‘It’s not the same as marrying at Castlemoon though, that’s all I’m telling Maggie here. We all know that. Name me one couple in Heartwell village that got married in the castle and are now divorced?’ Kate turns to look up at Jimmy, her two hands out wide.
‘None.’ Jimmy shrugs.
‘None, exactly. Not one! Plenty who married elsewhere are divorced or separated but I believe the castle holds some magic that keeps couples together. We all do. I think it’s the magic of the true love that Esther and Michael have. They were the first to hold their wedding reception in Castlemoon, and they sprinkled some kind of permanent love potion. I’ll be the only child in my family not to marry here, but sure look it.’ Kate’s tone abruptly lightens at the end and it doesn’t take a genius to work out she is trying to distract Jimmy from her fears. She stands on her tippy toes as he bends down and she plants a kiss on his lips. ‘Of course we will be grand, Jimmy, don’t mind me. I’d marry you in a stable, it’s just the beautiful day we’ve all shared here at the castle, makin’ me loose lipped. Next thing you’ll all be calling me Mary,’ she says, but her eyes well up all the same.
‘And the gin, nothin’ wrong with that.’ Jimmy laughs, playfully rolls his eyes to the crowd then gently wipes her tears with his thumbs and kisses her again.
‘So, you truly believe in the everlasting marriage folklore?’ I ask Kate, intrigued.
‘We all do!’ a voice from the back shouts.
‘It’s not folklore, it’s a fact!’ Aaron says with a sharp nod of his head as murmurs of agreement ring out again behind him from the young crowd.
‘Aeis-a-ling! Aar-hon! Lar from the post office is wanting to sing “Fairytale of New York” for you, he’s up at the microphone.’ A pregnant woman with the most beautiful French accent arrives beside them. She looks like elegance personified in her black maternity smock, a white side hat and red pumps.
‘Okay! Sorry! Go! Just quickly let me take these pictures, just all talk as you were, take the selfies and all that, I just want to capture it all.’ I set the lens of the camera up to my eye, peering through to frame them. And in fairness to them all, not one of them plays it up for the camera. A very true bunch of people. Very rare in this day and age.
‘Come on! Mary has to do the Kirsty McColl part and she needs get back inside to the kitchen. The next batch of mushroom vol-au-vents and the sausage rolls are ready. The afters people have all arrived now. They’ll need sustenance soon.’ Another voice fades off from the back.
I continue to snap away, circling the group, thankfully seeing through the lens what I saw inside in the Sweet Orange Room moments ago, through that Venetian window earlier: something magical. The sparkling night stars above in the clear back sky, the falling snow in front of the two towering turrets of the magnificent castle, the tenderness, the happiness, the wizardry of this love and this place, the wonderful sense of a community celebrating one of their own – I capture it all. Then, with myhead bent and one eye squeezed shut, I spot him from the viewfinder.
Dan.
Leaning against the castle door, one leg bent behind him, watching on quietly. I twist the focus pull, zoom in. Again, my heart accelerates like a rapid drumbeat. I can feel it pounding in my chest. God, but he is drop dead gorgeous. I click, take a quick shot of him. He seems to sense me looking over and he stares down the lens, but those chestnut brown eyes that I almost drown in are filled with sadness. I take a sharp intake of breath. What has happened to this man? Why sometimes does he look so sad?
‘Oh! Thank you everyone!’ I spurt, jump back to the moment. I pull the camera down by my side, as they all shout back, ‘No bother’, ‘Yer welcome, Maggie’, and head inside, out of the cold.
‘Plenty of food on the way, do drop in if you feel like it, you’re most welcome,’ Aisling calls back over her lace-covered shoulder to me. Dan is swallowed up in the crowd as Jimmy wraps his arm around Dan’s shoulders and pulls him inside.
