Page 33 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin

He makes his claw again and pulls his hair back, a huge smile. ‘That’s fine. I can do that.’

I move to him, and without even planning it I hug him tightly. My head rests on his shoulder. After a moment he leans his head on mine. Then slowly he lifts his two arms and wraps them around me and I feel safer than I have felt in my entire life.

Chapter Seventeen

It’s late the following evening, and Denise, the second eldest of Belinda’s sisters, is complaining to me about the parking situation as I rummage through my orange wicker sewing basket looking for my seam ripper.

‘And I honestly don’t know how ya manage to run your business workin’ outta this tiny hole?’

‘Hey! This is my tiny hole,’ I tell her, waving the pinking-shears I have in my free hand at her.

‘Wish my hole was as tiny as yours!’ Denise shakes her backside.

Belinda flicks her sister on the earlobe. ‘Don’t be so bleedin’ rude, Denise!’

Denise leans her back, her platinum-blonde plait covering the jewelled-back clasps on the black chiffon bridesmaid’s dress I’m putting the finishing touches to.

‘Head up, please,’ I command, dropping the shears into my wicker box, still searching through it with a wavering hand.

‘Ten times I drove up and down Old Camden Street trying to find a parkin’ space, too.’

Amanda, another sister, who sports a matching hair colour – except her style is a low ponytail – looks up and shakes her head. She is at my kitchen table readingThe Irish Times, shaking her iced coffee, but patiently waiting her turn.

‘Sorry, I know it’s a royal pain.’ I cringe as I locate the seam ripper and the non-elastic satin rat-tail button loops I’ve beentrying to locate for Denise’s corset. I close my box with a snap of the clasps. ‘I’ve applied to the council for two spaces in the lane, I’m waiting to hear.’

‘You don’t know how hard it is to get a decent place here because you’ve been living in luxury with your consultant husband in Donnybrook for too long, Little Miss Triage Nurse,’ Amanda laughs.

Denise turns her head over her shoulder, wobbling precariously on the block.

‘Careful!’ I scold as I remove a stitch.

‘Don’t hate on me for helping people instead of ripping them off!’ Denise hee-haws with a sharp slap of her hand off her thigh.

‘I donotrip people off. I am a business-investment adviser. I advise people where to invest their money! In fact, I mostly helped first-time businesswomen to get off the ground last year! I’ve helped countless new businesswomen get started.’ Amanda shakes a playful fist at her sister.

‘She’s looking for an investment business for me, aren’t ya, Amanda?’ Belinda says.

‘I sure am.’ Amanda slurps now, the ice rattling like her coffee is gossiping.

‘Turn around. Just one more minute,’ I plead with Denise from behind as I pin the corset carefully now. ‘And you’re .?.?. in! For now.’ I step back and shape in the material hugging her backside.

‘What’s Peter R. wearin’ anyway?’ Amanda says, snapping the broadsheet paper shut and folding it, removing her thick, black-rimmed glasses.

‘He says he is wearin’ whatever he has clean on the day.’ Belinda guffaws tap-tap-tapping away on her iPhone, and I’m in awe how she can type at all with those lengthy nails.

‘And you’re lettin’ him away with that at your wedding?’ Denise chimes in again, head facing forward this time.

‘I’ve no choice. You know what he’s like. He’s his own man. When have we ever been able to tell him what to do? The feckin’ heat in here, I can’t answer these emails!’ Belinda fans herself with her phone. ‘If this is what menopause is going to be like I’m ordering a shipment of HRT tonight!’

‘Peter R. Your brother, right?’ I laugh, turning my small fan towards her, blaspheming and cursing the heatwave.

‘That’s right, and I’ll be bawlin’ when he’s givin’ her away,’ Amanda utters. ‘Snottin’ me face off!’

‘Ah stop I’ll .?.?.’ Denise turns again; with a steadying hand on the top of her head, I interrupt her.

‘Sorry, guys, I’ve a load of ballpoint pins in and I don’t want to stab her. Step down, carefully,’ I tell her as she steps off the box holding my hand tightly and shuffles in front of the full-length mirror inside the partition. Denise’s hands always smell of antiseptic.

‘Fuck a duck. I’m a total ride in this dress!’ Denise gawps at her reflection, then back at me, then back to the mirror. ‘Excuse my French!’