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Chapter 10

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Aisling dragged her heels all the way up St Stephen’s Green, feeling like Mr Fox as she furtively scanned the faces heading towards her. All three storeys of O’Mara’s loomed over her and she was relieved to have reached the guest house with no sighting of Marcus. She stood outside staring at the window box with its profusion of purple and yellow pansies, debating whether she should try to sneak a peek in through the windows. The problem was solved for her when the door opened and Mr Peterson, camera in hand appeared. ‘I forgot this,’ he said in his posh Queen’s English, as he held the door for her. She had no choice but to venture inside.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You and Mrs Peterson be sure to have a lovely afternoon.’

‘We will, thank you dear.’

‘There you are!’ Bronagh’s jet black head with its telltale zebra stripe at the roots bobbed up from behind the computer, her brown eyes rimmed with a generous application of black liner were ginormous and round. ‘You’ll never guess who had the brass neck to bowl in here while you were out.’

‘Let me take a wild stab in the dark. Marcus?’

Bronagh’s eyes shrank back to their normal size. ‘Have you seen him then?’

‘No, well yes, but from a safe distance and he didn’t see me. He was crossing Baggot Street, so I guessed this was where he was heading. I went and hid in O’Brien’s.’

‘If I’d known you were ducking in there, I would have got you to pick me up one of their chicken wraps, they’re lovely.’ She looked down at the plate next to the keyboard on which a sad looking sandwich triangle sat. ‘I don’t even like tomato, but its low calorie.’

‘Bronagh, food was the last thing on my mind. What did you say to him?’

‘I told him you’d gone to live in an ashram in India.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘I’d have liked to. I’d have liked to tell him to feck off too, excuse my French but, after what he did—,’

‘Bronagh, just tell me what you said.’

She picked up her sandwich. ‘I told him you were out doing errands and wouldn’t be back in until later. And, I might have told him you were out tonight too. I didn’t want him thinking you spend your nights sitting up there,’ she pointed to the ceiling, ‘pining for him.’

‘I don’t.’ She did. ‘But thanks.’ She couldn’t stop herself asking, ‘How did he seem?’

‘Not his usual Cock o’ the walk self.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Aisling do not feel sorry for the man. He doesn’t deserve it.’

‘I wasn’t.’ That much was true at least. ‘I’m going to head upstairs for a bit, make a few phone calls while it’s quiet. I’ll leave you to your tomato sandwich.’

Bronagh muttered something about soggy bread and feckless men under her breath as Aisling powered up the stairs, she’d phone Leila now while she was on her mind. Besides, she needed to offload her news on someone who’d helped pick up the pieces after he left.

͠

‘Good afternoon, Love Leila Bridal Planning, Leila speaking.’

‘Leila it’s me.’

‘Who? I don’t recognise that voice?’

‘Don’t be an eejit. I know it’s been a while. I just saw Marcus.’

‘No!’

‘Yes.’

‘Feck.’

‘Exactly.’

‘He looked the same. I was hoping he might have turned into a short fat garden gnome but he hasn’t.’ Aisling curled up on her favourite chair. It was dappled with pools of sunlight from the window behind it and she filled her friend in on her last few hours.

‘Think Bono, Ash. I can’t believe the nerve of the man. Why’s he back now?’

‘Well, there’s something I haven’t told you. I haven’t told anybody. He’s been writing to me.’

‘Aisling. You’re a soft touch so you are. I hope you haven’t replied.’

‘No, but that’s the thing if I had, I mean if I’d spelled it out there wasn’t going to be a second chance he might have stayed in Cork. Oh Leila what am I going to do? I don’t trust myself to be around him. I’ll either rage at him, or sob and I don’t know what would be worse.’

‘Definitely the sobbing, run with the rage. Tell him the truth Ash, tell him how much he hurt you, how he broke your trust and it can’t be fixed.’ Her friend’s tone was steely.

But could it? Aisling wondered. What if he meant what he’d been saying in his letters? What if she were to forgive him and try again?

‘Look, I’m sorry Ash but I have to go, I’ve a Bridezilla to meet in fifteen minutes and she’s already teetering on the edge. She went overboard with the teeth whitening and her poor fiancé is going to have to wear sunglasses on their big day.’

‘Tell her to drink lots of coffee and red wine between now and then.’

They both sniggered.

‘Before you go, the other reason I rang was to invite you to dinner, on Quinn at Quinn’s. When are you free?’

‘As incredible as it might seem, my social calendar is surprisingly empty aside from attending other people’s weddings. How about Sunday?’

‘Seven?’

‘See you then.’

Aisling hung up. The three bed roomed space, with its kitchen and a large living area had always seemed full to the brim when they were growing up, despite the generous proportions. Right now though it just seemed empty and full of echoes.

The apartment had once upon a time, in the Georgian’s heyday, been the top floor servant quarters. The O’Mara’s had been quite well-to-do back then, but those days were long gone and it was hard to imagine leading such a pampered life now. Aisling spied Moira’s dressing gown. It was in a crumpled heap at the end of the sofa, her breakfast bowl and coffee mug abandoned on the coffee table. It was a lifestyle her sister with her penchant for not picking up after herself, would adapt well to.

It had been her grandparents who’d converted the many rooms into a guest house. Hard times had hit, and it was the only way to keep the grand old building in the family. When they’d died, it had passed down the line to her father, an only child and he’d taken up the reins.

She was too small to remember a time when she hadn’t called the Manor house home. She loved it. The rooms possessed an olde-worlde charm with their myriad of nooks and crannies, even the dumb waiter was still in working order. It ran all the way from the basement kitchen to their apartment and had been a favourite hiding place as a child. Most of all though, she loved the view from their living room to the bustling street below and the peaceful Green beyond.

Her eyes settled on the bureau drawer and she unfurled herself from the chair feeling an almost magnetic pull toward it. She wandered over and retrieved the key on automatic pilot as she unlocked the drawer. She stared at the bundle of letters for a moment before picking them up. Sitting down at the table, she opened the last one Marcus had sent her.

She knew the sentiments by heart, they all said variations of the same thing. He was sorry. He should never have left her. The biggest regret of his life was not having the courage to marry her but the biggest cliché of them all was Marcus had gotten cold feet.

Her eyes misted over as she read over the words she’d already read time and time again.