So Sorcha ends up totally flipping when she finds out that Ronan and Shadden's wedding is going to feature on Don't Tell the Bride – or, as they call it on Ronan's side of the city, Doatunt Ted the Berroyut.
"Okay," she goes, "say that again?"
I’m there, “They have to stay within a budget of 10ks. That’s the rule of the show.”
“€10,000?” she goes. “You wouldn’t get a decent dress for €10,000!”
I’m there, “Another way to look at it is that we’ve got food in our fridge that’s going to last longer than this supposed marriage. Sooner than later, Shadden’s going to find out that Ronan is a serial cheater – like his old man. At least this way it’s not going to cost us anything.”
“But you’re saying that Shadden has no actual say in the day?”
"Yeah, no, the groom organises everything. They're having the wedding reception in the Topaz on the Finglas Road where Ronan popped the question. Or where Shadden delivered her famous ultimatum: 'Maddy me in the next six munts or it's oaber.' It's very romantic when you think about it."
At least if they do it on the cheap, there's no real damage done when it all falls aport – except obviously emotional.
“They’re having their wedding reception in a petrol station in Finglas?”
"It's more Glasnevin. And anyway, that bit's just for the cameras. I'm stumping up for a proper reception afterwards – in Clontorf actual Castle."
“No way, Ross.”
“What?”
"I'm putting my foot down. Every girl – oh my God – dreams of organising her own wedding. I'm not going to stand idly by while Shadden's big day is turned into some reality TV freakshow."
“It’s tastefully done, Sorcha. And anyway, they’ve already signed the contract.”
But before I can say another word on the matter, she’s phoned Shadden and suggested they meet up in town in the afternoon to talk. I decide to tag along, sensing – correctly – that this “talk” might end up costing me a lot of money and reasoning that at least if I’m there I can stop the damage running into six figures.
As we're standing on Grafton Street, waiting for Shadden to arrive, I'm still trying to persuade Sorcha to let RTÉ pay for everything. I'm there, "He's never going to stay faithful to her, Sorcha. You of all people know what it's like to be married to a man like that. At least if they do it on the cheap, there's no real damage done when it all falls aport – except obviously emotional."
She just blanks me. When Shadden eventually shows up, Sorcha goes, “Now, don’t say a word, Shadden. I just want to show you something, okay?”
Shadden's like, "Feerda nuff", and we follow her up Grafton Street to this bridal shop where the staff smile at you like Disney princesses while silently trying to put a ballpork figure on your annual income.
It's just one day. And that's if you even make it to the church. I'm trying to be the realistic one here
“What are we doing hee-or?” Shadden wants to know. “Ronan altreddy has a thress for me.”
He does have a dress for her. And it's a nice one as well. In fact, it's the one that Trish wore when she married Nidge in Love/Hate. I asked Kathryn Thomas if she could borrow it from the RTÉ wardrobe deportment and she said she'd do it as a personal favour to me for 60 quid. Shadden is going to love it, even though it'll probably have to be let out a few inches.
I’m there, “I’m just putting it out there that the dress Ronan has got for you is of definite sentimental value. And – without giving away too many spoilers – it’ll also count as your something borrowed.”
But Shadden doesn’t hear me. She’s suddenly lost in this world of white silk, satin and lace – her two eyes drunk on it all.
Sorcha goes, “I just wanted you to see some of these amazing, amazing creations, Shadden – before you commit to anything.”
Shadden goes, “They’re lubbly, ardent thee?”
I subtly turn around to one of the staff and I go, “Do you do refunds?”
Again, I end up being blanked. She walks up to Shadden and goes, “Look at you! You’re beautiful!”
Shadden blushes – even though she’s not. She’s a 6 at best.
The woman goes, “When’s the big day?”
Shadden’s like, “Jewin.”
And Sorcha goes, “This is Shadden and she’s marrying my stepson, Ronan. I bought her here to try to get her to see that a girl should feel like a princess on her wedding day.”
I’m there, “Another way of looking at it is that it’s just one day. And that’s if you even make it to the church. I’m trying to be the realistic one here.”
Sorcha goes, “Ignore my husband. Look at these styles, Shadden. You could go A-Line, Tea-Length, Trumpet, Sheath, Mermaid, Portrait-Back, Inverted Basque, Corset Bodice, Statement Sleeve. Oh my God, you could even go 1920s Vintage!”
Shadden is suddenly spinning around, going, “I want them all! I want evoddy single one of them!”
She’s no different to any other woman in that respect and I hope that doesn’t come across as sexist.
The woman in the shop goes, "I would love – absolutely love – to have something specially designed for you," obviously picking up on the fact that money is not going to be an issue here. "You have a gorgeous, gorgeous figure."
Again, she's pushing it, but I know better than to say something. If I was going to say something, though, it'd be 6½ – tops.
“Look,” I go, “I happen to know that Ronan has his hort set on the dress he’s already arranged to get. I’d hate if his feelings were hurt.”
Plus, I’ve already given Kathryn Thomas the 60 snots and I’m dreaming if I think I’m getting that back. I can nearly hear her telling me to go sing for it.
But it’s no good. Shadden has that look on her face. She’s like a kid in a cake shop.
Sorcha's like, "Your wedding day is supposed to be the most special day of your life, Shadden. Make it memorable for you – not for some TV audience of randomers."
Shadden’s there, “We caddent puddle out of the show, Sudeka. If we do, there’s a €50,000 pedalty.”
But Sorcha just smiles at her sweetly and goes, “Ross will pay it, Shadden. As a matter of fact, Ross will pay for absolutely everything.”