Echoes (59 page)

“Got engaged? Got engaged? You and David haven't
got engaged.
You're getting
married
in three weeks. What does that mean? Well? What does it mean?”

“Go to hell.” She turned and ran past him.

He ran beside her, half jumping, half running. “It's the wrong thing to do. Girls like you, like Fiona, you shouldn't be just forced to make fools of yourselves.
You're
not tramps. You're too trusting. If something goes wrong then you should work it out properly . . .”

She stopped and looked at him levelly. “In my case,
nothing
went wrong.
Nothing.
Do you hear me? Everything is fine, as right as can be. Our marriage is a bit sooner than we intended but it's exactly what we wanted. It's going to be perfect.”

Gerry had stopped opposite her. He looked straight into her eyes. “Your marriage to David Power is not going to be perfect. You foolish,
foolish
girl. Your marriage is doomed.”

 

The girls had been magnificent. They had been through the entire hostel in search of clothes, and since everyone was so much in awe of Valerie and Mary Catherine, clothes were forthcoming. They had a huge selection for Clare to choose from.

There was a nice pink suit which fitted Clare very well. They took a wine-colored hat from another girl, and a very expensive black bag. Now all she needed were wine-colored gloves and good black shoes.

They bought her the gloves between them, and she bought the shoes herself. She was kitted out.

Mary Catherine was to be bridesmaid, and James Nolan the best man. David seemed a little cool with James. Clare didn't know why. Anyway they were all in such a frenzy with study and getting clothes ready and dismantling their flat in Rathmines and finding a better one, that there was little time to speculate.

Clare had received a note from Caroline Nolan wishing her well, expressing surprise at the suddenness of it all, and regret that the Nolan family offer of hosting the wedding hadn't been taken up.

Clare had been adamant about that. It was not going to be on Nolan territory. It was to be on neutral ground, the hotel near the church. Father Flynn had discussed the menu and suggested one that seemed not too ambitious. David and Clare had opened a bank account: the manager loved young doctors and David, without actually saying it, implied that he was well on the way to being a consultant in Fitzwilliam Square. They had a small overdraft. It would pay for the wedding. There was no way the Nolans could get their hands on Clare's day.

They went through the list. There were the
relaxed
and the
tense.
The relaxed seem to outweigh the tense. David's father, Angela, Father Flynn, Emer and Kevin. Mary Catherine and Valerie. And James and Caroline would be all right, wouldn't they. Snobby, Clare thought, but all right. And what about Ben and Jim?
Tense,
Clare said, and if by any unlucky chance they did become relaxed it would mean that they had become hooligans.

Well, that was a fair number of easy people. On the other side of the scales would be David's mother, who would look like an avenging angel all day long; both Clare's parents, who would be so timid and fearful of doing the wrong thing they would have everyone's teeth on edge; and there would be the Nolan parents, who seemed to regard this marriage as in the same class as the loss of the
Titanic.

“It's great that we're able to laugh about it,” Clare said.

“That's the only thing that makes me feel it's not doomed,” David agreed.

Clare didn't like the use of that word. It made her shiver.

 

The O'Briens came up by train the night before. Jim had never been in Dublin before; Ben had been once on a school trip. Clare met them at the station. She was taking them by taxi to the hotel where they would all stay the night. Mr. Ryan, the owner, had arranged a very good rate. There were three rooms booked: one for Clare's parents, one for her brothers; and one for herself, where the girls would come tomorrow to help her dress.

Her heart filled with pity for them, for all she was putting them through, as she saw them getting out of the train. Blinking after the long journey, tired and nervous about what lay ahead . . . Their suitcase was enormous and very shabby—surely there were a couple of
small
bags at home? But then, they rarely went anywhere.

Ben and Jim were chastened by the hugeness of Kingsbridge station. The boys were squeezed into the front of the taxi. Clare's parents looked nervously out of the car on each side. She chattered: there would be tea and sandwiches in the hotel, Mr. Ryan was going to have it ready. There wasn't a bar as such, but he said that he could get a few bottles of stout for them. Clare's father brightened; and so did Ben, but Ben was told that there was no question of a bottle of stout for him. There wasn't much need for conversation. They were all so tired that the tea and stout were enough to close their eyes.

Ten times Clare's mother asked what time they had to leave. Ten times, without complaining, Clare told her that they would walk across to the church—a distance of fifty yards—at eleven o'clock.

 

It was a beautiful sunny day. Mary Catherine and Valerie arrived giggling in their finery. They had the hat and the good black bag with them. Those were only borrowed for the day: the owners were so terrified to let them out of their sight, they had promised to return them before nightfall.

“I brought some brandy. In case,” Val said.

“Not now,” Mary Catherine said. “We have to dress the bride.”

Clare looked pale so they rouged her up. She also looked extremely smart. The outfit was a work of genius and Clare blessed the anonymous donors. She felt it was taking the Something Borrowed superstition a little too seriously, and they were all laughing at that, when Clare's father arrived beating on the door nervously and saying they had only twenty minutes—should they be on their way?

Clare didn't know there would be music. She was surprised to hear the burbling sounds of a church organ. Her father's arm stiffened in fright.

The altar did seem a mile away, but soon she was near enough to see them turning round. She saw the admiration in Angela's face first, and it was warming. She saw Angela clutch Emer, and they were both nodding with delight at her. Her unnaturally clean brothers seemed surprised too at how well she looked and this made her hold her head high. She saw Caroline's eyebrows go up, and that was pleasing too, as was the big smile from Dr. Power. But best of all was the way Mrs. Power's face changed just a fraction. The superior look which seemed to be built into it as she was whispering to Mrs. Nolan left it for a moment. And because Clare felt so exhilarated, her smile was sparkling.

