HaABBA Birthday, Kathleen!

It’s hard to believe that it’s over 50 years ago since ABBA won the Eurovision with Waterloo in 1974. They may not be Finnish, but are the next best thing, nearby neighbours from Sweden. ABBA is one of the most popular and most successful musical groups of all time.

Last October, to celebrate my daughter's and my niece’s 30th birthdays, a gang of us went to ABBA Voyage, a concert residency featuring ABBA as virtual avatars, which opened in May 2022 in London. It was great fun.

This past weekend, my husband and I came home to Ireland (Killarney) to attend our dear friend Kathleen’s significant 'roundy' birthday at her Abba-themed party. We had a blast. We did make an effort to blend in!

Since attending ABBA Voyage, a piece of flash fiction has been spinning around in my head, so I have finally put a draft on paper. I hope I haven’t breached any copyright laws by using the titles of some well-known ABBA and Rolling Stones songs….

Photo of Disco ball, courtesy of Hayley Lawerence, Unsplash

Flash Fiction: You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Ben, my fiancé, admitted to me once that, when he was young, he dreamed of the day when he would marry his mother. She encouraged his fantasy apparently, telling him what colour suit she’d have him wear, what food they’d have at the reception, what music would play as they walked down the aisle. She even had him practise their first dance together which was to be to ABBA’s Mamma Mia.

            So, when he suggested this would be our first dance at our wedding, I reluctantly agreed to an ABBA song, but I gave him three other options, Take a Chance on Me, Does Your Mother Know? or, because some part of me wanted him to take stock, I also included Knowing Me, Knowing You.

            Typically, Ben said if it wasn’t going to be Mamma Mia, he didn’t want ABBA at all, in any shape or form. We compromised on You Can’t Always Get What You Want by the Stones and we’ve been practising some fancy moves and footwork for the last three weeks. It was the most time we spent together for ages.

My own dad was one cool dude, with his man bun and his leather necklace and silver cross. There’s a photo of me in my Dad’s arms at Curracloe Beach in Wexford the year before he died. Ben looks a tiny bit like him, I think sometimes. Every time I look at the photo, I hear the sound of the sea, Dad’s easy laugh. The smell of the seaweed and the coconut suntan oil on Dad’s shoulders creep into my lungs. The memory of watching him scale and gut the fish before throwing it on the pan makes me hungry.

Now that I reflect on it, Ben is a serious vegan and, apart from his man bun, really is nothing like my Dad. I’m convinced he loves his mother more than he loves me.

Mum gave Dad’s necklace to me last week and suggested I should wear it at my wedding tomorrow. However, I’ve decided there’s really no point in showing up. His mother will enjoy a holiday in Lanzarote with Ben next week much more than I ever would.