Once, Twice, Three Times an Aisling, page 6
Chapter 6
I’m sitting in my little office in BallyGoBrunch looking at the growing list of catering orders for next week and trying to make space from nothing on my desk when I hear the familiar rat-a-tat-tat of a key against the window. I know before I even look that it’s Majella, and I’m glad of the distraction. The workload is getting on top of me this week, even though I’m now setting my alarm for 5.30 every morning. I’m loathe to turn anything down in case our customers start going elsewhere. It doesn’t help that I’ve spent every evening since Majella broke the news about the wedding date working on ideas for the hen party. Sometimes I wish there was another bridesmaid to delegate to, but I suppose I’ll be glad it’s just me when there’s no one to compare myself to in the pictures. And Maj has her own problems too, of course. It’s a tight squeeze upstairs in the apartment, especially the way Willy the Jack Russell marks his territory, so she’s taken to coming down to me of an evening for a bit of a breather and to reel off the day’s complaints.
I nip out and open the back door. She’s got an open box of Black Magic – the lowest form of chocolate – in her hands and her mouth is full.
‘That bad?’ I go, stepping back to let her in.
‘Um muum mmumfh fummh fummf, fummf.’
‘Come again, Maj?’
‘I’m fit to be tied, bird,’ she says with a gulp. ‘Mammy and Daddy were supposed to be heading into Maguire’s for a drink tonight to give us a bit of space, but Daddy’s refusing to go now because the bloody Late Late Show country-music special is on. Pab cried. He actually cried. Now he won’t come out of the en suite. Fuck Philomena Begley anyway.’
‘Ah no. Ah God, that’s very annoying.’
She stuffs in another chocolate – one of the coffee ones, I think. Things must be very bad. She turns and looks me in the eye.
‘I bet you and James are still riding every night, are you?’
‘Maj!’ She’s always fairly forthright, to be fair, but she could at least have bought me a drink first. I did drunkenly tell her when James and I first got together that things were pretty hot and heavy, and she’s been gently slagging me about it ever since. Now, though, she looks distraught.
‘Well, I mean … I suppose …’ The truth is, we can’t keep our hands off each other. He told me yesterday that he’s booked his flight home for next weekend. While there’s part of me that’s looking forward to the clean break, I know I’m going to miss him and we’re clinging onto that last bit of us ‘together’. Maybe I’ll throw Maj a few details. She’d love that. ‘We’re actually –’
‘Pablo’s gone fierce shy, bedroom-wise,’ she interrupts, sitting down. ‘Between sharing that tiny flat with my family and his mother in his ear from Tenerife twice a week about saving himself for marriage, he’s being impossible. Once the sex dries up, you know, it’s the death knell.’
Poor Mrs Pablo. If she thinks Pablo has been saving himself for marriage she’s got another thing coming.
‘Maybe he just doesn’t fancy me any more.’ She looks dejected and slides down in her seat a bit, grabbing another chocolate indiscriminately. She’s not even looking at the menu!
‘Of course he fancies you – I’ve never seen anyone more mad about someone. Doesn’t he get up every morning and cycle after the bus for a mile to see you off to work? It’s the thin walls that are the problem, not your relationship.’
Truth be told, half the town thinks Pablo’s a few bananas short of a bunch, but he’s just bananas for Majella.
She shrugs and reaches for the sweets again, but her face does brighten a bit. She pushes the box in my direction. ‘Will you have one?’
I actually retch. I can’t help it. Nibbling on dark chocolate is supposed to cure cancer and make the weight fall off you, but I’d rather die, to be honest. Weight Watchers Maura was always telling me to have just two squares to ward off sugar cravings, but two squares of dark chocolate are not a patch on a Snickers, Maura, and you’re only fooling yourself if you genuinely believe that.
‘You work away there. How was school today?’ I enquire.
‘Not too bad today, actually. There’s a kind of turf war happening with some of the third class boys. They were going at each other like something out of Love/Hate in the yard, but I managed to disperse them with a water gun. It’s nice to feel like I’m making a difference.’
I’m not sure what the Board of Management would make of her technique but I say nothing.
‘Well, listen, now that you’re here, I think it’s time we started talking about –’
She sits bolt upright, her face lighting up. ‘My hen?’
