The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘Would you like any assistance?’ Madame Mullan simpered, with two more of the velvet dresses draped over her arm. ‘I won’t be a moment.’

  ‘No, thank you, but if you could keep an eye on them in there, that would be grand.’ Aisling inclined her head toward the fitting room from where fits of giggles were emanating.

  ‘Certainly, madam.’ She disappeared off in that direction and Aisling and Maureen began to mill around the mother of the bride section. The outfits on the mannequins didn’t grab either of them.

  ‘Dowdy, so they are,’ Maureen declared. ‘Have you seen Quinn’s mam’s outfit?’

  ‘I don’t think Mrs Moran’s bought anything yet.’

  Maureen frowned, she’d have liked a heads-up as to what the competition was wearing.

  ‘How’s she doing these days?’

  ‘Grand, she’s doing grand.’ Quinn’s mam had suffered a stroke the previous year but had battled her way through to recovery, although she got tired very quickly these days. Aisling explained this to her mammy. ‘It’s why she didn’t come with us today. She didn’t want to slow us down. I wouldn’t have minded though.’

  ‘It’s a shame she didn’t come. I’d have liked the opportunity to get to know her better. I must invite her to lunch now that we’re going to be family. What will you call her?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Aisling asked.

  ‘Well you can hardly call her Mrs Moran after you’re married, now can you? And you already have a mammy.’ She pointed to her chest. ‘Me.’

  ‘I know that, thank you, and one mammy is plenty.’

  ‘Well then, what’s it going to be?’

  ‘I’ll probably call her Maeve. She keeps asking me to.’ It didn’t roll easily off Aisling’s tongue, she’d always been Mrs Moran to her.

  ‘That’s very forward, Aisling. I didn’t raise you to call your elders by their first names. Sure, do you not remember that precocious little madam from your playgroup who called her mammy, Dervla? It was all Dervla this and Dervla that. It didn’t sound right coming from a child and if she’d tried it on me, I’d have sorted her out.’

  ‘No, I don’t remember, Mammy, but then I’d have only been three at the time. And I don’t see the point of your story anyway, given the difference between a little girl calling her mammy by her first name and a woman in her mid-thirties addressing her mammy-in-law by her first name.’

  Maureen made the face she always made when she didn’t want to admit she could be wrong, but she was saved from having to say anything by the sudden sound of Madame Mullan’s excited voice.

  ‘Oh, éclatant!’ she exclaimed from the fitting room.

  Mammy and Aisling looked at one another although neither had a clue as to what she’d said.

  ‘She’s not French you know. I think she’s from Tipperary. Listen closely, it’s in the way she rolls her r’s and McBride is about as French as—’

  ‘My arse,’ Aisling finished for her and Maureen nodded her agreement. They giggled, co-conspirators.

  ‘It might be nice for your outfit to coordinate with the bridesmaids’ dresses.’ Aisling said moving toward the more subtle colours on the rack.

  Maureen nodded thoughtfully but said, ‘I like the bold colours more myself.’ She homed in on a red two-piece suit. Aisling grimaced behind her back, the warm champagne fuzz wearing off at the sight of it. She knew her mammy well enough though to be tactful or she’d dig her heels in and the red outfit would be the one going home with them, purely because she didn’t like being told what to do. Where Mammy was concerned, she considered it her job to be telling everyone else what they should be doing.

  ‘Ah but, Mammy,’ Aisling cast about quickly and whipped the first item off the rack that came to hand. Distraction was key. ‘Look at this.’ She waved it under her nose. ‘Sure, you’d look like a million dollars in this. Oh yes, you’d look like you’d stepped out of the pages of Hello.’ She knew Mammy scoured the magazine’s shiny pages each time she went to the hairdressers.

  Maureen paused and took stock of the dress Aisling was shaking about. ‘Hold still for a minute would you so I can get a better look. It was simple and elegant which a woman of her height and bust size needed in order not to look fussy. She stopped stroking the red suit and moved toward the champagne coloured, fitted dress. She liked the lacy sleeves. ‘Sure, it’s the same colour as your wedding gown.’

