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.
Round tables in the ballroom were each laid for ten guests. Each table had a number displayed on a metal stand, a glass vase full of gorgeous fresh white and red roses and a large church candle with three wicks lit. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling creating a romantic, relaxing atmosphere. It was like something from a fairy tale. A wave of relief swept over me as I realised the frog was not sitting at our table, thank goodness. We were seated with Jane and Michael, Trisha and Michael and two guys I recognised from the stag weekend and their wives, who all seemed lovely. I scanned the room looking for the frog but was pleased to say I couldn’t see her anywhere near us so at least I was able to enjoy my dinner without her staring daggers at me.
I exhaled deeply, releasing the tension I’d been unwittingly holding in my shoulders and reminded myself I was the one he was here with; I was the one he told he loved, the only woman he ever had said that to, and the one he had asked to move in with him. I had no reason to feel anything other than wonderful regardless of who else was in the same room as us.
Jack and Julia waved at us from two tables away, they had travelled from Dublin this morning. I was looking forward to catching up with them again, and hearing more about their own wedding plans.
I checked my phone in my handbag to make sure it was still on vibrate. I’d have hated for it to go off in the middle of thespeeches. Glancing down at it quickly, conscious of being rude, I noticed I had seventeen WhatsApp messages and two text messages. I scanned through the WhatsApp messages briefly, the girls were debating on different venues for my leaving drinks. Clara wanted to go somewhere fancy, Katie wanted to go somewhere local and Ruth didn’t care where we went and reminded everyone to invite Rachel down.
I flicked into the text messages. One was from my mother, wishing us a good day at the wedding and asking for a photo, the other was from a number I didn’t recognise.
When I opened it, it was none other than Paddy O’Mara, asking me if I would be interested in a hygienist position in his new practice which was due to open mid-February. Everything was falling into place, the stars seemed to align for us, as though it were fate. As though it were meant to be.
I handed the phone to John under the table so he could read the message. He flashed his perfectly imperfect smile at ticking another box on the checklist.
With Paddy’s formal job offer, I was one hundred percent at peace with my decision to move. The weekends were wonderful, but the week days were torture being away from John. I needed a job, an identity of my own, something to be known as, not just John Kelly’s woman.
My family and friends thought I’d gone completely mental, turning into one of those lunatic mushy women I used to mock. A part of me still questioned if that kind of love could last. It had only been a few months. The one thing I learnt about being in love, true love – and that’s what it was – was, that as wonderful and as amazing and exciting as it is, there were extreme lows as well. One thing about being in love was that it made me vulnerable, I was giving my heart to somebody and trusting him not to damage it; yet handing him everything he needed, all the tools and instructions, to do just that.
I was not used to feeling powerless in that way. I’d never truly cared before. There was no element of risk before because I had nothing to lose. With John, I felt there was a potential for complete and utter indescribable devastation. I’d experienced the real deal and was absolutely terrified of losing it.
