The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘And you too.’ Maureen turned to Aisling who nodded.

  The clearing of a throat made them all look up. The pirate man from behind the counter was standing there with Maureen’s cappuccino.

  Chapter 16

  Bronagh was enjoying her Saturday morning. She’d allowed herself a sleep in until past eight o’clock, a luxury not available Monday to Friday and had gotten up to make a leisurely breakfast of toast and eggs for her and Mam. Now she was sitting at the kitchen table, her back being warmed by the rays of sunlight flooding into the room as she penned her letter to Leonard. It was a newsy update as she wrote about the upcoming yoga pants party and the taster of carrot cake with thick cream cheese icing she’d made short work of on her way home last night. She’d thought the lemon drizzle hard to beat but there was something about that cream cheese icing and the way it offset the sweetness of the cake. It was delicious, she scribbled. Given she was a cream and icing sort of a girl, she was putting this high praise of the carrot cake down to the mix of cream cheese and icing sugar.

  Her mam was in the living room, industriously arts and crafting with her scrapbook along with her old pal Linda. She’d been bright lately which lifted Bronagh’s spirits and today Linda had called in to see her with a bag full of odds and sods with which to decorate their various projects. Linda was working on a doll-size book for her great granddaughter who’d entered the world a month ago, while Myrna’s was a keepsake of memories from when she and Hilary were small.

  Myrna had known Linda since before Hilary was born. They’d worked together at Arnotts, her mam in the millinery department, Linda behind the counter in children’s wear. They were busy snipping and pasting photographs and cardboard embellishments at this very moment and Bronagh could hear them laughing. She imagined it to be over some memory an old photo of Myrna’s had evoked. She put the pen down as she remembered another time when her mam had been laughing along with Linda in the front room.

  1971

  ‘I’m off now.’ Bronagh stuck her head around the living room door where she saw her mam sitting in the armchair, warming her feet by the gas fire. Linda, her friend from her Arnotts days, was opposite her in her mam’s old chair, her toes vying for space. They were reminiscing over their days behind the counter at the department store, both grinning like Cheshire cats at the laughs they’d had when their floor manager’s back was turned. ‘The dinner only needs warming through when you’re ready,’ she said. It was only early but she wasn’t going to be home for her tea so she’d made stew and dumplings which could be reheated. Linda who’d arrived an hour or so ago had said she was happy to stay and have her dinner with Myrna which pleased Bronagh. She didn’t like the idea of her mam eating on her own.

  ‘That perfume’s lovely.’ Myrna sniffed. ‘Is it new?’

  ‘It is. It’s called Rive Gauche, Mam. It’s French.’ Bronagh breathed, ‘French’ with reverence. She hoped she hadn’t been too heavy handed with it. She’d done what the woman behind the perfume counter had said. She’d sprayed a cloud in the air and walked into it, feeling misty droplets settle over her. It would have mellowed by the time she got to Grafton Street. She’d splurged on the fragrance, having fallen in love with the modern blue canister and the way the scent made her feel like a woman about town. There was something so glamorous about French perfume. Look at Maureen O’Mara; she always smelled gorgeous with her Arpège.

  ‘Let’s have a look at you,’ Linda said, the slice of thickly buttered brack Bronagh had put out for their afternoon tea halfway to her mouth. ‘I like seeing you young one’s fashions.’

  Bronagh stepped into the room to show off her trouser suit.

  ‘Is that new too, Bronagh?’ her mam asked, taking in her daughter’s lilac tunic with its tie belt and matching trousers. ‘I always liked you in lilac. It’s very smart, so.’

  Bronagh felt a bit of a spendthrift, especially given they could do with a new toaster; the other had packed up the other week leaving the singed smell of burnt toast in its wake for days after. She didn’t treat herself often though and sure, they’d been making do with the grill. There was something about the fella she was going to meet this evening, something special, and whatever it was that got her pulse racing whenever she thought about him, also had her wanting to look her best. She’d decided the toaster could wait. ‘Thanks, Mam. It is new. I bought it in the sales this week.’

  ‘The Arnotts sales, I hope,’ Linda sniffed.

