Double Wedding Page 7

  ‘Mr Kennedy collapsed. I’m sorry, Mrs Kennedy. He’s dead.’ Mike managed to get the words out in a very calm way, and even in her shock and grief Jessica gave thanks for the quiet strength of her boyfriend.

  The light went out of her mother’s eyes. She seemed to crumple as Mike led her to the sofa beside Jessica.

  ‘Oh, Jessica.’ Liz gave a low keening sound and buried her face in her daughter’s neck. ‘Oh, Jessica, I want to die too. How will I live without him?’

  ‘Don’t say that, Mam, he’d hate you to say that.’ Jessica wept as she held her mother close, and Mike went out to make more tea.

  Liz had insisted on waking Ray in the house.

  ‘I don’t want him in a funeral parlour. It’s too cold and lonely. I’m bringing him home.’

  ‘Whatever you want, Mam, whatever,’ Jessica agreed, wondering if she was in the middle of a very long, weird nightmare.

  Seeing her father dressed in his favourite fishing jersey, lying in a coffin, had been surreal. He looked like he always looked, with a half-smile on his face as if he was asleep. She half expected him to sit up with a huge grin and say, ‘Ha ha! Fooled ya!’ He was such a practical joker, Jessica and Liz never knew what he was going to do next.

  It was hard to believe that he’d never barrel through the door and envelope the pair of them in one of his rib-crushing bear hugs, saying happily, ‘How are my women?’ He’d been such a fun dad. He’d taught her to fish, and she could still remember the excitement of the tug on her line when she’d hooked her first mackerel. They’d made a fire on the beach, and he’d wrapped it in tinfoil with a lump of butter and salt and cooked it and a couple of flowery potatoes on the heated stones. They’d drunk hot, sweet smoky tea out of a billycan and watched the sun set and a thousand twinkling stars emerge in a dark navy sky.

  ‘This is the life.’ He’d smiled down at her, wrapping her in his thick Aran sweater and she’d yawned and smiled back, nestling into the warm jumper, inhaling the sea and musk scent that always meant her dad to her. She’d fallen asleep in his arms as he’d carried her home as full as an egg after their open-air supper, and she could vaguely remember Liz taking her from him and undressing her before putting her into her snug bed. She’d opened one bleary eye and seen the two of them smiling down at her and she’d felt completely safe and happy.

  She remembered the giddy, carefree evenings when he’d come home from his work as a car mechanic and go off to the beach, where he taught her to find periwinkles on the rocks. Every trip to the beach with her dad was an adventure. When he took her out in his boat, she felt she was queen of the seas as they rocked gently on the waves and the sun warmed her through and through, the little puddles of water sloshing around the bottom of the boat and the smell of damp sand and salty seaweed nicer than any perfume.

  It was only when she had kissed his forehead and felt the clammy, marble coldness of him that she knew there was no life in him and she’d never sit in the stern of his boat, fishing with him again.

  Liz was helpless with grief. It was Mike and Jessica who had made all the arrangements and dealt with the undertaker. Carol had been a tower of strength. She had taken charge of the kitchen and fed a steady stream of tea and sandwiches to the many callers who had come to pay their condolences. Katie had arrived home the following day from London, where she’d been working, and she had stood with Jessica at the removal and the funeral like the rock that she was.

  Her father’s funeral had been the one time in their lives that Katie and Carol had put aside their differences and for that Jessica would always be grateful.

  Her mother had been like a zombie for the year following Ray’s death. Her eyes dazed and dull in her head, every day an effort to get through. Sometimes when she was at home for the weekend Jessica would hear her sobbing into her pillow, calling Ray’s name. Asking why had he left them. She felt so helpless in the face of her mother’s grief, even as she struggled with her own.

  She was angry with God and her father, even though at one level she knew that it was unreasonable. Why had he left them and plunged their lives into misery? Why had God punished them with this heartless, incomprehensible act? Ray Kennedy was a good man, kind to family and friends, yet he had been taken and murderers and terrorists walked the earth unpunished.

  Jessica had stopped going to Mass in her anger and cursed God, and his cruelty.

