‘An extension,’ Maria said, registering Maureen’s expression as she looked around. ‘Best thing we ever did.’
‘It’s a lovely room, looking out on your garden like so. Do you grow your own vegetables?’ Maureen gestured to the raised beds where she could see all sorts of leafy greens on the go.
‘Yes, we do. I’m a big believer in you are what you eat.’
That would make her a digestive biscuit then, Maureen thought, impressed by Maria’s prowess in the garden. She’d struggled to keep the potted begonia Rosemary Farrell had bought her for her birthday alive. It had been touch and go on several occasions when the plant had looked like it was on its last legs but she’d had a word with Him upstairs and like a miracle it had always rallied. She’d never hear the end of it if it died. It was the first thing Rosemary looked for whenever she called in.
The open plan area they were standing in had a modest but functional kitchen in the corner and the rest of the floorspace was given over to an overstuffed blue sofa with a throw rug tossed over its arm. Bean bags were strewn on the floor along with scatter cushions and a veritable symphony of musical instruments including a piano. An enormous book case dominated one side of the wall space. It was overflowing with dusty old tomes. There was no television Maureen realised soaking it all up. She couldn’t imagine not having a tele. ‘Do you play all of these?’ She made a sweeping arc at the instruments with her hand.
Maria laughed. ‘No, I sing and play piano. My husband plays the guitar and our oldest is learning the flute; our middle child’s keen on the violin and Jessie the baby she likes the tambourine and castanets.’
‘What a clever lot you are.’ Maureen was delighted by the thought of this musical family getting up from the table each night after dinner to bond over their instruments. How lovely. Her lot had fought over what programme they were going to watch on the idiot box and whose turn it was to help with the washing-up. She sighed. She’d have loved it if they could have all harmonised together, a family brought together by their music. Ha, no show! There was Aisling not even able to get a place in the children’s choir at St Theresa’s. She’d even resorted to bribery in the form of one of her famous porter cakes but the choirmaster would not be bought. As for music, her head ached at the memory of the awful stuff that had come blaring out of their bedrooms. The number of times she’d had to remind them they lived on the top floor of a guesthouse and the people paying good money to be in the rooms below did not want to be subjected to Def Tiger and Twisted Brother or the like.
Patrick had been the biggest offender, him and that ghetto blaster of his. She shuddered, recalling how he’d grown his hair long and had it permed. That wasn’t the worst of it though. Oh no, the leather pants he’d squeezed himself into were an abomination. She’d told him until she was blue in the face his bits and bobs wouldn’t be able to breathe through all that leather. Sure, she’d said, he’d ruin his chances at fathering a family. And look, here he was now, a man closer to forty than thirty with no children. A mammy knew best. She shook the image of Patrick in his teens away, envisaging a happier scene whereby the O’Maras were gathered in the family’s living room having a jam session or whatever you called it. She blinked, realising she’d just pictured the Partridge Family.
‘Are you alright there, Maureen. You look a little pale. Would you like a glass of water before we begin?’
‘No, thank you.’ Maureen gathered herself. She was paying by the hour. It was time to get this show on the road.
Maria gestured towards the piano and sat down on the stool before lifting the lid. She pushed her hair back over her shoulders and then flexed her fingers. Maureen wasn’t sure where to put herself. She didn’t want to lean over the piano like some sort of saloon girl but she felt a little eejitty standing there with nothing to do with her hands. ‘Maria, would your little one mind if I borrowed her tambourine for the lesson?’
Maria looked surprised. ‘We’re going to be doing scales, Maureen, and I’ll be showing you some breathing exercises which will help free your voice. I’m not sure you’re going to need a tambourine.’
‘It’s just that I’d feel more comfortable with something in my hands.’
‘Oh, I see. You don’t need to be nervous with me but if it helps, I’m sure Jessie won’t mind. Help yourself.’