‘Your hen,’ I confirm, reaching for a folder on the crammed shelf behind my computer and squaring my shoulders. ‘Okay, the wedding is now happening sooner than we expected but I’ve been busy brainstorming. I was actually brainstorming when I should have been ordering toilet roll for the café last week, but luckily James had a few extra rolls upstairs. Timewise, I’m thinking Easter. It’s very close to the Big Day, but you’ll be off school and there are great deals if we book early. Now, I’ve obviously had some ideas …’
‘Tell me you’re getting me a stripper, Ais. You know it’s my dream. I’m partial to a guard but I’d take a fireman with a big hose at a push.’
‘Ah-ah, I’m not giving away any of my secrets,’ I say, patting the folder. ‘But before we get started on the details we need to talk location.’
‘Gotcha, bird. Shoot.’
‘Now, we’ve both been to our fair share of hens …’
‘More than, I’d say.’
I open the folder and flip over the red subject divider. ‘Right. How about two nights on the Wild Atlantic Way? I’m thinking surfing and seaweed baths on the first day, and then on the second we can get a man to come to the house and serve afternoon tea in the nip.’ I consult my notes again. ‘Actually, hang on, he’ll be wearing an apron for health and safety reasons. But he’ll be mostly in the nip.’
‘You hate surfing, Ais.’
‘I know. I’m just not built for it.’ And the wetsuits. There’s no dignity. I had a headache for two days after trying to get into one for Caroline Craven’s hen.
‘Next! I like where this is going, though,’ Maj says, rubbing her hands.
‘Okay so,’ I say, flipping the purple page divider. ‘A weekend in Liverpool. I found a really funky roller disco that serves gin in teacups.’ It’s cracked what people are up to with gin nowadays. ‘And on the second day, we could do a life-drawing class. Again, there would be a naked man.’
‘You know I can’t bear the Beatles, though, ever since I nearly choked on one of Elaine’s Linda McCartney vegan sausage rolls. Just hearing the opening bars of “Hey Jude” triggers my PTSD.’
‘What has that got to do with anything?’
‘I don’t think Liverpool would be safe for me.’
‘Okaaay,’ I say, taking a deep breath. I want this hen to be the best weekend of Majella’s life. She and I have both forked out thousands of euro over the last couple of years for everything from white water rafting in Athlone (we never found the white water) to burlesque classes in Cardiff. The very least I can do is give her the send-off to end all send-offs. And it’s my job as her best friend and only bridesmaid. She is being a bit of a tough customer, but I anticipated this and I love a challenge. I flip past the orange and yellow sections in the folder and go straight to green. I think she’s going to like green. ‘How about going a bit further afield?’
Majella’s hand flies to her mouth. ‘Do you mean like Vegas? To see the Thunder from Down Under?’
Jesus, I couldn’t be going back to Vegas so soon after my escapades there last year. I turn puce every time I so much as see an ad for the place. I actually had to leave the room when Mammy was watching a travel show about it the other night. Angela Scanlon was standing in front of the MGM Grand and everything – the scene of the crime.
‘Er no. But what would you make of … Tenerife?’ Pablo’s home island. Surely it’ll be a hit.
‘Tenerife? Okay, sell it to me.’
‘Well, flights are cheap enough if we go on a Wednesday and come back on Saturday, and of course Tenerife is where I first met Pablo and that’s how he came to live in BGB and fall in love with you.’ I poke her and she breaks into a reluctant smile. Of course, it was really John who became besties with Pablo on that ill-fated holiday. ‘So, it’s all very … meaningful. And it could be handy, assuming you want to invite his mam, and doesn’t he have a few sisters too?’
‘Oh, shit.’ Maj slumps back in her chair and throws another fistful of chocolates down the hatch while I’m forced to look away. ‘I forgot about the mams. I haven’t actually met Juana yet. Outside of Skype, like.’
‘Ah, you have to invite the mams, Maj. It’s tradition – I couldn’t have it on my conscience if we didn’t. And your Aunt Shirley has already been on to me on Facebook. There’s going to be a fair crowd of us. But, listen, all you have to do is have a good time. Leave the rest of it to me.’
‘Right you are, Ais.’