  ‘Your anger will pass, it’s only natural,’ a priest had told her, but she hadn’t believed him and told him she didn’t want to talk about it. One spring day, two years later, she had been out practising her driving in her mother’s car. She’d driven on the N11 towards Dublin and was planning to visit a friend in Redcross when a sudden impulse had her turning right at Lil Doyle’s pub instead of left.

  She drove up the winding country road where her grandparents had lived and passed their little cottage, now lived in by a young couple with a growing family. Jessica remembered visiting her grandparents as a child and when her grandmother had died she’d remembered asking where she’d gone.

  ‘Back up to Holy God,’ her father had told her matter-of-factly.

  ‘Did he put his hand down and did Granny step on to it?’ she’d asked.

  ‘Yes, love,’ Ray had said, smiling at her innocence. Standing beside him at the grave she’d remembered Ray saying to a neighbour, ‘It comes to us all without exception. It’s my turn now to deal with it.’

  The memories came flooding back as she drove along through the yellow gorse-edged road, the forsythia bursting out in glorious abundance, the gift of spring to the countryside.

  ‘It’s my turn now to deal with it,’ she murmured, and felt a flood of grief envelop her. She pulled into the gateway of the small country church that nestled atop a hill. Crying, she walked into the church and sat on a hard, shiny, well-worn pew. The church was cool and peaceful; prisms of light shining through the stained-glass windows, dancing on the white linen altarcloth. Spring flowers dressed the altar, daffodils, tulips and bluebells, and the peace and serenity of the place brought a balm to her.

  ‘I miss you, Dad,’ she cried, tears pouring down her cheeks. ‘Help me, God, help me accept that it was my turn.’

  ‘I will.’

  Startled, she turned around. Had she heard a voice? Was someone in the church with her? But no one was, and yet Jessica could have sworn that she had heard a voice say, ‘I will.’ A voice so calm and full of love that her soul felt peaceful and for a moment she had felt a serenity and sense of well-being that was indescribable.

  How long she sat in the little church she could not tell, but for the first time since her father had died she no longer felt alone. His spirit was still there, and whether it was her imagination or the voice of God, the great knot of grief that had held her in bondage was loosened and she felt a sense of tranquillity that life was as it should be.

  ‘Dad, help Mam,’ she prayed. ‘Jesus, bring peace to my mother.’

  As she genuflected and blessed herself to leave, she knew that this was the church she wanted to marry Mike in, and for the first time in a long, long while she felt a flicker of happiness.

  Remembering that life-changing moment as she drove along the N11 towards home, Jessica sighed. That was the day her anger had gone, and when she told Mike about it, shyly, afraid he might think she was for the birds, hearing voices, he had hugged her tightly to him and said, ‘You handled your turn very bravely. I was so proud of you the way you looked after your mother. I think you’re great.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘You know I do, I wouldn’t be marrying you otherwise.’

  ‘I suppose not, but it’s nice to hear that you think I’m great, now and again,’ she murmured against his chest, feeling immensely happy.

  As she passed Lil Doyle’s she glanced up to her left, knowing her little church was there and that later in the year she would be walking up its aisle as a bride. She hoped her mother liked the idea.

  ‘Hi, Mam, I’m starving, have yo
u something nice to eat?’ she called cheerily as she let herself into the house fifteen minutes later, a big bunch of irises and tulips in one hand, a box of cream cakes in the other.

  Liz Kennedy’s eyes lit up at the sight of her daughter. At least she was looking like her old self, Jessica approved, noting her mother’s recently highlighted hair and the smart black jeans and lilac fleece.

  ‘Hello, love,’ she greeted her. ‘They’re gorgeous, you shouldn’t have gone to such trouble,’ she reproved, holding out her arms to Jessica, who dropped her load on to the counter and hugged her mother tightly. ‘I’ve a steak and mushroom pie in the oven—’

  ‘Oh, Mam, my favourite. Can I have loads of pastry?’ Jessica begged, her mouth beginning to water.

  ‘Of course you can,’ laughed Liz. ‘Now tell me what brings you home midweek?’

  ‘Mike and I are going to get married as soon as we can—’

  ‘Lord above, Jessica, you’re not pregnant—’

  ‘Mam!!’ Jessica exclaimed indignantly.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ her mother apologized hastily. ‘I wouldn’t mind, it’s just I think you’re a bit young and you’ve all your life ahead of you.’

