mar­ried cou­ple, but two guests, half undressed and
obvi­ous­ly high, sprawled out on the bed meant for the bride
and groom. They weren’t even embar­rassed — just looked up
at me, cheek­i­ly, as if I was inter­rupt­ing. I herd­ed them out
and locked the door, won­der­ing if any part of today could
remain sacred.

Back in the thick of the cel­e­bra­tion, I watch from the
side­lines, ensur­ing every glass is filled and every minor
cri­sis is avert­ed. It’s part of the job to blend into the
back­ground, to be the unseen hand that guides the night
smooth­ly along its course. The best wed­dings are the ones
where no one thinks about what goes on behind the scenes.
Tonight, with the vibe shift­ing from refined to row­dy, it feels
like steer­ing a ship through a storm.

As the night draws on, and the guests become more
unin­hib­it­ed, their real natures start to emerge. A fight
breaks out near the bar — noth­ing seri­ous, but enough to
cause a momen­tary lapse in the fes­tiv­i­ties. The music
skips a beat, glass­es are hasti­ly put down, and all eyes turn
toward the com­mo­tion. With prac­ticed ease, I step in,
sep­a­rat­ing the quar­relling men with a calm author­i­ty that
brooks no argu­ment. Apolo­gies are mum­bled, hands shak­en,
and the par­ty resumes as if noth­ing hap­pened.

Wit­ness­ing the trans­for­ma­tion of the cel­e­bra­tion from
ele­gant to unre­strained, I can’t help but reflect on the
dichoto­my of human nature. The same guests who ear­li­er
today were the pic­ture of deco­rum are now reveal­ing a
world­lier, wilder side. It’s a reminder of why I love this job
— for all its unpre­dictabil­i­ty and the chal­lenge of man­ag­ing a
mul­ti­tude of per­son­al­i­ties in a sin­gle event.

As the par­ty con­tin­ues, I final­ly take a moment for myself,
breath­ing in the night air out­side the mar­quee. The laugh­ter
and music become a dis­tant back­ground noise as I think
about the chaos and charm of wed­ding plan­ning. Every
event is a unique puz­zle, a blend of metic­u­lous plan­ning and
spon­ta­neous prob­lem-solv­ing. This wed­ding, with its
shifts from poise to par­ty­ing, from ele­gance to excess, is a
per­fect exam­ple of that del­i­cate bal­ance I strive to main­tain.
In the end, as I watch the guests danc­ing under the stars, I
know that all the efforts were worth it — for their night of
for­get­table rev­el­ries and a cel­e­bra­tion that, despite its
moments of mad­ness, remains ulti­mate­ly beau­ti­ful.

Aoife, a wed­ding plan­ner, is grap­pling with guilt over an inci­dent involv­ing a brides­maid dur­ing a wed­ding cer­e­mo­ny. Despite rec­og­niz­ing ear­ly signs of dis­tress in the brides­maid that morn­ing, Aoife’s numer­ous respon­si­bil­i­ties and the intense demands of the wed­ding guests divert­ed her atten­tion. The sit­u­a­tion esca­lat­ed when the brides­maid end­ed up in the water, caus­ing a scene amidst the cel­e­bra­tion. This moment trig­gers Aoife’s mem­o­ries of a past event where she felt sim­i­lar­ly pow­er­less, haunt­ed by images of water and the des­per­ate, futile attempt to inter­vene.

Amidst the chaos, the groom hero­ical­ly res­cues the brides­maid, momen­tar­i­ly shift­ing the focus away from the trou­bled waters. Despite this inter­ven­tion, Aoife is bur­dened by the thought that the inci­dent could have been avoid­ed had she been more vig­i­lant and atten­tive. Strug­gling with self-reproach, she main­tains a facade of com­po­sure and pro­fes­sion­al­ism, steer­ing the guests towards the mar­quee for the wed­ding break­fast. Through­out this ordeal, Aoife is acute­ly aware of her role to remain unob­tru­sive and effec­tive, despite the swirling emo­tions and the crit­i­cal self-eval­u­a­tion that per­haps she could have avert­ed the cri­sis with ear­li­er inter­ven­tion.

every­where, a clam­or­ing crowd with requests and queries, each one demand­ing atten­tion. But that is my job as a wed­ding plan­ner, to soothe, to man­age, to ensure the day goes as smooth­ly as silk, even when the weath­er decides oth­er­wise.

The wind picks up, threat­en­ing to trans­form this out­door cel­e­bra­tion into chaos. Yet, amidst the weath­er’s chal­lenge, there is beauty—silk dress­es dance with the breeze, the spo­radic flight of hats adds a touch of whim­sy, and the air car­ries with it the scent of sea and earth, min­gling with the fra­grances of gourmet dish­es and flo­ral arrange­ments. It is a pic­turesque set­ting on the cusp of being undone by nature, a tes­ta­ment to the fact that in every metic­u­lous­ly planned event, a hint of unpre­dictabil­i­ty lingers, wait­ing to emerge.

