Chapter Thirty-Two
‘By the way, Grace.’ Kathleen twists her body round from the front seat of the taxi to look at me, gripping her seatbelt to steady herself.
‘That call I took on my cell in Belinda’s bedroom when you said we’d no time to gossip?
The client of mine in LA? She’s a verrrryyy important woman, and guess what?
’ Her perfect white teeth dazzle against the dark plum of her matt lipstick.
‘What?’ I ask her, staring out the window in the back.
Since I watched Belinda kiss Stevo goodbye in the kitchen, my thoughts have been flooded with Donal.
He’s all I can think about now. He’s made me look at my life very differently.
He’s made me realise that honesty, kindness and loyalty are what I should have always been looking for in a man.
He’s cast some sort of spell over me. He’s changed me.
I’ve had this sharp knot in my stomach ever since he sauntered up those stairs and out of my life last night.
Ever since he saw me sitting in that taxi with Logan.
I know it sounds ridiculous; we’ve only met four times, but it feels like I miss him.
I can’t miss him, I tell myself. So how come I do?
I never felt this way about Logan. Is that what I was missing?
Actual goodness in a person, making me a better person, too.
I was not a better person when I was with Logan.
Most of the time, near the end of our relationship, he brought out the worst side of me, the desperate side.
I didn’t like myself. I was jealous and crazy and insecure.
That was not who I am. I hated that he could do that to me.
I wonder what it would have been like to kiss Donal?
The roughness of that wild beard? To look into those deep green, kind eyes.
To hold his hand? Those long fingers caressing mine?
To go for a long walk with him? To watch a movie together, the closeness of him in the darkness of the cinema as I lay my head on his shoulder.
To go on a holiday with him? To make love to him? I could more than kick myself.
‘Girl! Are you listening to me?’ Kathleen waves a hand in front of my face, then tugs on the seatbelt, the snapping noise as the mechanism reacts to her movements getting my attention.
‘Sorry, yes?’ I tell her. My mind is a poppy field of distraction. ‘Your LA client.’
‘Right. Well, I’m normally the definition of discreet with my VIPs, but she saw my bridesmaid’s dress on my stories this morning.
Now it’s very late for her in LA, but she called immediately to ask me for your number and email before the “influencer-vultures” get their claws into you.
She’ll contact you. That’s good with you, I assume, right? ’ Kathleen has a twinkle in her eye.
‘Of course. Wow. That’s great, thanks Kathleen.
’ I should be over the moon but one dress isn’t going to save my business.
No other jobs have come in since I took on the Kearney wedding.
Not one. By Grace Algar is doomed. I turn to stare out the window again, gripping my orange wicker basket on my knees.
Kathleen laughs freely. ‘You really are sooooo not LA enthusiastic.’
‘Here we are, ladies!’ the taxi driver tells us as his indicator ticktocks loudly. He’s ferrying me, Amanda, Denise and Kathleen and he pulls up outside St Patrick’s Church in Ringsend.
I’m forced to sit upright. The front area of the church, behind and in front of the stone wall, is teeming with people.
Women in colourful dresses and wide-brimmed hats and men in sharp suits.
Little kids running through the small area, whooping.
Older kids, heads bent over their phones.
Seagulls squawk, circling low overhead. Locals, sipping on takeaway coffees in paper cups, are lined up to see the bride.
The sense of community is wonderful. I open the door and see the bridal car pull in just metres behind us.
I get out quickly, head down, and slip in quietly through the side door of the church, still clutching my orange wicker basket.
I need to hide out in the back row in case of an emergency, though I’m sure those stitches will hold and it’s more for Belinda’s peace of mind.
Inside, the church is refreshingly cold.
White bows are tied at the end of each pew and the smell of fresh flowers is spectacular.
Dozens of white roses that match the bridesmaids’ bouquets are everywhere I look.
There is the faint smell of incense, and I wonder if this church held a funeral this morning.
Sadness and loss. Now a wedding. Happiness and togetherness.
Isn’t that a metaphor for life? As the church starts to quickly fill up around me, I cross my legs, sit back and try to gather myself.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a hurricane these last few days.
Tomorrow will bring a whole new phase of my life.
After all these years I’m over Logan Hunter.
I can hardly believe it. I never thought it was possible.