  ‘Of course.’ Bronagh hadn’t but they didn’t need to know that.

  ‘Did you buy the top and the trousers separately because you’ve matched the colour ever so well?’ Linda gave her a slow and approving head-to-toe appraisal over the top of her glasses.

  ‘No. They were sold together as an outfit.’ She’d been pleased with her find, having decided the moment she saw it on the rack it was perfect for a date at Captain America’s. She loved the restaurant with its casual but buzzy atmosphere that made you feel you were where it was at. She’d been pleased when Kevin had suggested it. As she thought of how she’d be seeing him again in under an hour, her heart skipped a beat and she hoped she didn’t have a silly telltale smile on her face like the one she’d been wearing all week since he’d asked her out. Maureen had been trying to coax out of her what it was had her smiling away like the cat who got the cream all week but she hadn’t said a word. She didn’t want to tell anyone she was going on a proper date tonight for fear it would jinx things.

  ‘Are you off somewhere special?’ Myrna looked hopeful and it tugged at Bronagh. She knew her mam struggled with being dependant on her daughter more and more as her health continued to deteriorate. Her good spells were briefer and the bad spells longer and it all a medical mystery. She was always urging Bronagh to get out and about, meet up with friends. Telling her she was too young to be sitting in with her old mam. She’d insist she enjoyed her own company and sure, didn’t she have her crafts to keep her busy? That was true enough. She was currently knitting hats for Hilary’s children, when her hands would do what she wanted them to do and she could summon the energy to make the needles clack.

  Bronagh would respond by asking her who it was cuddled her when she was small and frightened by the shadows on her bedroom floor? Who’d cleaned up after her when she’d been sick? Who dried her tears and kissed her grazes making them better? Who was it had cooked for her night after night? Who’d sat and listened to her stories when she got home from school of an afternoon? Who sewed her dresses? The list went on and on and she’d always finish by telling her mam it was a privilege to share her meals with the woman who’d done all of that for her.

  ‘BRONAGH?’ MYRNA ASKED, seeing the faraway expression on her daughter’s face.

  ‘Captain America’s, Mam.’ She didn’t want to say who she was meeting, not in front of Linda because she’d be in for a grilling if she mentioned having been asked out by a fella. She liked Linda; she was loyal, especially when it came to her friendship with Mam but she was also a gossip and the news Bronagh may be courting would be considered the juiciest of information.

  Linda sniffed. ‘My Lizzie said they’re after charging thirty-eight pence for a bun burger. Daylight robbery in my opinion. And why we need to be pretending we’re in an American diner when we’re Irish I don’t know.’

  Bronagh smiled. She didn’t think Linda would understand it wasn’t about the bun burger or what it cost. It wasn’t about pretending to be Americans either. It was the experience. The sense of being somewhere different as the energy of the place washed over you, the humming conversations, shouts of laughter, clinking glasses and strumming guitar, they all made her forget her responsibilities as she let her hair down and enjoyed the freedom of being young and out on the town. Not to mention their deep-dish apple pie being well worth a trip into the city.

  ‘I’m going to head on now. I don’t want to miss my bus.’

  ‘Bronagh, you didn’t tell me who you’re meeting,’ Myrna called after her.

&nbs
p; ‘A friend, Mam,’ Bronagh called back ambiguously as she opened the front door, eager to be off before any more questions came her way.

  She heard Linda’s voice as she made to close the door behind her, ‘It’s a shame isn’t it, Myrna? Your Bronagh not having met anyone. How’s Hilary getting on?’ Her tread was heavy as walked to the bus stop. It was unnerving to know she was thought of as a spinster and she wasn’t even twenty-five yet. She’d been tempted to poke her head back in the door and shout to Linda Carlisle that she was off to meet a very eligible young fella so stick that on your brack and eat it! By the time she clambered aboard the bus and paid her fare, she’d shaken off the remark because nothing was going to spoil her evening.

