Chapter Thirty-One #2
‘Exactly, Grace. Life isn’t a bed of roses.
We all know that. People are mean, but he’s not.
’ Kathleen takes Belinda’s other hand to aid her.
‘Look how he took care of us all growing up. He gave up his education to put food on our table. I had a long heart-to-heart with him into the early hours after you went home to get your beauty sleep. He’s good.
He’s looking at it as a blessing. He’s gonna concentrate on his house in Fitzwilliam Square.
He’s like a new man . . . like, literally! ’
‘Step in,’ I command again, still down on my hunkers, holding the wedding dress out.
‘Sorry.’ Belinda looks down at me. ‘It’s an unbelievable achievement for someone like him, who was dragged up, to have a house on one of the most beautiful squares in Dublin,’ she says to Kathleen, stepping in now.
‘Concentrate on your breathing,’ I say. ‘I don’t want you out of breath as I’m sewing.’
‘We’ve all achieved beyond what anyone would have expected for us. Thanks to us – all of us – we’ve always been there for one another.’ Kathleen’s half Irish, half American tone is soothing.
‘So it’s true what he’s sayin’? He’s gonna live in it now, not sell it?’ Belinda whispers to her sister now, afraid of my wrath.
‘It is! He is. And I’m so happy. He deserves it. Imagine it at Christmas, B? All lit up? Dickensian. A Christmas Carol won’t have a patch on it. Remember how he’d gush about Pat Kiely, the Supermarket King who used to give him hot chocolate on Christmas Eve?’
‘And that coffee éclair. Oh, remember how we used to drool over that story when he’d come home?
He’d be so inspired by how Pat started from nothing, selling apples from a pram on Moore street as a kid.
I still can’t pass a bakery without looking at the coffee éclairs and hearing him telling us that story. ’
‘Remember the year I had glandular fever and he brought the éclair home for me!’ Kathleen recalls.
Belinda raises her hands in front of her face. ‘What did I tell ya? Stop! I’ll bawl! I can’t cry this two-hour make-up job off!’
‘I know. Too lovely. But now we can all have Christmas dinner there and all the coffee éclairs we want, thanks to him. I’ll be home, and we can all bring something for the table,’ Kathleen enthuses.
‘What’ll you bring? The ghost of pescetarian Christmas? A fresh cod? A bag a’ carrots?’ Belinda says over her shoulder.
‘I’ll steam some seabass with spring onions and fresh ginger, roast some cauliflower, toss it in butter exactly, and it will be the most delicious food you’ve ever tasted.’ Kathleen sticks out her tongue.
‘Just serve me the turkey and ham with roast potatoes and brussel sprouts and spare me the alternative. But, Fitzwilliam Square is an expensive house to keep, though. I worry about that.’ Belinda shifts from foot to foot.
‘Stay still,’ I chastise to her wriggling back.
‘He’s going to rent out the basement for more income. It has that amazing ceiling. It’s got a separate entrance via the steps down under the house, and he has a brand-new redesign project he’s chasing in Monkstown—’
‘Uncle Barry’s on the rebel songs already,’ Amanda says, storming in through the door in a haze of cobalt blue, sucking on a lollipop. ‘Willie McBride is loud and haunting.’ She kicks the door behind her, still in her novelty penguin slippers.
‘Might be an idea to get everyone into footwear and final checks?’ I say to her, glancing at my watch.
‘Keep that man off the whiskey until the hotel reception,’ Belinda laughs.
I pull the dress in tighter around her cleavage and begin to pin where I need to stitch her in further around the back. She really has lost a few precious pounds and I need to unhook a crystal.
‘Keep who off the whiskey?’ Denise barges in now, catching the door just before it slams shut.
‘Shut the door!’ Belinda and Kathleen shout at the same time.
‘Your Uncle Barry,’ I mumble with a mouth full of pins.
‘Oh, hiya, Grace, love.’ Denise pats me on the back.
‘It’s sorted. Peter R. gave him a Bloody Mary without the vodka. Just added more salt. He’s moaning about the celery, says it’s like eating the bark off of a tree,’ Denise says.