But it is and it’s all thanks to Donal. It feels amazing and yet really sad at the same time.
I stare down at my red shellacked toes resting on the soft kneeler.
I wiggle them. And I’m going to miss Mia so much, even though she will only be two-and-a-half hours away.
It feels like another big change. I fold my knees upwards to let the last of the wedding guests scurry into the pew past me.
I need to stay at the end of the pew so Belinda can see me.
‘Sorry, thank you.’ A male guest slips past me and I spot a silver hip flask in his pocket as his jacket flaps.
‘Nice refreshments?’ I wink at him.
‘Ah sure, ya never know when the thirst will hit ya at these masses. I find the priests do be stingy with the wine. No matter how many times I’ve taken a wine glass up to communion, I’ve yet to be topped up!’ We both laugh and he scurries on then flops onto the bench at the end.
I sit forward on the bench, it’s hard beneath my bones.
The church rumbles start to get louder and louder as it fills up to capacity.
I lift my orange wicker basket from the seat beside me to make more room as guests on the bench are forced to huddle up, and I push it back underneath my seat.
A hush of excited whispers falls as the first bars of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ are struck on an organ up high, and then a silence ensues.
I twist my head around in the pew and see Kathleen standing at the opening of the colossal church doors, clutching her bouquet of white roses with the glorious, green foliage flowing over her hands.
A huge smile erupts on my face as she takes her first, short step onto the parquet floor of the church aisle.
Then Denise. Then Amanda. They all look absolutely beautiful, and so alike, I suddenly see.
Then, just before Belinda steps in, my smile drops, my jaw drops. I’m dumbfounded.
It can’t be?
Can it?
It is!
It’s Logan!
*
‘Oops! Excuse me. Sorry, there, if I can just . . . can I squeeze by you there?’ Logan stops the bride in her tracks before she steps one foot onto the aisle. I can’t even get a glimpse of her. He jerks his head and spots me almost immediately.
‘What the—?’ I mouth at him, horrified, my jaw hanging open.
‘I. Love. You. Gracie.’ He rounds out every word in silence, taking up space on the aisle in between the bridesmaids.
‘Sit down, ya numpty!’ Amanda turns, hissing loudly at him.
‘Go. Away,’ I mouth with a swift, sharp flick of my hand, my face starting to burn the vibrant colour of the stained-glass windows above me.
‘Come with me, let’s go home,’ Logan says out loud now and there is an audible whoosh as every head spins to look at us.
I can’t actually believe this is happening. I can’t believe he is doing this. The organist continues to play at a slower pace. I think I’m going to be sick.
Kathleen puts a hand on Logan’s shoulder. ‘Sir? Can you sit down, please. You’re causing a disturbance.’
‘Not until the woman I love comes with me.’ Logan projects his voice around the echoey, high-ceilinged church, like he’s in a Shakespearian play.
Booming, theatrical and utterly mortifying.
He pushes his shoulders back. He drops his hands onto his hips and juts his chin.
I take a quick glance around. Every solitary head seems to be staring at him now. Even the holy statues.
And I feel like a statue. I’m frozen for a second. Literally frozen.
‘Who’s this tool?’ Amanda hisses in amazement.
‘Grace Algar. Will you marry me?’ Logan projects, then I immediately hear another, familiar voice from behind the church door.
‘What is happening in there?’
I stand up, my knees slightly buckled, I have no choice.
I have to get out of here. ‘E-excuse me, sorry. Can – can I just get past you? Sorry, thank you . . . can I? C-can I pass?’ I mutter and stutter to the startled guests on my pew, utterly mortified that I’ve ruined the start of Belinda’s wedding.
I’m trying to exit the other end of the pew so I can get out the side door and don’t have to step onto the aisle.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get any more complicated . . .
‘Grace, is that you?’ It’s that familiar man’s voice again. I glance up, holding onto the wooden ledge, still shimmying along the soft kneeler, but I don’t recognise him. I shuffle along, the end of the pew in sight, a ray of sunlight exposed from under the gap in the side door. Almost there.
‘Grace. It’s me.’ The man’s voice calls after me again as I finally step out of the pew. I turn back for a split second, then I take another step towards the side door. I stop suddenly and my brain rewinds. I turn back and do a double take.
It’s Donal.