Chapter 36
Hilary had not received the news that she was to be sharing her Matron of Honour duties with Leonard's sister Joan and Maureen O'Mara, Bronagh's former employer, with good grace. That Erin would no longer be her sister's sole bridesmaid had been the icing on the cake.
‘There'll be no one left in the congregation, Bronagh. They'll all be in your bridal party,’ she'd sniffed, looking to their mam to back her up.
Bronagh had tuned her out as she ate her toast, longing for Myrna to intervene and tell Hilary it wasn't her day and to leave Bronagh be.
But she never had been one to get involved in their squabbles.
‘I don't take sides, and from where I'm sitting, you're both as bad as each other,’ was what she usually trotted out, especially when they'd been younger.
Hilary had only stopped complaining once they'd stepped outside because she wasn't one to air her dirty laundry in public.
‘Have a nice time, girls,’ Myrna had trilled after them.
They'd been charged with finding her a mother-of-the-bride outfit in peach or lemon, and she'd like a hat too. 'A big one,' she'd informed them.
The sisters huffed along in frosty silence, the city's bustling streets and jovial Saturday shopping atmosphere doing little to thaw relations.
The juggler entertaining the crowds on Grafton Street and the toe-tapping music from a young violinist outside Marks & Spencer failed to soften the mood either.
By the time they reached O'Connell Bridge, Bronagh thought she'd gladly swap places with the man sitting on the bridge.
She stopped to drop her spare change into his tin cup while Hilary sniffed from what she clearly considered a safe distance.
Her spirits lifted, however, when she spotted her allies waiting outside their agreed meeting place. Help was at hand!
‘So long as they know I'm in charge.’ Hilary stalked towards Clerys like Mel Gibson marching into battle in Braveheart.
Maureen and Joan were waiting beneath the clock.
Bronagh suspected Maureen would give Hilary a run for her money, while Joan would probably spend the day trying to keep the peace.
As for herself, well, she was piggy in the middle.
Think positively, Bronagh. It's three against one.
Sure, between them they'd send Hilary's sensible wool suit packing, find matron-of-honour outfits Hilary could like or lump, and choose a mother-of-the-bride outfit complete with an enormous matching hat for Myrna.
Continuing her positive thinking, Bronagh remembered Joan's delight at being asked to be one of her attendants.
It warmed her heart to know that she and Joan would soon be sisters-in-law.
‘Morning, girls.’ Bronagh greeted them considerably perkier than she'd been when Myrna had waved them off. ‘Maureen, you remember Hilary? Joan, this is my sister Hilary.’
Joan looked completely flummoxed by Hilary's air-kissing, but Maureen took it all in her stride. She could air-kiss with the best of them.
‘Well, ladies, shall we make a start in here?’ Hilary didn't wait for an answer before marching purposefully through the department store doors.
She was like a dog marking her territory, letting them all know she considered herself leader of the pack, Bronagh thought.
Clerys was a good place to begin, given its well-stocked bridal department that didn't cost the earth.
That was precisely why she'd suggested meeting there.
Continuing with her positivity campaign, she pictured herself enjoying lunch in the store's tearoom with tissue-wrapped purchases in Clerys bags at their feet.
She even imagined them clinking teacups together to celebrate a shopping trip well done.
The women bypassed the perfume and make-up counters before riding the escalator to the floor where bridal gowns rubbed shoulders with a selection of special-occasion wear.
Bronagh hadn't had much reason to visit this department before, and she paused with Maureen and Joan to get their bearings.
Hilary, meanwhile, like a greyhound bursting from the starting traps, was already off.
They watched her weaving between podiums displaying frothy gowns towards whatever had caught her eye.
‘You’re the bride, Bronagh, so I think we should start with you first.’ Maureen rubbed her hands together before looking to Joan, who nodded her agreement. ‘What takes your fancy?’
Bronagh slowly turned, almost overwhelmed by the choice, then froze, pointing mutely at an especially sparkly fitted fishtail gown. She closed her eyes, picturing the look on Leonard's face as she glided down the aisle towards him, radiant and sparkling.
‘That looks just the ticket. I could see you in that. Couldn't you, Joan?’
‘It's very you, Bronagh,’ Joan agreed.
‘Come on then, let's see if they've got your size.’ Maureen herded them across the shop floor before beckoning over a reed-thin sales assistant who was tidying a nearby display. ‘Hello there. Would you have this in a—? What size are you, Bronagh?’
Bronagh coughed out, ‘Sixteen.’
The assistant disappeared to check just as a jubilant Hilary sailed towards them carrying an armful of garments.
The three women stared at her in surprise.
‘Well, you certainly didn't waste any time, Hilary,’ Maureen observed.
‘Time is of the essence, Maureen.’ Hilary looked pointedly at her sister before adding with obvious satisfaction, ‘I found the perfect suit, Bronagh. I took a guess. Size eighteen?’
Bronagh spluttered indignantly that she was a sixteen, thank you very much, while Hilary—who'd escaped the ravages of menopause—raised a sceptical eyebrow.
