Page 34 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin

‘Excused, mademoiselle.’ I grin behind her, happily opening the top button on my white shirt dress. I remove my claw clip and re-do my hair into a twisty and secure it. My head is a little tender from my dinner with Donal last night. We mixed the white wine and a few craft beers, too.

‘That’s exactly what I said to her! I told ya, didn’t I? Grace Algar’s our real life fairy godmother!’ Belinda’s still fanning herself. ‘Stunnin’, sis! Noko’s only used to seeing you in your ICU scrubs. Just as well he’s a doctor, ’cause he’ll need to resuscitate himself when he sees ya!’

‘Not to mention the fact that Noko still married you knowing your shoe size, and he doesn’t care about those trotters!’ Amanda laughs hysterically.

‘Get lost! I’ve lovely feet and I get places quicker! I’mspeechless .?.?. all I told Grace was that I wanted to wear black. After that I could care less.’ Denise twists. ‘And she comes up with this beaut?!’

‘Told ya!’ Belinda says, as my stomach, never ladylike when it wants to be fed, grumbles loudly. I only had a Cup a Soup for lunch. I hold my palm against it, thinking of the mouth-watering chicken Caesar salad Donal made us last night. I’d stayed in his embrace for as long as I could before I made myself pull away. ‘About that food,’ I’d said to him, and he’d unfolded from me. And he’d been so right, the food he’d prepared freshly was so much tastier than my frozen beef dinner for one. He even managed to incorporate my tomato and lemon into it. My mouth waters now at the memory. The chicken sliced thinly, fried so tenderly, and deliciously seasoned. He’d managed to make the salad really crunchy, too, with crisp iceberg lettuce, thick slices of cucumber and fat croutons, and we’d giggled at the noise we made as we devoured it with cold white wine out on my warm rooftop. We never mentioned Logan again, we just talked about everything else and laughed, a lot.

‘That was deadly,’ he’d said as he made his way down my rickety stairs at one in the morning after we’d polished off the last of the beers on the couch.

‘Thank you again for dinner and for fixing my shower and the window in my bedroom, you really didn’t have to do that, but I can’t tell you how long they’ve been driving me nuts,’ I’d told him, a little tipsy, as he’d stepped out under the light of the summer night’s moon.

‘Pleasure. Thanks for having me. Sorry it’s so late, really didn’t notice the time going by. See you Friday. Sleep well.’ Donal had stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away.

There was no sense of unease all night, we’d just shared a calm, lovely space. It was so different to anything I’d experienced with Logan.

‘Grace?’

‘Yeah?’ I turn to my client now.

‘Are you listening to me, I said you’re a genius,’ Denise gushes.

‘Well,Isay that you are so easy to dress. You’ve such an enviable figure with a teeny waistline. A classic design, corseted dress, simple chiffon fabric. I always look to accentuate my clients’ best features, and you told me you quite liked your shoulders. They are beautiful, slim, but rounded, so I haltered the dress around them in braided straps and pleated it down over your fantastic bum. It suits you down to a tee.’

‘I wish you’d made my weddin’ dress! I bought it in New York and I hated myself in it. See what we’re sayin’, though? You need a fancy shop. Soft carpets, those flatterin’ lightbulbs around brightly bulbed mirrors, a chandelier. Somewhere to park. Prosecco .?.?.’

‘You can’t drink prosecco, Denise. One sip and ya start singin’ “Firework” by Katy Perry at the top of yer lungs!’ Amanda butts in.

‘Shurrup. It goes straight to my head, but I’m tryin’ to paint a picture here. You’re too good to be workin’ outta here, Grace Algar!’ Denise’s cheeks colour as she puts her hand over her rosebud mouth, unable to take her eyes off her stunning reflection.

‘I’m working on it, believe you me. I’m saving like a mad thing to rent premises, but with the crazy rental prices, I’m still miles off.’ I smile at her loving herself, as I’m reminded of all the money I lent Logan. How could he never pay me back?

I move to my cheap zip-up dress bag hanging on the cheap metal hanger with Belinda’s fully finished wedding gown inside. Again, I can’t help but think of Emma Stark’s stunning dress bags. I have no new clients booked in. That beautifulBy Grace Algarstore dream of mine is almost over, my business is failing,I need to face the fact.

Chapter Eighteen

Peeling one of myBy Grace Algarstickers off the page in my drawer I stick it across Belinda’s dress bag. I’ll never have personalised bags like Emma Stark, I admit to myself. These thoughts bring me right down as I quietly listen to the sisters jabber on. I down a cool glass of lemon water.

‘Okay, Belinda. Ta-dahh! Here’s your finished gown. May it bring you all the luck and love in the world.’ I pull myself together, paint a smile on my face. I hand Belinda the metal hanger that’s protruding from the open hole in the top of the dress bag and she takes it ever so carefully.

‘Can’t thank ya enough, hun. I love it so much. It’s perfection. But can I collect it when my sisters are collecting their dresses? I’d like us all to get a photo with you and then walk out of here together with the dresses? If that’s okay, hun?’ Belinda drapes her free hand across my left shoulder and pulls me in close to her.

‘Of course.’ I lean my head on her shoulder for the briefest moment then I instantly untangle myself from her. She’s so open and lovely, I forget that she’snotmy friend but a client! I can’t allow myself to let those lines become blurred again. Retrieving the dress, I hang the bag back up, then get back into work mode so I can finish up before I eat my own fingers.

‘Now, Amanda. Coffee down, you’re up. Let’s get you in .?.?. when I can prise Denise out of her dress!’ I remove Amanda’s full-length dress from the hanger on my moveable, retractablerail.

‘One second,’ Denise calls over to me. ‘I’m busy loving myself. It’s so rare I love the way I look. I love you, you big ride!’ she tells her reflection blowing kisses to herself.

Amanda’s dress is velvet. Off-the-shoulder, cobalt blue, with a feathery neckline and a silver link-chain belt across the midriff. It’s sporting a sexy but respectable split, on the right side. She wanted, in her words, ‘safe glamour’.

I had to google it. It didn’t exist so I’d used my imagination.

‘Love it!’ Amanda jumps up, towering above me now in the white block-heeled shoes she’s slipped on in place of her brown Birkenstocks. ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! The old hotel in Howth won’t know what’s hit it when the Kearneys from Ringsend grace them with our stunning presence to dance the night away!’

Amanda’s more athletic and muscular, so she wanted me to make the dress very feminine. I point her in behind the solid weave, handmade wicker folding room divider that provides privacy for my clients.

‘It’s proper Irish home-cooked food, and because of this beautiful weather I can have the dinner served in their summer garden before heading up to the reception room; it’s gonna be deadly.’ Belinda does a little dance on the spot, then moonwalks across my kitchen.