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On the plus side though, here was what newly separated couples got for their buck at your standard divorce hotel. No matter where you happened to live in the world and no matter what jurisdiction bound you legally, there’s one ‘truth universally acknowledged’ that you can absolutely put your house on.
For anyone who finds themselves in the position of looking for a divorce, you’ve basically got two options. Either you go to court, have a lengthy, protracted – and doubtless expensive – case, where every single detail of your personal family life would be aired in a public courtroom. With absolutely no dirty linen left unexamined.
Humiliating, mortifying, prohibitively expensive and the end of it all, what would the net result most likely be? By and large, you’d get one third of the couple’s joint assets, he’d have a third and the lawyers ultimately would make off with the final third.
And now suddenly here’s a viable alternative. Given that this is undoubtedly a process both parties will want to get over and done with as quickly as possible, why not check into discreetly luxurious surroundings and get the whole thing sorted out in a single weekend? And with cocktails on the side? After all, there’s nothing to be gained from dragging out the whole process. This way, instead of lawyers carrying off a vast chunk of the couple’s joint assets, everything would be split fifty-fifty, fairly and equitably down the middle.
Best of all, no matter what stage a couple happened to be at in their separation, they could still check into a divorce hotel and at least get the final settlement set in stone. Then all the couple need do would be to bide their time and live their separate lives apart, until such time as they could appear before a judge, hand over their agreement, a gavel was walloped and they were formally granted a decree nisi. Easy as that.
A divorce hotel strove to make something complicated, simple.
Best of all, the premises that Ferndale Hotels had leased for their hotel in Dublin might as well have been purpose built for the job. Elegant and utterly discreet, it was one of those four-storey Georgian redbricks on Hope Street, just off leafy Fitzwilliam Square, surrounded by accountants’ and lawyers’ offices. The hotel’s name wasn’t even written on a canopy over the door, instead there was just a neat brass plaque saying, ‘Ferndale Hotels, Hope Street.’ Subtle and inconspicuous, its message clear. No one need ever know you’re a guest, not unless you want them to.
‘The Hope Street Hotel,’ as it quickly came to be known.
*
So I’m officially based back in Dublin now and oh thank you God, it feels so good to be home! Even if I’ve been so run off my feet that I’ve barely had the chance to spend any quality time with my best mate Gemma or any of the old gang. Somehow just being here, doing a job that’s challenging and yet that I really feel can and will take off, is firing me up and propelling me through each busy day until we formally open for business.
Plus of course, being this overloaded with work means I’ve absolutely zero time to think about the one and only blight on the horizon. The all-too-real possibility that I might just be standing in the vegetable aisle in Marks & Spencer’s with greasy hair and no make-up, turn a corner and then walk slap bang into the whole reason why I hightailed it over to London for as long as I did.
Frank. Or as Gemma refers to him, He Whose Name Shall Forever Remain Unspoken. Now, my spies tell me, promoted to Assistant General Manager at my old stomping ground, the Merrion Hotel, barely a stone’s throw from Hope Street. I imagine bumping into him with such punishing frequency it would scare you. But I stop myself from going any further. After all, this business venture is about helping others through their broken relationships. And not dwelling on my own troubles. At least not now. Not yet.
But he’ll be watching my progress here, I know he will, as will half the industry. So this is it then; my one and only chance not to be the girl who bolted from a perfectly good job because of what I went through. This is my shot at proving not just to Frank, but to all our old colleagues and not least to myself, that I can make this work. That I can make a success of this; that I can make it fly.
‘I think it’s amazing what you’re trying to achieve here,’ Gemma says to me over a hasty lunch break I manage to snatch. ‘But I just have one question for you.’
‘Fire away,’ I say, between mouthfuls of takeout sushi.
‘Don’t get me wrong, the Hope Street Hotel sounds like a great concept and everything,’ she says, shaking her head in puzzlement. ‘But mother of God, given that all of your guests will be going through marriage break-ups …’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, sweetheart … exactly what kind of dramas are you going to end up having to deal with?’