‘Better for it not to be too snug a fit at your time of life.’ She thrust the pile into a startled Joan's arms before plucking a cream two-piece from the top.
The sales assistant returned wearing an apologetic smile. ‘I'm so sorry, Madam. We don't have that gown in your size. Was there another one that caught your eye?’
‘Er,’
‘We've not had a proper look around yet,’ Maureen answered briskly, her gaze fixed on the cream suit Hilary was proudly displaying.
‘Let me know if you need any assistance.’
‘We will, thank you,’ Joan managed.
‘Bronagh.’ Hilary flapped the suit impatiently. ‘What do you think? It's wool, which is practical for a winter wedding, and beautifully cut. I think it's very smart. Reasonably priced too, for those on a budget.’
Bronagh looked desperately towards Joan and Maureen.
Maureen gave her an encouraging nudge.
She swallowed. ‘I don't think cream suits me, Hilary. I look better in ivory.’
Sniff.
‘You really should get those sinuses checked, you know,’ Maureen volunteered. ‘There's sprays that would clear that up nicely.’
Bronagh made a strangled sound as she swallowed a fit of giggles.
Hilary glared. ‘Yes, well, it's early days.’ She turned back to Joan—or rather, Joan's overloaded arms—and snatched up the next garment.
‘I've chosen a dress I think Mother will look very smart in. But first, this will be perfect for us matrons of honour.’ She held up an identical version of the first suit, only in navy. ‘Navy's always elegant.’
Oh dear. Bronagh caught sight of Maureen and Joan's expressions. Neither looked remotely convinced.
Two and a half hours later, tempers were beginning to fray.
Having moved on from Clerys to Debenhams in the Jervis Centre, they were still empty-handed.
Bronagh was thoroughly despondent and looking longingly upstairs towards Burger King.
Finding a ready-made gown was proving far more difficult than she'd imagined, while Maureen, Joan and Hilary had completely different tastes.
As for Myrna, she'd very nearly ended up with a peach version of the suit until Bronagh had literally stamped her foot and Hilary, mindful of causing a scene, had reluctantly put it back.
In her self-appointed role as leader, Hilary had also decreed there would be no lunch break until they'd agreed on at least one outfit between them, despite the fact it was now half past twelve and everyone's stomachs were rumbling.
‘What about a tea break?’ Joan asked hopefully. She shrank beneath the look Hilary shot her.
Maureen muttered to nobody in particular, ‘If Aisling had been with us, she'd have had snacks.’
‘I’ve got these.’ Joan triumphantly produced a half-eaten tube of Rowntree's Fruit Pastilles from her coat pocket, along with a rather impressive ball of fluff. She offered them around.
Bronagh's spirits lifted momentarily when she ended up with the purple sweet. Her favourite. Surely that had to be a good sign.
After sucking every last grain of sugar from their sweets for energy, they dragged their aching feet towards their next port of call. Arnotts.
‘If we've no luck in here, we're stopping for lunch anyway—even if it's closer to teatime by then,’ Maureen grumbled as they ventured inside.
The Fruit Pastille hadn't even touched the sides, Bronagh thought her mouth watering. ‘They've a grand selection of pastries in the café here.’
‘Third time lucky,’ Joan said optimistically.
Bronagh felt sorry for her. Joan had so desperately wanted the floaty mauve dress she'd fallen in love with, but the others had declared it better suited to a summer garden party than a freezing December wedding.
‘Ah no.’ Maureen stopped short with a groan as they approached the escalators. ‘They're on the blink. I've no energy left for stairs, even if it is only one flight.’
A ripple of agreement spread through the group. Even Hilary joined in.
‘The lifts are over there,’ Bronagh said, pointing towards the rear of the ground floor.
She and Hilary headed in that direction.
It wasn't until they'd stepped inside the lift that Bronagh realised Maureen and Joan hadn't followed. They'd become distracted at a cosmetics counter. Maureen was trying lipstick on the back of her hand while Joan stood looking completely baffled by the rainbow of shades.
‘They'll find us.’ Hilary leaned across Bronagh and jabbed impatiently at several buttons.
The doors slid shut and the lift began to climb. The lingering scent of Chanel No. 19 still hadn't faded, Bronagh thought. No wonder she was beginning to feel queasy. Then, as the lift glided past the first floor without stopping, she shot Hilary a bemused look.
Hilary sighed as the indicator climbed to the second...then the third...then the fourth floor.
The lift gave a sudden judder on its way towards the fifth.
Bronagh frowned. ‘Playing silly beggars,’ she muttered, pressing the button for the first floor several times.
‘That won't help.’
‘What would you suggest then?’
In the split second before the lights flickered, and died Bronagh registered the fear on Hilary’s face. She’d always been afraid of the dark now here they were in complete blackness.
‘Bronagh?’
The uncertainty in her sister's voice instantly transported Bronagh back to their childhood. ‘I'm right here,’ she said softly, just as she always had.
A second later, the emergency lighting flickered into life, bathing the lift in a dull yellow glow.
‘Oh thank goodness.’ Hilary’s hand was on her clavicle.
‘It's very hot in here,’ Bronagh murmured.
Then the lift dropped.