Maureen retrieved the plastic tambourine and her shoulders relaxed as she stood alongside the piano. She gave it a rattle for good measure. ‘Sorry,’ she said to Maria whose fingers had been about to strike the keys. ‘Do you happen to know any Fleetwood Mac? Your Stevie one was very good on the tambourine. You’ve the look of her, you know.’
‘No, I can’t say I’ve had much call to play Fleetwood Mac, Maureen. My pupils tend to want to sing Barbara Streisand, Bette Midler, Celine Dion that sort of thing.’
‘Not me. Not my cup of tea at all. I’m like that song, you know the one. I’m a little bit country and a little bit rock ‘n’ roll.’ She shook the tambourine for effect.
‘Yes, you told me on the telephone when you booked that you’re going to be singing in a country band.’
‘I am. Do you happen to know any Dolly Parton or Sheena Easton? Because I’ve to sing Islands in the Stream and We’ve Got Tonight.’
‘I’d have to hunt some sheet music down but we’re getting ahead of ourselves Maureen. We’re going to start in middle C and run through Do-Re-Mi-Fa-So-La-Ti-Do like this.
Maria sang the scale and Maureen nodded. ‘You’ve very good pitch.’
‘Thank you. I want to hear you do it now. On the count of three here we go. One, two, three and...’
Maureen sang the ditty then looked to Maria to see what she had to say.
‘It was very hard to hear you over the tambourine, Maureen. Do you think we could run through it again without it this time?’
‘I didn’t even realise I was shaking it.’ Maureen laughed, looking at the instrument in her hand as though she’d had no part in rattling it.
Maria smiled and took a deep breath. ‘Okay, so again on the count of three.’
As Maureen tapped the tambourine against her thigh, Maria thought to herself, it was going to be a very long hour indeed.
Chapter 12
Maureen was practising her scales as she set about prepping the vegetables to go with her roasted salmon in lemon butter sauce. Maria had given her a practise CD and she was a committed student. Pooh was watching her quizzically from his basket. She’d had words with him earlier. He was to be on his best behaviour this evening or there’d be ructions because Donal was coming to dinner. She glanced at the wall clock. Aisling should be home anytime now, she thought and on cue the telephone rang.
‘Mammy, we’re home,’ Aisling gushed.
‘Is that you, Aisling?’
‘Who else has been away, Mammy?’
‘Don’t be clever with me and welcome home! I got your postcard and it sounded like you were enjoying yourselves. Did you write to Quinn’s mammy and daddy too?’
‘I did.’
‘How many postcards did you send them because I’m only after getting the one.’
‘I sent one each to all our friends and family. I didn’t have time for writing any more than that. I was on my honeymoon, remember.’
Maureen was appeased. ‘Did you have a lovely time?’
‘Ah, we did, Mammy, it was wonderful. It was a fairyland so it was. I’ve hundreds of photos to show you.’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing them. How’s Quinn?’
‘My husband, you mean?’
Moira yelled out in the background, ‘Mammy, she’s driving me mad saying that. Tell her to stop.’
‘How long have you been home?’
‘Half an hour.’
Maureen shook her head; she’d bang their heads together if she was there.
‘Quinn’s got a cold, Mammy.’
‘I’m not surprised, given you’ve been honeymooning in the Arctic. What do you expect, getting up to shenanigans in
the freezing cold?’
‘Mammy, what’s that music?’
‘Oh, it’s the piano scales. I’m after starting singing lessons.’
‘Why?’
Maureen’s nose grew as she said, ‘Because, Aisling, I’ve decided to use the voice the good Lord saw fit to give me. I’d forgotten what a joy it is to sing but the karaoke on your hen night brought it back to me.’
Aisling sniggered down the line at the memory of her mammy prancing about on stage with her skirt tucked in her knickers.
‘Has your sister told you about the yoga pants party I’m after having next week?’
‘She mentioned something about a Tupperware party.’
‘It’s not Tupperware it’s yoga pants, I’ve told Moira a hundred times. That girl’s ears are painted on.’
‘Where did she get Tupperware from then?’
