Enya watched the woman’s bottom lip tremble. She reached out and laid a hand on Trish’s forearm. ‘It’s true what we said earlier, there are never any guarantees, are there? But I can tell you, mother to mother, woman to woman, that Aiden is a good man. And I hope, as much as you do, that he will be a good husband, and will do his very best to make Iris happy, always.’
‘I believe you,’ Trish whispered. ‘I believe you.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Enya had enjoyed her day off. In this new spirit of self-reliance, she had spent it at The Mall, Cribbs Causeway, letting her thoughts settle as she trawled the racks in John Lewis and Oliver Bonas, wondering what might be suitable for a summer garden wedding. Unable to decide between a couple of frocks that had caught her eye, both long, loose and comfortable, one in cerise and one in tangerine. She decided to go back next week with Angela and get a second opinion.
Jenny would never say no to a trip to the shops, which inevitably ended with a noodle supper or an iced coffee, weather depending. Several women caught her attention, some looping arms with their friends, others laughing as they walked side by side in companionable chatter. Despite venturing out and making the trip alone, it made her feel both lonely and self-conscious and she left with her head down, fighting the frustrating desire to cry, as panic, her old friend, wrapped its tendrils around her throat. It was as frustrating as it was alarming and felt like a backward step.
It had been three days since she’d met up with Trish for a coffee and had decided against giving Aiden the details of their conversation, knowing that to hear so many doubts about himand his intentions, expressed by his future mother-in-law, would do nothing to bolster his fragile confidence. Trish, she knew, wasn’t a bad person, but was just a mum doing her best, struggling to let go of her child, who clearly filled gaps in her life, and who she was worried might be about to make an emotionally costly mistake. If nothing else, Enya could certainly relate.
It was more than their discussion about the kids, however, that replayed in her mind. Her heart ached for the woman who had so eloquently described the lack of closeness, the loneliness that existed within her marriage. Confirmation too that Dominic had spoken the truth, his flat was indeed a big step towards dismantling his marriage. It made her feel sorry for Dominic as well, having heard first-hand that he wanted more, wanted to move forward, to feel energised, anything other than to feel that life was stagnating. Not that it was anything to do with her and not that she would be commenting to either of them. Knowing how they lived, however, made it easier somehow to check her phone at odd hours of the day and night to see if he had made contact. He had not, which left her with a complicated mixture of relief and disappointment swirling in her veins.
During gaps in her day, mixed with searching for Jonathan in the places she used to find him, she thought about how it had felt to be in Dominic’s arms, the feel of him... the scent of him... and her gut twisted with longing, as if her body paid no heed to the practicalities her mind cast out. It was confusing to her, loving her husband so deeply, missing him with a longing that was acute, while allowing Dominic to nestle inside the cracks of her broken heart, helping it to feel whole again, just for a minute.
The Sutherlands were not her battle and certainly not her project. She had quite enough going on trying to figure out her own life. Although right now, in the blissful stillness of dusk, her only concern was what to watch on the TV, debating whethershe could be bothered to stand up to go and seek cheese or ice cream, possibly both, and which of the fancy frocks she’d seen did she favour.
Pickle was curled against her on the sofa as a soft wind blew in from the garden, whistled along the hallway and glanced her face. She was thankful; the heat today, in this sultry early August, had been almost unbearable, without a breeze to stir the air.
The sound of a key in the front door heralded her son’s unexpected arrival.
‘Hello?’ she called, as much to let him know where to find her as anything else, not that their home was vast or palatial with only two rooms downstairs, it was no The Mount, but still.
His walk was brisk, his face contorted, as he plonked down into the chair.
‘All okay, love?’ she asked, knowing it was not.
‘Oh, everything’s just peachy, Mum.’
At no more than the tone of his voice, Pickle leapt up from the sofa and, with her tail high in the air, made for a quick exit. Enya didn’t blame her one bit.
She crossed her legs and sat still, knowing this was the lull before the storm, watching her son as his jaw tensed, his fingers flexed, and his foot bounced with energy.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked softly, trying to calm him.
‘What’s happened is that the wedding is off.’
‘Really?’ Enya sat forward on the edge of the sofa, unsure if this was a tiff, pre-wedding nerves, or the actual break-up that she had considered.
It was conflicting; once more, she felt sad that the upheaval to all of their lives was for nothing, the damage to both Holly and Aiden and their lives as co-parents unfathomable. Yet now she also felt devastated for Iris, who’d had her dreams dashed, having got caught up in the whirlwind. Her primary concern, however, wasfor her son, who, like her, had felt the ground fall away in front of him, as a plan that he thought was solid coiled away from him, no more than smoke.
That was, if it were true the wedding really was off – or was this no more than the jitters, something to be resolved? Her head ached at the new drama, feeling quite unable to handle another slice of chaos.
Aiden looked close to tears and her heart lurched.
‘It’s been cancelled.’
‘Cancelled? It’s not like a theatre performance or a train!’
‘Actually, it’s exactly like that. Something that either through lack of interest, support, poor timing or a human or technical cock-up is no longer happening!’
‘But—’
‘But what, Mum? What now?’ He sounded angry and she took a moment to remind herself that he was not angry with her but angry with the world, hurt, no doubt, humiliated, certainly. The last thing she wanted was for this to escalate into a full-blown row. This was, after all, his haven, even if it had, in recent times, pretty much stopped being hers. It was a fine balancing act, as she did her best to remain assertive.
‘I’m just trying to understand what’s going on.’
‘You and me both. Iris and I have had a huge row and she said she didn’t want to get married, and I agreed. I just blurted it out. It was like a thump in the gut to hear her say that, and so I jumped in the car and here I am.’
