Wishful Thinking (a journey that will change lives forever) (9 page)

That Thursday night after work, Louise went out with the girls to celebrate Gemma’s forthcoming nuptials.  She was sitting with the others, enjoying her drink and minding her own business, when someone caught her eye. 

Someone who was really, really cute and who was looking at … was he looking at
her
?  Louise wasn’t sure. 

It was a bit weird.  Usually when they were out on the town, the good-looking lads nearly always made a beeline for Fiona, her long shiny almost jet-black hair, exotic looks and pretty heart-shaped face making her stand out from the rest of the girls – especially Louise, who was at
least
a stone overweight and … No, Louise admonished herself quickly, you must stop thinking like that.  You are no longer the overweight one here – in fact, according to your beloved sister, you are at least half a stone
under
weight for your height. 

Of course, when she’d had all those additional problems after her accident, her weight had dropped off considerably, although not enough to make a major difference.  But the bits that
had
dropped off made Louise doubly determined never ever to let them back on again. 

It wasn’t very pleasant being overweight, really.  When she’d moved to Dublin at first she had very little self-confidence (not that she’d had much to start with, she thought
wryly), few friends, and practically no social life.  In the beginning, she’d convinced herself she didn’t mind really; after all, she was happy enough as she was getting her little bedsit in Rathgar decorated, and settling into her new life, so the lack of company didn’t matter too much.

It was only after a few months living in Dublin and working at ACS that she realised she didn’t really know anyone. So much for her great new life! 

So, in order to get out and about and try to stop herself from feeling lonely, when the bright evenings came in, Louise began to go out after work for long walks around the area.  It made her feel great. There was always lots of life around the place and, for once, Louise felt as though she was really part of it. 

After that, when the evenings weren’t so bright, she got a bit braver and decided to join a gym.  Not one of those trendy, noisy spots that looked like a nightclub, though – Louise wouldn’t feel at all comfortable in one of those.  No, she joined a small, old-fashioned-type place, which was really more for the locals – a place with only a handful of treadmills and not a stepper in sight.   Thankfully, Louise’s gym didn’t have any of those
He-Man
Master of the Universe
types looking over your shoulder, and banging on about your fat-to-muscle ratio either. No, in her gym, nobody looked over your shoulder unless they wanted to you to hurry up and get off the place’s only shaggin’ treadmill so
they
could have a go.

So that was how Louise almost overnight (it took her months overall, but overnight sounded better) went from twelve and a half stone down to nine and a half stone, which for someone as tall as Louise made a hell of a lot of difference – in more ways than one.

Despite the fact that she had that huge loan for the hospital bills hanging over her head, she couldn’t resist going out and buying clothes that she had never in a million years believed she would ever wear.  Things like halter-neck tops (the bulgy arms were gone), satin pencil skirts (the bulgy thighs too) and, although it was only a short mad phase, belly tops (self-explanatory).

But after a while she developed taste, and although it took her absolutely ages to pluck up the courage to go into those lovely boutiques in the Georges St Arcade – the lovely fancy ones where the shop assistants asked “Hello, can I help you with anything?” instead of just narkily nudging you out of the way like they did in the shopping centres.  Once she did that, Louise really didn’t look back.  She had a bit of an eye, not so much for fashion, but for what suited her.  Why else were the girls at work constantly complimenting her clothes and trying to find out where she “picked up these
fabulously
original pieces?”.

Fiona O’Neill, the office’s self-proclaimed fashionista, seemed particularly interested and one day Louise suggested taking her shopping – well, in retrospect, Fiona had
insisted
Louise take her shopping – but that wasn’t the point. 

From then on in, she and Fiona became firm friends, and they went shopping … oh, about every week or so.  No, Louise thought biting her lip, they went shopping … oh, about every
day
or so. 

Working just off Stephen’s Green, so close to the shopping Mecca that was Grafton Street didn’t help.  And then of course they’d booked that shopping weekend to New York, which was coming up soon.  God, Louise wondered then, as friends did she and Fiona do anything else
but
shop? 

Still, she couldn’t help it. And although Fiona could be a little bit bossy sometimes, she was great fun, and if it weren’t for her, Louise wouldn’t have much of a social life.  And she certainly wouldn’t be invited on girlie nights out or to Gemma’s hen weekend, her wedding or indeed tonight to her pre-hen night.

Louise gave another quick look to where your man was standing on the other side of the room.  He seemed to be on his own, which was usually a very bad sign – namely one that proclaimed weirdo, as Fiona would say. 

But it wasn’t all that long ago that Louise had been on her own, only she didn’t have the confidence to go out to pubs on her own, much as she was often tempted.  But it was easier for men to get away with that kind of thing, wasn’t it? 

Anyway, she really wished he’d stop staring at her like that; it was becoming a little scary and she was beginning to wonder what on earth was wrong.  Why didn’t he stare at Fiona, who looked fantastic tonight in her purple sequinned top and skinny blue jeans, both of which she’d bought in the Jigsaw sale the other day. 

Louise wasn’t going to, but Fiona had persuaded her to buy the multicoloured wrap dress she had on tonight, and while it was expensive – even for a sale – she had to admit it was a lovely fit and she’d probably get great wear out of it. She bit her lip – after spending nearly two hundred euro on it, she’d want to.

Just then, the bride-to-be or ‘The Hen’, as she insisted being called tonight – so much so that she wore a huge sticker proudly proclaiming same – poked Louise hard in the ribs.  Louise wore a much smaller sticker announcing that she was a ‘Hen-Nighter’. Which wasn’t strictly true actually seeing as –

“Your shout, Louise! Most of us are dry,” Gemma declared, waving a glass in front of her.  The others looked at Louise expectantly, empty glasses all round.