  ‘Well, I’m not. I’m on the pill, you know.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Liz slipped on her oven gloves and took the steaming, golden pie out of the oven. ‘What’s the rush then?’ she asked as she set about serving their meal.

  Jessica settled herself at the ready laid table. ‘You know Mike’s got the job with Wicklow County Council—’

  ‘Yes, and he can live with me if he wants.’ Liz spooned steak chunks and mushrooms on to a plate.

  ‘Well, he’d need a car to drive to Wicklow and we were just talking about it and neither of us want for me to be in Dublin during the week and him down here as we’d originally planned, so we decided to hell with it, get married sooner rather than later. Neither of us is after a huge big wedding anyway. What do you think?’

  ‘If it’s what you both wish, it’s fine by me,’ Liz assured her as she placed her meal in front of her.

  ‘We were thinking of getting married in Kilbride and having the reception in The Four Winds.’

  ‘Well, that would be handy,’ Liz approved. ‘And I’m glad you’ve picked Kilbride church. Ray was buried from Templerainey; I’d feel terribly sad walking up that aisle with you. Kilbride is a much better choice.’

  ‘I know. There’s no sad memories in Kilbride,’ Jessica said gently.

  ‘Do you want me to make your dress?’ Liz arched an eyebrow.

  Jessica burst out laughing. ‘Your sewing is as good as my cooking. Better not,’ she spluttered.

  ‘Just thought I’d offer,’ Liz grinned. ‘Will you ask Tara to make it?’

  ‘I guess so, I’d say she’d be disappointed if I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, she is your godmother and she’s great on the sewing machine.’

  ‘I know. Katie always has fabulous clothes,’ Jessica murmured as she devoured a piece of feather-light pastry.

  ‘I’d better do a guest list,’ Liz said as she sat down opposite her daughter. ‘I’ll do the flowers myself. I might not be able to sew but I can do a nice job with flowers even if I say so myself.’

  ‘Er, there’s just one other thing . . . ’ Jessica swallowed and took a drink of milk. ‘We’re thinking of having a double wedding with Carol and Gary.’

  ‘What!’ Liz’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Carol and Gary,’ Jessica said weakly.

  ‘You’re not serious?’ Liz said in dismay.

  ‘Why?’ Jessica’s heart sank at her mother’s response.

  ‘That lot. You know what they’re like. Nancy Logan lives on her nerves. Between trancs and drink she’s nearly comatose most of the time. That young Nadine is wild. The two aunts don’t speak to each other. Is the father alive or dead? Oh, Jessica, do you have to?’ she groaned.

  ‘Sorry, Mam.’ Jessica bit her lip.

  ‘Whose idea was it or need I ask?’

  ‘It was Carol’s,’ Jessica admitted.

  ‘And why didn’t you just say no?’ Liz demanded.

  ‘Oohh, you know Carol, it’s very hard to say no. I just felt sorry for her.’

  ‘But it’s your wedding. What does Mike say?’

  ‘He doesn’t mind. You know men?’

  ‘Is there any way you can get out of it?’

  Jessica brightened. ‘I could say you wouldn’t have it,’ she exclaimed, seeing the perfect excuse.

  ‘You can’t do that, Jessica,’ Liz exclaimed indignantly. ‘Nancy would get in a huff and you know how unstable she is, and anyway I wouldn’t do that to Carol. She’s had enough rejections in her life, I’m not going to be the cause of another one. You’re not going to blame me for it if you can’t put your foot down yourself.’

  ‘Oh!’ Jessica couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  ‘Isn’t she an awful little rip, butting in on your big day like that?’ Liz said crossly. ‘She’s always the same. She’d better not start dictating to me though, that’s all I’m saying.’ Liz stared at her daughter, her lips a thin line of disapproval.

  Oh no, it’ s going to be an absolute shambles. Jessica was enveloped in a cloud of gloom at the thoughts of her impending wedding.

