Page 3 of Coming Home to Inishbeg Cove

Chapter 2

Sarah

I had always thought I would feel differently on my wedding day. After all, I’d dreamed about this day since I was a little girl. As the years passed and I still hadn’t found that special someone to share my life with, I assumed that dream had passed me by – but now, despite the odds, here I was, at the ripe age of forty-one, about to marry the love of my life. But instead of feeling excitement, anxiety was twisting a knot in my stomach … and it was all because I was keeping a secret from Greg.

I should have told him. We were supposed to be starting married life together with a clean slate, not with secrets. I should have picked up the phone that morning as soon as I had found out, but telling him over the phone wasn’t the right way to do it… I had thought about driving over to Cove View – the guesthouse owned by Greg’s Aunt Maureen and her husband Jim, where Greg was staying because we were superstitious about seeing each other the night before our wedding – but I didn’t want to bring bad luck our way. The thing was, I didn’t know how he would react to my news, and what worried me most of all was that one look into his eyes would tell me everything.

I looked around at the whitewashed, lumpy stone walls of my bedroom and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the freestanding mirror in the corner of the room. My make-up had been carefully applied by Mrs O’Herlihy’s granddaughter, Caoimhe, who was training to be a make-up artist in Limerick. I rarely wore make-up – there wasn’t much call for it, sitting in the draughty post office in Inishbeg Cove – but Caoimhe was like a magician. The lines on my face had been softened and my skin looked more radiant somehow. I hadn’t wanted anything fancy; I was no blushing bride, after all, but she had insisted on curling my blonde hair, so it fell in loose waves around my shoulders.

Greg and I were no spring chickens and neither of us liked being in the limelight, so we had agreed that a simple, low-key affair was exactly what we both wanted. When he had suggested we hold the reception in the village hall, it had felt perfect. We had put Tadgh in charge of the food, publican Jim was going to set up a bar, and Ruairí had offered to make the wedding cake. The céilí band that usually performed in the Anchor were going to provide the music. I had made the invitations myself and, although they weren’t very sophisticated, I thought they had turned out rather well. We weren’t having bridesmaids or best men, flower girls or pageboys; I hadn’t wanted any fuss, although lord knew that many of the village women had tried to cajole me into choosing tasteful wedding stationery or looking at elegant floral arrangements. The wedding was really just going to be a shindig for the villagers and a few friends of Greg’s who had made the trip over from North Carolina. Maureen would be there too, of course; she and Greg had grown close since the old secrets had finally been aired and time had allowed the wounds to heal, and we were thrilled that Greg’s biological father Albie was able to make it too. Albie’s multiple sclerosis had rendered him wheelchair bound, and he lived in a care home. Greg’s birth parents had given him up for adoption within hours of his birth, and sadly his mother Della had passed away several days later. Although Albie hadn’t been a part of Greg’s life growing up, he and Greg had got to know one another over the last year. Greg visited him often and would bring him for a walk around the grounds of Grovetown Hospital, or sometimes he would come to our house for dinner. I was so happy when Greg told me a nurse was going to accompany him to the wedding so he could share the day with us.

I picked up the black-and-white wedding photograph of my deceased parents from my windowsill. My mother was youthful and slender, her face aglow as she stared lovingly into my father’s eyes and he looked adoringly back at her. He had movie-star good looks, a strong jaw and dark wavy hair. Together, they were such a glamorous couple. I traced my fingertip along their faces. How I wished they could be here with me today. I longed to ask my mother if she had felt jitters on the morning of her wedding. Had her stomach been in knots too, or had she been calm and content as she got ready to marry my father? They would have really liked Greg. He was a great person – I was so blessed to have found him. I just wish I had shared my secret with him before our wedding.

‘Sarah, dear?’ Mrs Manning called up the stairs to me. ‘Come on down here! What on earth is keeping you? It’s nearly time to go to the church. We need to get you into that dress. We don’t want to keep Greg waiting.’

I could imagine Greg pacing at the altar, his brow creased with worry. I had promised him that I would be on time.

‘I’m coming!’ I called back to Mrs Manning, feeling the knot in my stomach pull tighter until I could barely breathe.

Mrs Manning had come to be a mother figure to me after my own mother had passed away several years back. She had been instrumental in Greg and me getting together. Although she was ninety-three and used a walking stick to get around, she was the only person I had wanted to walk me down the aisle.

I opened my wardrobe and lifted out the ivory lace column wedding dress that had been my mother’s. It was boat-necked, with long sleeves. I’d removed a few ruffles to modernise it a little, but otherwise it was the same dress she had worn all those years ago. It gave me comfort to know that the delicate lace fabric had once touched her skin too, and I felt as if I was keeping her close to me on my wedding day.

‘Are you okay, my love?’ Mrs Manning asked, studying my face when I reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘You’re very pale. Maybe I’m just not used to seeing you with make-up on...’

She was dressed in a long ruby-red cardigan over a knitted lurex dress. With her fox-red hair and scarlet lipstick, she’d be the most glamorous guest at our wedding. Even in her nineties she was still a head-turner. How I wished I had confided in Mrs Manning, but I could hardly do it now.

‘I feel a bit sick, actually…’

She clasped my hands between her own, which were covered in brown age spots. ‘It’s just nerves. You’ll be fine once you see Greg.’

‘Do you think so?’

She looked at me, puzzled. ‘Of course I do. Now come on, dear, it’s time to get you into that beautiful dress. We don’t want you to be late.’

She unzipped the dress with her shaky hands and held it out for me to step into. Then she turned me around and pulled up the zip.

‘I remember your mother wearing this dress all those years ago too, Sarah,’ Mrs Manning whispered as I turned to face her. ‘You look just like her.’

Moisture filled her eyes, and I felt tears threaten.

‘Don’t!’ the older lady warned. ‘You’ll ruin your make-up.’

She helped to place the veil on my head and adjusted it until it was in the right position. Then she moved back to admire me. ‘Sarah O’Shea, you are a vision. Just wait until Greg sets eyes on you. Imagine, that’s the last time I’ll call you Sarah O’Shea. We’ll all be calling you Sarah Klein from now on!’ She clapped her hands together giddily.

Plump tears began to stream down my freshly made-up face.

‘Oh my goodness, what’s the matter?’ Mrs Manning looked worried. ‘It’s only a name, Sarah, for heaven’s sake! If you really don’t want to change it, you can keep your maiden name ... loads of women do nowadays.’ She tutted.

I shook my head. ‘It’s not that.’

‘Well, what is then? You’re not having second thoughts, are you, dear?’

She handed me a tissue and I dabbed my eyes. ‘I don’t think so...’

‘It’s just nerves, Sarah,’ she counselled. ‘Sure, it’s only normal. I’ve never seen a couple more destined to be together than you and Greg – and I’ve had my fair share of men! Don’t ruin this for yourself. It’s okay to be happy.’

I looked at the clock on the wall, people would be starting to arrive at the church. Greg was probably standing at the altar checking his watch nervously, wondering what was keeping me. Everyone was waiting on me; I couldn’t drop the bombshell now.

‘Come on, dear,’ Mrs Manning urged. ‘I can hear Tadgh outside with the car.’

I took a deep breath. It was time to go.