  Aisling looked at it properly and liked what she saw. It was elegant and classy. Not words that sprang to mind when she thought of her mammy but there was a first time for everything. She sensed she could be on to a winner if she played her cards right. ‘Mammy,’ she encouraged. ‘The photographs would look ever so stylish with us all coordinated like and you could go big with your hat. It’s a dress that needs a big hat.’

  ‘A big hat, you say?’ Maureen envisaged herself in all her champagne-matching-dress glory peeping out from under the brim of a large hat which was dipping down over one eye to give her an air of the mysterious mammy of the bride. She was sold. ‘I’ll try it on.’

  Aisling did a mental happy dance. The icing on the cake came a moment later when Moira appeared from between the fitting room curtains, ‘Are you watching.’

  ‘Yes,’ Aisling and Maureen turned their attention to the platform. The curtains opened and Moira danced her way out in front of them looking pretty in pink. She was seemingly happy with her dress as she began to sing, Girl’s Just Want to Have Fun. Leila and Roisin were on backing.

  Chapter 12

  Noreen

  Noreen’s feet were aching from the day’s shopping and it was a relief to board the bus that would take her home to Claredoncally. She was always glad to see the back of the city and return to her village where people were civilised and still managed to say good morning and good afternoon to one another. Manners cost nothing but they’d been in short supply on the town’s streets today. Sure, look at the driver, he’d barely acknowledged her as she’d presented her senior’s card to him. Still, at least it had been a successful day’s shopping and she wasn’t going home empty handed, she thought, bustling her way down the aisle. She had to be careful not to knock the bag containing her new hat or the bubble wrapped and boxed Waterford crystal vase she’d chosen as a wedding gift for Aisling and whatever his name was. Her lips curved at the bargain she’d gotten.

  She picked a seat halfway down the bus then immediately wished she hadn’t as the woman in front of her reeked of perfume. Noreen wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been in Boots having free squirts of whatever was on offer because the smell was an eyewatering and confusing mix of flowers and spices. She shuffled across her seat so she was next to the window and placed her bags down on the aisle seat. It was done in the hope of warding anyone off who was of a mind to sit down next to her and while away the hour-long journey by chattering because she was too weary for small talk.

  She glanced at the Debenham’s bag on the seat beside her. Noreen missed Roches Stores where the service had been second to none but she’d done alright in its replacement department store. The sales assistant had carefully folded and wrapped her dress, with the matching jacket she’d managed to find, in tissue paper which she hoped would be enough to prevent it taking on the scent of whatever that woman in front of her had tipped all over herself. She’d gone for the green in the end because Malachy had always liked her in green.

  Of course, once she’d solved the problem of what she was going to wear to Aisling’s wedding, she’d had to think about shoes, handbag and a hat. There was no point letting the dress down with mismatched accessories. Speaking of shoes, her ankles felt like they were spilling over the top of hers. Fluid retention Doctor Finnegan had said when she’d been to see him about it. It happened when she’d been on her feet too long. She’d soak them in Epsom salts tonight.

  A young lad slouched past her and she tsked silently. No oomph in him, no get up and go, and he could do with pulling his trousers up, too. A slovenly appearance made for a s
lovenly mind in her opinion. Not that she’d tell him this; she’d probably get a mouthful for her efforts because these young ones had no respect for their elders. She was wishing they could get on their way when the bus rumbled into life, slowly pulling out into the afternoon traffic. It was nearly time for the children to be getting out of school and their mammies would all be roaring off to pick them up. When did children stop walking to school? she wondered. It was no wonder this generation were a pack of lazy so-and-sos, not willing to work hard to get to where they wanted to be in life. Emer had tried to take shortcuts too and look where it had gotten her.

