I woke early on Saturday, excited and terrified by the thoughts of the coming day. Probably more excited than terrified, yesterday’s excursion having done much to allay my fears. I checked the time; 5am. Still time for another snooze. I turned over, snuggled further into the duvet, closed my eyes, and stayed fully awake. After about 10 minutes or so, I decided I might as well get up and start to get ready. I wandered to the bathroom and was just about to step into the shower when I saw a small box on the shower tray with a note.

Wear this in the shower.

I looked at the box; it was branded Western Lodge Hotel Group. My parents were from a generation that did not believe in leaving unused toiletries in a hotel when they were leaving and had picked this up some time in the past, near or distant I could not possibly know. I opened the box to discover a shower cap. Not having ever used one of these before, I was struggling to tuck my hair inside its elastic rim when there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. I was still wearing my dressing gown so opened the door to find my mother ready to help me with my unaccustomed headpiece, as well as ensure I actually wore it.

“We heard you getting up; we would have been up soon anyway.”

She fixed the cap on my head, instructed me NOT to let the water spray above my neck, and to call her when I was dried off and ready. I could hear my father shuffling about in the kitchen; he had taken on the role as breakfast maker for the day… not unusual in our house. I showered quickly, dried off, got back into my pyjamas and dressing gown and announced myself as ready. My mother accompanied me into my room, told me to put on one pair of the brown tights she had purchased yesterday and pointing at the bed, said,

“Wear these instead of your own.”

I looked at the bed whereon lay a black plain pair of knickers and an ivory cami-top, both obtained from my sister’s room.

“Can’t I just wear my own?”

“These are better; your t-shirts will all show under the brown dress, and you’ll probably be changing with the girls so the knickers will be more concealing.”

That was true; my cotton underwear tended to get loose with the enhanced possibility of things falling out.

“Come back to the bathroom when you’re dressed. Don’t put on the dress yet, we don’t want it covered in hair, makeup or breakfast before you get out the door, do we?”

I nodded, she left, I got dressed. The knickers and tights were not a problem but I managed to get the cami on backwards before I eventually got myself sorted. The cami felt strange against my skin, not particularly soft as it was a silk-effect material, but quite sensuous. I admired myself momentarily in the mirror before dragging my dressing gown on and heading towards the bathroom. The smell of a fried breakfast in preparation permeated the hallway.

My mother had brought in two chairs from the kitchen and sat me on one while she sat on the other beside a box with an assortment of tubes and jars, itself standing on the footstool that we all used to reach things in the higher shelves of the bathroom cabinet. The room was arctic; she had opened the window to disperse the steam. Seeing me shiver, she closed the window and pulled a cord to start the small, wall-mounted blow heater which supplemented the radiators. A stream of heated air quickly brought the temperature to acceptable.

I was seated on one chair, she on the other, facing me. She started by pushing the elastic band of the shower cap, which I was still wearing not having been told to remove it, up into my hairline and rubbing cream into my face. Working from the notes which I had seen Louise making out, she then started working on my eyes, drawing, painting, brushing and, like Louise, taking a lot of time, before she moved onto my face. That was quicker, more cream, then light brown stuff, both well worked in and then my face dried off by her pressing some soft tissue against it.

“Just press, never rub”, she said. “This gets rid of any blobs of make-up that you haven’t fully rubbed in.”

“Eggs ready!”, my father’s voice floated up the hall.

We knew better than to delay; cooked eggs just don’t keep. We headed to the kitchen, shower cap forgotten and still on my head, to sit down to a veritable morning feast. My father, who liked to cook, had prepared a breakfast of sausage, rasher, mushroom, tomato and scrambled eggs, to be consumed along with my mother’s home-made brown bread, potato cakes, and tea from a large, ceramic teapot that had graced our table for as long as I could remember. Tea bags, ubiquitous elsewhere, rarely crossed out threshold. We even had an assortment of tea “balls” or strainers for occasions where only a single mug was required.

As usual, most of breakfast was consumed with little conversation. At this early hour, we tended to listen to BBC Radio 4 or World Service, only switching to the main Irish channel, RTE, for the Irish weather forecast and national news. This wasn’t unusual amongst farming families and both Ciara and I had been surprised to learn that Niamh and the Twins did not, at least initially, do likewise. Eventually, Irish weather forecast digested along with breakfast, the radio was turned off.

“What time is Niamh here?” my father enquired.

