Page 35 of A Second Chance Summer in Dublin

‘Here. C’mere. Forgot to ask ya. How was your date in the end?’ Belinda asks as I pull Amanda’s grey, pleated skirt and floral short-sleeved blouse off the top of the room divider and fold them neatly.

Shaking my head, I place the clothes on the small stool then shake out Denise’s cream button-up dress. I should never have told Belinda my personal business in the first place. Really silly of me. The lines just got crossed because she’s so easy to get on with.

‘Wet fish?’ Belinda drops a floppy wrist up and down, hersilver bangles jingling.

‘Yeah. Wet enough,’ I reply, hoping that’s the end of that. ‘Let’s go, Denise, we need to get the dress off you. Come on, out.’ I snap my fingers, wave at her button-up dress.

‘Grace had a date. But she was only lookin’ for some poor unfortunate, unsuspecting victim to drag to a party – no real interest in him. Bitta revenge, isn’t that right? Her ex is gonna be there.’ Belinda prises the phone out of Denise’s hand and snaps some photos, her thumb clicking at a rapid pace.

‘Eh, sort of,’ I mutter, more than a little embarrassed at Belinda’s words.

‘Terrible. Mean. Dirty. No! The poor fella.’ Denise flicks across the photos as she turns and side-eyes me to let me get her out of the dress.

‘No – oh – no, it wasn’t like that .?.?. I mean I met him before, and he’s really nice .?.?. I mean, he’s just not for me.’ I pop each pin I remove from between my clenched teeth and mark the area with my invisible pencil nib.

‘Unless you’re really desperate?’ Denise questions.

‘Yeah, unless I’m really desperate, then he’ll do!’ I grin, trying to make a joke of it.

A plethora of voices, all saying a variation of ‘poor guy’, murmur loudly around me. I realise I may look a bit of a bitch.

‘Obviously, I’m joking,’ I say. ‘I mean, he was – is – such a nice guy—’ I’m gratefully interrupted as Amanda steps out from behind my changing screen and we all gape.

‘Saved by the bell. Watch out! Sasha Fierce is in the house!’ Denise rolls her shoulders then breaks into a most unexpected twerk as she steps out of her dress.

‘Giz a sneak peek at Kathleen’s dress?’ Belinda juts me with her hip.

‘Can it wait? It’s hanging in the shower, steaming. I’m working off the measurements Kathleen emailed over from LA,so I’m hoping it doesn’t need too much altering. Don’t want to move it as I hot-glued a brooch in the centre last night, and she’s coming in the afternoon, right?’ I confirm. ‘Two-thirty?’

‘Yeah. Our Baby Spice is on her way. Her highness jetting in from La La Land this evening, for one week only.’ Belinda pushes her palms together, raises them to her third eye. Amanda and Denise copy Belinda immediately.

‘Namaste,’ they chant together and then double over, howling laughing again, slapping one another’s backs. Once again, when I’m with these women, I wish I had a sister. They are filled with such love and affection for one another.

‘I think you’re all going to love her dress. We worked on it together, it’s a copy of a dress Marilyn Monroe wore,’ I tell them as they all look at me with open mouths. Amanda’s is open so wide, her top lip sticks to her teeth.

‘Christ! Like she isn’t ridey enough!’ she says.

‘Oh, not like that,’ but I can’t help laughing at her expression, ‘I would never allow a bridesmaid to upstage one of my brides, and believe you me I’ve had words with women who have tried. No, Kathleen’s dress is the definition of simple elegance and understated beauty.’

‘Right, come on, I want you two to listen to the rest of my speech, I need to see what to cut?’ Belinda interrupts their playful joking.

‘After hearing the first half, might I be so bold as to suggest your throat?’ Denise lowers her voice to a loud whisper and she and Amanda double over. I bite my lip to supress a laugh of my own.

Belinda quips back. ‘Shut yer holes! What?’

‘It’s too sad, Belinda! It’s depressing! Put some funny in it!’ Denise straightens up holding the base of her spine.

‘It’s not a stand-up comedy show! It’s me wedding speech.’

‘Right, everyone, let’s get these dresses bagged up fortomorrow,’ I say, as this time my stomach rumbles like a blender filled with rocks.

‘And that’s our cue to leave!’ Belinda declares as they grab their belongings and move about my flat like a blur.

‘I’m nearly after breakin’ me neck on these stairs, they’re a death trap! You need to get yourself an investor in this business!’ Amanda yells up, and then the door slams and they’re gone.

I sit for a quiet moment, just picturing Emma Stark in her plush store, waving goodbye to her clients. No dangerous, rickety stairs, no dope-smoking youths outside, ample parking nearby. The tiny white butterfly flutters around me. Another rumble of my stomach. I decide to have some of that leftover chicken Donal put in the fridge, with a big bowl of spaghetti. As I stand to do that the butterfly flutters past me again, but this time it flies through the rusty rooftop door, an escape route from my flat finally uncovered, free at last. Just like that butterfly, I need to free myself from Emma Stark, and I know exactly what I have to do.

Chapter Nineteen