Chapter Eight
Alannah, Age Eighteen
Mam and I arrive at the dress shop a few minutes early for my appointment.
I’ve been restless all morning, too excited about my final fitting to sit still for long.
The bell over the door gives a soft chime, and Mrs. Keane looks up from behind the counter.
“Alannah. Mrs. O’Connell.” She smiles as she comes around the counter. “It’s so nice to see you both again.”
“It’s lovely to see you too,” Mam says.
Mrs. Keane’s smile brightens. “Come, come. I think you’ll be very pleased.
Sheila has outdone herself.” She gestures toward the back, where the fitting rooms are, then leads the way, and Mam falls into step beside her, asking after her family and mentioning that Eileen should be along shortly.
I follow behind them, nerves knotting my stomach a little tighter with every step I take.
Inside, the room is ready for us, the same as it was the first two times we came.
Mirrors line one wall, with a low platform in front.
Across from it is a little sitting area with a sofa, two chairs, a small table between them, and a coffee table already laid with china cups and a teapot still giving off steam.
Mam and I sit on the sofa while Mrs. Keane fills our cups.
I fold my hands in my lap, but my fingers won’t stay still, twisting together no matter how tightly I clasp them.
When Mrs. Keane hands me my cup, I wrap both hands around it, grateful for something to hold.
Mam stirs a cube of sugar into her tea, the spoon clinking softly against the china. From the corner of my eye, I see her looking at me with a small smile. “This is it,” she says quietly. “Final fitting.”
I nod, my fingers tightening around the cup.
It feels as if she’s plucked the words straight from my head.
Final fitting. Today Sheila will go over everything one last time, make whatever small adjustments are needed, and then it will be done.
The wedding is only weeks away now, and once the dress is finished, there’ll be one less thing standing between me and walking down the aisle toward Ronin at St. Brigid’s.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, just as Mrs. Keane opens the door again.
She holds the door wide while Eileen steps inside, carrying a long, narrow box in both hands. “You can set it there,” Mrs. Keane says, motioning to the small table between the chairs. Then, glancing around at all of us, she adds, “Now that everyone’s here, Sheila should be in shortly.”
Eileen thanks her and sets the box down carefully. Mrs. Keane closes the door after her, and when Eileen turns back, her smile softens as soon as she sees me. “Oh, Alannah,” she says, crossing the room to pull me into her arms. “I can’t believe this is it.”
“Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Byrne,” I say, hugging her back. “It means a lot to me.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” she says, giving me one last squeeze before letting me go.
Mam stands, and Eileen wraps her in a tight hug.
When they step apart, Mam lets out a shaky little laugh and pulls her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabs beneath one eye.
Eileen shakes her head. “I can hardly believe we’re finally here. ”
Before Mam can answer, Sheila comes in with a large garment bag slung over her shoulder. “Good to see you, ladies,” she says warmly before turning to me. “All right, Alannah. Let’s get you into your dress and see how everything’s fitting.”
She leads me toward the curtained changing area in the corner of the room.
I step inside and undress quickly, folding my skirt and blouse over the chair against the wall.
Sheila unzips the garment bag and lifts the dress free, then holds it open at my feet.
I step into it carefully, and she draws it up over my hips before helping me slip my arms into the sleeves.
The skirt rustles around my legs as she buttons the bodice and straightens the fabric, her hands quick and practised.
On the other side of the curtain, Mam and Eileen talk quietly while Sheila finishes helping me into the dress.
When she steps back, I face the tall mirror inside the changing area and take in how much better it fits than last time.
The lace lies smooth across my collarbones now, the sleeves stop neatly at my wrists instead of covering my hands, and the waist sits where it should.
Seeing it fit right, not hanging off me like it did before, makes it feel like it’s really mine.
When I step out from behind the curtain, Mam sees me first and her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh, Lana.”
I gather the skirt in my hands, and Sheila helps me onto the small platform in front of the mirrors.
In the glass, I see Mam behind me, her handkerchief still in her hand as she gives me a teary smile.
Eileen stands at the side table, one hand resting on the long, narrow box she brought with her.
