Claudia Carroll - Love Me Or Leave Me

Sex you see, was where Kirk really excelled; Mother of Divine, Dawn had never known anything like being in bed with him. With him it had been breathtakingly unbelievable … acrobatic, even Olympian at times. Okay, so maybe a tad exhausting, but still beyond fabulous. Sure, who wouldn’t envy her with a husband and lover like that, she remembered thinking.

Oh, the blessed irony.

Then, after their final blessing, they’d had the gifting ceremony, a truly magical experience, where Dawn and Kirk sat cross-legged in the centre of the Circle of Giving, as well-wishers queued up to give the newlyweds a little something. And the parade of gifts they were presented with really went no end towards cheering Dawn up a bit.

It was so touching, she’d thought, tuning out all the negative vibes, just how generous people had been with gifts, not to mention so imaginative. They’d been given a backpack picnic basket from Willow and Dave, matching his ‘n’ her tie-dye linen shirts from Shiloh, a two-foot-high lemon tree from Poppy (‘so when life gives you lemons, you can both make lemonade!’), a ‘fruit of the month’ club subscription from Josh and Sammie and last but not least, a coffee maker from Kirk’s Dad, Dessie. Which he then proudly whipped open to reveal a three-kilo bag of weed inside.

‘So you kids can really enjoy tonight!’

‘He grows his own!’ Kirk had proudly announced to the room, exactly the same as if he was talking about his Dad’s prize-winning petunias. ‘And it’s the best!’

‘Sweet Mother of Divine!’ Dawn overheard her Mum muttering, fanning her flushed face with the order of service.

‘Ehh … and that’s his idea of a wedding gift?’ Eva hissed back at her. ‘Out of curiosity, have these people ever come across an IKEA catalogue?’

Probably the only time all day her Mum had even cracked a smile.

Dawn flashed the pair of them a lightning quick warning look, for all the good it did her. Why did her side all have to be like this, she’d thought disappointedly, as a shadow suddenly fell across her happy day. So relentlessly rude about everyone and everything? Constantly putting the whole celebration down and finding fault every single place they looked? Why couldn’t any of her family or friends just chill out, relax and celebrate her happiness, like at any other wedding? Why, she wondered for the thousandth time, couldn’t they just be a bit more like Kirk’s family?

The Lennox-Coyninghams were all so cool, so laid back, so free and easy. Drinking the elderberry wine, munching on the yeast-free, gluten-free, non-dairy nibbles, laughing, celebrating, actually enjoying themselves. Like you were supposed to at a wedding. None of them were openly sniping and griping about the day in front of the newlyweds, now were they?

Disappointedly, Dawn snuggled into the crook of Kirk’s arm and he locked her tight in his arms.

‘Just let it all float away, sweetheart,’ he whispered down to her, correctly reading her thoughts. ‘Just remember, we’re life partners now and that’s all that matters.’

Then at midnight, there had been a very moving tree dedication ceremony but the warm, happy glow on Dawn’s day dimmed even further when she realized her Mum wasn’t even there for it. Eventually, she found her in the eco-loos, sobbing her heart out.

‘Oh Mum, please don’t,’ Dawn had said, instinctively going to hug her. ‘This is a happy day!’

‘I can’t do this,’ her mother sobbed, not even bothering to dab away the tears now that had completely destroyed all her carefully applied make-up. ‘I can’t sit back and watch you make the biggest mistake of your life. I can’t and I won’t.’

‘But it’s not a mistake, Mum. I love Kirk, you know that. And this is forever.’

‘Forever! What does a twenty-two-year-old understand about the word forever? You haven’t the first clue what you’re even talking about!’

‘Don’t do this, Mum. I’m so, so happy and I want you to be too.’

But Dawn was wasting her time and she knew it. Still and all though, she thought, as the night began to wind down, she’d somehow still managed to have a magical day, in spite of her side’s best efforts to sabotage it all.

And then, finally, finally, finally, come about 2 a.m., she and Kirk were at last left alone in the Mongolian yurt they’d been given especially for the night.

Dawn was perched at the edge of the bed, shaking loose her plum-tinted, scraggly hair and unhooking the back of her plain white dress, when suddenly Kirk was over beside her, arms locked tight around her waist, jet black mop of his long, silky hair buried deep into her neck.

‘Thank you, my love,’ he murmured.

‘For what?’

‘For doing this. For committing to me today. For loving me the way I love you.’

‘Always,’ she’d whispered back, slipping out of her dress, kicking it aside and abandoning it on the floor. What the feck. It only cost fifteen euro in Penny’s anyway.

‘Just remember,’ she told him lovingly, ‘this is for always.’

‘For always.’

What a lovely, lovely word, Dawn thought, as Kirk’s hands slowly and expertly slid down her naked back.

Always.

*

‘This the address you want then, love?’ the taxi driver said, interrupting her reverie.

Dawn snapped to and realized that they’d already arrived at Eva’s apartment building, right beside Grand Canal Square.

She found cash to pay him, even found the manners to thank him and managed to make it all the way up to Eva’s apartment before collapsing into tears so violent, she even frightened herself.

From: Jo_Marketing_Director@digitech.com

To: davesblog@hotmail.com

Re: The last of your things.

April 17th, 8.05 a.m.

Dave,

Strongly feel for both our sakes that it’s best if we don’t communicate face-to-face right now, but restrict it to emails instead. Besides, I’m just too angry to even look at you right now and would find it a strain not to start flinging ornaments around the place were we to, ‘attempt to solve this,’ as you so naïvely suggest. Sort what exactly, Dave? There is absolutely nothing left for us to talk about.

I assume you’re staying at your mother’s, as I know how fond you are of all your home comforts such as Sky Sports and getting your laundry done, not to mention having home cooked dinners served up to you every night.

However, if you haven’t cleared out the last of your stuff from my flat by the time I get back from London, then please understand; I’m hiring a skip and you can fish your entire vinyl collection, your collection of David Mamet plays (none of which you ever actually appeared in), your raggy, knackery underpants and those vile leather jackets that make you look like a pimp, from the bottom of said skip.

Please Dave, this is the probably the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.

Jo.

From: davesblog@hotmail.com

To: Jo_Marketing_Director@digitech.com

Re: The last of your things.

April 17th, 8.44 a.m.

Dearest wife of mine,

A delight, as always, to be on the receiving end of one of your early morning emails. My, my, what a wondrous mood we’re in today!

What is it with you anyway; do you wake up in bad form, then wonder who you can possibly take it out on? And seeing as how you can’t exactly heap verbal abuse on all your minions in Digitech, because they’d rightly haul your arse through the courts for bullying in the workplace, you think, ah ha! My worthless husband can get a tongue lashing from me and that’ll set me up for the whole morning!