Chapter Four
Dawn.
Still in total shock, but at that numb stage where you can somehow function purely on automatic pilot, Dawn took one final moment to have a last, quick look around the tiny little shoebox of an apartment she and Kirk had been sharing, ever since they’d first been married. A poky flat above an Indian takeaway in town that permanently stank of garlic and onions, no matter how many cans of air freshener she went through.
The tiny part of her brain somehow getting her through the hell she was stuck in, reminded her that of late, the place been starting to drive her insane anyway. The constant stench of grease from the takeaway mixed with prawns well past their use-by date. And how noisy it got from about midnight onwards, when drunk revellers would nip in for a cheap vindaloo, then start calling each other wankers at the top of their voices on the street outside.
For as long as she and Kirk had lived here, they’d always planned to move on, just as soon as they could properly afford to, but of late, all the chats they used to have about their ideal pad had fizzled out. Almost as though each of them silently recognized it was pointless, because this day would inevitably come.
Just not like this, Dawn thought suddenly, shaking from head to foot, as the enormity of what she was about to do really hit home. Not this way. They’d been happy here. In many ways, they were still happy. Kirk was her best friend, her right hand, her go-to person. This would devastate him, but then he’d devastated her first, and like a child that knew no other way of expressing hurt, all she could do was try and inflict the same degree of pain right back instead.
So are you really prepared to do this? she asked herself for about the thousandth time that miserable day. Just run away from the problem and not at least try to work through it?
Yes was the answer. Because what he’d done had completely broken them forever. How could she possibly stay in this now? Just what kind of a doormat would that make her?
Suddenly overcome by a crashing wave of exhaustion, Dawn slumped down onto their tiny sofa bed and tried her best to sit still for a moment, at least until her head stopped spinning.
For a split second, her eye momentarily fell on a wedding photo on top of the bookshelf and she found herself dithering for a minute, wondering what she should do with it. Leave it where it was to remind Kirk that he had actually made a solemn vow that day? After all, he was the one who was forever saying that, ‘a vow was a promissory note against your soul.’ That that’s how much getting married had meant to him way back then. Okay, so most of the time he was stoned off his head when he did come out with it, but still, the sentiment was there. Or would she just angrily fling it into the bin, so he could gauge for himself exactly how she felt about what had just happened?
She took a last second to really look at the photo. Her dream wedding. Or ‘that hippy-dippy, tree-hugging fiasco’ as her mother liked to refer to it. Hard to believe that it had been taken just a few short years ago. Has it really been that long, she wondered, her heart suddenly twisting in her ribcage as she thought back to that young, hopeful girl, so in love with this guy that she’d have happily walked through flames for him.
Yet there she was in the photo, in that cheap little maxi dress from Penny’s, long bedraggled hair down to her bum, arms locked tight around Kirk, looking adoringly into his gentle, brown eyes. With their whole lives in front of them, rolling out like a red carpet.
Feck’s sake, sure we’re just a pair of kids in this photo, she thought, sudden anger flooding through her. And the problem now is we’re all grown up, just in two very different directions.
Dawn even looked a bit different these days. While Kirk still looked exactly the same today as he had in the wedding photo, the past few years had changed her dramatically. Well, she’d had to evolve a bit, didn’t she? After all, there was only so much tree hugging and chakra realigning a person could do, without realizing that was hardly going to pay the rent and keep them both in mobile phone subscriptions and Sky Plus.
Besides, Dawn had by now been promoted to manager of Earth’s Garden, the health food store she worked in and was pulling in a not-too-shabby wage these days. So of course, she needed to look the part. Plus she’d recently discovered a tiny niche in the market for spelt muesli, to great encouragement from Kirk, who’d help out with the business whenever he wasn’t teaching his yoga class. And now she was importing it in herself and selling it through the store for a nifty return.
