The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘Mr Nibbles,’ her big eared son piped up.

  ‘Mr Nibbles.’ The name came out sounding clipped and sharp.

  ‘Well, you’ve been hard to get hold of now that you’re working full time and he’s talked about nothing else since November. I didn’t think you’d mind, knowing how much he had his heart set on it.’ Colin looked so pleased with himself her poor pinched toes burned with the urge to put the boot in, hard.

  ‘You’re not mad are you, Mummy?’

  Roisin realised she had a choice here. She could be mean Mammy who wouldn’t let her son have his heart’s desire, a pet gerbil, for Christmas. Not a lot to ask for in the scheme of things, or she could embrace the fact she would be sharing her home from now on with Mr Nibbles. Colin had already pipped her at the post present wise and the thought of that saw her lips force themselves into a smile. ‘Of course not, sweetheart. It’s just that we’re going on the aeroplane to Dublin tomorrow. I think Daddy might have forgotten about that because we won’t be able to take Mr Nibbles with us. The airline won’t let us, Noah.’

  Noah’s bottom lip jutted out and began trembling.

  ‘Daddy didn’t forget, Roisin, I rang the airline and checked and Mr Nibbles can travel as checked baggage so long as he has the proper cage, which he does. So, there’s no problem.’

  ‘There’s no problem, Mummy,’ Noah echoed.

  ‘Ah, but it would be very traumatic for him.’ Roisin did not want to take Mr Nibbles to Dublin. What if the little fecker had a heart attack mid-air? Noah would be beside himself and Christmas would be ruined. Besides, Mammy had a thing about small furry things ever since she’d had that encounter with a bold mouse who’d tickled her hair when she was sleeping. She’d thought their daddy was being friendly in the middle of the night and it was only when she realised he was snoring his head off that it couldn’t have been him playing with her hair, and if it wasn’t him then who was it? All hell had let loose, she’d charged around the apartment with the vacuum cleaner hose in the wee hours trying to get it and swearing she’d not sleep another wink ever again until she had proof he was gone. She and Aisling had thought it hilarious and tormented her something wicked by leaving a cat’s toy mouse out in the most unexpected of places. No, Mammy couldn’t be doing with a gerbil.

  ‘He only has a teeny-tiny heart, Noah, and going on a big plane would be very frightening.’

  ‘My friend, Marjorie, from the Knitters who Natter, travels with her Chihuahua, Petal, over to Ireland all the time, her daughter’s over there.’ Elsa joined in on the great Mr Nibbles debate waving her hand dismissively. ‘Petal loves air travel.’

  ‘Yes, but a chihuahua and a gerbil are two very different things,’ Roisin pointed out, not quite believing she was having this discussion.

  ‘Well,’ Colin said, and there was something about the way in which he looked like he was playing poker and was about to lay down a royal flush that put Roisin on high alert. ‘You can’t expect Noah to be parted from Mr Nibbles when he’s only just got him, Roisin, and if you’re really not happy about him flying then Noah and the gerbil could always stay here with me and Mummy for the week.’

  Arse! He had her over a barrel.

  ‘Mummy?’ Noah looked uncertain, torn between wanting to be with Mr Nibbles and the thought of not being with his mummy and seeing his other nana, and Aunty Aisling and Aunty Moira.

  ‘Ah, well now, I’m sure he’ll be fine but, Noah, he’s your responsibility. That’s what having a pet is all about.’

  Noah nodded and began telling Mr Nibbles all about the Irish side of the family he would meet tomorrow.

  ‘Right, that’s settled. A lot of unnecessary fuss about nothing, I say.’ Elsa sniffed. ‘Now, who’s for a game of charades?’

  Chapter 5

  Dublin’s Arrivals hall was a shifting mass of bodies. Several planes had landed and disgorged their passengers simultaneously and Roisin told Noah to stay by her side as she grabbed an empty trolley. She was sorely tempted to ram a few pushy, shovey types in the back of the legs with it as she navigated their way through their fellow travellers, most of whom didn’t seem to be filled with the Christmas spirit just yet. Air travel could do that to a person, Roisin mused, looking for their carousel. ‘That’s us over there, come on, Noah. Here hop on.’ Noah balanced on the trolley and she wheeled in close to the conveyer belt to wait for the bags and one very special gerbil to begin trundling around.

