Chapter Seventeen
It’s late the following evening, and Denise, the second eldest of Belinda’s sisters, is complaining to me about the parking situation as I rummage through my orange wicker sewing basket looking for my seam ripper.
‘And I honestly don’t know how ya manage to run your business workin’ outta this tiny hole?’
‘Hey! This is my tiny hole,’ I tell her, waving the pinking-shears I have in my free hand at her.
‘Wish my hole was as tiny as yours!’ Denise shakes her backside.
Belinda flicks her sister on the earlobe. ‘Don’t be so bleedin’ rude, Denise!’
Denise leans her back, her platinum-blonde plait covering the jewelled-back clasps on the black chiffon bridesmaid’s dress I’m putting the finishing touches to.
‘Head up, please,’ I command, dropping the shears into my wicker box, still searching through it with a wavering hand.
‘Ten times I drove up and down Old Camden Street trying to find a parkin’ space, too.’
Amanda, another sister, who sports a matching hair colour – except her style is a low ponytail – looks up and shakes her head. She is at my kitchen table reading The Irish Times, shaking her iced coffee, but patiently waiting her turn.
‘Sorry, I know it’s a royal pain.’ I cringe as I locate the seam ripper and the non-elastic satin rat-tail button loops I’ve been trying to locate for Denise’s corset. I close my box with a snap of the clasps. ‘I’ve applied to the council for two spaces in the lane, I’m waiting to hear.’
‘You don’t know how hard it is to get a decent place here because you’ve been living in luxury with your consultant husband in Donnybrook for too long, Little Miss Triage Nurse,’ Amanda laughs.
Denise turns her head over her shoulder, wobbling precariously on the block.
‘Careful!’ I scold as I remove a stitch.
‘Don’t hate on me for helping people instead of ripping them off!’ Denise hee-haws with a sharp slap of her hand off her thigh.
‘I do not rip people off. I am a business-investment adviser. I advise people where to invest their money! In fact, I mostly helped first-time businesswomen to get off the ground last year! I’ve helped countless new businesswomen get started.’ Amanda shakes a playful fist at her sister.
‘She’s looking for an investment business for me, aren’t ya, Amanda?’ Belinda says.
‘I sure am.’ Amanda slurps now, the ice rattling like her coffee is gossiping.
‘Turn around. Just one more minute,’ I plead with Denise from behind as I pin the corset carefully now. ‘And you’re . . . in! For now.’ I step back and shape in the material hugging her backside.
‘What’s Peter R. wearin’ anyway?’ Amanda says, snapping the broadsheet paper shut and folding it, removing her thick, black-rimmed glasses.
‘He says he is wearin’ whatever he has clean on the day.’ Belinda guffaws tap-tap-tapping away on her iPhone, and I’m in awe how she can type at all with those lengthy nails.
‘And you’re lettin’ him away with that at your wedding?’ Denise chimes in again, head facing forward this time.
‘I’ve no choice. You know what he’s like. He’s his own man. When have we ever been able to tell him what to do? The feckin’ heat in here, I can’t answer these emails!’ Belinda fans herself with her phone. ‘If this is what menopause is going to be like I’m ordering a shipment of HRT tonight!’
‘Peter R. Your brother, right?’ I laugh, turning my small fan towards her, blaspheming and cursing the heatwave.
‘That’s right, and I’ll be bawlin’ when he’s givin’ her away,’ Amanda utters. ‘Snottin’ me face off!’
‘Ah stop I’ll . . .’ Denise turns again; with a steadying hand on the top of her head, I interrupt her.
‘Sorry, guys, I’ve a load of ballpoint pins in and I don’t want to stab her. Step down, carefully,’ I tell her as she steps off the box holding my hand tightly and shuffles in front of the full-length mirror inside the partition. Denise’s hands always smell of antiseptic.
‘Fuck a duck. I’m a total ride in this dress!’ Denise gawps at her reflection, then back at me, then back to the mirror. ‘Excuse my French!’
‘Excused, mademoiselle.’ I grin behind her, happily opening the top button on my white shirt dress. I remove my claw clip and re-do my hair into a twisty and secure it. My head is a little tender from my dinner with Donal last night. We mixed the white wine and a few craft beers, too.
