One Hundred Names (Special Edition)

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 Mary-Rose’s hand shot up in the air at the same time as her other hand went to cover her face.
    ‘There she is!’ he exclaimed. ‘Maggie. There’s something I have to ask you in front of all these people.’
    There it was, the gasp from some, the whoop of excitement from others, the cheer from some, the cynical eye roll of a few. Sam nodded to the piano player, who began to play ‘Moon River’. ‘Remember this song, Maggie? It was the first song we danced to on our first date.’
    The crowd oohed.
    He slowly made his way down the steps singing the first line of the song.
    ‘Oh Jesus,’ Mary-Rose said. Her mother laughed.
    ‘Ever since our first dance on our first date, I knew I wanted to be with you. Ever since you wowed me with your merengue and cha-cha when we met at the YMCA dance class.’
    Mary-Rose snorted and covered her face, trying not to laugh.
    ‘But it was the salsa,’ he made a little move with his hips and the crowd cheered, ‘that made me realise I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.’
    People whooped.
    ‘Margaret,’ he came closer, stole a rose from a nearby table and swooped down to his knee beside her to thunderous applause, ‘my huckleberry friend. Will you marry me?’ Only Kitty was close enough to hear the snort from Mary-Rose as she tried to contain her hysterical laughter while her face was fighting hard to stay calm.
    ‘Yes,’ she said, but the crowd were too busy cheering to hear. Somebody shushed and that was sent around the shopping centre.
    She and Sam were almost nose to nose.
    ‘I can’t hear you,’ Sam said into the microphone and then pushed it close to her lips. She gave him a warning look. He gave her a cheesy smile.
    ‘Yes,’ she said into the microphone and the whole of Powerscourt Townhouse erupted.
    They hugged and the manager brought over the menus and told them drinks were on the house.
    ‘That was a good one,’ Mary-Rose chuckled, her pretty face lighting up. ‘Okay, you got me there, Sam. That was possibly one of your best. Your huckleberry friend?’
    He shrugged and