“About 8,” my mother responded. “She’ll call here first then pick up Ciara.”

I looked at the clock; 7:10am.

“I’d better get moving so” I remarked and started to clear off the table. In slack times on the farm, such as now when we were well into winter, the general understanding was that whoever cooked did not clean up, so I expected that my mother and I would be responsible on this occasion.

“No, leave that, we’ve still got work to do on you!”

My mother and father had the morning planned out. I was sent to wash my teeth with a warning not to mess up the paint job on my face, then back to the chair to have my lips done and my hair, finally released from the shower-cap, fluffed up by hand and sprayed. Clip-on earrings attached, I was told to look at myself in the mirror. This time I was prepared so I managed a nonchalant “Thanks Mum, nobody will recognise me now!”. I was trying to present my reaction as an appreciation for a good disguise job, which in a way it was, rather than as a transformation into someone that I was increasingly at home with. My mother went to her own room and returned with her perfume. Same procedure, a spray on the wrist, rub them together, then dry behind the ears. I was far too young for such an expensive perfume.

I headed to my bedroom, took off my dressing gown and donned the tan tunic-dress and brown ankle boots. The dress took time to button up, the buttons being, for me, on the “wrong” side. Again, a sneaky look into my mirror…

“Yes, you look quite the young lady.”

My mother had caught me admiring myself. She handed me my sister’s brown coat which came down to my knees and was a little loose on the shoulders.

“You won’t need it in the car”.

I took the coat off and was handed a small brown shoulder bag, again purloined from my sister’s room. My mother took me through its contents: tissues, an inhaler (I was/am mildly asthmatic), cash in an internal zippered section, mainly in €5 notes, some coins in a separate zippered section, and a very small transparent zippered plastic bag with lip pencil, lipstick and lip gloss, and a small, airline-style, travel spray bottle with some of her perfume.

“The Twins will help you redo your lipstick after you eat, and take it easy on the perfume; just reapply after lunch.”

She showed me how to wear the bag across my body instead of just hanging off a shoulder in case some “knacker” tried to snatch it.

“They’re on the way.”

My father had seen the lights of Niamh’s Landcruiser coming down the hill from her house to the road… ETA approx five minutes.

I slung the bag across my body as shown by my mother and gathered the coat into my left arm. My father gently lifted the coat from my arm and put some banknotes into an inside pocket and zipped it up. He returned the coat to me.

“Never keep all your money together,” he warned. “If the knackers grab your bag, they should never get more than half!”

“Thanks Dad.”

“And don’t come home with any boyfriends; you’re far too young for that!”

“Stop teasing him!”

My mother didn’t clarify whether she thought he was teasing me on the grounds of my youth, or gender!

The Landcruiser pulled into our driveway and came to a shuddering stop; Niamh was a terrible driver. I walked carefully, never having worn anything other than flat shoes before, out the door of our house and joined the Twins, both in the back seat. They must have shared our opinion of their mother’s driving. My mother spoke to Niamh briefly and gave her an envelope which she slipped into her bag on the seat beside her. We drove off to Ciara’s house and, having no choice, Ciara occupied the front seat, clipped on her seat belt and crossed herself. This was not entirely unusual; many country people performed this religion inspired act at the start of any journey, more now as a habit than from any deep religious devotion.

“Come on Ciara, she’s not that bad”.

Aoife was using Ciara’s apparent request to the Divinity for a safe passage as an opportunity to tease her mother. Ignoring the banter, Ciara twisted around in the seat, looked at me and said:

“So, what do we call our new girlfriend? You never introduced yourself last night!”

As the Landcruiser snaked down the road leading from the Black Valley to the main road to Ballymore, with three girls looking expectantly into my face, and Niamh listening as she drove, I gave myself a new name, my new name.

“What about Aisling?”

“That’s a lovely name” Niamh responded from the driver’s seat. “What does it mean?”

The Twins, though technically exempt from having to study Irish on the grounds of not having studied it in Primary School, had both opted to learn the language; Niamh herself was working her way through a CD course. They still weren’t as fluent as Ciara and I, and it was Ciara who responded.

“It means a Dream.”

“That’s lovely”. The Twins had given another unnerving demonstration of their ability to say the same thing at the same time, as if controlled by a single mind.

“Why Aisling?”, Niamh asked as she slowed down before turning onto the main road.

“I just thought of it now”, I lied. Truth told, I had thought of the name last night.