‘That’s exactly what I said to her! I told ya, didn’t I? Grace Algar’s our real life fairy godmother!’ Belinda’s still fanning herself. ‘Stunnin’, sis! Noko’s only used to seeing you in your ICU scrubs. Just as well he’s a doctor, ’cause he’ll need to resuscitate himself when he sees ya!’
‘Not to mention the fact that Noko still married you knowing your shoe size, and he doesn’t care about those trotters!’ Amanda laughs hysterically.
‘Get lost! I’ve lovely feet and I get places quicker! I’m speechless . . . all I told Grace was that I wanted to wear black. After that I could care less.’ Denise twists. ‘And she comes up with this beaut?!’
‘Told ya!’ Belinda says, as my stomach, never ladylike when it wants to be fed, grumbles loudly.
I only had a Cup a Soup for lunch. I hold my palm against it, thinking of the mouth-watering chicken Caesar salad Donal made us last night.
I’d stayed in his embrace for as long as I could before I made myself pull away.
‘About that food,’ I’d said to him, and he’d unfolded from me.
And he’d been so right, the food he’d prepared freshly was so much tastier than my frozen beef dinner for one.
He even managed to incorporate my tomato and lemon into it.
My mouth waters now at the memory. The chicken sliced thinly, fried so tenderly, and deliciously seasoned.
He’d managed to make the salad really crunchy, too, with crisp iceberg lettuce, thick slices of cucumber and fat croutons, and we’d giggled at the noise we made as we devoured it with cold white wine out on my warm rooftop.
We never mentioned Logan again, we just talked about everything else and laughed, a lot.
‘That was deadly,’ he’d said as he made his way down my rickety stairs at one in the morning after we’d polished off the last of the beers on the couch.
‘Thank you again for dinner and for fixing my shower and the window in my bedroom, you really didn’t have to do that, but I can’t tell you how long they’ve been driving me nuts,’ I’d told him, a little tipsy, as he’d stepped out under the light of the summer night’s moon.
‘Pleasure. Thanks for having me. Sorry it’s so late, really didn’t notice the time going by. See you Friday. Sleep well.’ Donal had stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away.
There was no sense of unease all night, we’d just shared a calm, lovely space. It was so different to anything I’d experienced with Logan.
‘Grace?’
‘Yeah?’ I turn to my client now.
‘Are you listening to me, I said you’re a genius,’ Denise gushes.
‘Well, I say that you are so easy to dress. You’ve such an enviable figure with a teeny waistline.
A classic design, corseted dress, simple chiffon fabric.
I always look to accentuate my clients’ best features, and you told me you quite liked your shoulders.
They are beautiful, slim, but rounded, so I haltered the dress around them in braided straps and pleated it down over your fantastic bum. It suits you down to a tee.’
‘I wish you’d made my weddin’ dress! I bought it in New York and I hated myself in it. See what we’re sayin’, though? You need a fancy shop. Soft carpets, those flatterin’ lightbulbs around brightly bulbed mirrors, a chandelier. Somewhere to park. Prosecco . . .’
‘You can’t drink prosecco, Denise. One sip and ya start singin’ “Firework” by Katy Perry at the top of yer lungs!’ Amanda butts in.
‘Shurrup. It goes straight to my head, but I’m tryin’ to paint a picture here. You’re too good to be workin’ outta here, Grace Algar!’ Denise’s cheeks colour as she puts her hand over her rosebud mouth, unable to take her eyes off her stunning reflection.
‘I’m working on it, believe you me. I’m saving like a mad thing to rent premises, but with the crazy rental prices, I’m still miles off.’ I smile at her loving herself, as I’m reminded of all the money I lent Logan. How could he never pay me back?
I move to my cheap zip-up dress bag hanging on the cheap metal hanger with Belinda’s fully finished wedding gown inside.
Again, I can’t help but think of Emma Stark’s stunning dress bags.
I have no new clients booked in. That beautiful By Grace Algar store dream of mine is almost over, my business is failing, I need to face the fact.