Kerry-Anne laughed. ‘Oh, we all need a dog. But you have to create a life where you deserve a dog.’
He thought then of Pedro, or whatever its name was, that snarling, growling rodent owned by Lucinda. Not everyone deserved a dog, he thought, or perhaps people got the dog they deserved. And they say dogs look like their owners, Lucinda and Pedro had more than a passing resemblance, particularly the slightly deranged look in the eyes.
He looked at his watch. It was already Saturday, wedding day. He hugged Kerry-Anne goodbye and he walked back to Cliff Top feeling calmer and more centred, as though he’d been given a shake.
SATURDAY 28 JULY
WEDDING DAY
39
ROSIE
It was early on the morning of the wedding and Rosie and Grace were in the office, going through the list, marking off what to do and what had been done. Grace had arranged the two fans to point straight at her. ‘I’m in a cold air vortex,’ she said, her hair streaming out behind her as though she was on a ship, ‘and it’s wonderful.’ She turned to Rosie. ‘So, spill. What the hell is going on? I mean, Patrick? And Martin? And then that Kerry-Anne woman? And Kate? François was bewildered. He said, “Zat Patrick is a very bizzzy man… What ze ’ell?”’ Grace laughed.
‘Oh, it’s nothing…’
Rosie was faced with a future of much the same. Unless she propelled and compelled herself out of her comfort zone, nothing would happen. Except she was totally aware that she’d had a chance last night to do something and she’d bottled it. She should at least have talked to Patrick, but she’d been so taken aback, she’d retreated again. And yet, to see him coming towards her, that intensity in his eyes, his lips on her ear, those words… she could barely breathe when she thought about it.
But she was stuck, afraid to leave the hotel. She was hiding away behind these walls. The rest of her life stretched yawningly ahead of her.
‘What did he say to you?’ pressed Grace. ‘It looked like he was asking you to run away with him or something.’ She laughed. She turned to Rosie, as her smile faded. ‘He didn’t? Did he? Oh my God, he did! He did ask you to run away with him! And you said? What? You said no?’
‘Of course I said no! We had a fling ten years ago and I was so young then! I don’t just run away with people because they ask me.’
‘But… you could at least contemplate it?’
‘I did! And I said no!’ Rosie’s voice had slipped up an octave and she was back to her shrill alter ego, as though she was losing control of her life, desperately trying to retain composure but the chaos kept creeping in. ‘Grace, it’s complicated,’ Rosie tried to explain. ‘What can I say? Anyway, he’s going and that’s it. We won’t see each other again…’ She thought she had kept her voice bright and breezy, but Grace’s ears twitched.
‘You love him, don’t you?’
‘I don’t…’
‘You do.’ Grace folded her arms, looking at her. ‘Admit it.’
‘Okay, I do. But I don’t know him. I barely know him. I knew him. But I don’t know him. Not any more. Well, I do know him, but not in any real or meaningful way. But actually, yes, I do know him in a real and meaningful way. I understand him and like him and feel for him. It’s like it’s no time since we were in love. Nothing has changed. Nothing. And I have to say goodbye all over again. So yes, I love him. But it’s irrelevant. We’re not meant to be together. And I promise you, Grace, I will find someone who is available and preferably non-toxic and who lives in the vicinity. I will go online dating or line-dancing or join hiking groups, whatever it takes. I will find someone.’ She paused. ‘If it makes you happy.’
‘The question is, Rosie O’Malley, will it make you happy? Hmm?’
Rosie knew that she didn’t have the bandwidth or capacity to answer this. ‘Can we not talk about this ever again? Please? We have a wedding to run. Let’s get through today, and then tomorrow it will be all over and real life can resume.’
‘Really boring life can resume when you’re back in those navy skirt suits, when you’re worrying about the bills again and whether coffee has been put in the tea flask again for the Small Insurance Brokers of Ireland conference we have that day.’
‘Yes, Grace, you’ve described my life perfectly. And you know something, it’s a nice life. And yes it does annoy me when coffee is in the tea flask because you can’t ever go back to pure tea again, it’s forever toffee which is disgusting. But please, let’s never speak of any of this – or him – again.’ Now her voice was wobbling for definite and Grace, thankfully, took pity on her. She moved one of the fans slightly so Rosie could feel the blast. They sat in silence for a moment.
‘Sorry,’ said Grace.
‘It’s all right. I’m the one who should be sorry. You’re right. I just don’t know what to do. It’s like I need to choose the known or the unknown and the unknown is terrifying.’
‘That’s the point of it, I think,’ said Grace, gently.
‘You and François seemed very cosy,’ said Rosie, to change the subject.
‘We were.’ Grace looked pleased with herself. ‘I am so done with Irish men. It’s Continentals from now on. So much more sophisticated. François says he wouldn’t feed sliced white bread to ducks and he thinks tinned baked beans are an abomination.’ She put on a remarkably good François impression and then sighed. ‘I never thought a man talking about his hatred for baked beans could be so attractive. He’s asked me out tomorrow evening, when the wedding is over. We’re going to the wine bar in the village.’ Grace did a little jig in her chair with happiness. ‘He’s got so many ideas for the hotel. He thinks we should be offering so much more to our guests. Make Cliff Top a real foodie destination. He loves it, says it’s the most beautiful hotel. You should talk to him.’
‘Maybe.’ There was too much going on. All she wanted to think about was Patrick but concentrating on him was a challenge after everything that had happened. Her head was all over the place.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Grace.
