Chapter Twenty-Three
The sun had dropped a little and a pleasant breeze blew up from the valley below.
Enya had declined a second glass of wine and switched to sparkling water, not that it had dented the enthusiasm of the others, who had sunk a couple of bottles.
The chatter had been about all things wedding, and now, as Trish ended her rather tense phone call, there was an embarrassed hush around the table.
‘I don’t bloody believe it, your dad’s not coming back this evening, a problem with the boat. I don’t know why he doesn’t just sail off on the bloody thing and be done with it.’
‘You don’t mean that. Besides, you were always telling him to get a hobby, get out of the house, and now he has!
’ Iris spoke now in defence of her dad, and Enya saw the conflict.
Iris had earlier lamented his absence and yet now represented him when her mum slated him.
She understood more than most how exhausting it was to be so pulled in two directions. Brittle.
‘Yes, you’re right, I did tell him to get a hobby, but I didn’t think he’d be out the house permanently! You were right, what you said earlier, it’s like he’s got another child or another woman, and her name is Foula Girl. ’
Enya reached for her drink, keen to hide her face and become falsely preoccupied with her sparkling water, anything other than participate in the chat about Dominic’s other woman.
Or worse, give any hint that she had knowledge of Foula Girl.
.. her slip-up with Fishstick earlier still sat uncomfortably under her skin like a tiny thorn.
‘I can do the BBQ!’
Aiden spoke with an energy that Enya rarely saw when it came to chores around the cottage.
He’d been like this all day, and she understood: his desire to be liked by his future mother-in-law, his need to impress Iris, to show her that she was making a good choice when it came to husband material.
But she’d be lying if she said it didn’t bother her.
What would Jonathan say? He’d say, It’s good that he can be himself when he’s at home with you, relax and not feel the need to perform.
And it will all settle down here in time.
Yes, it was good advice.
Yet she’d counter it with her concern that their son appeared to be marrying a woman with whom he didn’t seem entirely at ease.
She and Jonathan would no doubt argue a little about it and let it settle until they agreed and compromised.
It was their way. Had always been their way.
There was nothing they couldn’t say, nothing she couldn’t raise, nothing either of them had to hide.
Until now, when she had felt a visceral longing for another man’s body and had, at least once, forgotten her husband while enthralled with the man. It didn’t feel good.
Any flicker of irritation, however, at Aiden’s behaviour was smothered with the blanket of relief that she wasn’t going to have to face Dominic. And with this relief, as ever, came the guilt that she had a need to feel this way at all.
With new bottles of wine now lined up on the table, she watched as Trish indulged, noting again how fond she was of the tipple and the speed with which she downed her glass, not judging, but wondering if maybe she wasn’t quite as confident as she presented.
If circumstances were different, she thought she might try to get to know the woman better.
But how could that be when the memory of being held in Dominic’s arms was still her most dominant thought?
Trish, she knew, may not be smiling if she were aware of the situation, which meant every sip and every bite Enya consumed was laced with self-consciousness.
It had been the strangest of days. It still felt surreal that Aiden was getting married even as they picked ribbon colours, chose red velvet cake over Iris’s favourite of lemon, based purely on the aesthetic, and selected fonts in which place names would be printed.
It still felt otherworldly, the very thought that her son was marrying this woman he’d known for such a short time and, in doing so, joined their families together.
Hardest of all was the simple fact that this union seemed to be roaring ahead with unstoppable momentum, and whether right or wrong, she wasn’t sure there was a darn thing she could do to stop it.
Not for the first time, she thought of Holly Hudson and hoped she had found some time to rest.
The BBQ was adequate but not fancy, an overly burnt sausage, a dry burger and a basic salad, exactly what Aiden would have prepared on their rusty old BBQ by the shed, and not on this mega machine that resembled a large bullet and looked like it had fallen straight off the front page of a fancy garden catalogue.
She was, however, grateful for their fabulous hospitality, the kindness.
Enya was tired and, with one eye on the clock, the moment the plates were cleared and having declined pudding, she said to the assembled, ‘I really should be heading off. It’s been a lovely day, wonderful in fact.’
‘Thank you for coming, Enya. I’m so excited about everything, about the wedding, about our choices, about my dress,’ Iris beamed, ‘but I’m most excited about being married to AJ, our life together and getting to know you better.’
