Chapter Twenty-One
‘Girl! Hey! I’m Kathleen, so great to finally meet you!
’ The enthusiasm hits me in the face as I try to prise the brown carpet out from under the hall door where it’s jammed, yet again.
The afternoon sunshine illuminates the stunning, petite woman standing in front of me.
I’ve spent far too long this morning wondering how Donal got on with his date, it’s time to focus.
‘Kathleen Kearney,’ the youngest of the Kearney sisters tells me, with a strong handshake.
She’s bare-faced, with tightly Dutch-braided, sun-kissed hair, second-skin black workout gear, luminous-yellow runners and a tiny red bag strapped across her body.
Her youthful skin is plump and glowing. She is very different to her three sisters – immediately she reminds me of a young Sarah Jessica Parker.
‘Look different, don’t I? The runt of the litter, they used to say!’ Her laugh is so big for her frame it’s unexpected.
‘Hi, Kathleen! Of course, sorry about this bloody carpet.’
I reef the door free and welcome her inside out of the blazing sun.
‘Funny, all four of you have the exact same green eyes and I’d know immediately you were sisters.
Coffee?’ I ask her when we reach the stuffy kitchen and I fill the kettle.
It’s just gone two-fifteen and she’s fifteen minutes early for her two-thirty appointment; my fresh coffee sits steaming on the table.
‘No, thank you, though. I’ve had two large mugs this morning at my brother’s, bloody jetlag.’ She has a softer speaking tone and demeanour than her older sisters.
‘Let me just get your bridesmaid dressssss,’ I sing, smiling at her.
‘No, please sit down and get your coffee, I’m early. My brother is renovating an old Georgian townhouse on Fitzwilliam Square and I’ve only ever seen it over FaceTime so I wanted to detour past on my way here. Couldn’t wait to see it with my own two eyes.’
‘Oh, wow, my favourite of the five Dublin squares. It will cost a small fortune, I bet?’ I say, in awe of anyone who can afford to buy on Fitzwilliam Square.
‘Peter R. is a genius at finding properties that are so run down they’re too big a job for most people to take on.
He’s hardworking, patient and brilliant at what he does.
And right? The beauty of that square? I so enjoyed the walk there, no one walks anywhere in LA.
I miss walking so much.’ I notice a definite twang of an American accent here and there as I get the milk.
‘I walk everywhere,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t even have a car.’
‘Girl, stop! I’ve to drive everywhere in LA – and don’t get me started on the freeway traffic! Nightmarish.’
‘I hear that a lot about LA traffic,’ I reply. ‘Or rather, I’ve binged all the seasons of Selling Sunset.’ I laugh.
‘Right! Super fun, isn’t it? Actually, of late, I’m up in the Hills a lot, private classes, so a lot of those huge houses you see, I’ve been in!’
‘Ahh, way too big for me, too much cleaning,’ I quip. ‘Not my forte.’
‘How’s my dress looking? I hope the email with my measurements was sufficient?
I hopped down to Rodeo Drive from Santa Monica and bought a dress for another party I’m going to at the Chateau Marmont, where I also teach, so I got the sales guy to measure me.
Two birds.’ She smiles and reminds me of someone.
Maybe it’s Belinda, but could be Amanda, or Denise?
‘Well, just looking at you, I think we’re onto a winner,’ I tell her knowingly, with my expert eye for people’s dress sizes.
‘As you know, I’m a yoga and Pilates teacher, so my weight doesn’t tend to fluctuate. Much to the annoyance of my sisters.’ She throws out that laugh again, so hearty for her diminutive body.
‘They’re brilliant,’ I enthuse as I locate the milk and add a decent drop.
‘They’re the best. Miss my family all s’much. Don’t get home enough. I’ve a lot of well-known clients and LA is super competitive on the yoga mat.’
‘I bet.’ I stir, drop the spoon into the sink with a clank.
‘I’m so stoked for Belinda. Stevo’s such a lovely man.
He was great when she got pregnant with Max so young.
Just great. What you see is what you get.
At eight months, he used to strap a pillow down his mechanic’s overalls to show solidarity with her!
Did she tell you that? Never thought they’d get married, though.
Belinda always said she never would. Not after our parents’ attempt at the vows. ’ Kathleen tugs a braid.
‘Her dress is stunning on her.’ I pull out a chair and sit opposite her.
‘Oh, she was always the prettiest of us all – those full, natural lips – though she’s never felt it, always beating herself up about her weight. Funny, isn’t it? How we’re all so hard on ourselves, us women?’
‘Yeah.’ I blow into my cup and the coffee ripples.