‘Thank you,’ I call back watching the bride and groom leave hand in hand. What must it be like to love someone that much, and for it to be reciprocated? I put the lens cap back on the camera. Yes, I’m sworn off love but this day has me all discombobulated. I try to imagine what it would be like to make a vow to someone to be with each other for life, and truly believe we will keep it. To feel that loved and respected? I’m far more moved than I expected to be. I take another quick look at the camera, clicking across to see my shots and they are great.
Oh my God, I think. My work will appear in the June edition ofUltimate Locations Wedding Magazine.Who knows, I might even get to see my very own cover on a magazine stand? Isn’t that amazing? It’s a dream come true. I’m so, so lucky. So blessed.
As the snow continues to fall, I take a second and perch on the low grey stone wall. The noise from the wedding is intoxicating. Is there a better sound in the world than the laughter of people? Still, I can’t help but see Dan’s dark eyes in my mind’s eye. Then, my stomach rumbles and it sounds like distant thunder, so I shake him off and head back inside to scoff my steak.
Despite my happiness about how my article is coming along, I can’t stop thinking about Kate and her utter disappointment at not being able to marry at Castlemoon. I wish there was something I could do to help.
ELEVEN
‘There ya are! Where’d ya go? I took away yer starter plate. Ready for your mains? You must be famished?’ Mary stands over me, hot and bothered, wisps of grey hair stuck to her perspiring forehead. She has stains on her yellow tie and a pencil and crumpled notepad in her hand. ‘I didn’t take your dessert order?’
‘Mary?’ Draping my satchel over my seat I do a double take and quiz her, ‘Are you double jobbing .?.?. no, triple jobbing?’ Didn’t someone say that Mary is doing the afters food? And singing? Is it a different Mary?
‘Donal, who took your starter order, is off inside now,’ she says by way of explanation but with her big, heart-warming smile that melts my heart. ‘The weddings drain our staff resources,’ she adds as the music from the ballroom continues to vibrate around the Sweet Orange Room. ‘All of our full-time and part-timers are at the wedding, ya see. Small village, small community.’ There’s not an ounce of sympathy in her voice for herself.
‘I see. Yes, I’m ready for my steak, please,’ I say, settling back and picking up my wine glass, my fingers numb, when she closes one eye tight, sucks in her breath and winces.
‘You alright, Mary?’ Hurriedly, I push my chair back in concern.
‘Ahh, don’t get up, sorry, it’s me ole hip, please sit. I’m waiting on a hip replacement, long waiting lists I’m afraid and I can’t afford to go private. It’ll ease off me now, gimme a sec.’ Mary puts both her hands flat on the table and winces again, then she stands up straight. ‘I’m grand now, we’ve nothing left on the dessert menu bar vanilla ice cream, I’m afraid .?.?. but if ye take yerself down to the Heartwell Lounge, Marie Woodcock makes an Irish Brandy Christmas pudding with fresh cream from the local dairy you’ll never forget and nor will your waistline.’ Mary winks. ‘Not that there’s a pick on ye!’
‘Maybe tomorrow night. I’ll only be fit to pass out in that great big four-poster bed after dinner,’ I say with a big laugh, but I’m concerned for the older woman.
‘Good idea, lovey. Won’t be long with the dinner plate.’ Mary takes her leave.
While I wait, I download the photos onto my MacBook. They are so natural, so real, I suddenly realise my vision is the complete opposite of the posed, highly filtered, staged shoots that the magazine normally uses. One thing I know for sure is that if I was in the market for a wedding – which I definitely am not – these are the kind of images I’d want to see in a wedding magazine. Honest. Candid. Genuine. A picture of all the men pulling a face makes me throw my head back and laugh out loud. I hope this is a good thing. Should I send a sample to Amanda to proof? Or should I just trust my gut? Lifting my glass of wine, I swirl it. The Sweet Orange Room is all but empty now. I am more than curious to sample the food. Reluctantly, I open a Word document and title it:
CASTLEMOON REPORT:
