‘Now then, before you disappear, what are your resolutions, lads?’ Maureen raised her voice above the din of excited chatter all around them. To her relief when she’d gone back upstairs after waving Carol off nobody had said a word about anything. They’d obviously had a big powwow and decided the best course of action was to say nothing. Well, that was fine by her. She knew her children inside and out and they’d put it aside for tonight but they would not be able to leave it alone for long. In the meantime, she retrieved the page she’d ripped out of a magazine. ‘Because I brought this along.’ She opened it up and smoothed it on the table, ‘It’s an article on the ten most popular New Year’s Resolutions,’ she explained. ‘I’m going to write everybody’s resolutions down and add any from the magazine article I think would do you good.’ This time she was all business as she produced a notebook and pen. ‘And then, in three months, I’m going to quiz you all to see how you’re getting on with sticking to them.’
‘Jaysus, give me strength.’ Moira rolled her eyes.
‘Quinn, you can go first.’ Aisling volunteered him.
Her other half looked pensive, while Aisling looked expectant. Quinn knew it was one of those defining moments whereby if he said the right thing, he might get to see the new year in with a bang but get it wrong and, he mentally shook his head, it didn’t bear thinking about. He chewed his bottom lip, stalling, and then decided to go all out in what his soon-to-be wife called the fecky brown-noser stakes. ‘My resolution is to enjoy every second of my wedding because I want to remember it for the rest of my days.’ Score! he thought, seeing Aisling’s eyes shine but then checking out her lip he wondered if he might catch whatever it was. Best he get back to work, he decided, taking his leave.
All eyes moved to Tom. He’d gotten up from his seat having spotted a table in need of clearing. Moira’s hand had taken the opportunity to grope his backside ‘Um, to study more.’ Moira’s hand dropped. Uh-oh, he thought, scrabbling for the correct answer. ‘Can I have two?’
‘You can.’ Maureen looked up from her scribbling to nod graciously as though she were a judge presiding over her court.
‘Well, my second resolution is to spend more time with my gorgeous girlfriend here.’ The hand went back to the buttock and he got a squeeze of approval.
‘Isn’t that a little hypocritical?’ Aisling asked. ‘How are you going to study more if you’re spending more time with Moira?’
Tom didn’t stick around to answer her.
‘Now then, Shay, you’re on.’ Maureen pointed her pen at him.
‘Ah, that’s easy. To spend as much time with my grandad as I can.’
Roisin raised her glass to him. She knew how much his grandad, with whom he’d only recently reconnected and who was terminally ill, meant to him and, as much as she’d have liked to, there would be no hands on the bottom with her new paramour, not while her son was in their vicinity.
Shay winked at Roisin and said he had to go and warm up his fiddle.
Roisin grinned at him like an idiot and he grinned back at her, also looking like a lovelorn idiot, but Moira broke the spell.
‘Christ on a bike, Rosie, warm up my fiddle? Talk about inuendo. Your man’s all class so he is,’ she said, watching him take his leave and begin to weave his way around the tables to the stage.
‘What’s inuendo?’ Noah asked as Roisin glared at her sister. ‘And what’s Shay’s fiddle like, Mummy? I haven’t seen one before. Is it a big instrument?’
Moira went puce trying not to laugh and Roisin’s wine went down the wrong way.
‘What do you do with a fiddle anyway?’
That was the end of Moira and Aisling had to slap Roisin on the back and pass her a glass of water. While she was trying to compose herself, Maureen intervened, glaring at both of them before ruffling her grandson’s hair. ‘Sure, Noah, don’t mind those two eejits. You go on up to the stage, and ask if you can have a look at his fiddle. Shay won’t mind.’
It was all the excuse Noah needed to get out of his seat and have a wander about.
‘Alasdair? Your turn.’
‘I’m going to learn how to speak French.’
Maureen clapped her hands delightedly. ‘I do like a French accent.’
‘Mon amour,’ he cooed, getting up from his seat and blowing her a kiss goodbye.
