Weddings and Other Things I Hate Read online

  “How about we have a hen party brain-storm session?” I ask.

  “Are you being serious?” she replies, instantly suspicious of my suggestion.

  “Yes,” I say. “We’d better get a move-on.”

  “Oh, great, something else to add to my list,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

  “Nope, maid-of-honour extraordinaire is here and is going to take care of everything. I just need a little help to get started. All you have to do is tell me what you don’t want and the rest I can sort out.”

  She smiles warmly at me and it makes me feel helpful. Things had been dicey between us earlier in the year when I got drunk and threw myself at Lucas. To her credit, she believed me, when I pleaded drunken insanity but it took a while before we got to a better place and I was officially reinstated as maid-of-honour.

  Mum calls us in for dinner and we all dutifully go to the table. Dinner is usually my favourite time of the day at home, but this evening it is much more subdued. Normally Siobhan would be giving us wedding and house updates but the fight with Lucas is still fresh and neither of them speak much. Instead it is left to Mum to fill in the silence with gossip she’s heard from town. There isn’t much and we soon find ourselves in silence.

  “I was thinking,” I begin. “We could maybe share our favourite Ernie memory.”

  I suddenly felt very shy as I wait to hear their reaction but they all agree that it’s a good idea.

  My dad is first and he tells us about the day he brought Ernie home.

  I still remember that day so clearly. Siobhan and I were just home from school and Dad came in much earlier than usual. He had something hidden behind his back and we ran to see if it was sweets.

  I heard Ernie’s soft little yelp before I saw him. When my father pulled him ‘round to show us, I was amazed. It was love at first sight. He handed me the puppy and he licked my nose. The way Ernie looked at me at that moment, was the same way he looked at me every time I saw him. I can feel the tears well up in my eyes but I don’t want to let them spill and make the others feel sad. I want them to keep talking about him and telling their stories. It’s wonderful.

  Mum shares how he used to steal the towels from the washing line and Lucas remembered how he barked at him, the whole way up the drive, when he first called to the house.

  Siobhan spoke about how he slept at the end of her bed the night our granny died.

  “I kept crying and he just nuzzled up to me,” she says. “He was the sweetest soul.”

  When it comes to my turn, I’m too overcome with emotion to even try and talk. Instead, Siobhan hugs me tight and lets me cry into her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as I attempt to laugh through my tears. “I loved hearing all of your stories. I’ll need to have a think about mine.”

  I tell them all to go and let me clean the kitchen by myself. They reluctantly agree so I can have some space, but I know they’ll be in to check in on me, every few minutes.

  As I dry the dishes, I look out the kitchen window at the empty kennel that stands across the yard. The wood is old and the blue paint peels from the roof of it. It has endured countless winters and storms but it looks much more pathetic than usual, without Ernie sitting in it. Normally, he would be hopping up and down to get my attention and make sure I knew he wanted our walk together.

  Fresh tears fall down my cheeks and I wonder if this gaping hole in my chest will ever be filled. I don’t care if he was ‘just’ a dog. He was a huge part of my life for a long time.

  In time I know Dad will look into getting another working dog, but I can’t imagine it yet. It will feel like we are cheating on Ernie.

  I shake the thought from my head and tell myself to stop worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet.

  It doesn’t matter if he gets another dog. It doesn’t matter if he gets twenty others; there was only ever going to be one real dog of the McMahon farm.

  For now I have to get used to looking out the window and not seeing his smiling face waiting for me. If there is a heaven, he’ll be there waiting for all of us to get there.

  It’s a stretch for an atheist to hold onto that hope, but it’s all the comfort I can give myself at this moment.

  “Good boy, Ernie.” I whisper. “Good boy.”

  Chapter 5

  It’s race day and I want to throw up. Lucas is trying his best to calm my nerves while Mum follows me around the house in an attempt to get me to eat something.

  Every so often she appears behind me with toast, tea or a banana.

  “Lucas said you need potassium,” she says as she shoves a bruised banana in my direction. “Now, eat this.”

  I take it from her before she squashes it into my face.

  “Eh, thanks, Mum,” I say.

  “Promise me you’ll eat that,” she replies.

  “I promise, I’m just going to check my phone and see where Helen is.”

  “Ok, but I’ll be checking for an empty banana peel in your bedroom bin. Do you hear me?”

  I jog down the hallway to get away from the mad woman before she gives me any other food and pick up my phone from the bed.

  There is nothing from Helen, but I take that as a good sign and means she’s driving. If she was delayed she would have pulled over to call. The race is still two hours away but I just want to hurry up and get it over with.

  The annual Kilkin 10K is a major event for the town. Each year the residents vote for a charity to donate everyone’s sponsor money to and this year they decided to donate to a cancer charity that runs respite houses nationwide. It’s an especially important charity to Helen, who lost her mum to cancer and I really feel like if I don’t do well in this race I’ll be letting her down. I confessed this to her a week ago and she told me I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake the pressure I’d put myself under.

  Sure, Lucas and I have been training for a long time in preparation for the race but I still don’t feel confident against the seasoned pros in town. There is a running club that meets several times a week but I was always too embarrassed by my lack of ability to ever join. I told myself I was happy training with Lucas, but I knew that if my self-confidence was better, I would have pushed for us to join, too.

