Chapter 1 #3
His voice startled her. She’d forgotten he was there. ‘I love it. It’s going to be amazing.’
‘It is. Now come and check out the dining room before we freeze to death.’
From the hall she followed him through a newly created arch that led directly into a large room that used to be four smaller ones.
They’d decided on seating for forty, so they could feed the general public as well as the number the house would sleep.
With nothing apart from chipper fare and pub sandwiches on offer in the village, the locals would surely be glad of a restaurant closer than the town.
It was a splendidly proportioned room, expansive and elegant, with the large fireplace they’d retained, and no fewer than three bay windows, two to the front and a third to the side.
Right now it looked a little less than magnificent, with a huddle of wheelbarrows in a corner, a stepladder propped against one of the unpainted walls, the fireplace empty and the floor not yet put down.
Lydia was glad to see a pair of gas heaters there – at least the workers had some comfort.
‘Imagine it,’ Damien said softly, encircling her with his arms from behind. ‘Tables spread out, white cloths, silver place settings, sparkling glasses.’
‘Candles,’ she said. ‘The fire blazing. Maybe we could put a little piano in, have live music at the weekends.’
‘Great idea. And a small but perfectly formed menu.’
‘Vegetarian option.’
‘Naturally – and vegan if we must.’
She searched for his hand in the near-darkness, trying to stop her teeth chattering. ‘I wish we didn’t have to wait so long.’
‘For what?’
‘For our wedding. It feels like a million years since you proposed.’
‘You’re shivering. Let’s go and eat. You can see the rest tomorrow’ – and when they were back in the warmth and light of the apartment, after she’d poured wine and he’d ladled sweet potato and coconut curry into bowls, he said, ‘Maybe we don’t have to wait.’
‘For what?’
‘To get married.’
She shook her head. ‘We said we’d have the reception here.’ Somewhere along the way they’d settled on that. With the seating limitations it would mean a smaller event than Lydia had envisaged, but they could have a big party later for everyone else.
He tore bread from a loaf. ‘We could still have it here, just bring it forward.’
She laughed. ‘What – you mean as it is now? In the freezing cold?’
‘Why not?’
‘Damien Cotter, I know you’re joking. Stop it.’
‘We could light a fire – the chimney could be cleaned, if it hasn’t been already. And you saw the gas heaters?’
‘I did.’ She imagined a wedding reception taking place in what was to all intents and purposes a building site. People would certainly remember that one. ‘What would we do for lighting?’ she asked, still sure he was joking. Wanting to catch him out.
‘That’s easy – battery-powered fairy lights around the walls, hurricane lamps with candles in the windows, and a few of those rechargeable lamps on the tables.’
‘What tables?’
‘We’d borrow them from Susan.’
‘Who’s Susan?’
‘The school principal. She has trestle tables she lends out for street parties and fairs and things, and folding chairs too.’
Lydia laughed again, shaking her head. ‘Folding chairs. You’re hilarious.’
‘Think about it,’ he insisted. ‘People start planning their weddings months ahead, sometimes years, because that’s when they have to book their venue, but we have the venue right here. We could get married before the end of this year if we put our minds to it.’
‘Damien, the end of this year is in four weeks – now I know you’re crazy. And it’s not just the venue – we’d need food, for a start. Don’t tell me we could feed forty from this apartment.’
‘Not at all – I could get a few lads from work to bring a buffet.’
‘It would need to be piping hot.’
‘Food warmers. Simple. Hot for three hours.’
‘OK – what about a wedding cake?’
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘Greta in the café makes all the occasion cakes around here.’
Lydia had never laid eyes on Greta, never even seen the café open, although allegedly it did open. Tom’s wife Marian had told her it served very good coffee.
‘What about flowers?’
‘Marian’s best friend is a florist in the town.’
He had an answer for everything. Was nothing beyond possibility for him? ‘Music?’
‘Music would be the least of our worries. People would bring instruments.’
‘What people?’
‘The locals. They’d be coming to the afters. It’s a thing here, a general invitation to the whole community to turn up after the wedding meal for cake and a singsong.’
She pictured the entire village population crowding into the dining room with fiddles and bodhráns and whatever else. Pure bedlam, it sounded like – but one way to get to know them.
‘And before that we could ask a few of the pub buskers to come. They’re very good, very versatile.’
Buskers. She was beginning to wonder if he could actually be serious – and more to the point, if she wanted him to be.
Married before the end of the year, when she’d assumed they’d have to wait till summer. They could sweep the bare floors, or throw down some rugs – and maybe the new windows would be in by then.
Firelight, candlelight: readymade romance right there. God, it might just work.
‘Look at me,’ she commanded, even though he already was. ‘Are you serious? Tell the truth.’
‘I am,’ he said. ‘I want to marry you, Lydia Foley. I’m tired of waiting.’
So was she. She thought of something else. ‘What about a photographer?’
‘Denny O’Neill,’ he said promptly. ‘He’s a taxi driver, photography’s just a hobby – but he’s very good. Everyone gets him to do their weddings.’
Buskers for their band. A taxi driver taking photos. Catered food. An elusive café owner baking the cake.
‘We could do it,’ he said, watching her face.
‘You think we could?’
‘I know we could.’
There were other considerations. Her parents, and doubtless his too, would prefer a church wedding.
Exactly how much notice did a priest need?
And her parents would definitely have been planning a lavish reception – if she and Damien went ahead with this crazy idea, it was not going to go down well with them.
It was a terrible time of year to be asking friends and family to drive across the country.
And she didn’t even have a wedding dress, for goodness’ sake.
On the other hand, she was the one who’d said she didn’t want to wait, and here he was, making it happen.
Here he was, finding a solution so she didn’t have to wait.
And by the sound of it, this wedding would cost a fraction of any other one.
She didn’t imagine taxi-driving photographers were very expensive.
She’d have to put her job-hunting plans on hold till January. Not a big problem.
She looked at him. She saw the smile that had attracted her the night they’d met. She saw the man she loved deeply, the man she’d follow to the other side of the moon if he asked her. She took a breath. They could do this. Together, they could do anything. ‘Let’s go for it,’ she said.
‘Honest?’
‘Honest.’
He raised his glass. ‘To our wedding,’ he said.
‘To our wedding,’ she echoed.