‘Bonjour,’ Maureen simpered back in her Irish accent.
‘It’s au revoir, Mammy,’ Roisin supplied, having sorted herself out.
Maureen ignored her. ‘Now then, Patrick, what have you to say for yourself?’
He told them he’d like to eat at home more and Cindy resolved to learn how to cook.
‘What about spending more time with your family? It’s number four on my list here,’ Maureen stabbed at the magazine page.
‘I’m here now, Mammy,’ Patrick replied.
‘I’m still putting it on my list.’ Maureen made a show of writing it down.
‘I’m going next, Mammy,’ Moira said. ‘I resolve to stay off the sauce for another year.’
‘Good for you,’ her sisters chorused.
‘Very good, Moira, but I think we’ll add that you need to save more and spend less, too’ Mammy said, putting pen to paper once more.
Moira scowled.
‘I resolve to qualify as a yoga teacher and find a successful work life balance,’ Roisin offered.
‘All well and good, Rosi,’ Maureen looked up from her note taking, ‘but, number six here suggests being organised. I’ll jot it down, shall I?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘That will help you along your way with your balancing and your yoga, so it will.’
She was still writing when Aisling spoke.
‘Hold your horses, Aisling, I’m not done yet.’
Aisling busied herself arranging her napkin over her empty dessert bowl as though that would render it invisible.
‘Now you can speak.’
‘I’m going to lose weight in time for my wedding.’
‘I’m telling you, Aisling, the Ciccone Scent diet works miracles,’ Cindy chirruped.
Aisling gave her a wan smile and wished she was her sister so she could kick her under the table like she frequently did Rosi and Moira.
‘Hmm.’ Maureen tapped the pen to her lip. ‘Learn to delegate is on the list. Now, that sounds like you, Aisling. I’m going to add that. You need to stop trying to do everything yourself and getting your knickers all knotted. You won’t lose weight until you do that because you know you’re a stress nibbler.’
‘Thanks for that, Mammy.’ Aisling eyed Roisin’s half eaten profiterole it would be a shame to waste it. ‘And what about you, Mammy?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ the others chimed, waiting expectantly.
‘Ah, well now, I’ve already written mine down. I’d like to travel more, learn something new, and enjoy life to the fullest.’ She looked from one to the other daring them to say a word.
Moira snatched the notebook and pen and scrawled something in it.
‘What’s that you’re after putting down?’
‘I resolve to stop stealing my daughters’ belongings, especially Moira’s.’
One and a half hours until midnight...
THE JAZZ BAND HAD LAUNCHED into a rambunctious version of Happy Birthday and Carol listened out for the tap on the box that would signal it was time. She knew the drill, wait for the tap, count to three, and then burst forth. Ah, there it was—just as well because she was beginning to seize up.
One, two, three! And out she popped of the cake. Her arms were raised as she struck a pose and shouted, ‘Surprise!’ Only this time Carol, or Pandora as she used to be known, was clothed and there wasn’t a tassel in sight! She revelled in the cheers and applause, blowing kisses at her beloved audience. It was a triumphant moment in a long career that had seen her begin as an exotic dancer here at Coco’s. For a split second as she batted her lashes, which satisfyingly stayed in place, Carol was eighteen years old again. Her bosom was not held up by re
inforced wire but free and pert as she expertly twirled the tassels attached to her nipples. It had been her signature act. She caught sight of Sarah whose mouth had fallen open and winked at her. Oh, dear the poor girl was in shock, she thought. Perhaps she should have warned her.
Sarah however, surprised her by getting up from her seat and putting both fingers in her mouth to whistle in a most un-accountant like manner before applauding her mother enthusiastically.
Carol took a bow and thought perhaps she’d been too quick to judge her daughter. Maybe she wasn’t the prude she’d had her pegged as after all. Still waters ran deep.
Ten minutes later when a jubilant Carol, champagne flute in hand joined her daughter at her table it was her jaw that dropped when Sarah leaned in and whispered in her ear. ‘Like mother like daughter. How do you think I paid my way through college?’
