A Week in Winter(28)

The landscaping was beginning to show results, and old Miss Queenie said the house looked like it had when she was a girl – before the money had got so short.

And away from Stone House, they could see Stone Cottage taking shape. They all enjoyed furnishing it for Rigger. Orla knew he was very nervous about dealing with the Hickeys when the plan was announced but she learned from Chicky that these things were just not discussed.

It was all so different from living with Brigid, where everything was talked about and analysed down to the bone. That was, of course, the old days. Brigid wasn’t the same any more. She was obsessed by this wedding, by guest lists and wedding lists and seating plans, and she expected Orla to be some kind of wedding planner since she was on the spot in Stoneybridge.

Could Orla check the church and see what kind of bouquets they could hang on the end of each pew near the aisle? In vain did Orla say that nobody had ever seen these in Stoneybridge. Brigid was in ‘Mad Bride’ mode and could not be stopped.

In despair, Orla asked Chicky’s advice; Chicky gave it some thought.

‘Tell her that her own family want to be involved and that they should be doing all this sort of thing.’

‘But she doesn’t trust them, she thinks they’re country hicks.’

‘She’s probably quite right, but stress that her family are very hostile to anything to do with Stone House and that it would be awkward if you were involved. That will get you out of it.’

‘You’re wasted here. You should be in the United Nations,’ Orla said, admiringly.

Brigid visited twice before the wedding, stressed and anxious.

‘Can I stay in your cottage?’ she begged Orla. ‘My mother will be the deceased mother of the bride if I stay at home.’

Orla was reluctant to have Brigid in the house. It would indeed cause bad feeling with her family, and also it would mean that Orla would get sucked into the lunatic preparations.

‘I can’t have you, Brigid. Miss Daly is coming to stay.’

‘Miss Daly? Our Miss Daly? From school?’

‘Yes, it’s all arranged.’

‘Lord, you’ve been behaving very oddly since you got back to Stoneybridge.’

‘I know. It’s all that sea air.’

‘Since when were you such pals with Miss Daly?’

‘I always have been.’

‘I think that working with Miss Queenie is bad for you, Orla. You’ve become a total eccentric.’

‘But not quite mad enough to wear canary yellow. Have you decided the colour of my bridesmaid’s dress yet?’

‘Oh, wear what you like. You will anyway.’

‘Good. I have the very thing: dark gold with some cream lace. Restrained but smart.’

‘Is it long?’

‘Yes, of course it is.’

‘Well, where is it? Will we go to see it when I’m over there?’

‘I have it.’

‘You bought it already?’ Brigid was outraged.

‘I don’t have to wear it at the wedding. Just have a look at it.’

‘But what will you do with it if it’s not suitable? Can you give it back?’

‘It will always come in useful.’

‘Useful? Washing pots in a guest house? God Almighty, Orla, what’s to become of you?’

‘God knows,’ Orla agreed.

Her main focus was to get Brigid to see the dress without knowing that it had belonged to Miss Queenie. Sixty years ago Miss Queenie had worn it to a hunt ball where she had been a great success. It fitted Orla as if it had been designed especially for her.

Miss Daly looked exactly the same as she had always looked. She had brought two suitcases and her bicycle.

‘You’re very good to come at such short notice.’ Orla was grateful that her teacher had responded to the emergency call.

‘It suited me very well. Shane’s passing fancy turned out to be more permanent than we had thought.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Orla said.

‘I’m not, really. It had run its course. I needed a short sharp shock.’

‘And you got one?’

‘Yes, a very pregnant eighteen-year-old, and the whole we-are-delighted-about-the-baby routine. It was just the right time to have a few days out to reconsider.’

‘Is that what you’re going to do while you’re here?’

‘Yes, it’s a good place to think. Out by that ocean you feel smaller, less important somehow, it puts things into proportion.’

‘Wish it would work for Brigid,’ Orla sighed.

‘You feel you’ve lost her, don’t you?’ Miss Daly was sympathetic.

‘Yes, to be honest. We’ve been best pals since we were ten. It’s all as if it were some kind of phase. You know, like when she and I were into tap-dancing for a bit and we wore leotards and did shuffle-hop-step, tap-ball-change, over and over. But this is for life. And with Foxy!’

‘Maybe she loves him.’

‘No. If she loved him she wouldn’t be going insane trying to impress his family.’

‘Or she could just need security.’

‘Brigid? She’s so well able to look after herself.’

‘And have you ever loved anyone, Orla?’

‘No, not loved. Fancied, yes.’