  The bus was nearly full but Bronagh managed to find a seat near the back by the window, her Rive Gauche ensuring she had a seat to herself. The bus driver had been very bold, giving her a wink when she boarded, but she decided it was confirmation she’d chosen well with the lilac trouser suit. She sat with her bag perched on her lap as the double-decker rumbled its way into the city. The street lights blinked on and the dull dusk light faded. She checked her hair in the reflection of the dusty window. She’d put it up and the style had required numerous bobby pins and spray and she was pleased to see it was holding, despite the wind outside’s best efforts. Then she turned her mind to Kevin, allowing herself the luxury of conjuring him up as the bus shuddered to a stop to let more passengers on and off.

  His skin was smooth and clean shaven with a slight pocking around his cheeks which didn’t detract in the least from his easy, languid attractiveness. He was tanned too despite the heat of summer being long gone and his ears poked out from tousled dark hair doing its best to hide them. This was due to his unconscious habit of running his fingers through his hair constantly. His eyes were heavy lidded and blackened and his smile hinted at a cheeky sense of humour. He was what the magazines would call a heartthrob.

  By the time she stepped off the bus at the bottom of Grafton Street it was dark and she was instantly enveloped in the Saturday evening joie de vie of those around her. She joined the throng and made her way to the restaurant, hoping Kevin had beaten her there and was waiting outside as they’d arranged.

  He was! She glimpsed his dark head and lean, rangy form beneath the neon glow as he stood waiting out the front of the restaurant. She weaved her way in and out of the moving foot traffic and as she drew closer, she saw he had his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. She liked that jacket, it gave him a roguish quality. He’d been wearing it when he’d come to the guesthouse to fix the broken lock on Room 6’s door. Bronagh thought it most fortuitous, as the handsome fella arrived with his toolbox in tow, that her finger had stopped on Under Lock & Key in the telephone book when she’d been searching for a local locksmith to call.

  When he’d finished the job, he’d paused to chat and she’d discovered he was from Donegal originally. She’d holidayed there once when she was younger and her dad was alive, Mam still well, and Hilary not so full of delusions of grandeur. He knew the bay where they’d rented their holiday cottage well and their conversation had been easy as it flowed from there. She’d made him a cup of tea, hoping Maureen wouldn’t come down the stairs and find her chatting up a tradesman, plying him with tea and biscuits. She didn’t feel too guilty because he was being paid for the job not by the hour, unlike herself! Before he’d left, he’d asked her if she’d like to meet him on Saturday night for a meal, suggesting Captain America’s for the craic. Bronagh had said yes and spent the rest of the week counting down the hours until Saturday.

  Now, it was finally here and she saw, instead of the jeans and old plaid shirt he’d been wearing under his jacket when he’d come to the guesthouse, he’d scrubbed up well. He was dressed in a black skivvy with a pair of tight camel trousers and she watched two girls nudge one another as they walked past eyeing him up. Oh yes, he was a heartthrob alright, and he was also oblivious to the female attention. She wanted to pinch herself at the realisation it was her, Bronagh Hanrahan, he was waiting for.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, suddenly shy now she was here, as she stepped into his line of sight.

  ‘Bronagh! You look great.’ He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She inhaled the leather of his jacket and clean-shaven soapy smell of his skin and a thrill coursed through her.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving!’ She laughed as he held the door open for her and the music and smell of frying chips washed over her.

  Present

  Bronagh blinked, finding herself back in the kitchen as Linda’s bawdy chuckle sounded from the front room and the memories from the past began to fade. Not before she remembered what a gas the night she’d had with Kevin had been on that long-ago evening. He’d had her laughing over her shoestring fries at the stories he’d told her about some of the situations he’d inadvertently found himself called out to. And, who’d have thought the man quietly strumming the guitar and singing in the corner of the restaurant, a glass of wine at his side, would go on to have all those hit songs. She had a Chris de Burgh album somewhere; she must give it a dust off.

  She was about to pick up her pen again to finish her letter when she heard her mam call out.

  ‘Bronagh.’

  ‘What is it, Mam?’

  ‘Do you know if we’ve any glue? We’re after running out.’

  She sighed; she’d come back to her letter in a moment, and getting up she went to check in the flotsam-jetsam drawer.

