‘I’ll speak if I can,’ Diane said. ‘Serena wants to speak.’
‘She’s a brave girl.’
‘She’s been the bravest.’ There was a silence and Kitty felt awkward, but then Diane laughed. ‘She sat me down to help me choose a coffin, would you believe?’
Mary-Rose laughed. ‘I hope you picked a nice one.’
Kitty almost fainted at the conversation.
‘Apparently there’s new personalised coffins which you can have themed to suit your taste – football club emblems and that kind of thing.’
‘And what did you choose?’
‘Well, she wanted me to choose the sunset-themed one – the sea, the palm trees, the beach. I used to surf, you see.’
‘It sounds beautiful.’
‘Too good to be burned,’ Diane joked. ‘I’m being cremated.’
‘Well, they could always cremate you and keep the coffin,’ Mary-Rose said, and the two women burst out laughing. Kitty couldn’t believe her ears; she watched the two of them in shock. How could they joke like this about death?
‘Oh, stop.’ Diane wiped the corners of her eyes. ‘You’ll ruin my make-up.’
‘It’s okay, I can do it again,’ Mary-Rose said. ‘I once had a client who told me she was choosing a dark oak because it would bring out the colour of her eyes.’
And with that they both started laughing again.
The door opened and an excited member of staff announced the arrival of the bridesmaid.
‘Oh, darling.’ Diane immediately stopped laughing as she took in the sight of her daughter wearing a pretty and simple dress for the low-key affair. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Stop, Mum,’ Serena said, embarrassed. ‘We’re not crying today, remember?’ She went to her mother and embraced her, and Mary-Rose immediately stopped working and stepped back. Kitty followed her lead. As soon as they pulled away, both of them in tears, Mary-Rose chose the right moment to work again. She worked silently, quickly, almost becoming invisible in the room.
‘Nearly there,’ Mary-Rose said, reaching for another pin. ‘This is the last one.’ She twisted the final strand of hair around her finger and expertly pinned it in place so that the pin was invisible.
‘Wow,’ Kitty finally spoke.
‘I want to see,’ Diane said excitedly.
‘You hold this mirror for me.’ Mary-Rose gave Kitty a mirror. She went round the front with another mirror so that Diane could see the back and front.
Diane was silent but her face said it all. Her hands went slowly up to her hair but didn’t touch it, instead hovered tenderly around her face. Her face, which had seemed lost in the big blond hair, now looked more at home.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered.
‘Mum,’ Serena warned.
‘I’m not going to …’ Diane tried not to cry. ‘It just looks like …’
‘Like …?’ Mary-Rose asked nervously.
‘The way it used to be.’
And finally Kitty understood.
They all watched Diane’s face go through some kind of transformation. It was difficult to know what she was thinking; who knew what on earth she could be thinking at a time like that? Nobody. Apart from Mary-Rose, apparently.
‘But it’s not you,’ Mary-Rose said, surprising Kitty.
Diane looked at her in surprise and it changed to apologetic.
‘It’s okay, we can take it off.’
‘But all your hard work …’
‘Never mind my work, this is your day. Would you like me to take it out?’
Diane looked at Serena.
‘I think it’s stunning, Mum, but it’s up to you.’
Diane thought hard. ‘I just think, it’s my old hair on a … new face and it feels wrong.’
‘No problem.’ And with that Mary-Rose lifted up the hair and revealed a bald Diane.
Diane swallowed.
The colour difference between her made-up face and her pale head was evident.
‘I’ll just use my magic brush,’ Mary-Rose said chirpily, ‘but be warned. It may tickle.’
Diane smiled as Serena laughed. ‘Can I help?’
Kitty took a few steps back as she watched Mary-Rose and Serena dusting Diane’s head, the three of them laughing.
‘Well, our work here is done,’ Mary-Rose said with a look of satisfaction as the door closed behind Serena wheeling her mother to the marriage ceremony in the hospital boardroom. The nurses excitedly followed after them, delighted to have such a positive event in the ward.
‘How long do you think she has?’ Kitty asked.
‘I didn’t ask but I’m guessing a few months.’ Mary-Rose started to tidy things away.
‘How do you do this?’ Kitty sat down, drained.
‘It’s not easy, I suppose, but it’s not all bad … I usen’t to believe in marriage. My mum and dad separated when I was young, it was nasty and so I didn’t have a good example of marriage, but a lot of my friends are getting married now and mostly I do their hair. All brides are nervous for different reasons, whether they’re sick or not. You just have to judge if they want to chat or not. Some don’t. The main difference is my friends are panicking about the “for ever” part. They have to stay together for ever whereas Diane’s worried because she knows that it can’t be. When I get married I want to be like Diane and hope beyond all hope that it can be for ever.’
Mary-Rose brought her mother into Dublin city once a week for afternoon tea. It was something she insisted on doing despite her mother’s health, and this week she’d chosen Powerscourt Townhouse. Powerscourt Townhouse was a speciality shopping centre in a Georgian house off Grafton Street. It had once been the party home to Richard Wingfield, Third Viscount Powerscourt, and his wife, Lady Amelia, and was a popular place to eat and shop. The courtyard had been covered over and a large ground-floor restaurant sat in the centre overlooked by the balconies of each side of the building. A piano played softly beside them. As if Kitty hadn’t had enough awkward moments with sick people she now faced a meal with Mary-Rose and a woman whose speech was near impossible to understand due to the paralysis of one side of her face. Mary-Rose, as she had done in the hospital, acted as their mediator.
As Kitty was in the middle of explaining to Mary-Rose’s mother what exactly she was doing with her daughter a loud male voice interrupted everyone’s conversations.
‘Oh, no,’ Mary-Rose said, looking up at the main staircase into the courtyard shopping area and seeing Sam standing there with a microphone in hand.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could please have your attention …’ He tapped the microphone. There was an immediate hush. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time, I appreciate you’re all trying to have an enjoyable break, but there’s somebody I need to say something special to.’
Again that twitter of excitement began to build among the crowd.
‘Margaret Posslewaite, are you here?’
Mary-Rose groaned.
‘Maggie, are you here?’ he asked again.
Mary-Rose’s mother nudged her and