In the thick of it all, I am the calm eye of the storm. My hands, my voice, my pres­ence pro­vide the anchor in the tumult. Despite the esca­lat­ing weath­er and the bur­geon­ing demands of the guests, the melody of ‘is tusa ceol mo chroí’ pro­vides a fleet­ing respite—a reminder of warmth, love, and the essence of what we are cel­e­brat­ing today. This Gael­ic song, a melody of child­hood and home, momen­tar­i­ly trans­ports me away from the melee, ground­ing me in mem­o­ries of my moth­er’s voice, her gen­tle pres­ence.

Refo­cus­ing on the task at hand, I piv­ot from guest to guest, address­ing each con­cern with prac­ticed ease. “Gluten-free options are by the north gar­den,” I direct one. “The best sig­nal can be found near the entrance of the mar­quee,” I inform anoth­er. And so it goes, ensur­ing each guest’s com­fort, adjust­ing seat­ing arrange­ments, liais­ing with the pho­tog­ra­ph­er, and more. As tur­bu­lent as the day might seem, it is my role to har­ness the chaos, to weave togeth­er the threads of this event into a tapes­try of joy, love, and cel­e­bra­tion.

Today, like any oth­er, I am more than a wed­ding plan­ner. I am a con­duc­tor, a magi­cian, orches­trat­ing an unfor­get­table sym­pho­ny of moments, all the while hold­ing tight­ly to the music of my heart, the melody that reminds me of why I do what I do.

Aoife, the wed­ding plan­ner, observes the arrival of guests to the island for the wed­ding she has metic­u­lous­ly orga­nized. Dressed appro­pri­ate­ly for her role, she con­trasts with the guests’ extrav­a­gant attire, reflect­ing the sig­nif­i­cance of the event host­ed by a lifestyle mag­a­zine own­er and a TV star. Aoife directs the guests, man­ag­ing their com­fort, and offer­ing solu­tions for sea­sick­ness caused by the jour­ney.

Reflect­ing on her own child­hood expe­ri­ences on the island, Aoife recalls the excite­ment and resilience she felt, unbur­dened by the cau­tion she has since devel­oped towards the sea. The arrival of the groom’s par­ents marks a piv­otal moment; Aoife iden­ti­fies them even before intro­duc­tions, not­ing the father’s impos­ing pres­ence and draw­ing par­al­lels to that of a Roman emper­or. His demeanor and expec­ta­tions for seat­ing at the wed­ding hint at a promi­nent, pos­si­bly stern char­ac­ter.

The groom’s father reveals he is a head­mas­ter at Trevellyan’s, a boys’ school attend­ed by a quar­ter of the wed­ding guests. His rep­u­ta­tion as a dis­ci­pli­nar­i­an res­onates among the guests, evok­ing a mix of respect and fear. Despite his pride, Aoife sens­es an instinc­tu­al dis­like towards him, sug­gest­ing a com­plex­i­ty in his char­ac­ter that extends beyond pro­fes­sion­al author­i­ty.

After the final boat’s arrival, Aoife thanks Mat­tie, the boat cap­tain, acknowl­edg­ing the smooth oper­a­tion. Dis­cussing the mar­ket­ing oppor­tu­ni­ty the wed­ding presents, they antic­i­pate increased recog­ni­tion for the island. How­ev­er, despite the cur­rent sun­shine, there’s antic­i­pa­tion of a chang­ing weath­er, empha­siz­ing the chal­lenges of man­ag­ing such an event in an unpre­dictable envi­ron­ment. Mattie’s warn­ing of an impend­ing storm under­scores the ten­sion between the seem­ing tran­quil­i­ty of the set­ting and the loom­ing nat­ur­al forces, high­light­ing Aoife’s role not just as a plan­ner of events, but as a medi­a­tor between the guests’ expe­ri­ence and the island’s whims.

In this chap­ter titled “AOIFE: The Wed­ding Plan­ner,” Aoife is busy with the final prepa­ra­tions for a wed­ding tak­ing place on Inis an Amplóra, an island off the Con­nemara coast in Ire­land. She’s fond of her desk filled with mem­o­ries as she tunes into the Gal­way radio sta­tions, catch­ing a warn­ing of windy weath­er lat­er in the day. Her hus­band, Fred­dy, joins her with con­cerns about the electrics, reflect­ing on their ear­ly morn­ing efforts and Fred­dy’s culi­nary pas­sions sourced from a child­hood of dietary monot­o­ny.

Aoife goes on to inspect the mar­quee set up amidst the scenic heather, encoun­ter­ing hares along the way, which stirs thoughts of Gael­ic folk­lore and the island’s haunt­ing rep­u­ta­tion. As she arranges the inte­ri­or of the mar­quee with detailed atten­tion to aes­thet­ics, from hand-water­coloured menus to scent­ed can­dles from an exclu­sive Gal­way per­fumer, she antic­i­pates the trans­for­ma­tion of this space into a vibrant hub of cel­e­bra­tion that will chal­lenge the island’s rep­u­ta­tion as “the dead place.”

