The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

by Michelle Vernal

  Pooh tripped over himself in his excitement to get out of his basket.

  ‘I’d watch out if I were you, Mammy.’

  She righted herself quick smart, her face red and mottled with the exertion of it all. ‘Don’t you go getting any ideas.’ She shook her finger at the poodle who skulked back to his basket.

  ‘I might need to wear one of those e-strings under them you girls get about in.’

  Roisin must have looked horrified at the thought because Maureen puffed up, ‘Just because I’m a woman of certain years it doesn’t mean I can’t move with the times, Roisin.’

  ‘To be fair, Mammy. I’m surprised you can move in them at all and I think you mean G-string.’ She narrowed her eyes. She hadn’t counted how many pairs of smalls she’d packed. ‘You better not have—’

  ‘As if I would.’

  Noah interrupted, ‘Nana, you still haven’t said sorry.’ He tapped his foot.

  Maureen chewed her lip, her reluctance to grovel to a gerbil plain for all to see.

  He raised an expectant eyebrow and Roisin choked back a laugh when he said, ‘I haven’t got all day you know.’ He was parodying her giving him a telling off without even realising it.

  Maureen saw the funny side of things and decided to go with it. ‘I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, Mr Nibbles.’

  ‘Mr Nibbles accepts your apology. There now that wasn’t so bad was it. We’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘He’s been here before,’ Maureen said to Roisin. ‘I’m sure of it.’ She sighed. ‘Let me keep the pants and you can use the utility room to clean his cage out.’

  Roisin pulled her son in the direction of the tiny laundry space before she could change her mind. She didn’t want the pants back now anyway. Not now that Mammy had stretched them.

  THE AIR WAS BRACING enough to make Roisin’s eyes water and a battering of stout rain drops were stinging her face. They’d enjoyed a cup of tea and a biscuit and then Mammy had made them rug up like snowmen to take Pooh for his afternoon walk. She was still in the yoga pants. ‘Mammy, slow down,’ she called, but her voice was lost on the salty air. She was holding Noah’s hand tightly as they strode out along the pier. Maureen was grasping Pooh’s leash with a grim determination, the poodle having set off down the long expanse of concrete jutting out to sea at an excitable clip. He was enjoying the briskness of his afternoon outing, his nose snuffling along smelling goodness knows what. Waves crashed either side of them and moored fishing boats bobbed in the frothing waters.

  Roisin had images of her mammy getting airborne if her little legs were to pump any faster. She’d be like a red balloon floating away in that rain jacket of hers, she thought. Noah, wrapped up in his new coat, was holding the plastic bag eagerly awaiting the moment he could use the title his nana had bestowed on him of official pooper scooper. So far so good, all they’d been privy to were numerous incidents of lamppost leg cocking on the walk here. At last Pooh slowed to check out something unidentifiable and Roisin and Noah caught up to Maureen.

  Maureen pointed at the yacht club and shouted over the wind. ‘The Christmas dinner was last Saturday. I wore the red Vietnamese dress. You know the one Moira borrowed the night the three of you went to Quinn’s for dinner in the matching dresses I had made especially for you in Hoi An. Everybody said it looked very well on me. I had a grand time. There was dancing and everything.’

  How could she forget? It was the night she’d met Shay and who would have thought that the Chinese style silk dresses would have such an impact but Aisling’s Quinn had barely been able to keep his hands to himself. Mind he struggled to at the best of times. As Moira was to Tom’s superbly sculpted glutes, so was Quinn to Aisling’s womanly rear. Tom had been rather taken with Moira in Mammy’s red number even if it had hung off her in the places it would have had a stranglehold on Mammy. As for Shay, she didn’t know what he’d thought about her enforced choice of evening wear but she did know there’d been a connection between them. Would she see him while she was here, or wouldn’t she? Did she leave it to fate or did she call him?

  ‘You’ve a daft look on your face.’ Maureen peered at her daughter from under the hood of her raincoat.

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘You have. Roisin, I’ve raised three daughters and I know that look. You’ve a man on your mind so you have.’