‘It’s why I love yoga so much, it’s about so much more than toning the physique.
It’s a lot of breath work and learning to love your body for all it does.
Not for how it looks. A strong body is not necessarily a skinny body, that’s what I try to teach anyway.
We’re all brainwashed. MENstream media.’ Her glossed mouth purses.
‘Tell me about it,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve had a few brides who literally starve themselves before their wedding day, bawling down the phone to me the morning of because the dress doesn’t fit, won’t stay up because it’s too big!’
‘Stop.’ She shakes her head.
‘A few dashes across the River Liffey to literally sew them in.’ I drink my hot coffee.
‘Belinda had to leave school early, along with my brother. Not sure if she told you?’ Kathleen folds one leg over one knee, bends it, presses on it gently. I’m transfixed at her rubber-like flexibility.
‘She told me all about setting up her after-school businesses, and she did say that you guys had a very tough upbringing, lived on pasta and sauce,’ I say gently, glancing up at my clock knowing the rest of the Kearney sisters will all be here soon to collect their dresses, too.
‘Right? I was the youngest. They still call me Baby Spice, so I don’t recall a whole lot, although my therapist says I’ve blocked it out.
My brother basically gave up his life to take care of us and Belinda swept floors in Hairpiezes, then trained as a beautician in the little salon Aveen Fitzgerald ran out the back.
Used to use me as her gofer. Girl, I had some weird eyebrows for a few years, I can tell you, but my siblings are amazing. I owe them everything.’
I’m momentarily hypnotised by her perfect skin. ‘Speaking of, we better get you into this dress before they storm the kitchen.’ I take another few sips, empty my cup under the tap, rinse it and leave it to drip-dry on the draining board.
‘I’m so stoked! I only saw my brother, Amanda and my aunt in The Oarsman last night. I had a quick drink, but I was shattered. Can’t wait to see Belinda and Denise!’
Kathleen watches me remove her dress from the rail.
The creases have fallen away perfectly in the steam of my shower and the brooch is stuck firmly.
I’d sent Kathleen various looks on email when we were designing the dress, and it was apparent early on that she wanted a very simple dress.
No fuss, no frills, unlike her siblings, but I had to be careful she didn’t look like the odd one out in comparison to the other designs.
So we’d compromised on my concerns and she’d agreed to go for a gold material.
I’d been inspired by one of my favourite old movies, Marilyn Monroe’s gold dress in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.
It was simple but with a very low dip in the front that Kathleen could rock perfectly with her smaller chest. I loved it and I prayed Kathleen would, too.
‘You can change behind there.’ I point her to the partitioned area and she slides in behind.
‘It’s so light!’ she calls out from behind it.
‘Isn’t it?’ I say.
‘Fits like a dream!’ she sing-songs a few minutes later.
‘I think you’ll have to let me be the judge of that,’ I laugh, but as she steps out I know immediately she’s right. I wouldn’t have to alter a single thing. She’s like a goddess in it, without it being too in your face.
‘It’s so beautiful.’ I zip her in, gently coax the large hot-glued gold brooch that gathers over her flat stomach and centre it. ‘Perfection. What shoes?’ I ask, more out of interest, because the dress is three-quarter length – it didn’t matter to me what type of shoes she went for.
‘Oh, I’ve gorge Chanel kitten heels, to die for.’ She slaps a hand over her heart, makes small, pulsating moves with it.
‘In what colour?’ I ask. Can’t take my eyes off her, she’s effortless. The most toned, golden-tanned person I’ve ever set eyes on. Sculpted. Stunning.
‘Gold and black,’ she tells me.
‘Black bag?’ I question.
‘A 1950s Chanel clutch. A gift from my partner.’ She shuts her eyes.
‘I’m waiting for the slagging to start as soon as they see it.
They think I’m all LA woke. They don’t let me get any ideas above my station or airs and graces about my famous clients.
’ But there is that laugh again that seems too deep for her tiny body.
‘I’m not sure about my hair, need to think that out.
Wedding’s in a few days, I may need to book a—’
The buzzer to my flat sounds and cuts her off.
‘The rest of the Spice Sisters have arrived.’ I stand up to let them in.
‘Should I stay in the dress?’ She turns to face me.
‘God, yeah – they’re gonna want to see you!
’ I tweak the material on her right shoulder, then leave her as I take the rickety stairs down two at a time to welcome the troops.
In the back of my mind, I’m still wondering how Donal and his date got on.
I hope it works out for him, he deserves to find love.
I shake Donal from my mind as I reach the door, because tomorrow night I come face-to-face with Logan Hunter again.
Maybe both Donal and I will have something to celebrate?
*