  The urban scenery gave way to the rocky, rugged landscape of her beloved County Cork. As she spied a rainbow stretching boldly over the fields, Noreen began to breathe easier now there was distance between herself and the city. She was in two minds about her upcoming visit to Dublin. The pace of the place terrified her but it would be nice to have a weekend of being waited on at O’Mara’s and to see the family. Maureen had told her when she’d rung to confirm she was coming that it looked likely Cormac would be over from America. He’d be giving Aisling away in place of her daddy. Sad business that was, Brian getting the cancer she thought. It would be good to see Cormac again though. It had been far too long between visits. She’d always had a soft spot for him although she’d never understood why he’d upped and left and gone all that way to boot. He’d never married either which was a shame because he had a lovely nature as a young lad, very gentle. He’d have made some lucky lass a grand husband. It was a waste was what it was.

  Her mind flitted back to Emer as the bus stopped to let the scraggly bunch of sheep, who’d decided they had the right of way, mosey across to the opposite field. What would she look like now? She didn’t like to think about the last time she’d laid eyes on her. Words had been said that had sliced like a knife through the bond between them. Emer had been eighteen years old. She’d be in her late forties now or was she fifty? Noreen was too tired to do the sums. Rosamunde had telephoned not long after Aisling’s wedding invitation had arrived. She’d said it was an opportunity to mend bridges as Emer had accepted the invite and would Noreen see her way to patching things up with her? Sure, Rosamunde had said, it was years ago and it did no one any good to hold onto grudges. What Rosamunde didn’t understand, Noreen thought listening to her, was that it wasn’t a grudge she held. No, not at all. It was a wound she carried with her. A wound that, even now, hurt when it was being prodded like it was being prodded by this wedding.

  The bus juddered forth and the fields outside, as the rainbow had done moments earlier, faded into the background her mind spinning backwards.

  1966

  ‘OH, AUNTY NONO, UNCLE Malachy! It’s gorgeous, so it is.’ Emer with a party hat perched precariously on top of her dark head held the sterling silver cross pendant up to the light. Her dark brown eyes were shining. The jeweller’s box along with the birthday card they’d chosen for her were open on the table in front of the place they all thought of as hers at the table.

  Noreen and Malachy exchanged pleased glances with one another. They’d made a special trip into town to Longford’s the Jewellers last Friday having got young Seamus, who helped out after school with the deliveries, to man the fort for them. Off they’d tootled in their little white van that Malachy used to collect the fresh produce from the markets over in Culdoon. Noreen never had learned to drive. She’d sat enjoying the ride with her handbag perched on her knee, feeling very smart in her new green, boiled wool coat and matching hat.

  Longford’s was the same jewellery shop from where they’d bought their wedding bands all those years ago and Noreen had been nostalgic as she stepped over the threshold, the memories of their younger selves washing over her. Mr Longford Senior had retired but his son had taken over the family business. He was the spit of his father which was rather unnerving because it had made Noreen feel as though time had stood still inside the doors of store until she’d caught sight of her and Malachy in the reflection of the glass cabinet. Mr Longford Junior had been happy to show them his range of necklaces, in particular those suitable for a young lady.

  It had been Malachy’s idea to get Emer a pendant. He wanted her to have something she could keep. Sixteen was an awkward age from memory, he’d said, turning the open sign to closed on the door of their convenience store a fortnight before. It would be nice to get her something that made her feel like a young lady and what did Noreen think to a necklace of some sort. Noreen had been proud of her husband. He was such a wonderfully, thoughtful man.

  They’d spent an age pouring over the tray in Longford’s wanting to get it right because sixteen was an awkward age in more ways than one, and girls these days knew what they liked.

  Malachy had something in mind that wouldn’t snap if Emer forgot to take it off when she was sleeping; she tended on the forgetful side he explained to Mr Longford, who told them he knew exactly the sort of thing they were after. He was the father of three girls himself he’d informed them, steering them toward a chain that while strong was not chunky. The cross they decided on was small and delicate. Emer would wear it not the other way around which was as it should be, Noreen thought. She didn’t like ostentatious jewellery. Malachy had looked to her and she’d nodded that yes, the chain and the cross were just right. The pendant was placed with satisfying finesse into a pale lavender box with a silk lining and Noreen was sure Mr Longford’s ears had twitched as she turned to Malachy and said, ‘You know we’ll have to do the same for the others when they turn sixteen don’t you. We can’t be seen to have favourites.’ Malachy had agreed with her. It didn’t need to be said that while they couldn’t be seen to have a favourite niece or nephew it didn’t mean they didn’t have one.