  Roisin glanced guiltily at her son but he too was engaged in examining whatever the unspeakable thing Pooh was so interested in was and out of earshot. He’d adjusted to his new living arrangement but a new man on the scene was a different thing entirely, it was far too early to introduce anyone else into his life. Come to that she was getting so far ahead of herself where Shay was concerned it was ridiculous. Mammy read her mind.

  ‘Is it yer man, Shay? You know, the grandson of the auld fella Noah was after tormenting the last time you were over.’

  Noah had enjoyed a rambunctious game of knock on the door and run away with Reggie, Shay’s estranged grandfather who’d been staying in Room 1 at O’Maras. The story had a happy ending, not for Noah—he’d had to apologise, but for Shay and his granddad who’d met for the first time. It was a new beginning before the end, because Reggie was terminally ill, but at least they’d had the chance to connect and get to know one another. She wondered how they were getting on, how Reggie was. He’d been a cantankerous old sod, made bitter by life but she’d seen past that and had liked him. She’d liked his grandson more but that was beside the point.

  Roisin didn’t say anything but Mammy looked jubilant as she prodded her in the chest. ‘A-ha. It is. Moira was after telling me you were panting after him at Quinn’s. I wasn’t sure if it was just Moira making something out of nothing what with you and Colin only just having parted ways. But,’ she jabbed at her again, ‘I can tell by the way you look shifty. You had that same look on your face when you told me you’d found a job in the entertainment industry.’

  ‘I had, though.’ Roisin had lost count of how many times she’d protested this particular point.

  ‘Roisin, wearing next to nothing and prancing your way around the city’s nightspots while handing out free alcopops is not working in the entertainment industry.’

  ‘Mammy, you make it sound seedy and it wasn’t a bit like that. It was all about being entertaining as we promoted the product and the product happened to be sold in nightclubs.’ Actually, it was quite a lot like that but it was a long time ago now and sure look at her these days—a mammy and a secretary in an accountancy firm. You couldn’t get more respectable than that.

  ‘Hmm, you did far too much promoting of your product in my opinion.’

  They were getting off track, and what were Noah and Pooh so fascinated by? She moved closer, deciding it looked like some sort of dead mollusc. She winced as Pooh licked it and made a note not to let him near her. It was time for a subject change.

  ‘So, you had dinner with the boatie brigade, that’s nice.’

  Maureen had taken sailing lessons last summer and loved to tell people she was a member of the Howth Sailing Club. Though, Roisin thought, looking at the wistful look on her face as she gazed out at the churning water, to be fair Mammy had been very brave. She’d tackled life head on after their daddy died what with moving out of O’Mara’s, joining any club that would have her, trying new things and going on an Asian adventure. It was her way of finding her way without her husband at her side. The need to tell her how she felt swelled up in her like the surging waters on either side of them.

  ‘Mammy, I’m very proud of you. I know I haven’t told you that before, but I am.’

  Maureen looked startled. ‘Where did that come from?’

  Roisin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s true though.’

  ‘Well, I’m proud of you too, Roisin.’

  Roisin’s eyes inexplicably filled. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Of course, I am.’ Maureen spotted the telltale glistening in Roisin’s eyes. ‘Ah now, don’t be silly, c’mere and have a cuddle.’ Mammy
pulled her into a damp embrace and Roisin sniffed. So much had happened this year, so many changes, but she’d survived just as Mammy had. She looked past her mammy’s shoulder and her eyes widened at the sight of Pooh frolicking around a woman in a turquoise rain jacket. A camera was in her hand and on the breeze floated what she was guessing was a Scandi version of ‘feck off with you’.

  ‘Mammy?’ Roisin pulled away from her. ‘You’d best sort Pooh out.’

  Maureen turned just in time to see her pampered pooch joyfully snuffling around the woman’s backside.

  ‘Pooh O’Mara, you cut that out right now you dirty boy!’

  Jaysus wept, thought Roisin, he really was part of the family. She’d have to tell her sisters about this.