Yes this was a dream, in a number of ways. Certainly, a dream as in the experience of a sense of unreality: Am I dreaming?

Possibly more accurately for me, it was also a dream in the sense of my being in the process of achieving something that I really longed to get, in the same way as an athlete dreams of winning a gold medal. I had no idea where this dream had originated, what it meant or where it would lead, but it was a part of who I was becoming.

“Just now, hmmm”, Niamh responded thoughtfully. “Nice name. Just remember it when one of us calls you!”

We were living at that time at the tail end (pun intended) of our Celtic Tiger years, though none of us knew it at the time, and the investment in roads had paid off. We quickly joined the main Galway Road near an airport that everyone had thought of as an old priest’s folly until it succeeded as a business venture, and were driving into Galway around 9:15am, in light Saturday morning traffic. Niamh was to drop us at a shopping centre, visit her art dealer, and collect us by 11:30am. The back of the Landcruiser was packed with paintings. We were to look and NOT buy. We would check out the town centre when she returned, then lunch, then down to serious shopping!

Niamh pulled into the shopping centre carpark, occupying two car spaces, and turfed us all out. I remembered to grab my coat as Saoirse playfully pushed me out the door. The Landcruiser drove off and I momentarily froze: Panic had returned. Saoirse took my bag from across my shoulder, Aoife and Ciara helped me on with my coat, Saoirse returned my bag to its rightful place and the Twins, taking an arm each, got me walking towards the shops. Once underway, Saoirse continued to link me and Aoife linked Ciara as we wandered into the shopping centre. I needed the link; I was still learning how to walk in the kitten heels.

Shopping with the girls was a new experience: For me, this had always been a utilitarian affair, even yesterday’s foray to Ballyhowan with my mother. Something needed, go to shop, select, fit, purchase, job done! Now, we flitted from shop to shop, looking, admiring, visualising, holding dresses on hangers in front of ourselves as we looked in the mirror. We decided that we needed matching, though not necessarily identical, outfits. Mini-skirts or mini-dresses were taken as a given. Having practiced in these, we would all, me included, have felt it impossible to envisage a different style of dress. Some outfits were selected as possibles; I asked if we should make notes so that we would remember these.

“We’ll remember!”

The Twins, in unison again.

As we wandered around my eye was drawn to a mannequin dressed in a white tight mini skirt and a small, white bolero style jacket worn over a salmon-pink sweetheart top.

“Are we doing the Egyptian song?” I asked, meaning “Walk like an Egyptian” by the Bangles.

“Not sure”, Ciara responded. “Why?”

“That outfit would be perfect for it. Remember the pictures in our Geography book? All the men are wearing white minis.”

“The lads would love to see us wearing that! You’re getting good at this Aisling”.

The Twins had drifted up behind us; I think it was Aoife who had spoken.

I blushed under my make-up.

“I just thought it fitted in with the song, that’s all.”

Eventually, that shopping centre checked out, we decided to get a coke in a small corner snack bar and wait for Niamh. First, the bathroom. Again, it was Saoirse who grabbed my arm when I turned towards the wrong door and we all trooped into the Ladies. Business done, quietly in my case at least, make-up examined, lips touched up, mine by Saoirse who appeared to have adopted me for this trip, and off to the snack-bar.

I offered to get the cokes while the girls grabbed a booth and carried the four bottles and glasses on a tray to the table. Aoife got out of her seat to let me move inside her. I thought that it would have made more sense for her to slide in and leave me on the outside, but I didn’t mention this and just slid in myself, remembering to smooth down the back of my dress as I sat down. The three girls were a little giggly and eventually I asked what was going on. Saoirse, sitting opposite me, winked and indicated to her left, my right, with a slight inclination of her head and swivel of her eyes. I looked across at the table opposite us, occupied by three lads who looked to be just a little older that the Twins. Their full attention was being given to Aoife’s legs, which she had crossed outside the table support which would otherwise have hidden them. I grinned, pretending to understand the joke, but in reality I was mystified. I fully understood that the lads would look at her legs: I didn’t understand why she would make a point of displaying them. I had a lot to learn about girls.

Cokes finished, we headed out to the carpark to wait for Niamh, much to the lads’ disappointment I’m sure. Niamh arrived on time, and did her usual crash landing in the Landcruiser, picking us up on a double yellow line. All the artwork was now cleared from the back so presumably had met with the approval of the dealer. We drove to the centre of town, parked in a school carpark opened on weekends to supplement the school’s income, and headed towards Shop Street for another round of checking out the stores. As there was a lot of ground to cover, we split into two groups, Saoirse with me, Aoife with Ciara, and Niamh flitting between the two teams. We had an agreed time and rendezvous and eventually all joined up again at the corner of Eglington Street. There was one in-town shopping arcade left to check before we all sat down for a pizza in Milano’s.