  When I saw them in town I would keep out of the way as they ran past, like they were sporting royalty. I told myself if I could make it through this race, then maybe I could join them as well.

  I’ve never been part of a sports team. I’ve never wanted to, but I really want to have one of their branded hoodies so I can feel like one of the cool kids.

  I was never bullied in school, but I definitely didn’t fit in with the cool, sporty crowd. I guess I was trying to rectify that apparent failing now as an adult.

  “Do you want to go down and warm up?” asks Lucas, as he comes into my room.

  “No, I’m waiting for Helen.”

  “Your mum and Siobhan will do that, we’ve to go and register. Besides, the running club will already be down there, showing off,” he replies.

  “By ‘showing off’ do you mean stretching?”

  “There’s ‘stretching’ and there’s stretching,” he says.

  “And the difference is?”

  “Those lot are always bloody stretching in their spandex and showing off their calves. It’s ridiculous. Like, hello? We all have calves; you don’t have to go on about it.”

  Apparently I’m not the only one that has hang-ups about the running club.

  I agree to go with him, if only to see the stretching spectacle for myself.

  When we get to the square, there is already a queue of people waiting to register.

  The butterflies in my tummy have turned into pterodactyls and I am fighting the urge to run back home and hide in my bedroom.

  “You look like you’re going to throw up,” says Lucas.

  “We need to work on your motivational pep-talks, coach,” I reply, sarcastically.

  He puts his hands on my shoulders, looks me sq
uare in the eye and says: “You can do this, Jane. If you don’t I’ll tell your mum about the time you said you were staying in my house when really we were drinking cheap cider in the back field until midnight.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” I say, shocked that he would stoop to blackmail as a motivation technique.

  “I would dare. This is how much I want us to finish this race and show those spandex-wearing weirdos that we’re just as good as them.”

  “You’re just as afraid of my mother’s disapproval as I am, I think you’re bluffing.”

  “Are you willing to take that risk?”

  There is something about the look of steely determination in his eyes that shows me he isn’t bluffing. Even in our twenties, we are still terrified of our parents. We know we can’t get grounded but I hate the thought of living with the silent treatment just as much.

  “We can do this, Lucas,” I say, trying to sound much more confident than what I was feeling.

  He smiles and we stay quiet as we wait for our turn in line.

  At the corner of my eye I can see a flash of neon yellow. I turn and see Helen, standing across the road with Mum and Siobhan. She’s holding a large cardboard sign. It’s bright yellow with red, glittery hearts emblazoned across it.

  It reads: ‘Go Team Jacas’

  I smile at her artistic efforts and nudge Lucas so he can see her handy work, too.

  “Does that say ‘Team Jackass’?” he asks.

  “It kinda sounds like that when you say it out loud. Maybe don’t tell her that, it looks like she spent quite a lot of time on it.”

  After we register and get our race numbers and timing chips, we go over to see our supporters.

  “Your dad said he’d be down at the finish line, one of the posts were lose and he had to fix it before a cow got out,” explains Mum.

  “You don’t have to be here,” I reply. “Honestly, I’m so slow; you’ll be waiting for ages.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she insists. “We’re going to be here and waiting for you both at the finish.”

  I go over to give Helen a kiss and admire her sign, up close.

  “That’s a work of art,” I say.

  “You mean it? I did it last night.”

  At that moment, two young boys walk past and look at the sign.

  I hear one ask the other: “Who would want to be called ‘Team Jackass’?”

  The look of embarrassment on Helen’s face is priceless.

  “I’m such an idiot,” she says. “Why did I not say that team name out loud? Of course, that’s what it sounds like. Ah, crap, I’m so sorry, guys.”

  “Stop!” I soothe. “It’s a really lovely poster and I’m really delighted. In fact, I’ll get it framed for over the bed.”

  She smiles and gives me a kiss before Lucas tells me we have to leave for the starting line.

  I attempt to stay near the back of the crowd but Lucas is determined to get up beside the running group.

  They are all in their matching blue and black spandex, with their logo on the back.

  “Just because they’re in matching clothes, doesn’t mean they get the run of the place, you stand your ground, McMahon,” he orders.

  I’ve never seen Lucas so determined, so I do as I’m told and don’t let anyone push me into the background. The excitement and pent-up adrenaline at the start line is palpable. I have to admit that it feels exciting to be part of the crowd, waiting to hear the starting pistol.

  I hear Lucas taking long, deliberate breaths as he mentally prepares himself to take off. I tell him to push on and not wait for me, but he won’t hear of it.

  “We trained as a team, we run as a team, we’ll finish as team,” he replies.

  I am relieved when he says that. As exciting as this all was, I’m still not confident that I’m going to make it over the finish line, this side of sunset.

  As I hear the shot from the pistol I can feel the crush of people start to take off. The seasoned professionals are already ahead within seconds of it beginning while I try to catch my breath to get up the hill.

  “Who starts a race with a hill?” I ask Lucas, through ragged breath.

  “Save your energy,” he replies. “Just concentrate on your breathing.”

