Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
It turned out that Irish weddings were massive.
The day after the wedding, ‘The Afters’ as they referred to it, was just a big a deal as the wedding itself nearly.
A normal person might die of alcohol poisoning if they were thrown off the deep end into a two-day drink fest with barely a couple of hours’ sleep in between.
For me, a self-confessed semi-functioning wino, it was like a slice of heaven had fallen out of the sky and straight into my lap.
I floated down the stairs in John’s house, feeling a million dollars in a gorgeous navy maxi dress from Coast. It was strapless, with a sweetheart shaped neckline and a split up the right side, giving the occasional flash of painstakingly applied tan.
John let out a long low appreciative whistle as I reached the bottom step and kissed his full lips. ‘I feel sorry for the bride,’ he said, loyally.
‘You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.’ He wore a beautifully tailored navy three-piece suit, a crisp-white shirt and navy bow tie.
‘I didn’t have you pegged as the bow tie sort.’ I straightened it for him while he looked suggestively down the front of my dress.
‘I won’t stick it past the church, but its grand for now,’ he said.
Mama Bear had taken Harley for the night. I hadn’t realised how tying it was having a dog, as adorable as he was, but John’s parents were only down the road and more than happy to mind him for us.
John held the passenger door of the Audi open and I slid into the leather seat and tried not to think about the butterflies in my stomach.
It was our first big outing as a proper couple, and we’d apparently been the talk of the tiny town for the last few months.
I’d normally dispel fears like that immediately with the rationale of ‘who in their right mind really had any time to be worrying what other people are doing’.
But the fact that Trisha and Jane had heard everything about me before John had even introduced us spoke volumes.
Most of the town had heard John Kelly had a new English girlfriend, and a married one at that.
We laughed it off, knowing the truth of our own situation was very different, but it didn’t prevent a flutter of nervous energy.
It was the first wedding I was attending since my divorce. I wondered how it would make me feel.
‘You’re quiet,’ John observed as we drove to the church. ‘Are you ok?’ He took a quick sideways glance at me.
‘Just thinking.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘Everything and nothing.’ Too much to explain.
He seemed to pick up on my mood, dropping his left hand onto my right thigh for the rest of the journey.
For the millionth time, I wondered what I had done to deserve this wonderful man sitting next to me.
He just got me. He understood me better than people I’d known for years.
When I struggled to find the words I was looking for, he seemed to hear them somehow, anyway.
The church was absolutely ram packed with guests waiting in awe for the big event. The woman in the pew in front of me turned around swiftly to chance a look at the door and nearly took my eye out with her eccentric cerise pink headpiece. The organist began to play, the show was about to start.
Natalie made an absolutely beautiful bride.
Blonde, tanned, skinny and stylish with a low cut backless slinky dress and a full-length veil.
She virtually glowed. The groom was very handsome in his tuxedo and tie, dark hair and dark eyes.
When he knelt at the altar, I saw someone had written HELP on the bottom of his shoes, which gave the congregation a collective giggle.
The church ceremony was the full hour and a half Catholic mass with communion, John held my hand throughout the entire mass, pointing out several of his friends and people he knew. We were in our own little bubble, communicating without uttering a word.
Scanning the faces of curious strangers, I tried to imagine myself as a permanent fixture, struggling to envision it, though it was soon to be my reality.
I glanced over at John kneeling in the pew next to me, pretending he was deep in prayer but the lingering look over my cleavage told me his thoughts were far from holy.
Eventually they were pronounced man and wife and we left the church for the hotel.
I needed a glass of wine, being in Church freaked me out.
I never felt comfortable in them, even more so now.
If there were such a thing as hell, I’m sure my recent activity would ensure that’s exactly where I’d be sent.
Whatever I needed; my boyfriend needed something else.
He had the foot to the accelerator, keen to get checked into our room.
The venue was only thirty minutes from John’s house but he insisted we book a room, for comfort.
My weekend bag was packed with a few essentials: make-up for the following day to mask my pale, tired and undoubtably hung over face – and of course flat pumps in case my feet were in bits from the heels.
The bedrooms were simple but spacious. He pulled me down on to the starchy white sheets and stroked his fingers along the inside of my leg, from my ankle up to my thigh, tracing the split of my dress.
‘I like this dress, easy access to my favourites parts.’ His voice was low and raspy, and left me in no doubt of his intentions.
‘Don’t go messing up my outfit now,’ I warned him, but he and I both knew he could do whatever he wanted to me when he had me like this.
He inched his thumb higher and higher, circling my inner thigh until he reached the edge of my underwear, pulling it to the side, leaving me exposed for him to do as he willed with me.
I held my breath as he lowered his face down on to the most intimate parts of me.
I finished quickly and he moved to sit on a chair next to the bed.
He patted his lap, motioning me to straddle him.
I jumped him willingly; pleasing him, pleased me.
Our eyes bore into each other’s souls when we were joined together this way.
Rocking back and forth, our hearts raced, breath snatched in short fast gasps. I felt complete.
Afterward, we fell lazily back on to the bed.
‘You are unreal,’ he said, as he had done so many times before.
‘So are you.’ I snuggled into his shoulder, hoping my foundation wouldn’t smudge onto his shirt.
‘Don’t ever make that trip to Specsavers,’ he said, kissing my forehead tenderly.
‘I love you,’ I said, blissfully content in his arms.
‘I love you too.’ He closed his eyes peacefully.
I could have happily missed the wedding and spent the afternoon in the hotel room with John, but after a quick twenty-minute power nap we went to the bar to await the arrival of the new bride and groom.
My make-up survived our afternoon rendezvous. I freshened up and reapplied more perfume, before descending down the stairs to my first Irish wedding.
The bar was jammed. It appeared all four hundred guests decided to order a drink at the same time.
John swerved through the crowds and managed to get us a couple of gin and tonics.
There was no sign of Jane or Trisha, but it was so busy they could be only a few feet away from us and I wouldn’t have spotted them.
The noise level was that of a school playground.
A man sat in the corner of the bar with a guitar, but he could barely be heard over the rumble of chatter and laughter.
Some of the women had gone above and beyond in their outfits, many of them looked as though they had just stepped off the catwalk.
Stylish shoes coordinated with colour coded fascinators and hats, and fitted jackets and fur shrugs reflected the seasonal theme.
Through the sea of faces, I instinctively zoned in on one.
The intensity of her hard stare grabbed my attention, scrutiny smothered her doll like face.
She was painted porcelain, pink lipstick, pink blusher and too much eyeliner around her cat like eyes.
A tight baby blue dress hugged her tiny petite figure and even though she wore five-inch silver sandals, she still appeared short.
It was the woman from The Shelbourne, the one who had warned me about John.
The frog. John followed my gaze, spotting her a moment after me.
He pulled me in closer to him and placed his arm protectively around me.
Luckily, Jane and her husband, Michael, approached us from the other direction with welcome hugs and kisses.
Jane looked stunning as usual, in a floor length plum purple chiffon halter neck.
I was only half listening, as she complemented my outfit, distracted by the dagger piercing my back.
I shook off the mild irritation determined, not to let it spoil the fun, and focused on giving Jane my full attention.
‘I hope we’re on the same table,’ Jane said, looking around the room for a table plan.
‘You won’t be long finding out,’ John said as the hotel manager passed through the bar ringing the bell, signalling us to move to the ballroom and take our seats.
Most people seemed in no rush to move, completely ignoring the instruction, but we were keen to see who was at our table. I had an awful sinking feeling we might be put with the frog. I desperately hoped not.