NLE Enterprises, the two of them jokingly called her tiny, fledgling company. Nice Little Earner. Kirk had even talked her into donating a hefty percentage of their profits towards a goat farm outside Nairobi. Mind you, left to Dawn, she’d have been far happier using the cash to move to a better flat, but then Kirk did have a point. After all, one goat farm in Africa could keep a whole village going. And it was the right thing to do, the ethical thing.
Wasn’t it?
Anyway, these days Dawn acted and dressed like what she’d grown into, an up-and-coming owner of a small but steadily growing business. Out with all the hippy-dippy long, flowing clobber he used to love on her and in with neat work trousers and crisp white shirts from Zara.
In the early days, Kirk used to laugh at her and tell her she looked a bit like she was going out to repossess a house, but she’d noticed even that gentle teasing had completely ground to a halt of late. Like he barely even noticed her now. Yet another sign something was up. Just her bad luck, she thought bitterly, that it wasn’t what she’d automatically assumed. The first conclusion any wife in similar circumstances would jump to.
Dawn allowed herself one final glance down at her wedding photo. With almost digital clarity, she could remember how stung she’d been that day at all the nasty, sniping comments streaming incessantly from ‘her side’; her mother and sister Eva, not to mention all her mates from work. The way they kept on griping because nothing about the commitment ceremony had been right for them; all they could do was find fault wherever they looked.
But right at this moment, if she could go back in time, Dawn honestly thought that instead of allowing them all to get to her, instead she’d have berated the lot of them from the bottom of her hot little heart for letting her go through with it in the first place. Jesus, she’d only been twenty-two years of age! She hadn’t the first clue what she was letting herself in for! Instead of moaning about the hemp wine, the lack of a DJ playing Beyoncé and the general crappiness of the sitar music, her mother and sister, not to mention all her pals, should have physically arm-wrestled her to the floor rather than letting her go through with it.
As for her? She must have been out of her mind not to realize this day would eventually dawn. Just not in this way. And not for the love of God, like this.
Peeling herself off the sofa, Dawn began to haul her packed suitcases as far as the door so she’d at least be ready when her taxi arrived. Then a quick, last minute spot check around the place, to make sure she hadn’t left anything important behind. She tried to distract herself with petty, inconsequential stuff, like checking whether she’d remembered to pack shampoo, the charger for her phone and the last of the Hobnobs, just because they were Kirk’s favourites and it would bloody well serve him right.
But whether she liked it or not, shockwaves kept searing through her like some kind of laser. She couldn’t keep it out; it wouldn’t stop intruding.
Of course, she blamed herself for not bloody well copping on sooner. For not guessing the truth, before it had to be spelled out to her. For God’s sake, it had been exactly ten months, three weeks and four days since Kirk had even looked at her as anything other than a flatmate and pal! She could quite literally pin the last time they’d slept together down to a date. Was she really naïve enough to think that the two of them were sailing blissfully towards their silver wedding anniversary?
Even though her brains were like mince right now, that particular date still stuck like a limpet in her addled mind on account of it had been his birthday. Not many people could tell you exactly when they first suspected something was seriously up with their marriage, but she’d been able to sense as far back as then, that something wasn’t right. She could practically smell it.
After all this was Kirk, who’d at one stage been so unbelievably passionate, exulting in her body, barely able to keep his hands off her. He wasn’t even particularly bothered if the two of them happened to be out in public, something he tended to view as little more than a challenge to be overcome and nothing more. (Quite literally. And Dawn just thanked Christ the deer in the Phoenix Park wouldn’t ever talk and left it at that.)
Ten months, three weeks and four days for a man who’d always been so physical and loving and … no other word for it … experimental in bed, she thought sadly. And God knows, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t made an effort. Over her dead body was she just allowing the two of them to slide into this new routine of long bedtime chats, laughs, giggles and then maybe a friendly cuddle before drifting off to sleep. Like some kind of middle-aged ’auld ones who’d slid into not having sex any more and instead just worried about their two point four kids and the variable mortgage.
Not a chance, this gal wasn’t going down without a protracted fight. She’d more than done her bit to try and spice things up between them, hadn’t she? She’d tried her level best to recapture their first heady days and months together, when it was all sex and talking and still more talking and then rolling over for yet another bout of furious, unquenchable lovemaking. Surely no counsellor or therapist could fault her on that score?