  I try to listen to his advice but in my attempts to keep up with the crowd, my pace is too fast.

  I know I’m not going to be able to keep this speed up and look to Lucas in the hope that he is feeling the same. If he is, his face doesn’t betray it. He looks calm and his breathing is steady and controlled.

  I don’t know how far we’ve come, but I hope that it is a couple of kilometres. Just as the thought fleets by, I notice the first kilometre mark.

  “Ah, fuck,” I mutter.

  Lucas eyes me, curiously and looks at my feet to see if I’ve tripped.

  “What’s wrong? Have you hurt yourself?”

  “No… I’ve… just… forgotten… how… to… breathe,” I gasp.

  “No, you haven’t, you’re just in a fluster with these people,” he replies. “Get into the zone, Jane, it’s like all the other runs we’ve done for months. You’ve got this.”

  I feel lifted by his confidence in my ability and I slow my mind down so I’m just concentrating on my breathing and putting one foot in front of the other.

  It works for a while but the sharp feeling of a stitch at my side starts to pierce my concentration.

  I’m sure we’re bound to be approaching the half-way point but my hope is crushed as we round the corner and catch a glimpse of the three kilometre sign.

  The sight of the low number stops me in my tracks. Several people have to make sharp manoeuvres so they don’t run straight into me and it takes Lucas a few seconds to realise I’m not at his side.

  He stops and looks around frantically, to see where I’ve gone. He jogs back towards me and asks what’s wrong.

  “I can’t,” I say, gasping for breath. “I can’t do this. I was stupid to think I could keep up with all these people or go this far. I could train for years and still be useless.”

  Lucas’ face turns from confusion to anger.

  “Hey!” he shouts. “Stop talking to my friend Jane like that!”

  “Have you gone mad? I am Jane, I’m the one talking.”

  “No, this isn’t Jane, this is some crappy negative version of her that believes the lies her head tells her and it’s about time we called her out into the world.”

  I look at him, worried that he’s finally snapped. I can’t understand what he’s talking about.

  “She shows up when Jane is pushed out of her comfort zone, she starts saying things like ‘can’t’ and ‘won’t’ when the Jane I know, is more than capable of handling anything that life throws at her.

  “She’s the one that left her family and friends at eighteen to go make a new life and career for herself and didn’t look back. She’s the one that worked her way through one of the biggest cosmetic companies in the world and now is kicking-ass in the coffee industry. She’s the one that followed her heart into a whole new relationship with a stone-cold fox and has stopped sabotaging her own happiness; and she’s the one that can run a 10K race with me.

  “Whoever this is, it’s not Jane, it’s ‘Fearful Fiona’ and I’m not letting her bully my friend anymore.”

  I laugh at his speech but with each breath the pain of the stitch streaks across my abdomen.

  “I’ve a stitch it’s killing me,” I explain.

  “Get your hands above your head and breathe, it will pass and so will that bully in your head.”

  I do as I’m told and look around to see if there is anyone behind us. There’s not, we are dead last and I’ve ruined Lucas’ chance at showing the running club how good he is.

  “We’re in last place, I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t care where we finish, I just want us to finish. Think of how proud Helen and Siobhan will be and if that doesn’t convince you to keep going then can I maybe tempt you with a part
icipation medal, egg and onion sandwiches and weak tea at the pub?”

  “Sold!” I shout as I start to take off at a much slower pace than before, still holding my hands above my head.

  “Does this actually work?” I ask. “I feel like a bit of a wally, running with my hands in the air.”

  “It will work and besides, there’s no one around to see us. We can run whatever way we like.”

  He starts to skip alongside me and I can’t help but laugh as he prances down the road. The pain of the stitch begins to ease but doesn’t leave completely and by the time we reach the five kilometre mark, the table of water is empty.

  A woman appears and looks surprised to see us.

  “My goodness, I was just about to start packing up,” she says.

  Despite our progress, this comment takes the wind out of my sails, somewhat.

  “Is there more coming?” she asks.

  “Nope,” smiles Lucas. “We decided to hang back and make more of an impact at the finish line.”

  The woman looks at Lucas as if she’s trying to figure out whether he’s joking or not.

  Lucas keeps a straight face so she decides to take his words as honesty and nods along, as if this is a legitimate plan.

  “I’m afraid I’ve no water left,” she continues. “That bloody running club descended like a plague of locusts and left very little for the rest.”

  “We’re thinking of starting up our own running club. We’re slow but we know how to make an entrance.”

  “That’s... nice,” she replies.

  We start back on our way and leave the woman to clear up the table and discarded cups that lie around the road.

  The next two kilometres are downhill and they are a killer on my knees, but it did mean that they were run in our fastest time, so far.

  At one stage, I think we were both delirious and started to sing random show tunes but neither of us ever knew the right words to an entire song so we just made up our own.

  “You know, if we can sing, that means we have enough energy to run faster,” I say.

  “I know, but I’m enjoying myself. I’m up for picking up the pace if you want.”

  I love that he hasn’t tried to put any pressure on since I had my crisis of confidence, but now I want to repay the favour and get us across the finish line before it was midnight.