  ‘Mummy.’ Noah clambered off the trolley and tugged at her coat sleeve. ‘Will Nana be back to normal or will she still have clown hair and a big cast on her foot?’ He wanted to be prepared this time, Roisin realised as the carousel suddenly rumbled into life. Poor love had been disturbed by his Nana’s Bo Derek braids and casty foot the last time he’d seen her. To be fair she hadn’t looked much better once she’d had the braids unplaited either; she’d been left with a cloud of hair akin to Ronald McDonald’s. Noah had been very standoffish with his imposter Nana and she’d had to resort to base line bribery in the form of chocolate and sweets to win him around.

  ‘She’s all back to normal,’ Roisin reassured her son, leaning on the trolley, well as close to normal as Mammy was ever likely to get at any rate. The state of her hair and foot on their last visit was down to her having just arrived home from her mammy-daughter trip with Moira to Vietnam. The country was on Mammy’s bucket list due to her desire to sail on a junk. They’d all thought she was mad when she announced she was going there and poor Moira had found herself roped in for the journey. As it happened the pair of them had a great time apart from an ill-fated hike which had resulted in Mammy’s broken ankle, and as for the braids, well she’d had no excuse for that other than it had looked the part at the time.

  Roisin shuddered at the memory of Mammy driving them all demented as she issued orders from the sofa with her big casty foot resting on the coffee table. She’d even had to help Mammy off the loo after she’d dropped her crutches. Scarred, she was, scarred she thought, shaking the visuals away. She’d only had a few weeks of it, but poor Aisling and Moira had been ready to send her back to Vietnam with a “do not return” sticker by the time she finally got the plaster off and could go home to fend for herself. The first of the cases bounced past, a welcome distraction, and Noah pushed ahead to peer around the legs of a man in a suit trying to see if there was any sign of Mr Nibbles.

  ‘Do you think he’ll be alright, Mummy?’ he tossed back over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes, bound to be.’ Roisin had prayed the entire flight that he would be.

  ‘He’s coming, Mummy!’ Noah jiggled up and down on the spot, knocking suit man who gave him the kind of look that was alright for a mammy and daddy to give their child but not for a stranger and Roisin resisted the urge to trolley ram once more. Self-important eejit she muttered to herself as she too spied the handle of the cage just visible above the rucksack currently doing the rounds. She eyed her son, recognising the jiggle. She’d been caught out on many occasions by it, usually when they were miles from any sort of a convenience. ‘Do you need a wee-wee before we leave the airport? Because now’s the time to say if you do, Noah, not when we’re halfway to your nana’s and there’s nowhere to go.’

  ‘No, I don’t, I just want Mr Nibbles.’ He pushed forward again receiving another look and she took action yanking him back. ‘It’s rude to push in. Let me get him off and then you can be in charge of him.’

  The cage trundled closer and she readied herself sending up a quick prayer that the gerbil be alive and well before sidling in alongside the suit man, giving him an accidental shove on purpose before hoisting the cage off. She handed it to her son who took it from her reverently. ‘I can see our case, wait a sec, once I’ve got it, we’ll move out the way and you can check on Mr Nibbles,’ she instructed.

  How was it the case felt heavier heaving it off the conveyer than it had when she’d heaved it on the weighing scale at Heathrow? One of life’s mysteries, Roisin decided, moving away from the throng sti
ll waiting to retrieve their luggage. She came to a standstill. ‘Alright, Noah, let’s see how he’s doing.’ She watched, breath held, as he set the cage down before carefully removing the cover. She exhaled as a pair of unblinking eyes stared up at them, a piece of lettuce clutched between two teeny front paws. She’d half expected to find the gerbil flat on his back, tiny legs rigid in the air and the relief of it all made her want to track down the Aer Lingus pilot and thank him for being such a good pilot and giving them a smooth flight.

  Noah was inspecting the cage. ‘He’s done lots of poo, Mummy.’

  ‘Ah well now, he’s regular that’s all. It’s down to all those greens you’ve been feeding him. Plenty of roughage, like I’m always after telling you.’

  ‘But I don’t want to poo all the time. That’s why I don’t eat my broccoli.’