‘W-wha! Why is Peter R. still here? He needs to get himself ready. He’s meetin’ me at the church!’ Belinda gasps.
‘He’s not going in the wedding car with you?’ Amanda’s voice is shocked and high-pitched.
‘No room. There’s me, Stevo, Max and I have to take Uncle Barry or he’ll go AWOL.’ Belinda’s voice is breathy now.
‘Relax,’ I tell her, pushing her shoulders down with my palms as I start to sew her in.
‘Stevo is going to see you in the dress?’ Kathleen balks, her eyes on stalks.
‘Kathleen, Stevo’s seen me bend over naked to plug in my iPhone in mid-winter, more ginger hair on my body than a sunburnt Gorilla, nothing can shock the poor man anymore.’
The sisters all crease up laughing. The tension evaporates.
‘I was texting with him about it just now,’ Kathleen says. ‘He’s gone home to get ready. He’s going to look so handsome.’ I glance at her as she speaks to her sisters, she seems in a sort of faraway trance.
‘I still can’t believe I’m getting married today.’ Belinda sighs as I meticulously sew neat, tiny, white, blind hem stitches.
‘Stay still, almost there,’ I mutter, concentrating hard.
‘You look amazing, Denise,’ Belinda tells her sister. She really does. Her black dress and her curly blow-dry are pure perfection. She spins three-hundred-and-sixty degrees.
‘I know! I feel like an absolute ride. Do ya know what Uncle Barry said when I walked into the front room?’ She stops spinning, slams her hands on her hips.
‘Oh God help me, wha’?’ Belinda asks, in trepidation, biting her lip.
‘What a transformation! Like I was bleedin’ Wonder Woman or somethin’!’ Denise does a hop-skip dance around Belinda now.
‘Sit down, ya mad thing,’ Amanda says as Denise collapses on the bed like a starfish.
‘Mind the dress,’ I yell over Kathleen’s shoulder now as she takes over the hop-skip dance around Belinda; I can’t help but admire the pint-sized perfection that she is.
‘Last time I’ll say this, everyone get into your shoes and do final checks,’ I tell them again, laughing but trying to keep my tone strict. It’s always at the last moment a shoe goes missing, a false nail pops off, or a bag can’t be found.
‘On it!’ Denise and Amanda scatter. Kathleen remains, as she is already ready.
‘Arms out.’ I perch the needle between my lips as Belinda does as she’s told. ‘How’s that feel?’
‘That’s feeling so much better already,’ she tells me, shimmying her shoulders up and down.
‘But you’ll have to come to the church in case this bursts at the altar.
There’s room in the bridesmaids’ car. I already had a child out of wedlock and I’m in a white dress, if me tits fall out I might burst into flames! ’
I laugh out loud and nod. ‘I’ll sit at the back, I’ll be there. But trust me, it won’t fall down.’ I bite the thread free from the needle.
Denise and Amanda return in their high heels and with their bags – and the most stunning white rose bouquets. Amanda hands a bouquet to Kathleen.
‘Now, that’s not your dinner, Kathleen, all right? Do not eat that bouquet during the mass.’ Amanda scoffs yet again.
‘The loaves and the fishes and the Vegan Mary, what?’ Belinda crashes in as she hits the high-five Amanda is already holding in the air in response to her quip.
‘Just wait until I join the Scientologists, then ya’ll really have something to slag me about.’ Kathleen, I can tell, is spoofing them, but the bedroom falls silent for a moment.
‘Don’t you bloody well dare.’ Amanda’s voice is less than jovial now.
‘Knowing this one, she probably knows Tom Cruise!’ Denise pipes up.
‘Over my dead body.’ Belinda turns on her heels.
‘For your information Tom is a total pet. So then, think about that next time you pescetarian-persecute me.’ Kathleen’s perfectly toned golden shoulders rise and fall.
‘Okay. Everyone. OUT!’ I cut this drama as I make small circular movements with my hand. ‘Let’s get this woman to the church on time!’