‘That’s not what I asked.’
Annie pursed her lips. ‘Well, that’s how I answered it.’
‘Then I think that’s answer enough.’
‘Annie, you know you can talk to us,’ Bridget said, her voice tight with worry.
Annie rolled her eyes. ‘Well, if you must poke and pry into none of your business, we had an argument before I came, so I’m mad at him. It’s nothing, we’ll sort it when I get back. End of. And I don’t want to waste any of the four days I’m here thinking about it, discussing it, hearing you all dissect it or being given advice about it. So, can we please move on now?’
‘Are you arguing a lot?’ Bridget asked.
‘No!’ She wriggled down deeper into her duvet. ‘We argue about the same thing, lots of times. But no couple agrees on everything. Apart from maybe Pastor Perfect and her perfect pastor husband. You know me, you know I argue. It’s fine.’
It so wasn’t fine. Annie did argue, often, with the rest of us when she’d lived at home. All of us apart from Bridget, who would simply give in to Annie’s point of view straight away. But if Annie was secure in her marriage, she’d have happily spent some time telling us how wrong Greg was about something, eager to hear our assertions of why she was right, and what she should do about it.
‘Married couples fight, Bridget,’ Orla said, putting down her phone. ‘You might have glided along with Paolo for hundreds of years, but you’ve not had to deal with the irritating day-to-day crap that goes on when you live in each other’s pockets.’
‘Or make any big decisions, beyond saying yes. Have you even decided where you’ll be living yet?’ Annie asked.
‘Don’t make this about me!’ Bridget said, her face crumpling.
‘You’re right, this weekend is about Emma. Not me, and not Greg. So, as I requested, move on.’
* * *
We had an afternoon ceremony planned, so that Dad could rest all morning, and by three o’clock the barn was transformed, Nita’s three-course banquet was prepped to perfection and my sisters and mother were dressed, styled and only a little bit squiffy.
I was as beautiful as I was ever going to be, which, if I say so myself, felt beautiful enough.
A car had pulled into the driveway about half an hour earlier, sending my sisters into fits of squeals as they grabbed each other’s arms and formed a human barrier to prevent me from getting near the bedroom window.
I took it from this that the groom was ready, too.
‘Come on now, girls,’ Mum called from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Time for a quick prayer before we go.’
* * *
‘Well, God. Here we are, finally, so many, many years later than we initially planned, we thank you that you have intervened with a miracle and eventually after all this time blessed Emma with a man who stuck around until the wedding day. We trust in you, God, that this will work and she will not become biggest joke in the village, whatever Janet Patterson might think. After all, she is divorced three times so what does she know about it?’
‘I forgot something,’ I blurted, catapulting myself off the sofa, and pushing my way through the huddle.
‘But I haven’t said amen yet!’ Mum said, opening her eyes to glare at me.
‘No one’s saying amen to that, Mamma,’ Orla replied. ‘Come and sit back down, Ems. Sofia will pray instead.’
‘No, I mean it. I need to get something. It won’t take a minute. You can finish off without me.’
‘What did you forget?’ Annie asked, eyes narrowed. ‘If you’re doing a runner, then tell us. We’ll be happy to help.’
‘I’ll fetch it for you,’ Bridget said. ‘I’m chief bridesmaid, it’s my job. You wait here, don’t mess your hair up.’
‘I’m not doing a runner!’
Probably.
I seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, and I wasn’t sure Bridget could help me with that. I’d also forgotten all the many reasons I’d come up with to convince myself that this was a splendid idea.
What I needed was a minute to ask myself, one last time, what the hell I thought I was doing.
