“What now?” Dillon asks, sighing wearily as we step foot in the hallway. I have cleaned up his lip, put an ice pack on his eye, and applied arnica cream to the faint bruising on one cheek. Soft cries filter out from the living room, and we walk inside, hand in hand, wondering what drama is unfolding now. Surely Ash didn’t tell them she was fucking Cillian outside? “What’s wrong?” Dillon casts worried glances around the room.
“The bridesmaids’ dresses have gone missing in the post, and the designer can’t ship new ones in time,” Cath explains.
The wedding is only a few weeks away, so I feel Fiona’s pain, and maybe I can do something about it. “Does anyone have a picture of the dress?” I ask.
“I do.” Ash pulls out her phone. Her eyes light up as she passes it to me, and I know she knows where I’m going with this.
I examine the pretty knee-length strapless silk and chiffon dress in jade green. It would be easy to make, and I can rustle them up in next to no time now I have zero commitments. I hand the cell back to Ash, trading a conspiratorial smile with my Irish bestie, before I face the bride. “I can make replicas of that dress, no problem. How many do you need?”
“What?” Fiona splutters, turning around in Shane’s arms, pinning me with red-rimmed swollen eyes.
“Vivien has offered to make the dresses for you, love.” Cath pats her back while beaming at me.
“You can do that?” Fiona asks in a shaky voice.
“Of course, she can. I showed you our dresses from the ball. Viv made both,” Ash proudly explains. “These are simple in comparison.”
“They are,” I reassure her. “And now my exams are finished, I have plenty of time to make them before the wedding.”
“Oh my God.” Fiona rushes toward me, yanking me out of Dillon’s arms and squeezing me to death.
“Eh, Fi. You might want to let Vivien breathe, or she won’t live long enough to make your dresses.” Shane appears behind his fiancée. “Thank you,” he tells me.
“It’s my pleasure.”
Fiona gives me the measurements for her sister and Ash, who are the only bridesmaids, and little Chloe’s measurements. They try to give me money for supplies, but I won’t hear of it. “Consider it my wedding gift to you.”
Dillon hauls me back against his chest, almost smothering me like his soon-to-be sister-in-law. “That was unbelievably generous. Thank you so much. I’m in awe of you.” Before I can respond, he kisses me passionately, holding me tight in his arms, surrounding me with his love. When we break our lip-lock, he doesn’t let go, his protective arms keeping me close to his chest. Cath smiles at us, leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder.
We leave a short while later. Ro isn’t coming back to the city as he has to stay home to study. His Leaving Certificate exams are only eight days away, and his parents are refusing to let him play with the band until after the exams are over. The second we pull away from the house, Dillon levels Ash with a fierce look through the mirror. “Start talking.”
I toss a sympathetic look over my shoulder at her. Her hands are knotted in her lap, and she looks like she’s sweating bullets. “I told Ma and Da that Cillian showed up unannounced and he was trying it on. I said I stupidly kissed him, you found us and then went apeshit on his arse.”
“What really happened, Ash?” Dillon growls, pulling out onto the road.
She gulps nervously. “Mostly that. He appeared in the orchard. I told him to go. He begged me to talk to him. I took him around the side of barn so no one would see us. He said he still loves me and he’d leave her for me.”
“Jesus Christ, Ash.” Dillon rubs his temple.
“I knew it was bullshit. I know he won’t leave her even if he is as miserable as he says he is.”
“Why the hell did you let him fuck you then?” he barks, and tears spill down Ash’s cheeks. Running my hand along his thigh, I urge him to calm down with my eyes. He blows air out of his mouth, visibly pulling in the reins. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m sorry. I’m just worried, Ash. He’s bad news. Look what happened the last time.” His voice cracks.
“Pull over,” I say. His eyes lock on mine. “Pull over and let me drive. I only had three pulls on that joint, and one glass of wine at dinner, and it was hours ago. I’m not drunk or stoned. You get in the back and talk with your sister.” He doesn’t argue, pulling to the side of the road, and we swap around. When we take off again, the conversation resumes, and I listen as I drive us home, casting quick glances in the mirror at them every so often.