Decision time was upon us. As we tucked into our pizza and cokes, we discussed the merits of the various outfits that we had seen that morning. My suggestion of the white mini and bolero jacket found some favour but was eventually overtaken by a dress, or rather a series of dresses, which Ciara and Aoife had found on their side of Shop Street. These were mid-thigh, half sleeved, flared dresses, V-necked at front and back, and in a variety of colours. This would enable us to have stage outfits that would be matching, but different.

We headed off to inspect, and were delighted with the find. It only remained to pick out who would wear what colour. I was quickly nominated for Electric Green; by common consent it went best with my vulpine coloured hair. Ciara got Lipstick Red, Aoife Electric Blue, and Saoirse Sunburst Yellow. The dresses were very short and were paired with matching “Bridget Jones” big knickers as they were practically guaranteed to flip up. The shop assistant, mentally adding up the commission, was all over us. Sizes selected, we were practically carried to the changing room…

Oooops… this was a modern girls’ changing room… all in together, no cubicles. We all had to undress and don our new dresses together. The Twins quickly stripped down to their bras and tights-over-panties while I tried to look away. Ciara was somewhere beyond them changing while she faced the wall. I went to do the same and felt a tap on my shoulder. Saoirse whispered in my ear:

“It’s OK; they don’t bite!”

I looked around; she was standing beside me, still in her bra, holding her dress.

“Huh?” I wasn’t sure what she meant.

She draped the dress over her left arm, caught both her boobs in her hands, over her bra, slightly lifted them.

“These, they won’t bite you. You’ll have to get used to changing with us.”

She was whispering as there were some other, older, girls, in the changing room but they paid no attention to us. She winked at me and stepped back to slip on her dress. I unbuttoned my cord dress, somewhat clumsily as unused to the opposite side buttons, slipped it off and hung it up. Saoirse, already dressed, helped me into my “Showdress” and zipped it up the back. My cami showed slightly at the front as the V-neck went down just a little bit too far but the straps didn’t show, nor did the back.

All attired, we stepped out to be inspected. Niamh smiled. The dresses were as good as bought. Ciara was given a smaller size to try on and we all milled around as she went back into the changing room.

“Those dark tights really kill that dress”.

Niamh was looking at my brown knitted tights. The Twins were wearing Nude tights, the cold being kept at bay by knee boots.

The Shop Assistant’s eyes lit up with Euro signs. While we were changing Niamh had briefly told her that we were picking out stage outfits, and, even with the 25% discount that Niamh had pretty much insisted on, she was going to do well out of us today.

“They’ll need a few pairs each, nude, sheen?”

It was half a question, half a suggestion. Niamh and the shop assistant went over to the hosiery area and started to go through the sample bundles attached to each row. Ciara came back out; the dress fitted this time but, as she was also wearing dark tights and I had to agree with Niamh’s assessment as to the unsuitability of these. The Twins drifted over to the hosiery area to add their input to the discussions between Niamh and the shop assistant. I remembered that there was money in my coat pocket and went back into the changing room, retrieved the cash and put it into my bag which I, like the other three girls, had kept with me.

When I got back out, it became apparent that the decision was to go with nude tights, three pairs each, as opposed to trying to match the individual dresses. It had also been decided to go for brown, mid-heeled court shoes, the Twins preference for higher shoes being overruled on the grounds that both Ciara and I would likely fall over if we tried to wear them! Before going over to the shoe section of the store, Ciara and I were instructed to change our heavy tights for nude ones as this would impact both the fitting and appearance of any shoes that we would be trying on. Saoirse came to help me, taking a pair of white cotton gloves from her bag. She opened the packaging on the tights for me while I put on the gloves, took off my warm heavy tights and put them into my coat pocket. She showed me how to scrunch up each leg in turn to get into the tights easily and work them up my legs gently so as not to snag or ladder them. I had already worked out how best to don tights; the gloves were a useful innovation for me. I hesitated when it came to the top and I had to lift the skirt of my dress to pull the tights over my knickers. Saoirse leaned over and whispered in my ear:

“We’ll just get used to this; it’s not like we’re not wearing something!”