Fifteen minutes past midnight...
THE SCREAMS OF HAPPY New Year were dying down as the fireworks continued to explode sending a cacophony of colour into the night sky. The pavements were full of New Year’s revellers hugging and kissing one another in delight at being part of such a momentous occasion. In amongst the cheering crowds marvelling at the display was Patrick, with Noah perched on his shoulders, the little boy staring in wonder at it all. Cindy was next to them in her Russian Cossack hat and faux fur coat whilst Maureen, prattling on about KY2 bugs, had her arm linked through Roisin’s. Moira and Aisling had opted to stay back at Quinn’s with their menfolk—they were missing out Roisin thought. The mood here was as electric as the Bruce Springsteen concert she’d gone to at Wembley back in ‘85.
She’d have liked to have seen the new year in with Shay but she’d managed to sneak in a more than satisfactory snog with him out the back of Quinn’s when the band was on a break. It would have to suffice. She looked up at her son, wondering how he would take finding out Shay was a ‘special’ friend of mummy’s. She hoped his tummy wouldn’t twist like hers had upon hearing her mammy had a special friend of her own. She’d suspected she might, but to hear her actually say it out loud had been difficult. It had been Patrick who’d put his foot down when Mammy had taken herself off downstairs. He’d told them all to shut up and that as the oldest he was pulling rank. They were all to behave normally and not say a word or he’d give them a dead arm like he used to when they were kids. It hadn’t been easy but they’d managed it.
No, she mused. It wasn’t a conversation she was looking forward to having with Noah, but one that would need to be had if Shay continued to make her heart beat faster and her knees go weak every time, she saw him. Noah was oblivious to the thoughts racing around his mummy’s head as he yawned, his head beginning to droop. It was time they pushed their way back through the hordes and headed home, Roisin decided, knowing there’d be no show of a taxi tonight. Still and all, it wasn’t too far to walk. Nowhere in the city was too far from O’Mara’s.
‘Time to go,’ she mouthed at Pat. He leaned down and tried to find Cindy’s ear under her hat to tell her they were going to head back to the guesthouse.
‘Stick together,’ Maureen bossed, always the camp leader. All she needed was an umbrella to hold straight up in the air and she’d be set, Roisin thought, as she marched forth.
They’d wound their way away from the crowds when Maureen announced she needed to spend a penny, adding, ‘You know what I’m like when I get excited.’
‘Ah, Mammy, can you not wait? We’re nearly home, so we are.’
‘I’ll ask you the same thing after you’ve borne your fourth child, shall I, Roisin?’
Roisin was duly silenced.
Maureen pointed ahead. ‘Look, there’s a pub at the end of that laneway. Sure, they won’t mind me availing myself of their amenities. I’ll duck in there.’
‘Well I could do with putting this fella down for a minute,’ Patrick announced. Noah was sound asleep in his uncle’s arms; a dead weight. We’ll wait for you here, Mammy,’ he said, sitting on the bench seat by a bus stop. Roisin and Cindy followed suit.
Maureen set off the short distance, but as she reached the lane, a car pulled up, effectively blocking her entry. She squinted. It was an awfully big car, one of those stretch limousine things people like your man Bono probably got about in. Well, it might belong to someone rich and famous but it was still illegally parked and she was a woman in need of a toilet. She steamed on up to it and rapped on the tinted window. It slid down slowly and Maureen scrutinised the scene, all set to tell whoever it was that nobody was above the law and that they needed to move their vehicle on. It took her a moment to twig but when she did, for once in her life, she was rendered speechless.
Sweet Mother of Divine! She’d know those dimples anywhere. Sure, it was only the band they’d been watching on the television a few hours earlier. The five lads from Westlake. The boys in the back of the limo grinned at her.
She finally found her voice although it came out high and squeaky a bit like a mouse. ‘I bet your mammys are all very proud to have such talented and sensitive sons, so.’ She barely heard the driver as he apologised for blocking her way, explaining he’d had to take an urgent phone call.
