Bride without a Groom - Amy Lynch

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snack would be nice.’

      Great! The silent treatment is over. Barry can never resist a bit of grub.

      At the dining table, Barry tucks into his home-made burgers while opening his post. Well, when I say home-made, I mean Supervalu made them. They’re fully defrosted and cooked all the way through this time. Another bout of food poisoning is highly unlikely. I feel like I would make an excellent wife. I open a bottle of wine.

      ‘Look, there’s something I should tell you. It’s about yesterday at the office…’ Barry has put his knife and fork down, so it must be important.

      ‘Yes, love?’

      He glances at the credit card statement on the table and squints.

      ‘What the…?’ Barry is on his feet with the papers in his hands.

      ‘What’s wrong? Are they still frozen in the middle again? I’ll sue that crowd in Supervalu.’

      ‘What? No! Fifteen hundred euro has been charged to…’ He runs his finger along the statement. ‘…Honeymoons Direct?!’

      Oh. My. God. I’m sick, but I can’t blame the burgers this time. I didn’t think the deposit would come through so fast. They promised me it wouldn’t be charged this month. Cold sweat has broken out over the old sweat. It’s basically a new layer of sweat.

      ‘I’ll call the bank. See has our card been tampered with.’

      ‘No, don’t,’ I pull his arm. ‘It’s not a mistake.’ My voice is a whisper.

      I fear that each fistful of Pringles I’m shoving into my mouth and washing down with Pinot Grigio will come back in reverse.

      ‘OK. Funny story. So, I saw a special offer to this five-star resort in the Maldives. All inclusive for two weeks. A bargain.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘And… surprise!’

      Barry is looking at me as if we have never met. Perhaps he’s considering alerting a shrink to have me psychiatrically assessed.

      ‘Look, Barry, who says a trip to the Maldives has to be a honeymoon? The fact that you get to stay in the bridal suite and order champagne for breakfast is just a bonus, for God’s sake. I thought you’d love it!’

      ‘Fifteen hundred euro,’ he repeats slowly.

      Barry can be a stick in the mud. He knows I have expensive taste. He knows that I break out in a rash if hotels use cheap washing powder and that I have strict requirements when it comes to catering. He’s overreacting. Cracks are appearing in the fantasy that I’ve been nurturing all week. I allow myself one last peek at the exclusive tropical island before Barry smashes it with a sledgehammer.

      There is white sand between my manicured toes and the turquoise water laps. My new wedding ring is sparkling in the sunshine next to my engagement ring. Wills and Kate sit next to us over a candlelit supper and we swap stories of how we met. Dressed in a designer bikini, I’m the skinniest I’ve ever been. This is thanks to the, like, gazillion calories I’ve burnt off with the honeymoon nookie. Later, we enjoy the warm breeze while Fernando serves us more ice for our drinkies and fans us with a palm leaf.

      ‘Yes. But according to the brochure…’ I try to find where I put the damn thing. It’s probably hidden with all of the other wedding-related contraband. It’s with the massive scrapbook and back issues of Confetti magazine.

      ‘A personal chef will whip up anything you fancy.’

      I know the nosh will pique his interest.

      ‘And they have these dreamy four poster beds? And they scatter flower petals on the sheets. Oh, and they make these, like, little towels shaped like baby elephants!’

      Barry tries to get a word in edgeways, but I don’t allow him. I haven’t come to the hard sell, yet.

      ‘So anyway, they have these wicked Piña Coladas with sparklers in them. Pierce Brosnan got married there, I saw the pics in OK! magazine.

      ‘But,’ interrupts Barry.

      ‘But what?’

      ‘But… We’re not engaged, Rebecca.’

       Rub it in, why don’t you?

      There goes my dream honeymoon. I wave goodbye to the luxury spa and award-winning golf club.

      ‘I just got carried away…’

      ‘You’ve been doing a lot of that, lately. Like I said, Rebecca. It’s too much pressure.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Look, I need to get going. The conference will give me time to think. You know? A bit of space from each other.’

      ‘Space? Space?’ I realise that I’m shouting, but I can’t stop. I reach for another bottle of wine.

      ‘We can talk when I’m back. I just… I just don’t know about us any more.’

      His words are a dagger in my heart. In response, I throw a cushion at his head. I hear the reassuring tinkle as the wine hits the glass. Barry drags the suitcase to the car and speeds off.

      ‘God. I’ve really done it this time, Jess.’

      Hopefully, the neighbours haven’t heard me through the cardboard-like walls. I sneak out and pretend to move the wheelie bin. Bernie next door is twitching at the curtains. She’ll have plenty to gossip about with the other stay at home mammies. Little Katie and Shane have torn themselves away from SpongeBob SquarePants (or whatever other pre-school drivel they’re glued to) and join their gawping mother at the window.

      I slam the door shut. We should have gone for the detached house. Then we could have had blazing rows in peace. Barry had said that we couldn’t afford a detached house on this side of Dublin. He can be a real wet blanket like that. Everybody knows that Leopardstown is, like, the Marbella of Dublin. He was just being a meanie with the cash.

      I tune into Corrie for a bit of distraction. Tracy’s having a blow-up with Gail Platt. My life is starting to look even messier than hers. Before I know it, I’ll have the protruding neck veins to go with the bad haircut!

       Four

      Barry opens the second button on his polo shirt as the plane takes off. Maybe Shelley was right all along. Maybe Rebecca just wants the big day. I mean, contacting a priest? Putting a deposit on a honeymoon? Madness!

      Shelley is seated to his left and an unbearable nine hours stretch out in front of him. The kiss at the office was a mistake. The sooner he lets her know the better. He tells himself that it was just a kiss. Nothing else happened. It was a close call, but he had managed to pull away before things went too far.

      Still, he recalls, it was quite hot. He never thought of Shelley like this before. She’s his pal, his go-to person at work. He’d better straighten this out before it gets weird and awkward.

      ‘Listen, Shelley…’

      She looks so good dressed in casual jeans and a low cut T-shirt. It makes a pleasant change from the business suit. She’s wearing her contact lenses, and he notices that her eyes are an unusual shade of green. He pulls himself back to the task at hand. Focus!

      ‘About yesterday…’

      Have her lips always been this pouty? They curl into a smirk.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Well, the thing is… I mean, I’m with Rebecca, so…’

      ‘Did you tell her?’

      ‘Well, not exactly. I tried, but…’

      This

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