I pulled up the dress and the tights. We exited the changing room, still holding onto our bags, to be sent back in along with Aoife. Niamh had decided that we should be wearing the matching knickers when trying on the shoes, as some accidental “flashing” was inevitable. Again, I had a moment of panic before I realised that the girls were pulling these on over their tights. I had wondered what the point of these knickers was if worn under tights; now I understood.

The sales assistant handed us over to the “shoe lady”: Tan shoes with an ankle strap, were fairly quickly selected. Niamh and the shoe lady agreed that we were less likely to accidentally step out of these on stage. There only remained the fitting: Ciara, and more especially me, had some difficulty with the height as we walked around to test the fit but we managed well enough. The Twins flounced and pirouetted as if on the catwalk.

Shoes bought, and just as we were about to repair to the changing room to get back into our own clothes and pack away our purchases, Niamh was approached by the manager and a woman carrying a professional looking camera. He introduced her as the proprietor of the camera shop next door and he had taken the liberty, with Niamh’s permission of course, of asking her to get some pictures of the four of us wearing the kaleidoscope of matching dresses. The Twins beamed in anticipation. Niamh moved away slightly with the manager and photographer and engaged in some discussion; Aoife and Saoirse took the opportunity to start to rehearse Ciara and I in poses. Eventually Niamh came back to us and said that she had agreed to let the pictures be taken for use in the shop and in the local newspaper only. In return, she got a further 25% discount, meaning that we were getting the entire outfits at half-price.

The photographer busied herself with setting up the camera and a light while Niamh brought us all into the changing room for some hair fluffing and touching up of make-up. The Twins had to change into new tights to match those that Ciara and I were wearing. I had to exchange my cami, which showed at the front of my dress, for a bra that the shop assistant brought into the changing room. Apparently it was needed to "fill out" the front of the dress.

Eventually, ready or not, we all traipsed out of the changing room and engaged in a bit of a game with the photographer as she moved us around to get what for her was the best colour pattern. Eventually, happy with the result, she asked us for a pose. Aoife took over and, along with Niamh, got us individually into a semblance of a pose before resuming her own place in the line-up. Ciara had to hold her hands in a way to hide her nails; she was the only one not to have them done and I felt rather sorry for her. Some shots taken, a different location, a different pose, repeat, … the whole process took over an hour and it was closing time by the time we’d finished. I was exhausted, Ciara likewise, the Twins energised! We all went back to the dressing room while Niamh paid for the purchases. Our stage dresses were carefully folded, shoes returned to boxes, tights changed and we were ready for home.

We carried our boxes to the Landcruiser and lurched away. I sat in the front this time; it was only fair to Ciara but I missed being in the back with the rest of the girls. We had one last stop, at a small Middle Eastern shop in a rather decrepit mini mall on the outskirts of town, where I picked up the assortment of teas which my mother blended together to make our unique home brew. Back on the road, we chatted for a while, before all drifting off to sleep… except Niamh, of course!

I awoke to the crunch of tyres on gravel which signified that we had arrived at Ciara’s house. We agreed to meet for a dress rehearsal the following morning at 10am in the barn. Ciara thanked Niamh and disappeared into her house. I was dropped off next, thanked Niamh, collected my boxes of tea and got out. It was cold after the warmth of the car and I was glad to get into the coziness of our kitchen.

My parents were both there, part chatting, part watching television: My mother turned down the sound when I came in. I deposited my load of tea on the kitchen table and headed to my bedroom to change my ankle boots for the slippers that we normally wore inside, and hang up my coat. I never thought to change out of the dress; it just seemed normal now. My mother kicked off the inquisition.

“How did you get on?”

I gave a reasonable account of the day, not mentioning of course the little episode when Aoife was teasing the boys with her legs. My mother was disappointed that I had not brought my dress in so that she could see it; we had agreed that the stage outfits should stay in Niamh’s house where they would be available for a dress rehearsal. My father’s eyebrow lifted when I described the photo shoot, but he nodded in apparent approval when he heard that Niamh had secured a 50% discount.

I was nodding off so we had our cocoa and scones and I headed off to bed.

I dreamed that I heard my father and mother talking…

“What will we say if someone sees whatever picture was taken of him?”

“It’s OK”, my mother responded. “No-one will recognize him… if they do we’ll say it’s his cousin from Knocknacarrig. After the concert we can say that it was just part of the act...”