Chapter 2
‘Okay, showtime!’ Kate announced. She had spent the past five minutes on her hunkers behind Rachel, fluffing up her skirts.
She wasn’t too sure what she was supposed to be doing, but she had a vague idea that, as bridesmaid, she was expected to fiddle with Rachel’s dress for a decent interval before they could go into the church.
She gave the skirt one last hefty tug so that Rachel would think she meant serious business, then pronounced her ‘ready to roll.’
‘My veil! Don’t forget my veil!’ Rachel trilled.
Boy, that red carpet’s really gone to her head, Kate thought, but she dutifully draped the veil around Rachel’s face. Rachel had gone for the whole traditional thing: the O’Neills were a theatrical family, both by profession and in spirit, and this was her big production.
At last they were ready. Rachel took her father’s arm as they went inside and the organist started to play ‘The Bridal March.’ Everyone stood as they began the walk down the long aisle amid a riot of flashbulbs as guests ducked out of the pews to take photographs.
This must be what it’s like being famous, Kate thought, enjoying it more than she had expected. She caught Freddie’s eye as she passed him and gave him a broad grin. She noticed he was beside her disreputable aunt Iris.
Halfway down the aisle, Rachel stopped dead. Kate, not paying attention, crashed into her. ‘Dad, stop!’ Rachel hissed from beneath her veil. ‘Stop!’
‘Sorry, love, am I going too fast?’ Jack slowed his pace but continued to move forward.
Rachel dug her heels in. ‘Stop, Dad.’ She leaned closer to her father. ‘I’ve made a dreadful mistake!’ she whispered urgently.
‘Not at all.’ Her father smiled nervously. ‘Don’t worry – Tom’s a lovely fella.’ He patted Rachel’s hand reassuringly and continued down the aisle.
Rachel yanked him back. ‘No, Dad, stop! This is all wrong!’
‘Well, isn’t it a bit late to be thinking about that now?’ Jack pleaded, beaming wildly at the guests.
‘I don’t mean I’m having second thoughts,’ Rachel hissed through clenched teeth. ‘I mean I’ve made a mistake. Look,’ she pointed to the altar, ‘this is some kind of skinhead wedding. We’re at the wrong one!’ She sounded like a bad ventriloquist.
Jack glanced around him. All the guests, who were staring at them in bewilderment, were familiar. He winked at a couple of acquaintances. But Rachel was right: there did seem to be a bunch of skinheads at the altar. Could they have invited everyone to the wrong church? Or for the wrong time?
Kate peered at the altar rail. ‘God, you’re right,’ she whispered. How could this have happened? she wondered. And to Rachel of all people – Bride magazine’s poster girl, for God’s sake!
‘Of course I’m right,’ Rachel snapped. ‘I think I’d recognise my own fiancé. What are we going to do?’
As the three stood in the middle of the aisle, trying frantically to think of the least undignified way of legging it, the wedding guests began to mumble. Kate kept glancing over her shoulder, half expecting some jackbooted bride to come goose-stepping along the aisle and mow them down.
‘Ooh, it’s just like that film, Runaway Bride,’ Aunt Iris whispered excitedly to Freddie, who was shocked to see her punch the air, while she whispered encouragement to Rachel to bolt. It was as if she was cheering a horse she had backed in the Grand National over the finish line.
* * *
At the top of the church, Tom stared fixedly at the altar rail, afraid to turn around. I knew it, he thought, I should never have let Lorcan and Will persuade me into going ahead with it. Rachel had obviously seen his hair – or lack of it – and decided to do a runner.
As the organist launched staunchly into the third round of ‘The Bridal March’, Tom summoned the courage to turn and face the music.
What he saw was not encouraging. Rachel, Kate and Jack were huddled together in the middle of the aisle, having what looked like a fairly heated argument.
Jack appeared to be trying to reason with Rachel, probably persuading her to go the extra mile and marry him, even if he was a slaphead, Tom thought despondently.
But then something miraculous happened. Rachel saw him, and her face lit up. ‘It’s Tom!’ he heard her gasp to her father and sister. She seemed surprised to see him, but pleasantly so. In fact, she appeared overjoyed.
‘Look! It’s Tom,’ she squealed again. Then she picked up her skirts and practically ran the rest of the way to the altar, Kate water-skiing after her, hanging onto her train.
Rachel flung back her veil, threw herself into Tom’s arms and covered his face in kisses. ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you,’ she babbled. ‘I didn’t recognise you. We thought we’d come to the wrong church.’
‘My hair.’ Tom rubbed his head. ‘I can explain.’
‘It looks brilliant.’ Rachel pulled back to examine him. Her brush with disaster had put Tom’s radical haircut into perspective. ‘What made you do it?’