‘I actually even looked up the Paradise Aqua, where me and– where we stayed that time. It wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it would do for a big gang for a few nights. The website is under construction but I spoke to the manager, a lovely English girl called Flo, and she said it’s undergoing a huge renovation and we’d probably be the first guests to stay in it once it’s done. She said if we give them a good review on TripAdvisor she’ll halve the rate for me. Apparently they’re struggling to get past two stars and, to be honest, I can understand why – they didn’t even have a double bed for us when I was there. All in, we could be looking at only €220 a head for three nights if we share rooms. Mad when you think it’s practically in Africa.’
‘That’s a bit of a bargain, alright.’
‘Isn’t it? And the weather will be lovely. You can get a bit of colour and you might be able to hang onto it for the wedding.’
This is my pièce de résistance. Majella has had enough faketan disasters in her life to be unable to resist the lure of a bit of bona fide sunburn-that-eventually-turns-to-brown.
‘Go on. You’ve twisted my arm, so.’
‘Savage,’ I say, delighted with myself. ‘And as for guest list, so far I have you, me, Sharon, Dee Ruane, Denise Kelly, Maeve Hennessy, Sinéad McGrath –’
‘Sadhbh, Elaine and Ruby?’
‘Sadhbh, Elaine and Ruby. They wouldn’t miss it. Your mam, your Aunt Shirley, Pablo’s mam and how many sisters?’
‘Two. Maria and Paola. They’re both older.’
‘Grand. That brings us up to fifteen. Now, your cousins. Who do you want?’
Majella takes a deep breath. ‘Karen and Danielle, definitely. And Bernadette. And if I invite Bernadette I’ll have to invite Joyce and Avril. Then that just leaves Carmel, Teresa, Ellen and Aine. No, fuck Aine, she didn’t invite me to hers.’
‘Right,’ I say, scratching out Aine’s name. ‘Aine can go and shite. So that’s twenty-three. Anyone else? Anyone from work?’
‘Christ no. Oh yeah, better ask Mairead and Fionnuala.’
‘Do you think they’d be up for it if they know Sadhbh is going?’ Majella’s old housemates from the place they shared in Phibsboro are teachers too, and they got a serious land when Maj moved out and Sadhbh briefly took her old room. Between their fondness for buying and labelling their individual milks, and not one of them almond, and Sadhbh’s blatant disregard for their rules around the storage heaters, it was quite the culture clash.
‘Ah yeah, it was all water under the bridge as soon as she revealed her Peigs connection.’
‘Okay, I’ll add them in so. That’s twenty-five.’
‘Is that not a lot of people to keep track of?’ Maj looks worried now and I’m feeling a bit panicked myself. I’ll just have to be meticulous about all the organising and maybe start getting up at five instead. It’ll be grand. And James will be gone so it will be great to have a project to throw myself into, while dodging all mentions of my thirtieth birthday. Majella and Sadhbh, thankfully, seem to have gotten the message and stopped hassling me about it.
‘It’ll be grand. You know I love this sort of stuff.’
‘Are you sure, Ais? We could just go to Maguire’s for pints. It’d be far less hassle for you.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it. It’ll be deadly, just leave everything to me.’
‘If you say so.’
Chapter 7
I’ve decided to simply call the WhatsApp group Majella’s Hens and I have it fired up less than 24 hours after Maj has agreed to Tenerife. I tried to think of something funny or a pun for the name, but there was nothing happening. Sister Anne was right – I don’t have a creative bone in my body, but I am very good with numbers. I did get Noel the kitchen porter to make me up a group icon that says ‘We Can’t Keep Calm It’s Majella’s Hen Weekend!’ though, so the girls will know this is no ordinary trip.
I’ve managed to source everyone’s numbers, including Aunt Shirley and the Tenerife gang’s. Shirley was very suspicious – she likes to do all her communicating exclusively through Facebook, usually via passive-aggressive Minions memes, which she tags people in. And Pablo had tears in his eyes when I asked for his sister’s number. He’s very in touch with his emotions, to the point where I don’t know how Maj puts up with it. I bumped into him in the corridor when I was leaving James’s apartment the other morning, and he was actually bawling because the sky looked a bit pink and he said it reminded him of home. I had to tell him to catch a hold of himself.
With the initial guest list, plus six more cousins and three aunts that Majella added this morning after a guilt trip from her mam, we’re now at thirty-four hens, but I’m trying not to think about it. I’ll just keep going with the organising and hope stress isn’t as dangerous long term as the media claims.