  Ah the way a five-year-old’s brain worked was a wonderous thing indeed, Roisin thought, debating whether to spiel off her broccoli is a superfood speech but then she remembered where she was and who would be doing a jiggle dance akin to Noah’s if they didn’t get a move on. ‘C’mon with you, Nana will be waiting.’ He picked up the cage once more and they trundled over to join the end of the snaking line filing through customs. It was moving swiftly which meant everybody was behaving themselves today, apart from the family of four who were now at the front of the queue. The mammy and the daddy were arguing over the organisation of their cases on the trolley which were tottering like a Jenga stack as they moved forward. They stood out, thanks to their tomato glow, and Roisin knew if Mammy were with her, she’d rush on up and tell them to get themselves a tube of the E45 cream. She wouldn’t be able to help herself because just as the Bible was to the Christian, the E45 cream was to Mammy when it came to the first sign of anyone’s skin erupting in anything red. She’d slathered them in the stuff if they’d caught too much sun or had any sort of a rash threating to make an appearance when they were small.

  ‘Mummy, why’s that man getting shouted at by that lady got mouse ears on? He looks silly.’

  ‘I think they’ve been to Disneyland, Noah. You know where Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck live.’ She didn’t add and where eejits like yer man there who are old enough to know better come home with chronic sunburn and a pair of fecking mouse ears perched on his head. Impatience was making her snarky and she practised her breathing until at last the Mouseketeer family were waved through and the line began to shorten once more. Finally, it was their turn.

  ‘Mummy, should we have got Mr Nibbles a passport?’ Noah asked as they approached the booth.

  ‘No, son, he’s grand.’ She smiled at the customs man expecting him to smile back indulgently at her boy’s sweet concern for his pet. He didn’t. He was all business as he took the burgundy booklets from her while Noah held the cage up proudly to show him. He was too busy scrutinising Roisin’s dodgy passport photo to notice Noah jiggling away desperate to get a look in. A frown Roisin fancied as one of suspicion was embedded between a pair of brows that for some reason made her think of Brooke Shields back in the day and thinking of Brooke Shields made her think of Mammy, not that there was any resemblance whatsoever but because as a teenager she’d been desperate to see The Blue Lagoon. Mammy had forbidden her from going even though she’d been fifteen nearly sixteen at the time. ‘It’s for your own good, Roisin, you’d only have to tell Father Fitzpatrick that you’re after going to see a pornographic film in the confession. Kate Finnegan says there’s boobies and yer man Christopher you’re so keen on flashes his winky, a lot.’ Roisin hadn’t though that telling her mammy that was why she wanted to see the film would sway the odds in her favour. She never had gotten to see Christopher Atkins’ winky, she lamented now as Mr Customs, who she saw upon inspection was called Declan, eyed her before returning to his passport scrutiny. She could hear someone cough and imagined a great deal of impatient shuffling going on in the queue behind them.

  ‘Is something the matter, Declan?’ Yes, it was bold of her being on first name terms with a man who had the power to stop her entering her own country but sure they were all Irish, weren’t they? He didn’t look up and she began to feel guilty. Of what, she wasn’t sure but a sweat broke out on her forehead further incriminating her, nonetheless. Okay, so she’d blinked and the half-opened eyes she was sporting in the picture he was studying along with lank hair she should have washed before getting the photo taken but had been in too much of a big, disorganised rush to do so wasn’t the best. She’d hold her hand up to understanding that she had the look of someone who might have a kilo of the hard stuff strapped to their person in it but, all he had to do was look at her face to see she’d struggle to smuggle in so much as an extra carton of cigarettes, if she smoked that was. The seconds ticked by with him not answering her and just as she was about to throw herself on his mercy and shout, ‘I’m innocent!’ He snapped her passport shut and slid them both back to her. Noah seized his chance.

  ‘This is Mr Nibbles, my gerbil, I only got him yesterday he’s coming with me and Mum to stay with Nana and my aunties for Christmas.’

  At last Declan turned his attention to the jiggling lad. ‘Ah well now, I’m sure they’ll be looking forward to meeting yer man there.’ He leaned down from his perch and peered into the cage. ‘Hello there, Mr Nibbles, did you have a good flight?’

  Roisin wondered if he’d get through the rest of his shift without the two buttons stretched over his middle pinging off and Jaysus, now that she looked properly, the poor man had a nasty case of razor burn going on there, so he did. She was pleased Mammy was on the other side of the wall because if she saw the state of his neck, she’d be recommending the E45 cream to him too.

  ‘It was his first time on an aeroplane and he’s gone and done a lot of poo,’ Noah explained earnestly. ‘Mummy says it’s because of all the greens he eats which is why I don’t eat my broccoli but I think he was scared of being up in the sky.’