‘Because it’s like a Tupperware party only we’ll be selling yoga pants and I expect it to be a family effort, Aisling.’
‘Mammy, I’m lost. I don’t see the connection between the two.’
Maureen rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind, just be sure to pencil in next Saturday.’
‘I will. Bronagh said everything ticked over smoothly while I was away. She seemed a little preoccupied though, Mammy.’
‘Did she? I saw her earlier in the week and she was grand. Her mam’s having a good spell. Bronagh’s probably on another diet. You know what she gets like.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘I went to see a good film yesterday called Castoff. It was about Tom Hanks and a coconut he made friends with.’
‘Sounds riveting, Mammy. Who’d you go with?’
‘My friend Donal.’ She remembered her promise to Donal to pin Aisling down for a date when she got home so he could arrange the lunch he had planned. ‘And listen, for some mad reason he wants to meet you and your sisters. Roisin, as my official yoga pants supplier, is coming over next weekend, Noah’s at his fathers. So, how’re you fixed for a Sunday pub lunch at Johnnie Fox’s? His two daughters will be there too and, Aisling, don’t be going on to Moira about it either. I’ll have a quiet word with her.’
Maureen heard a frenzied whispering and the next thing Moira came on the phone. ‘So, we’re finally going to meet this Donal fella then.’
‘He’s not ‘this Donal fella’ he’s Donal, thank you very much. And you are to behave yourself next Sunday. I’ve not met his two girls yet and I don’t want you showing me up,’ she said, repeating another version of what she’d said to Pooh earlier. ‘And you’re not to be wearing anything that shows your knickers either. Do you hear me?’
‘I hear you. Mammy?’
‘What is it?’
‘Before you go, can you tell Aisling her and Quinn aren’t to be carrying on in the bedroom with me next door.’
Maureen frowned. ‘I will not. She’s a ring on her finger, she’s perfectly entitled to be carrying on, unlike some I could mention.’
‘Mammy it is not 1950.’
Maureen spied the spuds boiling over. She’d no time for getting into a morals debate with her youngest child, and she said goodbye in time to Do-Re-Mi-Fa-So-La-Ti-Do in ascending C major.
Chapter 13
Maureen had the meal she was preparing for her and Donal as ready as it could be without actually dishing it up when she heard his knock on the door. She gave her hands a quick wash and dried them on her apron, remembering to take it off before she made her way to the door. She hadn’t spent all that time agonising over what to wear, finally settling on her yoga pants so as she’d be relaxed, teemed with a deep pink sweater she knew looked well on her, to cover it up with her shamrock pinny. She flung the door open with a sense of anticipation as to the evening ahead and there he was with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bunch of roses which he thrust out toward her in the other. She took the flowers from him, thinking he looked very handsome tonight in his blue shirt and dress jeans.
‘They’re gorgeous but you shouldn’t of, Donal,’ she said, burying her nose in their soft petals and inhaling the heady perfume. She was very glad he had, though.
‘The florist told me pink symbolises grace and elegance which I told her was perfect for the lady I was presenting them to. They smell lovely too but not as lovely as you. I’ve a soft spot for that Arpège of yours.’
‘You’re very kind.’ Maureen turned as pink as her roses. She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. ‘C’mon now and make yourself at home.’
Donal stepped over the threshold, scanning the room for Pooh the way a person in the wilderness would keep a wary eye out for grizzly bears. The poodle was sitting in his basket and if it were possible for him to have a sulky look on his little poodly face he would have. He eyeballed Donal as though sizing him up for dinner and Maureen followed his gaze.
‘Ah now, don’t you worry about him. I’ve gotten the hang of the positive reinforcement so I have and he knows which side his bread is buttered on.’
Donal chuckled moving into the living room. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He addressed Pooh. ‘Hello, boy. How’re you doing?’
Pooh gave a woof and Maureen exclaimed, ‘There you go he said hello. He’s very clever, you know.’ She bustled into the kitchen, putting the flowers down on the worktop while she retrieved a doggy treat. Consistency was the key.
