return to normal.

‘You were panicking, Aisling. It’s only a dress. Can’t you wear that one?’

‘It’s way too small. And it’s strapless.’

‘Have you nothing else? An old one you can wear? There’s something long in the back of that wardrobe, I’m sure of it.’

‘It’s Majella’s wedding, Mammy. I’m the only bridesmaid. I can’t show up in my debs dress.’

I realise I’m now mad late for the Ard Rí and Majella is going to kill me because she wants to do a little practice with me and her walking up the aisle and then back down with Pablo and John. I bundle the pink dress into the bag.

‘I’ll figure something out.’

I grab my keys and Mammy calls after me. ‘Will you go easy, Aisling? Go easy, pet.’

I race out the back door and, with her words ringing in my ears, force myself to stop for a second and take a few deep breaths before walking over to the Micra. I’m just getting in when Paul rounds the corner, his phone in his hand.

‘Hey,’ I call over. I’ve been so busy I can’t remember the last time I actually spoke to him. ‘Come here for a sec, will you, Paul?’

He ambles across the yard slowly, flipping his phone over in his hand.

‘Well, what’s the craic?’ I ask, leaning against the car and trying to push the dress saga out of my mind for a minute.

‘Not much,’ he replies. ‘Just restocking the farm shop. She was at me all evening.’

I resist the urge to make a quip about earning his keep. He drinks about two litres of milk with every meal! ‘You’re looking better than the last time I saw you anyway,’ I say. He’s not really. His face is pale and drawn but who doesn’t like to be told they’re looking well.

‘Sure I do,’ he replies sarcastically, staring out over the Far Field.

‘Ah, Paul, don’t be like that.’

‘Be like what?’

‘Smart with me. I’m only asking how you are.’

‘I feel like shit, if you really want to know. I should have stayed in Oz.’

‘What are you talking about? Mammy is running herself ragged looking after you, as well as getting everything ready for this weekend. What more do you want?’

He shrugs and sets his jaw, still looking into the distance.

I feel the anger bubbling up inside me. I can’t help it. ‘Maybe you should stop thinking about yourself for five minutes,’ I say sharply, scratching my forearm. ‘You’re not the only one with problems.’

He looks at the ground and shakes his head. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Aisling.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I should never have come home. You’d all be much happier if I wasn’t around.’

‘Ah, Paul, don’t be so silly.’ I feel such a pang of guilt and sadness for him.

‘I just – I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.’ He scuffs his foot on the ground then turns and walks away.

Before I can stop him my phone goes in my pocket. Majella! She’s going to murder me if I don’t go now. ‘Paul!’ I shout after him. ‘Paul!’

But he’s gone in through the back door.