  Chapter 17

  ‘Mammy’s been missing in action twice this week,’ Moira said to Aisling, who was working her way through her last piece of morning toast. They were sitting opposite each other at the dining room table, Moira toying with her bowl of cereal. Quinn was still in bed as he’d had a rowdy table of guests last night at the bistro, who’d stayed until well after closing despite, Paula’s non too subtle clearing of the table and Tom’s announcement the bar was shut. It was strange getting used to Quinn being around, Moira mused, lifting her spoon and tipping the milk on it back into the bowl.

  ‘Are you going to eat that or play with it?’ Aisling said, ignoring her sister’s Mammy MIA lament. They both knew where she was after all so she was hardly missing in action.

  Moira wasn’t listening. She was thinking about how she now had to remember not to dash from bedroom to bathroom in just her knickers. Disturbingly, she’d discovered in the short time since he’d moved in, Quinn was a leaver upper of the toilet seat, something she’d already had to have words with Aisling about. Still and all, she thought, forgetting her cereal and picking up her tea instead, so far as brothers-in-law went, Quinn was a good one, not like the chinless feck, Rosi had been married to. Jaysus wept, she couldn’t have shared a home with him. There’d have been murder. No, she loved Quinn and she was happy for him and Ash, it was just there were so many changes happening at the moment and she’d never been very good with change.

  Take Aisling for instance. There she was now, a married woman living with her husband in the apartment the two of them had rubbed along in by themselves for the last few years. No longer could she sneak in to Ash’s bedroom and help herself to whichever shoes went best with her current choice of outfit because effectively she was now sneaking into Aisling and Quinn’s bedroom and that put a different spin on things. It didn’t feel right. Then there was this business with Mammy stopping out at her man friend’s. It was very unsettling her having not been home on Monday night or Wednesday night either.

  Aisling got up from the table and Moira registered her plate clattering into the sink before she took herself off to her bedroom.

  Tom was making noises about her moving in with him at his flat but she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. For one thing she’d have to split the rent with him which wouldn’t be easy on her current allowance. For another, she was fairly certain she’d find his flatmates, two fellow student doctors, Tamar and Malcolm, annoying. All they t
alked about was medicine and there was only so much you wanted to hear about the human anatomy when you were trying to watch Fair City or Bally K.

  She finished her tea and gave up on the cereal, getting up to clear her things away. She had to be considerate now too. Once upon a time she’d have left her dishes on the worktop and waited for the magic fairy to wave her wand and clean up but she felt badly about Quinn getting up after working hard at the restaurant to find a bombsite in the kitchen. She’d just loaded her bowl in the dishwasher when she heard her sister bellow.

  ‘Moira, did you wear my black Valentino booties while I was away?’

  She picked up her art folder and slung her satchel over her shoulder, heading out the door lickety-split.

  MAUREEN’S WEEK WAS flying by. Sure, it was a blur of singing lessons, line dancing, watercolour class, yoga pant party promotion, and then there was Donal; she’d seen him twice. He’d stayed at her place on Tuesday night after they’d gone for a meal here in Howth and he’d invited her to his house for the first time for dinner on the Wednesday night, not ready for them to part company. Maureen mused over this as she ran the hoover across the carpet. She and Donal had entered new territory now and she’d found herself in a quandary once she’d accepted his dinner invitation. Did she pack a toothbrush and bring Pooh whom she couldn’t leave overnight on his own or was that being presumptuous? She’d stewed on it until she’d decided she was being ridiculous. Honesty and openness, was the key in any relationship and so, she’d rung Donal and come right out with it. He’d said he’d like it very much if she were to bring her toothbrush and Pooh was welcome too, he’d plenty of Kenny CDs to keep him happy.

  She’d been pleased to see he was house proud and she’d commented on this but he’d given her a rueful grin and confessed Louise came by once a week and gave the place a going over for him despite his protesting he was perfectly able to do it himself. She was a very capable woman, Donal said. She had all these balls in the air between work, family life and the various boards she sat on but she managed them all. Louise’s children, Brody and Katie, grinned down at her from framed photographs on the walls as they flashed missing front teeth, each child sporting an abundance of freckles. The walls were decorated with pictures showcasing family life and she’d been drawn over to see for herself this other side of Donal she’d not yet been privy to.