Summer Soap (Episode 1): Blissfully betrothed... then a blast from past

Now in its eighth year, Summer Soap is a daily fictional serial run over 12 parts, which starts today and runs till Saturday week. Called Charlotte’s Choice, this story is about a Cork woman and her tangled love life, and was written by Gabrielle Dufrene, from the MA in Creative Writing Programme at UCC. Catch up with previous episodes at echolive.ie. In the first episode, we meet the main character, Charlotte, who is looking forward to her wedding, when she bumps into an old flame...

THE five-carat ring on her finger still gave her a pleasant thrill anytime she looked down. It sat beneath her bubblegum pink fingernails, which were pristinely manicured as always. Why shouldn’t they be? She deserved to take care of herself, and Gregory was happy to provide for her.

She stretched peacefully on the plush armchair and thought ahead to the dazzling future, that sparkling thing the stone represented.

Today was a rare, beautiful day, one of those when she felt completely worthy of everything the universe had handed her. The pale green dress she had prepared for the gala lay out on the chaise across the room, her floral heels beneath it. Gregory was a sure bet for a promotion - they all knew it - and she wanted to be as charming as possible.

She couldn’t wait to be swirled around on his arm all night, to demonstrate the social graces she’d spent years cultivating. She would play her role perfectly and have fun doing it.

Charlotte Cahill had worked every day for the last 25 years to break free of the soil that had held her beneath it, to grow into something admirable and respectable, to wave a perfectly lacquered middle finger in the face of everyone who said she couldn’t. In the faces of the girls who’d spent every day of secondary school trying to remind Charlotte of her inferiority, in the face of her father, wherever he’d run off to, probably with a family he chose not to abandon, and her hopeless mother, if you could even call her that.

Charlotte had been determined to get out of Dunmanway, which she’d achieved entirely on her own. Life after 15 was a pattern of serving pints to the usual retinue of local langers, her philosophy books hidden, propped open behind the bar, and returning home to study until she couldn’t hold her eyes open anymore, the scent of cigarette smoke lingering on her hair.

Day in and day out she repeated the cycle, eyes poised to the future, heart set on the life she knew she deserved.

Sure enough, her dedication earned her a scholarship to UCC. It earned her the chance to reinvent herself, to not have to shy away from her intelligence, to meet new people. And she didn’t miss home.

The guilt of leaving her mother by herself did eat away at her - especially in the evenings, when she pictured the frail woman, watching some frivolous programme on RTÉ, accompanied only by a steady stream of wine.

But she also envisioned ten years down the line, after she’d married, and when she’d have enough disposable income to send her mother back some money, to keep her at arm’s length but also ensure she was taken care of.

And this piece of the puzzle fell into place sooner than expected. It came in the shape of a certain Gregory Dunne, who strode into her second year Ethics lecture ten minutes late, dropping into the seat right beside her.

She couldn’t help but notice how nice he smelled, or the air of quiet confidence he possessed when he turned to her, a complete stranger, and whispered: “Right, can you catch me up?”

Five years later, she was still taken with his green eyes and easy confidence - the product of an affluent Dublin upbringing, a life free of struggle. Which was exactly what he could provide for her. She just knew it.

Charlotte pulled on her peacoat and took a final glance at herself in the mirror before she headed out the door. She had a few things to take care of before the evening and would stop at Bean and Leaf to finish the article that was due for the London lifestyle magazine she freelanced for.

The air was crisp and lovely - it was one of those pleasant October days that would surely be one of the last of its kind. She inhaled deeply as she crossed the bridge over the Lee, feeling exceedingly grateful. 

Only six months left. One hundred and seventy-seven days until the wedding.

“Charlotte?”

A voice disrupted her reverie.

She stopped in her tracks.

There, in front of her: her childhood, her past, everything she’d tried to leave behind, in the shape of a man.

“Char’?” He said again, his achingly familiar blue eyes wide with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“I...” she tried, her words failing.

“It’s so good to see you,” said Seán Walsh, those lips she’d kissed more times than she could count breaking into a wide grin as he folded her into his arms.