  Chapter 8

  Their luck was in because Mammy had sneaked into a parking spot right outside the guesthouse and as they piled out of the car, Roisin glanced up at the red brick Georgian manor house. When she was growing up it had simply been home. Not your average family home granted, but home nonetheless. It was only once she’d moved away to London that she’d truly begun to appreciate how magical O’Mara’s was and how lucky she was to have such a slice of the city’s history in her family. It was part of Noah’s legacy, she mused, feeling oddly poetic.

  Maureen led the way, or rather Pooh did, and Roisin followed herding Noah toward the panelled, blue front door. It was topped by the small windows and white arching crown so typical of the famous Dublin doors in their pocket of the city. An enticing glow emanated through the multiple paned windows next to the door, a welcoming signal to come on in on this cold afternoon. It afforded a glimpse of the spectacular, sparkly Christmas tree inside ensuring no passers-by would be left in doubt that the festive season was upon them.

  The tree was a focal point as soon as you stepped through the door. It was enormous, even bigger than Elsa’s had been and Roisin hoped no tour groups were due to arrive while it stood to attention as it took up a good portion of the foyer. They’d have to line up and wait their turn outside to check in! It was a tree that Father Christmas himself would be proud of she thought, eying it as she bundled in behind Mammy, Pooh and Noah. This seemed to be the natural order of things, that Pooh was by Mammy’s side. She’d been affronted that she’d had to sit in the back of the car with Noah on the ride over while Pooh, got to sit up front. Mammy had said he thought of it as his seat and it wouldn’t be fair to change his routine. She could have sworn the poodle gave her a look that said, ‘You better get used to it, sister, cos it’s the way it’s gonna be.’

  She closed the door to the guesthouse quickly before the polar blast currently whistling down the pavement outside could follow them in. It was only four o’clock but the street lights outside were already on, their glow spilling pools of light onto the damp puddles. A steady stream of homeward bound traffic trickled past the Green.

  Noah’s eyes were out like organ stoppers and his mouth formed a delighted ‘O’ as he stared up at the tree, taking in all the gold blingy decorations dripping from it. Roisin spied his little hand reaching out, unable to resist touching the shiniest of the baubles. The woman responsible for putting this, the most glorious, or ridiculously oversized depending on how you looked at it, tree together, Bronagh, peered over the front desk to see what all the commotion was about. There were two bobbing reindeer on springs attached to the Alice band on her head. They danced about as she shot up from her seat to greet them only to be stopped dead in her tracks by Pooh. He charged for the receptionist, pinning her against the fax machine. She never stood a chance, Roisin thought, as her mammy gave her triceps yet another workout trying to rein him in. A kerfuffle ensued as she tugged him off her. ‘Naughty boy, Pooh. A million apologies, Bronagh. He can’t help himself. The tree looks fabulous—’ Her voice was lost as he dragged her up the stairs.

  Bronagh smoothed her rumpled cardigan and inspected her skirt for signs of muddy paw prints. Finding none she looked at Roisin and shook her head causing a frantic bobbing of the reindeer. ‘Yer mam’s gone soft in the head over that dog. I never thought I’d see the day when Maureen O’Mara was at the beck and call of a poodle. How’re ye, Rosi?’

  She held out her arms for a hug and Roisin stepped into the embrace, smelling her familiar biscuit and hairspray smell as she squeezed her back. ‘I’m grand, Bronagh.’ The older woman released her and studied her face.

  ‘You look well. Your mammy told me you’re doing ever so well with your new flat and job. Good for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ It was nice to know Mammy had been singing her praises. ‘I won’t lie. It hasn’t been easy but it’s getting easier.’

  Bronagh nodded. ‘It’s all very brave of you.’

  Roisin the Brave. She liked how that sounded. It was a much better title than Easy-osi Rosi, she decided, wondering if she could get Mammy to run with it and then, remembering herself, she asked, ‘And how are you, how’s your mam doing?’

  ‘Ah, she’s much the same. We’re looking forward to Christmas day though, it will be a lovely treat to have our dinner with you all.’