Donal wasn’t so sure, it was hello. He thought it more likely to be a ‘feck off away with you’ but he didn’t say anything. He sized the dog up and decided giving him a pat might be pushing the boundaries of their tenuous relationship.
‘There you go, Pooh. See? Nice things happen when you’re a good boy.’ Maureen held out her hand so he could snaffle his reward.
Donal began to relax now he was sure he wasn’t going to be mauled and took a moment to look about the room. He’d been here before, but just the once and not for long, when he’d picked Maureen up to take her for a country drive. ‘You have it lovely, Maureen. It’s you to a T.’
‘Thank you. It took a while for this place to feel like home. It was such a change from O’Mara’s but it’s home now alright.’
His gaze swung to the array of ornaments decorating a wall shelf, one in particular, and he crossed the room to take a closer look. ‘This is unusual, do you mind me asking what it is?’
‘Not at all.’ Although Maureen thought it was self-evident. ‘That, is a canoe.’
‘A canoe you say?’ Donal eyed the phallic-shaped wooden creation on the shelf with a raised eyebrow. ‘Ah yes, now I can see it. I didn’t twig because there aren’t any oars.’
‘I carved it myself in a small village in Vietnam on the holiday I was after telling you about with Moira. I wouldn’t fancy my chances at carving the fiddly little oars. I’d have probably taken a finger off.’
‘You’re a woman full of surprises, Maureen.’
Maureen was pleased he found her mysterious. She’d always wanted to be mysterious and wasn’t it a bonus he found her so when she wasn’t even wearing her mammy of the bride hat?
‘Whatever you’ve got cooking smells wonderful.’
‘I hope you like fish?’
‘I love fish which is why I suggested Johnnie Fox’s for our family get together; the seafood is delicious there.’
‘I’m glad to hear it because we’re having roasted salmon in lemon butter with mashed potatoes and seasonal vegetables.’ Maureen liked saying seasonal vegetables. It sounded far more interesting than green beans and broccoli. She remembered the flowers and located a vase in her cabinet that would do nicely to display them in. As she was titivating the roses, Donal put the wine he’d brought down beside her and suggested he open it to allow it to breathe.
‘You’ll find the corkscrew there in the top drawer and I thought I’d leave it to you to choose some music.’
Donal tended to the wine and then searched through Maureen’s CDs settling on Fleetwood Mac which led to Maureen telling him all about the singing lessons she’d taken it upo
n herself to have. ‘I want my voice in tip-top condition for the party in Clontarf. We’ll be rehearsing beforehand I hope.’
‘The boys and I were talking about getting together to practise next Saturday afternoon. You could come along to that if you like.’
‘Ah, no, I can’t. Rosi’s coming over from London and we’re holding a yoga pants party.’ She explained the premise and breathed a sigh of relief he didn’t get all muddled with the Tupperware side of things. ‘I wondered if the Sunday would work for you and your girls to have lunch, what with Rosi being here too.’
‘That sounds a grand idea. Leave it with me and I’ll check with Anna and Louise tomorrow and get back to you. We could have a practice ourselves tonight after dinner if you like. I saw your Kenny Roger’s CDs.’
‘I’d like that.’
Maureen had set the table earlier and Donal did the honours, lighting the candle and pouring the wine while she plated their meals.
There was no shortage of conversation over dinner as he told her about the job he’d done this week for a woman whose wiring needed replacing because a family of mice had chewed their way through it in her attic. Maureen resolved to be nice to Peaches next door; she might come in handy. She in turn told him about her line dancing and after they’d carried their plates through to the kitchen, Donal asked if she could teach him one of the dances to work off his dinner before they had dessert.
‘The boot scootin boogie is an easy one but we’ll need the right music. I’ve a Billy Ray Cyrus CD there somewhere.’
Donal sorted their sounds and Maureen talked him through the steps overtop of the music. ‘Step right to side and cross left behind, touch left heel diagonally, forward and clap.’ She clapped.
The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 48
