The Armchair Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

remember to inhale between mouthfuls,’ he says and pecks me on the cheek.

    Back home, while salt and pepper chicken reheats, I run a bath and relax into the hot, soapy waters, slipping beneath the surface. For the briefest of moments, I toy with staying there, half in and half out of the world, listening to the clunks that travel along the pipes.
    Afterwards, I feel better. Not better enough to stand on the bathroom scales, but not the sort of miserable that gripped me before.
    Our answering machine demands attention. The first message is from Sharon, recruiting for the promised girly night out.
    ‘I’m talking at least ten bottles of continental lager and a 2am visit to a kebab shop,’ she promises.
    The second comes from my mother to wish me a happy new year. Ever since Dad died, she makes sure that come the festive season, she’s nowhere to be sought out and pitied by well-meaning friends and jets off to Tenerife. Time, she assures me, is a great healer, but people have a nasty habit of picking away at scabs until old wounds weep.
    ‘Give me a call when you get the chance,’ she says. ‘Us single girls have to stick together.’
    I pick up the phone and dial her mobile, she answers after one ring. A burst of static obscures her voice and in the background I hear music.
    ‘Happy New Year!’ I say and try to sound upbeat.
    ‘Happy New Year, love,’ she says. ‘It is nice to hear from you.’
    It’s even better to hear her voice. She was born outside Cork and spent most of her young life there. Although she’s lived near Birmingham for almost fifty years, she’s not lost her accent.
    ‘How are things?’
    ‘The place is full of fecking Germans,’ she says. ‘I’ve had to be up at six to get a lounger by the pool. And your Aunt Rose is no help. She’s up till all hours drinking Sangria with a common family from Bolton.’
    Her tone grows softer.
    ‘But at least I haven’t had to put up with too many people telling me how it isn’t right I’m on my own at this time of year. I spent last night in our room and watched Roman Holiday . Did you do anything special?’
    ‘Works party. It was  ... OK ... I guess.’
    ‘I used to hate that sort of thing. You should be with your friends on New Year’s Eve, not a bunch of people you’re paid to put up with.’
    There’s a pause before she speaks again.
    ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Helen McVeigh is getting married. It was in the paper last week. I was going to cut it out and send it to you, but ...’
    The awkward silence that crackles down the line reminds me that I’m not the only one who spends every waking moment lamenting the lack of steady boyfriend or wedding album gathering dust under my bed.
    ‘She sent me an invite,’ I say.
    ‘So you’ll come down?’
    ‘I’m not sure yet.’
    ‘You used to be such great friends, why wouldn’t you?’
    ‘I’m not sure I can get the time off.’
    ‘It’s not for months, surely you can arrange something. It would be grand to see you.’
    We talk for a while longer before I ring off claiming there’s something on TV and guilt takes over when the line goes dead.
    Mam is the head of our clan and I miss her so much and worry for her living on her own. My sisters insist I’m misguided and point out even when Dad was alive she was very much head of the household. She’s five foot two, slightly-built and softly- spoken. As a result, people sometimes try to take advantage. It rarely happens twice.
    When my younger sister’s marriage hit a rough patch, she was welcomed back into the family home without question. Amy walked out Glen after coming home early from work and finding him dressed in a cocktail dress and serving Earl Gray tea to three other men in frocks. Much as she tried to be all modern and supportive, Amy eventually admitted she couldn’t cope.
    ‘How can I ever trust him again?’ she cried down the phone to me. ‘Each time I go shopping, he tags along and tries to get me to