‘Well, girls, the time has come!’ I type into WhatsApp. ‘Our Maj is finally settling down with Fab Pab, but we need to give her a proper send-off!’ I throw in some champagne, heart and bride emojis. ‘We’re going to Tenerife from 29 March–1 April.’ Sun emoji, beach emoji, palm tree emoji. ‘The price is a bargainous €220 pp, including flights, shared rooms and transfers. Let me know if you can make it! I’ll share my bank account details tomorrow and if you can transfer a €50 deposit, and post your name as it appears on your passport, I’ll get booking before the flights go up.’ I finish with a rake more emojis and press Send.
My phone immediately beeps.
‘Who is this and how did you get my number? This is a data protection breach.’
Fionnuala – I should have known. God forgive me, but she’s some dry shite.
‘Fionnuala, it’s Aisling,’ I fire back. ‘Got ur number from Maj. Hope you can come on the 29th!’
‘Wouldn’t miss it, hun!’ Sharon is straight in there, and thank God for that. We’re off!
‘Hi Aisling, sounds good! Can I get my own room? Will pay extra.’ That’s Karen, a cousin. I did up a quick room plan this morning and had pencilled her in to share with Danielle, considering they’re sisters. But I suppose I can contact the Paradise Aqua and price a single room. I take a spiral notepad out of my desk drawer, write Hen To-Do List with my Good Pen and underline it twice. Nothing like a list to make you feel in control.
‘I’m sure that’ll be grand, Karen,’ I type.
‘Jesus, Karen, you’re some pain in the hole. Thanks, Aisling, I’m on for it.’ Danielle is in too.
‘Me and Ruby are THERE, Ais.’ That’s Elaine. ‘Can you make sure we get a double room, though?’
‘No probs, Elaine!’ I write ‘Remember double room for Elaine and Ruby’ on the list.
‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away!’ Sadhbh is on board too. ‘I’ll fly from New York to Dublin and meet you all in the airport. Will you book me an extra bag?’ I stick ‘Sadhbh extra bag’ on the list.
‘Looking forward to it! Can I get an aisle seat, Aisling?’ Shirley, wouldn’t you know. I suddenly start to feel very warm.
‘I’ll do my best, Shirley,’ I type, while fanning my armpits. Then I add ‘Shirley aisle seat’ to the list.
‘Lovely, Aisling.’ It’s Liz, Majella’s mam. ‘How many bags can we bring and do I need to weigh them? Can I have the aisle seat across from Shirley?’
I bring up the Ryanair website and try and make sense of the current cabin-bag situation, which seems to change weekly. You’d want to have your wits about you. It looks like you can only bring a small carry-on bag, unless you book this Plus thing, which is an extra €20. Honestly, I don’t know how Michael O’Leary sleeps at night. What an absolute chancer.
‘Ladies, you can bring one small carry-on bag each! Otherwise you can pay another €20 to check a bag up to 20kg!’ I type.
‘Is that each way, Aisling?’ Mairead, who’s been known to reuse tea-bags, doesn’t miss a trick. I go back to the hellish Ryanair website. It is. It’s €20 each way.
‘That’s €20 each way,’ I clarify.
‘So it’s actually €260 if I want to check a bag?’ Mairead replies, adding a money-flying-away emoji, which I feel is a bit unnecessary.
‘A small price to pay when you’re practically in Africa!’ I fire off. ‘Plus you get priority boarding.’ Then I throw out a smiley-face emoji to keep the tone light.
‘Sounds deadly, thanks for organising, Ais!’ That’s Dee Ruane. ‘Maeve is here with me. She’s looking forward to it too!’ Excellent. They’ll share a room.
‘Hello, Aisling, Liz’s sister Selina here. Will it be very hot there that weekend? I don’t do well in the heat.’
I take another deep breath and Google ‘Tenerife climate’. It looks like the temperature will be 14–22 degrees at the end of March.
‘It’ll probably be around 18 degrees, Selina. Lovely!’ I reply.
‘Selina has left the group.’ Oh right.
‘Hola, Aisling, this is Paola, Pablo’s sister. Thank you for organising the party. My mother would also like to come her mother, her six sisters and eight nieces. Is this bueno?’