  Declan looked a little taken aback at the turn the conversation had taken. It wasn’t every day he encountered a little boy with a broccoli aversion whose mother looked like a hardened drug smuggler in her passport photo along with a gerbil that had shat himself because he was frightened of flying.

  ‘Ah well then, best you get on your way to your nana’s house so you can sort the poor fella out. A Merry Christmas to you both.’ He waved them through and Roisin heard a smattering of applause behind her. She didn’t look back as she said, ‘And to you,’ before heading for the sliding doors of freedom.

  Mammy had informed Roisin over the telephone when they’d gotten home yesterday that she would wear a bright yellow sweater and black chinos so as to be easily identifiable. Her tone had been hushed as though she were a spy in the cold war. Indeed, she’d told Roisin she’d seen a very good film the night before called From Russia with Love. She was always very easily influenced, was Mammy.

  ‘But, Mammy,’ Roisin had said. ‘It’s Dublin airport, it’s not exactly JFK. I’ll be able to find you.’

  ‘It’s busy this time of the year, Rosi. You’ll thank me for it. Yellow sweater, remember that, and you’ll be grand.’

  ‘Look for a yellow sweater, Noah.’

  ‘There, Mum, over there.’

  She followed the line of her son’s finger and spotted her mammy jumping up and down waving out. She was a busy bee with swishy dark hair in a garden of weary travellers, Roisin thought poetically. Mammy was right she was grateful for her sunny colour scheme. She always felt sorry for people who walked through those doors and had no one waiting to greet them. Although, she thought waving back, she’d want to stop with the star jumps or she’d likely have an accident.

  Noah rushed on ahead keen to introduce the newest member of the family. The cage was banging against his leg and Roisin called out for him to slow down even though she knew she was wasting her breath. Poor Mr Nibbles was really being put through the wringer today and once again, she cursed Colin. What had he been thinking? She slowed her pace. It was Noah who’d
been adamant that Mr Nibbles was coming to Dublin so, let him explain to his nana why he had a furry friend in tow.

  Dragging her heels, she witnessed fear followed by horror flashing in her mammy’s eyes as she looked at the cage and shrieked, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Noah, what’s that?’ She looked up then seeking out her daughter and pinned her down with a set of twin tasers. ‘Roisin Quealey nee O’Mara, get yourself over here now.’

  Charming, what happened to welcome home, darling? Her mammy’s stinger was definitely out, Roisin thought, knowing there was nowhere to run to. She pulled up alongside her son.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Maureen O’Mara, her face a mottled red, jabbed in the direction of the cage.

  ‘Erm that Noah was bringing Mr Nibbles on holiday?’

  ‘Don’t be clever with me, young lady, it doesn’t suit you. You know what I’m talking about. The rat your son has got in that cage. You do know the plague was started by rats, don’t you? Dirty, filthy, vermin.’ She shivered for effect.

  ‘Nana!’ Noah was aghast. ‘Mr Nibbles isn’t a rat, he’s a gerbil and he’s very nice. Look,’ he held the cage up as high as he could and Maureen jumped back with a shriek.

  ‘Get it away from me!’

  ‘Mammy get a grip of yourself,’ Roisin hissed, embarrassed by the stares they were garnering. ‘It’s a gerbil like Noah said. He can’t hurt you.’

  ‘It’s small and furry with big teeth, what’s the difference?’

  ‘He’s a mammal, not a rodent,’ Roisin said. She’d looked it up knowing the information would come in handy but she hadn’t expected to have to drop it in before they’d even left the airport.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to be responsible for Pooh. He might think your gerbil rat there is a new toy.’ Pooh was Maureen’s poodle. It was down to Roisin she had a dog as the last time she’d been in Dublin a friend had been looking to rehome their puppy. Twins and a puppy had not been a good idea, her friend had cried down the telephone, and Roisin having heard her mammy making noises about getting a nice little doggy to keep her company had thought it a great idea for their poodle pup to come and live with Mammy. She’d heard the word “poodle” and pictured a small, yappy little dog that would prance around her mammy’s ankles and sit on her lap to watch Fair City of an evening. Only, it transpired Pooh wasn’t a toy poodle he was a standard and was now four times the size he’d been when Roisin had last seen him. She knew Mammy had made concerted efforts to change the pups name from Pooh upon adoption but he would not answer to anything else and so it had stuck.