By the time David turned round she was glowing with confidence and happiness; transformed, almost, from when she had started to walk up the aisle. He had never known she could look so beautiful. He looked at James standing beside him and smiled. James smiled back encouragingly. The coldness, the tactless words James had spoken, were forgotten. David was stepping out of the pew to take his beautiful, beautiful bride to the altar.

The Powers were not taking any photographs. If the Nolans had brought a camera it was not produced. Kevin Quinn had a camera though; and when Father Flynn saw the scarcity of picture taking he gave Jim O'Brien some money and sent him off to a nearby chemist to get three more films.

“Keep snapping,” Father Flynn hissed to Kevin. “You're the official photographer.”

They walked cheerfully enough across to the hotel. Mrs. Power looked at it as though it were some kind of museum piece. She was annoyed to hear the Nolans saying they hadn't known it was there, and what nice antiques in the hall. Mr. Ryan had taken the decision to serve the drinks out in the conservatory, which opened on to a garden. There were flowers and plants and rays of sun coming through colored glass.

“It's not bad at all,” hissed Valerie through clenched teeth. “The way Clare was going on, I thought we were in for a place smelling of cabbage, with sauce bottles on the table.”

“There's nothing wrong with the place,” Mary Catherine said. “But isn't the mother-in-law a
bitch
?”

“She'll soon see she's outnumbered,” Angela said. They jumped. They had not intended anyone else to hear. “I agree, she's behaving like a bitch, but she's got no confidence, herself. When she sees the rest of us thinking it's marvelous, she'll come round.”

“I'll go and talk at her for a while,” Val said. “Blind her with tales of my background.”

Mr. Ryan called them in to lunch. There was cream in everyone's tomato soup, and a little chopped parsley on top.

Mrs. O'Brien wondered whether it was just a decoration; Father Flynn solved that by spooning his own down noisily the moment grace had been said. Agnes saw what to do, and her family followed her. The rolls were slightly warm; and there were little clusters of bottles on the table: red wine, white wine, orange squash, and stout bottles artistically arranged at intervals.

The seating plan was a miracle of diplomacy. No O'Brien was left without a friendly neighbor. Clare and David felt the breath they had been holding all day begin to slip out naturally. It was too big a number for general conversation, but there was a nice buzz; and by the time Mr. Ryan and his two waitresses had cleared the chicken à la crème away and dusted the table for the bringing on of the ice cream and cake, it was far more friendly than anyone could have believed possible.

Molly Power was flanked by Kevin Quinn on one side and Father Flynn on the other. Without being deliberately rude, there was nothing she could do but respond.

Agnes O'Brien was on the other side of Father Flynn, and then there was Valerie. They had dispensed with the traditional order of seating since that would have been a
certain
recipe for disaster.

Father Flynn had instructed James in some of his duties: he asked him to call upon Miss O'Hara to speak, and to ask David's father to say a few words too.

“It's not
traditional,
Father,” James complained.

“Whose side are you on, boy?” Father Flynn had replied sharply.

It worked. Tom O'Brien's bumbling words, the studying of his piece of paper, went almost unnoticed. If it had just been Tom, and the fluent young barrister James Nolan, the difference would have been very marked.

Dr. Power was warm and cheerful. Doctors were often apt to say at weddings that they brought the bride or the groom into the world, as if that gave them special standing in the community. In this case he had brought both of them into the world, and had considerable responsibility for the existence of the groom. He wished them long, happy years in Castlebay—which as everyone knew was the center of the universe, and would those people who had not yet been to Castlebay please hurry up and go there.

Angela, more hesitant than she ever had been at school, spoke about how sentimental teachers always became once the pupils were out of their hands.

James was flowery. It was very nearly over. David stood up to speak last.

Clare had to fix her eyes firmly on the heap of telegrams so that she would not cry at his words. He was speaking simply and directly about his happiness and his hopes for both of them. He was thanking everyone there by name for all they had done. Nobody could be more happy than he was at this moment.

They all clapped. Molly's gloved hands; Agnes's thin bony hands; Jim's and Ben's scrubbed clean hands—examined before they were allowed out; Father Flynn's plump little white hands and Angela's long artistic hands.

Clare went up to change, to remove the pink suit—on which not a crumb or drop had been spilled—to place the hat and the handbag back in tissue paper. She wore Valerie's good gray dress and a set of cheap wine-colored glass beads, which matched her gloves. She grabbed up her own shabby bag. She was ready for Going Away. James had said he would give them a proper present later when they were settled into their new home. In the meantime perhaps the car might be useful. David thanked him again warmly as he took the car keys in his hand.

“It's good of you, James. And thanks for all the marvelous support. At the meal. You know.”

They stood awkwardly waiting for Clare to come downstairs. “It was all great,” James said.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“And it will all turn out marvelously well.”

“Yes,” David said.

They were both thinking of the days when they could say anything to each other. A long time ago.

For the three-day honeymoon they had said they were going to a quiet hotel in Wicklow and everyone had nodded sagely. They were in fact going back to their new flat, which was in total chaos. They wanted nobody else. They wanted no gaiety or candlelit dinners, they just wanted each other and the knowledge that the day they had dreaded was over.