The groom, Will Slater, known to Aoife through his role in the TV show “Sur­vive the Night,” sur­pris­es her in the mar­quee. Their con­ver­sa­tion reveals Aoife’s back­ground, includ­ing her Dublin upbring­ing, her past filled with cher­ished mem­o­ries of sum­mers on the island, and her father’s itin­er­ant career as a uni­ver­si­ty pro­fes­sor. Despite Slater’s charm and inter­est, Aoife main­tains pro­fes­sion­al dis­tance, remind­ing her­self of the impor­tance of bound­aries between her per­son­al life and her clients.

Slater hints at con­cerns over the evening’s fes­tiv­i­ties, antic­i­pat­ing the live­ly nature of their guests. Aoife’s encounter with him under­lines themes of iden­ti­ty, mem­o­ry, and the thin veil between per­son­al inti­ma­cy and pro­fes­sion­al respon­si­bil­i­ty, set­ting a reflec­tive tone amidst the logis­ti­cal bus­tle of wed­ding plan­ning.

In the still­ness of the night, Aoife and Fred­dy are star­tled by a mys­te­ri­ous noise, echo­ing between human and some­thing oth­er­world­ly. The day’s wed­ding fes­tiv­i­ties have long end­ed, with all guests retreat­ed to their quar­ters, leav­ing behind chants that res­onate with veiled omens. Fred­dy’s trans­la­tion of their Latin words sends shiv­ers down Aoife’s spine, a pre­lude to the unease that over­grown boy­ish ush­ers and their unchecked rev­el­ries might bring. Aoife reflects on past expe­ri­ences where grand cel­e­bra­tions, attend­ed by the elite, spi­raled into chaos, attribut­ing such unruli­ness to the blend of high soci­ety’s stric­tures and the wild, law­less spir­it the island invokes in its vis­i­tors.

Deter­mined to inves­ti­gate the source of the noc­tur­nal dis­tur­bance, Aoife, braver and more accus­tomed to adver­si­ty than Fred­dy, ven­tures into the envelop­ing dark­ness, fore­go­ing arti­fi­cial light to bet­ter acquaint her­self with the night’s whis­pers. She nav­i­gates through the island’s eerie still­ness, her sens­es height­ened, strain­ing to deci­pher the sob­bing that punc­tu­ates the silence. A fleet­ing shad­ow near the out­build­ings catch­es her eye, a tes­ta­ment to the instinc­tive alert­ness to move­ment ingrained with­in.

As ghost­ly tales of the island’s past momen­tar­i­ly grip her mind, Aoife’s dis­cov­ery of the weep­ing fig­ure, ini­tial­ly con­jur­ing images of myth­i­cal woe, resolves into a more mun­dane real­i­ty. The best man, disheveled and seem­ing­ly bro­ken, slumps against a wall. His pres­ence and the over­lay of sor­row and intox­i­ca­tion he exhibits con­trast sharply with the folk­lore Aoife momen­tar­i­ly enter­tains. Their exchange reveals Aoife’s prag­mat­ic con­cern over his safe­ty amidst the dan­gers lurk­ing in the old farm machin­ery stored with­in the out­build­ings, under­scor­ing the tan­gi­ble haz­ards that inter­min­gle with the spec­tral ambiance of the island.

Aoife, a wed­ding plan­ner at the Fol­ly, cher­ish­es a qui­et moment before din­ner to vis­it the island’s grave­yard, reflect­ing on both per­son­al loss­es and the sur­re­al bal­ance between the island’s liv­ing and dead. The grave­yard, nes­tled close due to scarce dry land, is rich with the his­to­ry of Con­nemara’s fam­i­lies. Amidst this solemn back­drop, Aoife con­fronts her own ghosts and the bur­den of mem­o­ry, punc­tu­at­ed by the chill­ing pres­ence of a cor­morant, omi­nous­ly perched atop the ruined chapel. This encounter with the “devil’s bird” stirs ancient fears of bad omens amidst the island’s deep-seat­ed tra­di­tions and super­sti­tions.

Back at the Fol­ly, prepa­ra­tions for the upcom­ing wed­ding con­tin­ue, with Aoife seam­less­ly shift­ing from the reflec­tive soli­tude of the grave­yard to the imme­di­ate con­cerns of her pro­fes­sion. Her return is marked by an awk­ward encounter with the bride and a man named Char­lie, an inti­mate moment that sub­tly hints at under­cur­rents of com­plex­i­ty and poten­tial undis­closed rela­tion­ships with­in the wed­ding par­ty. This momen­tary glimpse into their pri­va­cy under­scores the frag­ile veneer of social norms and the often hid­den intri­ca­cies of inter­per­son­al rela­tions.

The chap­ter art­ful­ly bal­ances Aoife’s inner world of mem­o­ries and loss­es against her pro­fes­sion­al role, cre­at­ing a poignant jux­ta­po­si­tion between the ethe­re­al beau­ty of the island and the tan­gi­ble real­i­ties of life and death it encom­pass­es. The set­ting, rich with cul­tur­al and famil­ial his­to­ry, casts long shad­ows over the present, sug­gest­ing that Aoife’s jour­ney is not only about nav­i­gat­ing the logis­tics of her work but also con­fronting and rec­on­cil­ing with the past that the island, with all its super­sti­tions and ghosts, mir­rors back to her.