When she looks up, her gaze catches on my reflection, and her expression softens.
Then she lifts the lid and draws out a Juliet cap, a length of lace spilling from it and trailing back into the box.
A veil, I realize, as I take in the little cap in her hands and the lace attached to it.
It isn’t like the lace on my dress. Mine is new and still stiff against my skin.
This lace has gone soft with age, the ivory a little darker now, with tiny stitched flowers and a scalloped edge that brushes against Eileen’s wrist.
“This was mine,” she says, her smile turning wistful. “I kept it all these years, thinking I might pass it on to a daughter one day.” Then she glances over at Mam, a teasing look in her eyes. “And I know she’s yours, Siobhán, but after the wedding, I’ll be claiming a wee bit of her too.”
Her words catch me off guard. I’ve always known Eileen cared for me, but hearing her say it like that, as if there’s no question I’ll be hers too, and knowing she wants me to wear her own veil when I marry her son, makes me feel like she already thinks of me as family.
I watch Mam and Eileen work together, carefully gathering the cap and veil between them before carrying it over to me.
Sheila comes to my side and takes my elbow, steadying me on the platform.
“Hold still a moment,” she murmurs. I do, barely breathing as they set the cap over my hair and adjust the lace while Sheila pins it into place.
When they step back, the veil falls down my back.
I catch Eileen’s eyes in the mirror as she looks me over. They shine with tears as they meet mine. “There she is,” she says softly. “My wee sidhe.”
My throat tightens at the familiar nickname, and my eyes begin to burn. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Mam and Eileen sit back down on the sofa behind me, reaching for their tea as Sheila kneels beside me and checks the left sleeve.
“This needs to come in just a touch.” She rises and moves to the bodice, pinching the fabric near my ribs.
“And here, we’ll take it in a quarter inch.
” She marks the spots with chalk, murmuring to herself, and I stand very still with my hands at my sides, listening to the low hum of conversation behind me.
“I saw Father Sullivan yesterday after Mass,” Mam says. “He’s already having the brass rails polished at St. Brigid’s. He says he’s expecting at least half the parish to turn out for this one.” She pauses. “Did you speak to Winston’s about the flowers?”
“I did,” Eileen says. I hear the click of her cup settling back into its saucer. “I mentioned what you said about the lilies, and they agreed they need more height. Nothing small against all that stone.” She pauses. “Did the caterer ever call you back about the shower?”
“Yes,” Mam says. “Everything’s confirmed. The menu’s set, the hall’s ready. We won’t need to worry about a thing.”
Sheila makes one last mark, then steps back to look over her work. “That’s it,” she says. “You’re all set, Alannah.” She helps me down from the platform with a hand at my elbow. “The dress will be ready next Thursday, if that suits.”
“Thursday’s perfect,” Mam says before I can answer.
I step back behind the curtain and change quickly, folding the veil carefully before handing it back to Eileen. She tucks it back into the box with the same reverence she showed when she first lifted it free.
On our way out, Mrs. Keane tells us she’ll call if they run into any problems, but otherwise the dress should be ready Thursday, just as Sheila said.
Mam links her arm through mine, and we step into the early afternoon sun, still talking about the dress, Eileen’s veil, and how beautiful they looked together as we walk to the car.
***
Ronin called after I got home from the dress shop and told me to be ready just after seven.
He was taking me out. By five past, I’m already dressed and waiting by the window, watching for his car.
When it finally pulls up, he steps out in a dark jacket, his hair still damp at the edges like he’s come straight from washing up.
I open the door before he’s halfway up the walk.
As soon as he sees me in the doorway, he hurries the last few steps to me and kisses my cheek.
When he pulls back, he looks more closely at my face, and I know what he sees before he says anything—the shadows beneath my eyes I couldn’t quite cover with powder.
His brows pull together. “You look tired.”
I step into him, and his arms come around my waist. “I had a long afternoon,” I tell him quietly. “My final dress fitting.”
Understanding crosses his face, and he bends to kiss my forehead. “Let me guess. It was perfect.”
I nod, smiling as I think of how perfect the dress really is. “It was.”