| |
‘Aisling O’Mara how long until Marcus makes an honest woman of you?’
Aisling blinked, realising she was still holding the coins she’d dug out of her purse for the busker in her hand. She tossed them into the violin case acknowledging his grateful smile before turning her attention to her old classmate, Orla.
‘Hi Orla. Gosh, it’s been ages.’ She gave her old chum a hug. ‘Two weeks to go. I’ve just been for my final fitting tonight.’ She filled Orla in on what was planned for the day itself, feeling a stab of guilt that she hadn’t invited her. The cost per head for the meal meant she’d had to be ruthless and bypass friends she didn’t see on a regular basis. Mammy had twittered on about inviting Mrs so, and so, and Mrs you remember her Aisling—but she’d stood firm. She’d done the same with Mrs McDonagh, she’d had to because Quinn seemed to have taken a backseat where their big day was concerned. Content to let her do all the organising, and that included dealing with his mam!
Orla’s husband Eddie appeared alongside them with a familiar green M&S bag in his hand. He said hello to Aisling and stood listening to her and his wife catching up, beginning to shuffle his feet impatiently after a while. Orla took the hint and wished Aisling the best of luck for her big day before the two women said their goodbyes.
Nina was manning the front desk when Aisling breezed through the door, having made a mental note to polish the brass nameplate in the morning.
‘How’s things Nina?’ She asked the younger Spanish girl who was clipping papers into a ring binder. She’d worked at O’Mara’s for the last few months.
‘Ola. We’re quiet tonight, Aisling. Marcus called in though, he left this.’ She produced an envelope which Aisling curiously took from her outstretched hand.
Marcus had known she wasn’t going to be in this afternoon. She’d told him she was meeting Moira and Leila for their final fitting. He was supposed to be going for the suit fitting she’d arranged for him. His pants were too long and would definitely need taking up. It surprised her he’d found time to swing by O’Mara’s. She itched to get upstairs to see what was inside the envelope not wanting to open it in front of Nina in case it was something that would make her blush. Unlikely given Marcus’s practical nature, but you never knew.
‘How did the fitting go? I can’t wait to see your dress,’ Nina smiled.
‘It went well, not much to tweak at all, although it is a little snug around here.’ She patted her middle and Nina laughed.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
The envelope was like a hot potato in her hand, but she hovered a tick longer to ask Nina how her family was. There was a quiet sadness about the young girl at times and Aisling put it down to her being homesick. Her pretty face always grew animated when she spoke of her family. She knew that work was scarce in the small town where Nina came from especially in the cooler months. Dublin with its boom, had guaranteed her employment and a chance to perfect her English.
‘My madre and padre are talking about extending their restaurante,’ she said. Aisling had heard all about the small family-owned restaurant in the old town of Toledo where they lived. She also knew Nina sent money home to her parents. She worked two jobs, the evening shift here at O’Mara’s Monday to Friday from 4.00p.m. until 10.00p.m. It was Nina who locked up of an evening, getting a taxi on O’Mara’s tab home to the house she shared with six others. In the day she waitressed a lunchtime shift at popular Pedro’s in Temple Bar.
Nina began telling her about how her mother made the best cocido madrileño, and that there was nothing better to warm yourself with when the weather grew cool. Aisling’s mouth watered hearing all about the pork stew with its chorizo sausage and chickpeas which simmered for hours. She hadn’t had any dinner and the crumbs she’d snaffled from Leila’s plate hardly counted. The phone rang, and their conversation drew to a close.
Aisling gave Nina a wave and raced up the stairs to the apartment. She let herself in flicking on the light as she closed the door behind her. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but rather that hazy in between greyish light that signalled night was drawing in. The street lights had yet to come on she noticed quickly drawing the curtains before kicking her shoes off and curling up on her chair by the window. Only once she was comfortable did she open the envelope, then she tore into it in anticipation of what it might contain.
Perhaps Marcus had picked up the tickets for their honeymoon. They’d booked ten days of lazing in the sun, snorkelling, smorgasbords and languid lovemaking in a luxury villa in the Maldives, bliss.
It wasn’t tickets however, and she unfolded the plain piece of white paper curiously. Her eyes skimming Marcus’s familiar neat handwriting. She could read the words, but she couldn’t comprehend what they meant.
Ash, this isn’t an easy letter for me to write and I know that not telling you to your face is cowardly. I’m ashamed of myself for writing this but if I tried to sit down with you to say I can’t go through with the wedding, I’d bottle it. I wouldn’t be able to stand the hurt on your face. You see, I knew I’d made a mistake from the moment I slid the diamond on your finger, but I couldn’t see a way back.
My only excuse is things spiralled out of control these past months. I’ve felt like I was on a conveyer belt and I couldn’t get off. I do love you, please know that, but I shouldn’t have proposed to you. It was too soon, and I wasn’t ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to be honest. I’ve seen what marriage has done to my parents. They’ve lived a life of bitterness and sniping. I was always stuck in the middle of it and I’m sure they only stayed together for my sake. Then when I grew up, they stayed out of habit. I don’t want us to wind up like that.
Why did I ask you to marry me then? All I can say is I knew it was what you wanted, and I wanted to make you happy. In doing so I’ve only succeeded in ultimately making you unhappy. Leaving Dublin seems the kindest thing to do. I’m transferring to Cork. I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart and I hope one day you’ll see it was the right thing for me to do.
Marcus