Flushing a bit in mortification now, Dawn thought back to what a naïve eejit she must have seemed back then. How she’d forked out on all that highly uncomfortable hooker underwear, then shoehorned herself into it, in the vain hopes that the sight of her kitted out like something from a porno movie might reignite that old spark in Kirk. After all, before they’d ever met, he’d had legions of girlfriends and a tiny part of Dawn always worried that sex-wise, she didn’t quite measure up.
But no, nothing doing. Instead, he’d just look her up and down, smile lazily up at her and ask whether or not those knickers felt like wrapping her nether regions up in dental floss and why wasn’t she howling in agony anyway?
Then of course, Kirk would do what he was starting to excel at lately; turn it all into a joke and pull her in for a cuddle, as the two of them just slid companionably back into their old routine. They’d always been best friends, but whereas back in those incredible early days, they’d been lovers first and best friends second, lately they’d settled into being just each other’s closest pal. And that was where it ended.
Back then though, Dawn had known no better, so she fought and kept on fighting. She winced to think about it now but at the time, sheer desperation drove her to act like she was up for anything. At one point, in a blood rush to the head, she’d even contemplated suggesting a threesome. Last thing she herself would ever have wanted, the whole idea completely repulsed her, but then Kirk used to be up for anything sex-wise, and if this was what it would take to reignite things …
Took her all of about ten seconds to completely scrap the idea. Sorry, but sharing Kirk with some nameless faceless one from the internet or worse still, with someone they knew and knowing Dawn’s luck, would more than likely bump into in the aisle at Tesco’s, was just unthinkable.
But she’d lost count of the number of romantic nights à deux she’d tried to plan in their tiny flat, just for the two of them. Candles dotted around the place, romantic dinner, wine, sure you know yourself. With any luck, that would turn into one of those wonderful nights they used to have back in their early days, when Kirk would gently massage her and things naturally developed on from there.
For the past few months, Dawn had been trying this tactic as often as she could, yet every single time without fail, you could be bloody sure Kirk would try and find some way to weasel out of things going any further than companionable hugs and cuddles.
No, Dawn wasn’t blind and she certainly wasn’t stupid.
What happened was just the final proof she needed.
She was zipping up her wheelie bag and just doing a last, final spot check to make sure she hadn’t left any of her face creams behind in the bathroom, when suddenly her mobile rang.
‘Taxi for Dawn Madden?’ growled a twenty-a-day smoker’s voice down the phone.
‘Be downstairs in two minutes,’ Dawn told him, before hanging up.
Do it quickly, she told herself. Just go now, fast while you still have some ounce of resolve in you.
Trembling weakly, she grabbed hold of the last of her wheelie bags and slammed the door behind her.
And just like that, she thought, my marriage is over.
*
‘Jaysus love, that’s a fair amount of luggage you have,’ said her taxi driver, as he helped Dawn load up the boot of the cab with one stuffed case after another. ‘Taking a trip, are you? Airport, is it?’
‘Emm, no actually,’ Dawn said weakly, praying he wouldn’t try to draw her out any further. No rudeness intended, but she just hadn’t the strength to go into it, not now. She hopped into the back seat and gave him Eva’s address, praying he wouldn’t try to probe her much more.
‘Ahh, I get it, you’re moving flat then, are you?’ the driver said in that gravelly voice, two slitty eyes glancing at her reflection in his rear-view mirror as they sped off into the traffic.
Dawn just about managed a tiny little nod and hoped against hope he’d take the hint that she wasn’t really up for small talk. As it happened though, she was in luck; just a few more monosyllabic answers from her about the general crapness of the weather/direness of the traffic, and thankfully, he seemed to take the hint. Switching the car radio on, he tuned into one of those early afternoon moany phone-in shows, where callers ring in to rant about the general rubbishness of the health service, or else their dole being cut, etc.