‘I just thought it’d make our wedding more rock ’n’ roll.’ He was giddy with relief.
‘And it feels gorgeous.’ She laughed. ‘So sexy.’
‘That’s what they said.’ Tom nodded to Will and Lorcan. Rachel had been too preoccupied with Tom to notice them, but now they smiled at her.
Kate gave a hoot of laughter when she saw them, but Rachel narrowed her eyes beadily.
She might have known this had had something to do with them.
‘Oh, you’ve all done it,’ she said, ‘What a brilliant idea!’ She knew there was more to this than Tom was letting on, but she didn’t care.
She was too happy that Tom was there and everything was going according to plan after all.
Besides, the photographs would look really cool.
Finally the priest got tired of wringing his hands, pointedly clearing his throat and looking at his watch. ‘Good afternoon, everyone!’ he boomed into the microphone, bringing the congregation to attention.
‘Oh, we’re off,’ Tom said, taking Rachel’s hand and leading her to the altar.
The entire congregation heaved a collective sigh of relief as the ceremony got underway – everyone except Auntie Iris.
‘Same ol’, same ol’,’ she muttered dejectedly to Freddie, as she settled down for a nap. ‘Give me a poke when it’s over, would you?’
* * *
By the time the wedding party got to the hotel, the guests had already been taking advantage of the free bar for more than an hour.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Freddie asked Kate, when she had pushed her way through to him. He handed her two enormous gin and tonics. ‘Here, get these down you – you’re way behind.’
‘Mmm, thanks.’ Kate knocked back half of one, then came up for air. ‘We had to go to the park for a bloody photo shoot, so now I’m immortalised for all time in this get-up.’
‘God, I wish I could have been posing in the park. I got nobbled by some woman with enormous boobs. I think she was scheming to get off with me.’
‘Well, you clocked her boobs, she must have thought you were interested.’
‘I couldn’t help it! She kept slipping her cup size casually into the conversation. I had to check them out.’
‘God, I hate women like that.’
‘I must say, I like the look of your Will – very tasty.’
‘You should see him with hair,’ Kate said.
‘Straight or curly?’
‘Curly.’
‘Oh dear.’ Freddie pulled a face. ‘We prefer straight, don’t we – when it comes to hair, that is? Actually, I usually prefer straight right down the line. That’s my tragedy.’
‘I usually hate curly, but Will’s is different.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Freddie said. ‘Oh, look, something wicked this way comes.’ Lorcan was pushing through the crush with Carmen in tow. ‘Being bald hasn’t marred your gorgeous brother’s beauty one jot. Who’s the sultry piece he’s with?’
‘No one seems to know much about her, so they can’t have been together long.’
‘This is Carmen,’ Lorcan announced, as he led her forward. ‘Carmen, this is my sister Kate.’
‘Nice to meet you, Kate.’ Carmen shook her hand.
Kate took to her instantly. There was something very appealing about her direct gaze and warm smile.
‘I love what you’re wearing,’ she said. Carmen was wearing a short raspberry-coloured shift dress that complemented her skin tone.
It had a wide slash neck, which meant it was always falling off one shoulder or the other, but elsewhere the soft jersey material clung to every curve of her whippet-thin body.
Combined with the espadrilles on her feet and the soft dark ringlets falling loosely around her shoulders, the effect was of a casual, effortless glamour that made Kate feel like a drag queen with her over-made-up face, complicated hair arrangement and over-the-top dress.
‘Thanks. It was the first thing I found.’
‘This is Freddie, Kate’s flatmate,’ Lorcan continued. ‘We work together from time to time.’
‘Oh? What sort of work do you do?’ Carmen asked.
Kate and Freddie raised their eyebrows. Either the pair hadn’t been together very long or they didn’t waste much time talking.
‘I’m a director,’ Lorcan told her, adding ‘in the theatre.’ He was used to women’s faces falling when they realised he wasn’t in films. ‘Freddie’s a costume designer.
I’ve been meaning to call you, actually,’ he said to Freddie.
‘I’m trying to get a touring company together – you know, travelling around Ireland bringing culture to the great unwashed.
Would you be interested in tagging along? ’
‘Would I!’ Freddie was thrilled at the prospect of following Kate’s gorgeous brother up hill and down dale.
‘What do you do, Kate?’ Carmen asked.
‘I’m a chef, but – oof!’ Kate was hit hard from behind. She turned to discover her six-year-old nephew, Jake, struggling to free himself from her skirt, which had engulfed him like a parachute. ‘Hi, Jake! Here, let me help.’ She freed him.
‘Jake! Say sorry to Kate – you nearly knocked her over.’ Helen, Kate’s sister-in-law, came trotting up after him.
‘Don’t worry, Helen. No chance of that in this dress – too much ballast!’