‘The old song goes that love is a many-splendoured thing…’ went on the celebrant, ‘and I have to say that I agree with the words of the late, great Andy Williams, a great hero of my father…’
Patrick looked around at the guests who were all listening intently, as well as fanning themselves with the order of service.
Standing at the back of the chairs, beside the table with the water bottles and fresh napkins, Grace was looking on happily at the proceedings, the canopy flapping in the slight breeze.
His eye moved up past the marquee and to the hotel, which shimmered in the haze. And there was Rosie, talking to the man from the other night, the one who had left. They were laughing, it looked like Rosie was happy, in her beloved hotel, in her beloved village, living a good life.
Patrick turned back, his heart hardening, his resolve sharpening. What was he doing, allowing himself to imagine a life with Rosie? They were ancient history, they’d been just kids back then. And they’d both moved on. The thing was it hadn’t been good to see Rosie. It had, in fact, been heart-wrenching. He’d known her so long ago, thought he’d forgotten her, moved on and then, a decade later, it was like going back in time, his feelings had just been preserved in amber. He was that young man, the untried, untested, naive boy who didn’t know where he was going but knew he wanted to get out of Ireland. He didn’t know how to love himself, never mind anyone else, and he had so many regrets. The main was being so far away when his mother was so ill. Being away from Seán. And… despite himself, missing Ireland.
He should come home more often. See Seán and Niamh, go back to Midleton and meet up with old friends. Check on Sandra, make sure she was doing okay. See Dad. But he just had to get himself back to his life in Boston, and put this weekend behind him.
44
ROSIE
Late in the evening, the wedding party were beginning to let their hair down. A local DJ, Mary-Marg, was playing a mix of nineties and disco classics from inside the marquee and you could hear the voices of people singing lustily along. Others were sitting on the grass talking, their drinks balanced on the grass, bathing in the sunset as the skylight dimmed and the day wound to an end. Grace and Rosie were staying close by, not drinking and on duty, just in case anything went wrong. Nessa and Laurence were walking through the hotel, holding hands. ‘Don’t worry,’ called Laurence. ‘I’m not about to gatecrash the wedding again. We’re just on a walk. The twins are at my parents’, probably eating crisps and having a fizzy drink. And I think my dad was going to put onJawsfor them.’
‘I can only hope he was joking,’ said Nessa. ‘But I never know with your father.’
Teddy was strolling the other way, carrying his hedge clippers. ‘Evening, everyone,’ he called.
‘Fancy a drink, Teddy?’ called Grace. ‘I’m the mixologist this evening.’
‘A mixologist?’ said Teddy, turning to walk towards them. ‘What’s that?’
And then, from around the corner, came Bertie, panting. ‘Have you seen Lucinda?’ he wheezed.
They shook their heads.
‘She’s missing,’ went on Bertie, breathlessly. ‘I saw her earlier and she was wandering around with Pedro with no shoes on and she told me she was no longer welcome in the hotel and she wanted to say goodbye. And so I said goodbye and I would see her soon, and she said no, I wouldn’t and where she was going she wouldn’t be returning.’
Rosie and Grace looked at each other.
‘First Pedro, now Lucinda,’ said Grace.
‘She must have gone home?’ said Rosie. ‘Was she drunk?’
‘She had a few of those fizzy pops earlier,’ said Teddy. ‘I have to say that they were alcohol by stealth. Honestly, they’d tip anyone over the edge.’
‘Well, she wasn’t making much sense,’ said Bertie. ‘She was crying. And I thought perhaps she was overwrought… my mother used to get like that, what she called “done in”. So I didn’t think anything of it until I found this. It was in a box outside the office, just behind reception. There was a note saying, “Please look after me”.’ Bertie was carrying a bundle of rags which Rosie now realised was moving and when he began to unwrap it, a small ear was revealed, then a head, then two eyes. Pedro. ‘Be careful,’ warned Bertie. ‘He’s already nearly had my finger off… but Lucinda wouldn’t leave him. Even if no one else likes him, she loves him.’
‘Oh my God,’ breathed Grace.
‘I told her to shut up,’ said Rosie, suddenly wracked with guilt. ‘I told her that she wasn’t welcome. But what if it means she does something stupid?’
‘You were right to say it, though,’ said Grace.
‘You most certainly were,’ said Teddy. ‘She’s always interfering and I’ve had enough of her meddling and telling us what we should be doing. She told me that Sarah had married beneath her.’
There was a gasp from everyone.
‘I told her not to be so ridiculous,’ Teddy went on. ‘She’s barely spoken to me now in eight years.’
Bertie was wrestling Pedro as he wriggled in his arms. ‘Come here, you little divil, you,’ he said, as Pedro snapped again like a baby crocodile when Laurence tried to stroke his head.
‘Her flat. Let’s go there first.’ Rosie and Grace headed out to get the Land Rover, leaving Nessa, Laurence and Bertie scouring the grounds of the hotel.
They drove down the hill to Sandycove Valley, an estate of deluxe apartments, with rigid rules which had to be observed, including no visitors parking, no washing on balconies, no ball games, no running inside the perimeter. Dogs were only allowed if they were Pedro-sized.