  ‘It’s lovely you’re both coming.’ Bronagh and her mammy were as good as family and Bronagh deserved to enjoy Christmas, to put her feet up for the day and have a good meal served up for her in the company of those that cared about her and her mammy. Roisin knew how hard she worked looking after her ailing mammy. In between that and working at O’Mara’s there wasn’t much time left over for anything else in Bronagh’s life. Christmas dinner was to be had in the guesthouse dining room and Aisling had said they could decorate it and give it a festive feel on Christmas Eve before they went to Midnight Mass. There would be mulled wine, she’d added temptingly. Roisin wondered idly if Pooh was invited. Odds were, he would be. The way things were looking he’d probably be at the head of the table.

  Bronagh checked her watch. ‘Nina should be here any minute. I want to do a shop on the way home and if I time it right it shouldn’t be too busy.’

  ‘Is she going home to Spain for Christmas?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. She said something a while back about the airfares being too expensive at this time of year. She’s a lovely girl but she doesn’t give much away.’

  ‘I’d hate to think of her on her own at Christmas.’ Roisin would ask Aisling if their Spanish night receptionist had been included on the Christmas invitation list and if not, she’d be sure to include her. It would be hard to be away from family at this time of year but airfares home would be at premium so she could understand why she was staying put.

  Bronagh nodded her agreement sending the reindeer dancing once more and then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. Her tone implied they were all girls together as she asked, ‘Any word from your fella?’

  Roisin knew exactly to whom she was referring but she decided to play innocent. ‘What fella, Bronagh? You’ve lost me.’

  ‘You know,’ her eyes glazed over, ‘the tall, fine looking musician whose grumpy old granddad stayed with us. The one you had,’ she made inverted finger signs, ‘coffee with.’

  ‘No, sorry, Bronagh, I’m not with you.’

  Bronagh pressed her lips together; she didn’t believe a word of it but looking past Roisin she spied Noah turning one of the gold boxes under the tree over in his hands. ‘You’ll not find much in them, young man. Sure, they’re just there to look pretty. A bit like me, really.’ She patted her jet-black shoulder-length hair and as she chortled away, thoroughly pleased with her little joke, Roisin noticed the telltale zebra stripe down her parting was gone. She’d had her hair done in time for Christmas. It made her pat her own, and wonder whether she should try and book in for a bit of a shampoo and blow-dry. She could do with a good cut, too. Her hair and its upkeep had been at the bottom of her list this last while and she knew it could do with some TLC. Mind you, it would be murder trying to get in anywhere this time of year but you never knew, someone might make a last-minute cancellation. She could always ring Jenny, her old pal from her very
short-lived hairdressing days—she hadn’t been a natural. Jenny owed her. It was her who’d offloaded Pooh on Mammy. Yes, she decided that’s what she’d do.

  Noah put the box down and mooched over toward his mammy with a disappointed expression. What was the point in having a box all done up in bows and ribbons and gold paper with nothing inside it?

  ‘Ah now, no need for that face. You didn’t think I’d let you come all the way from London without having a little something tucked away for you, now did you?’

  The gold box was forgotten as he trotted over to where Bronagh had moved behind her desk. He craned his neck trying to see what it was she was getting out of her drawer. She held whatever it was behind her back. ‘You know your old Aunty Bronagh expects a hug first so I do.’

  Offer him a treat, and he was anybody’s, Roisin thought, looking on as Noah wrapped his padded arms around her generous middle.

  He let her go and looked up at her eagerly.

  ‘Have you been a good boy for your mam?’

  ‘I have.’ Emphatic nodding followed.

  ‘That’s good to hear. Now then don’t make yourself sick on it or your mammy will have words with me.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Noah squealed taking the Terry’s Chocolate Orange. His favourite chocolate in the whole world.

  ‘And remember don’t tap it, whack it,’ Bronagh quoted the old advert and winked over at Roisin. ‘I should tell him not to give you so much as segment of it, keeping secrets from me.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been round the block a few times and I know that look you got on your face when I mentioned his name. It’s the same expression you had when you started seeing that fella with the motorbike your parents couldn’t stand and you’d sneak out to meet him. I’ll find out what the story is. I’ve got my sources you know. Your Moira’s very partial to a Terry’s Chocolate Orange, if my memory serves me rightly.’