Now, Louise wouldn’t really mind, but there had initially only been seven girls here when they met up first, but since then, five more had joined the party.  So was she also expected to buy –  

“Bellinis again – for everyone?” she enquired, hoping that the others might let her off the hook, or if not, at least ask for something less expensive. But her heart sank when everyone with the exception of Fiona (who gave her a sympathetic wince) nodded energetically.  Louise loved champagne cocktails as much as the next girl, but what would
twelve
of them cost – especially here!

Oh stop it, she admonished herself as she got up out of her seat.  Don’t be so bloody stingy – it’s just the luck of the draw that you got stung for this one.  And wouldn’t it all come out fair and square in the end?  Although, the next round would be Fiona’s, and knowing Fi as well as she did, Louise knew she’d probably take them across the road to Paddy Cullen’s, or at least somewhere more down-to-earth, and probably a hell of a lot cheaper than here.

Right.  Knees trembling at whether she’d have enough cash for this round, let alone for the rest of the night, Louise cautiously went through to the bar.

“Twelve Bellinis, please,” she announced, and even the middle-aged barman, who was no doubt well used to extravagance here, looked a little surprised.

“You’re sure?” he enquired.  “It won’t be cheap.”

“I know.” Louise smiled airily as if this sort of thing was par for the course.  Fiona was always saying that in places like this, you should always give the impression that you
were used to this sort of life – that you belonged there.  Then, remembering her watch, she quickly dropped her arm to her side, lest the barman spot the cheap Swatch and see right through her self-assured facade.

The barman moved away, wondering what on earth he was doing working twelve-hour shifts in a bar, when some young one half his age could order a dozen champagne cocktails in the Four Seasons Hotel without blinking an eye.  Soon they’d all be asking for those diamond Martinis they had over in New York – the ones that literally had diamonds in the drink, and were ten grand a pop.  He shook his head as he searched for fresh raspberries.  But that was the Celtic Tiger for you.

At that very moment, Louise was doing mental calculations in her head, trying to figure out how, after tonight, she would be able to pay her rent – let alone be able to afford food. Well, she supposed, at least there was no question of the dreaded weight creeping back on!

Just then, a tall figure appeared alongside her.  It was
him
, wasn’t it? Louise realised, faintly excited.  The cute one with the lovely brown eyes who had been looking at her earlier, although for the life of her she still couldn’t figure out why.  God almighty, she hoped he wasn’t some weirdo.  For some reason she always attracted the odd-balls, the ones that nobody else wanted to talk to.  Whatever it was about her – probably her natural inquisitiveness or inoffensive open personality – strange people often approached her.  Sure, when she came to Dublin first, she had to get out of the habit of saying hello to everyone she met on the street, the way she used to back home.  Everyone seemed to think that
she
was the weirdo! 

“You girls seem to be having a good night,” he said amiably, and Louise was almost afraid to look at him, in case he was talking to someone else.  That was another thing that often got her into trouble – she had a habit of staring at people and wondering about their lives: where they lived, if they were married, if they were happy.  She enjoyed making up her own little versions of their lives, always had.  It was a throwback from the early days in Dublin where she knew nobody, and wondering about other people had been her greatest pastime.

Anyway, it seemed your man
was
talking to her, because now he was smiling at her.

“I’m sorry, maybe I got it wrong,” he said quickly when she didn’t reply. “You’re
not
having a good time?”

“No, no,” Louise shook her head, “we’re having a great time.  It’s my friend’s hen night, you see.  Well, no, it’s her pre-hen night actually,” she clarified.

“
Pre
-hen night?” he repeated, baffled.  Louise knew exactly how he felt.

“Yes.  We’re off to Spain for the real hen-night – I mean hen-
weekend
– tomorrow after work.”

“Hen-weekend – I see,” he said, nodding benignly, as if the dressed-up group of girls had been let out of the mental hospital for the weekend.  “So, she’s making the most of her last few days as a single woman, or,” he said, pausing slightly, “maybe
you’re
making the most of your last few –”

“Oh God, no!” Louise laughed, cutting him off. “
I’m
not getting married!” She turned and pointed towards the girls.  “She’s … see the tall, redheaded girl sprinkling glitter over everyone? That’s her.” Louise idly wondered what the management of the five-star Four Seasons Hotel would feel about having to get
Miss Selfridge
body glitter out of their lovely furniture tonight.   Not too happy, she decided, suddenly feeling a little gauche.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” he said, extending a hand and flashing a friendly smile.  

With his lovely brown eyes and wavy brown hair, he was very good-looking, a bit too good-looking to be using that smile on the likes of her, and again she couldn’t figure out why he was bothered with her when every other woman in throwing-distance was probably a million times more attractive than she was.  

But, he was still smiling at her, so she supposed she might as well enjoy it.

“Louise,” she said shaking his hand in return, and right away noticing that it felt lovely – really smooth and soft.  Judging by his hands, Sam obviously worked in an office job or something, not like the last guy she went out with. 

Max was a brickie, and his hands were as rough as sandpaper and covered with so many blisters and cuts that Louise often wondered if he had a second job as some sort of serial killer or something.  Once the thought had entered her mind, the relationship hadn’t had a chance really. 

But Sam seemed really, really, nice and not at all serial-killer-like. 

The barman had placed twelve long-stemmed martini glasses on the bar in front of Louise, and having poured the champagne and added the schnapps, he was now balancing berry-loaded cocktail sticks across the mouth of each one.  They looked fantastic, all twelve glasses attractively filled with sparkling rose-coloured liquid, and topped off with raspberries, but when he handed her the till receipt, Louise nearly fell down.