‘Ah, it’s not a bother.’ She was starstruck and had forgotten all about nobody being above the law. New Year’s well wishes were exchanged, the window slid up and the limo slipped away into the night as though it were never there. Maureen forgot all about the toilet as she shouted, ‘Rosi, Rosi! You’ll never believe it!’
One Hour Past Midnight...
‘I’M TELLING YOU IT was, them. It was Westlake,’ Maureen stated, catching wind of the conversation as she sat back down at the table, they’d all had dinner around earlier.
‘Westlife, Mammy,’ Roisin corrected her for the hundredth time.
Maureen ignored her. She hadn’t expected to be back at Quinn’s but sure, hadn’t she been turned away like Mary and Joseph from the inn when she’d asked at the pub if she could use their facilities.
It had taken her a few minutes to come down from the high of having come face to face with her new favourite boy band but nature had called loudly once more and she’d taken herself off down the lane. A burly man who looked like he’d polished his head was on the door of the pub and much to her chagrin he’d refused her entry. They were closed he’d said and she’d pointed out that she could see people moving about through the frosted glass window pane and hear some eejit murdering a Pogues song inside. He’d folded his arms across his chest then and reiterated his earlier sentiment that they were shut. He’d reminded her of Arnold Schwarzenegger in those films of his and she’d seen red, standing on her tippy-toes in order to prod him in the chest, ‘Well,’ she’d said, trying to eyeball him but still only coming up to his shoulders. ‘I hope some Terminator meets Mr T type doesn’t turn your poor mammy away from the door in her hour of need.’ With that she’d waddled, knock-kneed back to where the others were waiting. It was Patrick who’d suggested they make their way back to Quinn’s as it was their closest port of call.
Now, as Quinn placed a trayful of Baileys down in front of them before squeezing in next to Aisling, she was glad they had come back. Shay who’d finished loading up the band’s gear joined them, giving Roisin’s hand a squeeze under the table. Noah was sound asleep on Patrick’s knee, only the tips of his lashes visible on account of his hat having slipped down over his eyes. His cheeks were flushed rosy pink and he was making contented snuffling noises much like Pooh had been earlier. The tables around them were in need of clearing but Quinn had told Tom to leave them and come and join everyone in a drink. Given he’d been run off his feet for most of the night, Tom was glad of the break. The fire was beginning to die down in the grate but the space was warm from the body heat generated on the dance floor throughout the evening. A man at a table near the stage was beginning to sing Danny Boy, and one of his friends had produced a harmonica.
Maureen picked up her glass. ‘I’d like to make a toast but first I want you all to promise me you’ll blackl
ist the Fretting Ferret on Conway Lane.’
There were murmurings of ‘we promise’ and ‘isn’t it disgraceful turning a woman who’d birthed four children away from the door.’
Maureen raised her glass and looked around the table, her heart suddenly full as she gazed at her children’s faces. They, were happy, all of them and a mammy couldn’t ask for more than that. New Year was also for remembering those they loved who were no longer with them. ‘To Brian,’ she said a tear in her eye.
‘To Brian.’ ‘To Daddy.’ Came the collective reply but before they could get so much as a taste of the silky liqueur Maureen held her hand up.
‘Hold your horses. I’m not finished. Now then,’ she licked her lips, ‘here we go. Always remember to forget the troubles that pass away. But never forget to remember the blessings that come each day.’
‘Slàinte, Mammy,’
‘Slàinte, Maureen.’
‘Oh, and I’ve one more.’
‘Oh, for fecks sake,’ Moira said. She wasn’t having a Baileys but she was keen to drink her hot chocolate before it got cold.
Maureen ignored her. ‘To, the lovely lads from Westlake and may they have many more songs on the hit parade.’
‘It’s Westlife, Mammy!’
The End
A Wedding at O’Mara’s
By Michelle Vernal
Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Vernal
Michelle Vernal asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel, A Wedding at O’Mara’s is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 22