Nerves still on edge, Dawn took a deep breath and looked out the window, for the moment at least tuning out the incensed voices bleating over the radio about the price of wheelie bin lifts. And that’s when she saw it.
Suddenly, right beside her, a wedding car pulled up at the traffic lights. A sleek Bentley, with white ribbons fluttering at the front. And there, in the back seat, directly opposite her was a beautiful young bride, with a stunning white veil and what looked like a fabulously expensive dress on underneath. There was an elderly man right beside her, whose face looked flushed with either whiskey or pride, it was hard to tell. Her Dad, Dawn figured with a pang, there to give her away.
For a momentary second as both cars were stopped side-by-side, the bride locked eyes with hers. Ordinarily, Dawn would have waved and smiled and given a thumbs up, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to. Not today. Not after what she’d just come through.
Wish me luck? the bride’s eyes seemed to ask her nervously.
I’m sorry but … please understand – I just can’t, Dawn answered simply, looking right back at her.
The traffic lights changed, the wedding car glided gracefully on and now, Dawn found herself thinking back to another young, hopeful bride on another grey, drizzly day just like this; full of love and happiness and optimism about what lay ahead. Her eyes misted up a bit and suddenly, she found her thoughts drifting.
*
‘I Kirk, take you Dawn, to be my beloved spouse and partner in life, to stand with you always, in times of celebration and in times of sorrow, times of joy and in times of pain, times of sickness and in times of health. I will live with you, love and cherish you, as long as we both shall live.’
Slight ripple of polite applause, which the High Shaman immediately silenced with an authoritative slamming of his ceremonial stick off the rickety wooden floor.
Scary looking git, Dawn thought, from out of nowhere. Where did Kirk find him, anyway? He’d nearly put you in mind of Professor Dumbledore from Hogwarts, right down to the heavy bushy white eyebrows, which from where she was standing, looked exactly like guttering that would overhang a building.
With a jolt, she realized Dumbledore was nodding in her direction that this was her cue. The Big Moment.
Concentrate Dawn, she told herself. You’re about to get married here.
‘And I Dawn,’ she began in a wobbly voice, ‘take you Kirk as my beloved spouse and partner in life, to tenderly care for you and to respect your individuality, to cherish you just as you are and to love you with complete fidelity. Always.’
A few ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from around the blessing area as Kirk beamed happily down at her; that gorgeous, dimply smile that never failed to completely knock the wind out of her.
‘Then Kirk and Dawn,’ the Shaman boomed on, sounding not unlike Darth Vader as his voice reverberated around the tiny, enclosed blessing area. ‘By the power vested in me which derives over centuries from the ancient druids, I now declare you life partners joined in spiritual union, from this day forth!’
Massive round of applause as Kirk leaned down to kiss his brand new bride and Dawn stood up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.
‘I love you, so, so much.’
‘And I’ll love you always.’
Even though it had been a barefoot ceremony, Kirk still towered above her; tall, wiry, lean and so ridiculously handsome with the long, waist-length black hair and flowing white linens; God, Dawn almost wanted to laugh every time she looked at that beautiful face. I’ll never be as happy again, she thought, as I am today. Just wouldn’t be possible … sure, how could it be?
Hard though, not to be aware that at that very moment, her mother, up in the very front row, had abandoned dabbing away at the odd tear and was by now sobbing violently in full-blown floods.
‘Ehh … happy tears, would you say?’ Kirk had whispered softly, shooting her Mum a look of concern.
No, her mother’s tears definitely weren’t happy ones. But it had still been a beautiful commitment service in spite of everything, Dawn forced herself to think, smiling bravely. If you could momentarily just leave aside the tsunami of negativity she and Kirk practically had to wade through, just so they could stand in front of each other that day. All the endless, countless objections from her family, because they were both so ridiculously young.
Not that age even mattered, Dawn had spent at least six months before the wedding trying to convince just about everyone she knew. Like Kirk said, your age was just your number! Besides, when you knew, you just knew. And this was for life. She knew. Just knew.