There was no doubt about it. Iris, who didn’t have Holly’s overly enthusiastic or sweet nature, seemed no less lovely.
Certainly, she spoke of all the things Enya had ever wanted for her boy and yet.
.. she couldn’t help the underlying sense of frustration that if Iris Sutherland had been allocated a different seat, if she had missed the bloody flight, Aiden would still be with Holly.
She, Jenny and Phil would be going crazy with excitement for the new baby, Enya would not feel the need to hide from Maeve like a criminal, Jonathan would still be around, and right about now she’d probably be ordering business cards for the new floral venture with her best friend.
It wasn’t Iris’s fault, of course not, but still, this was her unpalatable truth.
‘Can I help with the dishes or clearing up, before I leave? I don’t like the idea of abandoning you with the mess.’
‘Oh God, no!’ Trish waved her hand. ‘Don’t worry about that.’
‘Well, thank you, once again, and come to me next time.’ It was a glib offer that she prayed she wouldn’t have to honour. Just the thought of Dominic walking into her home was enough to unsettle her even further.
‘We will, we will.’ Trish nodded.
Aiden and Iris gathered salad bowls and dirty plates, ferrying them to the kitchen, as Trish leaned across the table and fixed her with a stare.
‘I’m on to you!’ Trish narrowed her eyes, her hot-pink lipstick, which sat a little proud of her lip line, curled into a sneer.
‘Oh? What have I done now?’ Her laugh was nervous, exaggerated and awkward, as her heart jumped up into her throat. She wondered if Trish was going to mention Fishstick.
Trish unfurled her index finger and pointed it towards Enya’s face. ‘You didn’t make those blondies, did you?’
‘Blondies?’ It took her a split second to grasp the thread.
‘You’re no baker! You didn’t even know the recipe!’ The woman tutted loudly.
‘You got me!’ She held her hands up, like a comic cowboy who’d been shot by a pop gun where a little flag falls out saying Bang !
‘I bloody knew it!’ Trish stood and teetered on her wedged heel, leaning on the chair in front of her. ‘What else are you fibbing about?’
‘Oh, nothing else, just that. I am no baker and,’ she thought hard, ‘I know I said the swans sounded lovely, but actually, I think they might be a bit much!’ She laughed, knowing how funny Angela and Jenny would find this in the retelling, before remembering all over again that she would only be telling Angela.
‘That’s what my husband said, but he’s a shit. All this!’ She let her arm fall over her head in an arc. ‘And yet he’d rather be in a boat shed. Shall, shall I tell you a little secret?’ Trish banged the table.
Enya gave a small nod, not sure how many more Sutherland secrets she could contain.
‘I’d rather he was there too! He’s got a bloody flat. He’s off!’
Enya felt her legs jump under the table, shit! She did not want to be having this conversation, did not want to be party to any of it! Doing her best to look engaged without offering an opinion, she stared at the table.
‘But don’t tell Iris!’ Trish put her fingers on her lips and sat down hard in her seat, leaning even closer, almost lying on the tabletop, until Enya could smell the sour notes of wine on her breath and seeping from her pores. ‘I’ve got my eye on you, Enya!’
It was mere seconds before Iris’s mother pulled her arms into a cradle on the surface and placed her head on them, falling into a sleep almost immediately.
Enya didn’t quite know what to do, and so sat very still, wary of waking the woman and inviting any more commentary on her deceitful baking claims and petrified as to what else Trish might want to say.
It was a horrible feeling, leaving her covered in a fine film of discomfort that she couldn’t wait to shower off.
Proof, as if more proof were needed, that to steer clear of Dominic was the right thing to do.
To be in the middle of him and Trish was a little more than she could cope with.
‘Oh, Mum.’ Iris sounded neither angry nor surprised as she approached the table. ‘Sorry, Enya, she’s, she’s got a lot on at the moment.’
‘Honestly, Iris,’ Enya placed her bag over her shoulder and wondered where her car keys were, ‘it’s been quite a week, and if I thought I could get away with a little nap on the table, I’d probably do the same.
Anyway, I should be going.’ She stood and declined to look back at her host, knowing that if she were asleep, snoring loudly, as Trish now was, the last thing she’d want would be an audience.