  There was a spring in both their steps as Mr Longford saw them to the door. It was at the thought of young Emer’s face when she opened this special gift safely tucked inside Noreen’s handbag.

  ‘Shall we have a fish and chip supper?’ Malachy had suggested as Noreen linked her arm through his and, even though it wasn’t Friday and they never ate fish on any day except Friday, Noreen said that was a grand idea indeed and very nice it had been too.

  Emer, Noreen saw now, was undoing the clasp. She got up from her seat. ‘Here I’ll help you with that. Pass me my glasses, Malachy.’ He did so and she slid them on to the end of her nose instructing her niece. ‘Hold your hair up, Emer.’ She placed the chain around her neck and, peering through the bottom of her lens, secured it. ‘There we are. Now then, let’s have a look at you.’

  Emer’s thick waves fell back down around her shoulders and she swivelled in her seat to show her aunty the necklace.

  ‘Sure, you look a picture, Emer,’ Noreen said, feeling the smarting of tears in her eyes as she gazed at her nearly grown-up niece. Her heart swelled at what a beautiful young woman she was becoming. Malachy too, made an approving noise and Emer got up, eager to see her gift for herself. ‘I’m going to have a look in the bathroom mirror.’

  Noreen waited for her niece to disappear and then, winking at Malachy, she went into the kitchen to retrieve the Victoria sponge she’d laboured over. How pleased she’d been to see a deep cake emerge from the oven which sprang back when pressed as it should do. The airy sponge was filled with fresh cream and she shook the icing sugar on top, the finishing touch. She wouldn’t bother with candles. They’d already had a birthday celebration at Rosamunde and Terry’s with the younger children all squealing with delight over the chocolate cake their mammy had made. It wasn’t long before their faces were covered in buttercream and the floor littered with crumbs as with mouths stuffed full of cake, they begged their sister to open her presents.

  Emer had been keen to come back with her aunty and uncle to stay the night because she was going to catch the bus to town to go to the cinema with her friends as a birthday treat in the morning. The shop was only five-minute’s walk from where the bus stopped. Noreen had been unable to resist making the sponge even though n
one of them needed any more cake. As she carried it out to the table, Malachy, with his sweet tooth, sat up a little straighter in his chair at the prospect of two slices of cake in one day and Emer who’d re-joined her uncle at the table clapped her hands.

  ‘You spoil me, Aunty Nono!’ She beamed up at her, her cheeks rosy with pleasure at all the attention. Noreen put the cake down and sliced a fat wedge for the birthday girl. She knew she spoiled her but she was worth the spoiling and sure, it wasn’t like they had anyone else to fuss around.

  Chapter 13

  Aisling looked in the mirror as Tara, whose own hair was cut in a symmetrical jet-black bob a la Uma Thurman, Pulp Fiction, pulled her hair back from her shoulders. ‘Did you bring in any pictures of what you had in mind, Aisling?’ Her gravelly voice suggested she spent a lot of time standing around out the back of the salon on cigarette breaks. She had an incredible number of piercings too, which were making Aisling wince just looking at them. She glanced down the row of mirrors where she, Moira, Leila, Roisin and Mammy were lined up. ‘We’re like sitting ducks,’ she’d heard Moira mumble as she flopped down into the chair and began to flick through a magazine for hairstyle ideas.

  ‘I did, yes.’ Aisling was prepared and she retrieved her bag from beside the chair where she’d put her carefully chosen cuttings from one of the bridal magazines, Leila had given her. The first picture she held up to show Tara was of a pretty blonde woman whose hair was slicked back and piled on her head in a loose top knot, flowers entwined in her hair, and Aisling thought the effect was ethereal.