Page 6 of An Angel's Share
But never fear, Mammy is here to keep us grounded.
“Well I think it’s disgusting. She ought to be ashamed of herself. The whole world looking at her. She ought to be embarrassed.” Mammy is trying to play the shame game, and she better stop it right now. My blood pressure is simmering like a bubbling kettle, and I can’t hold it in.
“Why? Why should she? What about the men? Should they not be as well, then? You’re just perpetuating the narrative of the patriarchy,” I spew at her.
She’s shocked at my venom, and I’m not even entirely sure she understood what I said. Unfortunately she’s not confused or quiet for long.
“For god’s sake Aoife, will you get off your soapbox. No one wants to listen to you preach about those sorts of things. We got a break from it when you were in America.” My mammy, the fighter of women’s rights across the world, strikes again.
“Well clearly I’m back just in time. If this baby is a girl, I am going to tell her, ‘Go get ‘em, baby girl. You are more brilliant than anyone.’” I pat at my stomach, sticking it out front and centre. Proud.
I point at Christy. “And I’m fighting for your Lara.”
She nods enthusiastically. I see Maggie and Mammyexchanging horrified looks at each other. They know there’s a dissenter in their ranks. An agent provocateur.
“Right, let's get this shit show on the road.”
Mammy makes a squeaking noise, closing her eyes as if she’s praying for divine intervention.
As I step forwards towards the door, Christy touches my hand. “I’m glad you're back, Aoife. Knock ‘em dead sister.”
I smile at the woman who sat next to me in class for years, pouring her warmth and positive outlook onto me daily in school. Squeezing her hand back, I tell her, “I intend to. Hop on board, Christy. Let’s go have some fun.”
2
Jonno
There aretimes I swear Marshall drives me to distraction. This is one of them.
Things just don’t bother him. He either genuinely doesn’t care, or he has no concept of societal polite norms.
We’ve landed in Ireland, at his family home, and walked straight into an engagement party. He never mentioned a thing. So either he forgot—despite his mind being razor sharp—or he is just not bothered.
I actually don’t think he gives a shit. His life has been one long take me as you find me. And if you don’t like it, well, there’s the door. It’s a mantra I can absolutely get on board with. Have tried to emulate it. Every day.
Luckily for me, I had a business meeting today before we set off for Killclery House. Which means I look like I’ve dressed appropriately in a full-black, top of the range business suit. Crafted to fit me to perfection, it’s designed to intimidate any other business associate. And it works every time. Now, however, it’s having to double up as formal wear.
Marshall, as unconcerned as ever, is in old, very worn jeans, and boots. But at least he has a nice shirt on. Evie bought it for him for Christmas, claiming it matched his eyes. It’s clean and not too creased from the suitcase. He thinks he’s dressed to the nines.
Marshall hates being the centre of attention, so we slip into the back of the house, handing off our small amounts of luggage to the house staff as we enter. Marshall rang ahead and our rooms are ready, mine in the guest wing, Marshall’s in the family wing.
We shuffle into the old ballroom. It’s one of my favourite rooms in this house. I walked the circumference daily when I was here last year. Years of history have played out in this old room. Antique oak panelling lines the walls up to about three quarters high. The wallpaper above, extending to the ceiling, duck egg blue. Small, white, hand-painted flowers add life to the silk, a small fortune even back in the last century. Another impressive feature of this old house, the large floor to ceiling windows and doors are decorated with grey silk curtains and left open tonight, allowing the late summer breeze to flow into the room, whispering tales of the summer to the avid celebrants. The orange and red sunset showcasing Ireland's beautiful countryside gives us all a show with its darkening summer skies.
Everyone is seated, a dull chatter filling the room. It doesn’t stop when we wander in unannounced. Large round tables seating twelve are strategically placed around half of the ballroom, leaving some of the old wooden parquet flooring exposed. Probably for the dancing that will no doubt start as soon as the food and speeches are done.
Fresh flowers accent the decor, and the scent is heavenly. Fragrant orchids and primrose mingle with foxgloves. Candelabras sit as the centrepieces on the tables, where allthe Irish have more drink than food lined up. It’s clearly going to be a great night.
If I hadn't spotted the ‘Congratulations on your Engagement’ banner hiding in the corner, I would have thought this was a wedding.
The speeches are just finishing up as we scuttle in. Seamus stands proudly at the other end of the room. Not quite as tall as Marshall, he still tops out at six foot. His hair would have been the same colour as Marshall’s, as flecks remain, but it’s almost all grey now. He’s greyer now than he was last year. His body is certainly thinner than last year, and I can see more lines on his face. His complexion looks slightly better than when I was last here, when his heart had been under severe pressure, but not by much.
He does, however, command everyone's attention. It’s natural, and I see the similarities to Marshall. Quiet, determined, steely. Mae, his wife, is sat on his right, beaming up at him, love and pride shining in her face. He’s clearly nearing the end of his speech, his voice wobbling with emotion as he talks about his only daughter.
We stand to listen, hiding in the shadows. Marshall would never in a million years want to upstage his brother on what is clearly a very important day for him.
“My daughter Aoife, the most loving daughter a man could wish for. Whip smart, and beautiful. Liam, I hope that you will love her as she needs to be loved. My heart, my daughter. To Aoife and Liam.”
Seamus raises his champagne flute towards the couple sat at his table, and my heart stops beating. I seem to be seeing the scene frame by frame. Tall, beautiful, porcelain skin, brown eyes. Red hair…