  * * *

  Liz sat at her dressing-table smoothing cleanser on to her face. She felt more lonely and disheartened than usual. Jessica’s up-coming wedding was going to be even more difficult than she had anticipated. It would be bad enough walking up the aisle with her daughter, trying not to think of Ray, trying to ignore the aching sense of loss that was her constant companion, without having to worry about the potential mayhem that the Logans could cause. Absentmindedly she licked her lips and grimaced at the taste of the lotion. ‘Urrggh!’ she tutted crossly. She took a sip of wine from the glass that reposed on the dressing-table. They had opened a second bottle after dinner and Liz had enjoyed the rich, fruity Australian Merlot. She didn’t care to drink on her own. It was a habit she could get too used to, she felt, so it was a treat when Jessica came home to skull a couple of glasses of wine and feel pleasantly giddy and tipsy.

  She wasn’t in the slightest bit tipsy or giddy tonight though. Jessica’s unwelcome news about the proposed double wedding had upset her. Liz sighed and poured some toner on to a pad. If she were completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that once Jessica had got engaged to Mike, Liz had dreaded the idea of the wedding. She could hear her darling daughter pottering around in the bedroom next door. It was lovely to have her at home. Jessica’s light-hearted presence filled the house, temporarily dispelling the sense of solitude that living alone engendered. She was full of plans about the wedding, full of optimism and looking forward to finding a house with Mike.

  She and Ray had been like that once. Buoyed up with the confidence of youth, they had taken so much for granted, she reflected. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. An oval face framed by short, feathery, copper tresses whose few strands of grey were camouflaged by golden highlights. A small snub nose with a dusting of freckles that she hated. A nice enough mouth, neither too full nor too thin, she supposed. She had a slender build that gave her a youthful enough appearance and she’d kept herself fit, dreading the idea of ageing. Liz frowned, annoyed at her vanity. She wasn’t pushed now; she could age all she liked. What difference did it make? She wasn’t out on the hunt for a man. She didn’t look her age, she acknowledged, but her hazel eyes with their flecks of gold were turbulent and unhappy and the lines around her mouth were grooved deeper than she liked. It was a horrible thing to have to admit, but she envied her daughter and couldn’t help comparing Jessica’s joyful future with her own empty one. How shallow was that, she thought, disgusted with herself.

  She was being thoroughly selfish. Jessica’s wedding wasn’t about her, and it was up to her to make sure her daughter had as good a day as she possibly could. Ray’s absence would be keenly felt by both of them. They were in the same boat in that r
espect.

  But at least Jessica would have Mike to put his arms around her. She’d come home to an empty house, Liz compared unhappily, as in spite of herself tears spilled down her cheeks and she buried her face in her arms to try and stifle the sound of her sobs.

  When would the ache go? When would the loneliness and misery ease? It was three years since Ray’s death. It might as well have been yesterday, she thought in despair. It was so difficult to accept that their lives together had been so brutally and swiftly ended. It was still almost impossible to believe that she would never snuggle in to him at night or spend hours talking and teasing each other, hearts filled with love and affection.

  With Ray she had felt completely and contentedly at ease. He knew her and understood her as no one else ever had. With him she had been totally herself. Now he was gone and she was bereft.

  ‘You’re relatively young, Lizzie, you might find someone else,’ a well-meaning friend had said, having invited her to a party the previous Christmas.

  ‘Maybe.’ Liz had given a non-committal shrug. In her heart of hearts she knew there was little likelihood that she would want to get involved with another man. Ray had been her soulmate. Anyone else would be a poor second best. She couldn’t help feeling bitter. If they’d been in their sixties or seventies she might have coped with her loss more easily. But she still felt young; she still had emotional and sexual needs. She was a normal, healthy woman and life stretched ahead of her. It wasn’t that she didn’t have friends and a good social life. She had, but being surrounded by people was no protection against her abiding feelings of aloneness.

  She got up from the dressing-table and went over to the large pine wardrobe that lay along one wall of the bedroom. She opened it and took out a maroon Lacoste pullover that she had bought Ray one year when they were on holiday in Spain. She slipped it on over her nightdress and buried into its softness, still getting the faint musky scent of her husband. Liz stood staring out through the Velux window of the dormer. In the distance she could see the lights of a fishing boat shimmering on the sea. Ray had loved the sea.