Maureen smiled up at him. ‘I thought you had a look of Kenny Rogers about you alright and I always thought he was a fine-looking man.’
They stared at one another in mutual admiration until Pooh began to strain at the leash, eager for the off. Maureen’s step was lighter this morning after their luncheon at Johnnie Fox’s yesterday, although given what she’d eaten it had no right to be. The lunch had started off promising to be a disaster but it had all turned around over dessert and they’d left the pub with promises of doing it again soon and two orders for the Mo-pants to boot. She didn’t know what had been said in the Ladies Room between Anna and Moira but they’d rejoined them at the table giggling over a private joke and Maureen had blinked in disbelief as Moira passed Anna a spoon and Anna began to share her dessert with her. This was remarkable, not just because Anna seemed to have undergone a personality transformation in the powder room, but because Moira by nature was not a sharer. All in all, the family meet-up had been a success. It was baby steps for them all in these new unchartered waters but the first big storm had been averted and they’d sailed into calmer waters. It was the Irish Sea and the sight of Ireland’s eye out there making her all metaphorical, Maureen decided.
Roisin had gone back to London last night but before she’d left, they’d had a board meeting as to how they could fill the orders streaming in. When they’d gotten back to the apartment after lunch on the Sunday there’d been a ton of messages left on the answerphone from women requesting a pair of the Mo-pants because so and so had told them they were marvellous. There was a comfy pant revolution going on in Ireland to be sure. The plan so far was for Roisin to add postage to the orders and send them directly to the customer. There was definitely scope for another Tupperware, Mo-pant style party in the future. Given Moira’s recent good deed with Anna and Aisling’s boob aberration, Moira might find herself promoted to the role of Mo-pant glamour girl next time around.
Pooh cocked a leg and they halted once more. Donal greeted a chap with a rod slung over his shoulder and a bucket of something smelly for catching fish in his hand. They embarked on a great chat as to what could be found here in the harbour if you had a lucky spot as yer man with the smelly bucket did. She stood politely, waiting for the conversation to come to a natural close, pleased Pooh hadn’t shown them up by deciding to do a number two when they had company. Her mind flitted to Patrick. She’d taken it upon herself to telephone him. Sure, someone had to. He’d been delighted to hear from her and she’d held the phone away from her ear wondering if this man with an accent that had picked up more than one Americanism was really her son. She’d felt a longing to tousle his hair and wrap him in a hug the way she’d done when he was a boy. It was high time she got over there to Los Angeles to see where he was living for herself.
For Patrick’s part he’d been full of his new venture which involved investing in something that went completely over the top of Maureen’s head. If things were going well, it boded well for him paying back his loan and the last burden resting on Maureen’s shoulders had lifted. She’d never doubted him. She’d asked after Cindy before hanging up, even though she was on the fence as to her suitability as a long-term prospect for her beloved eldest son. Apparently, she was becoming sought after in the world of toothpaste adverts. Patrick had insisted on putting her on and Maureen had nearly choked when Cindy, in that breathy, little girl voice of hers had said, ‘Hi, Mom, how are you?’
She realised Donal had said cheerio to the chap, who was whistling as he carried on his way to his lucky spot, and they set off walking once more. This time Maureen squeezed his arm. She was a lucky woman, truly blessed with her lot in life.
Chapter 31
Maureen eyeballed Peaches without realising she was doing so. The cat was taunting her as she sat outside on the balcony table daring her to shoo her away. She was oblivious to the fact Maureen might as well have been staring at a brick wall because she was lost in thought not engaging in a staring competition. Pooh was sitting by her feet enraptured by the Persian who again was oblivious to the poor dog’s adoration. Donal was in the kitchen chopping an onion having insisted on cooking his world-famous, in Drumcondra at least, spaghetti bolognaise for their dinner. He was crooning along to a country music compilation he’d brought with him for Maureen and Pooh to have a listen to. Maureen registered the sharp smack of onion as she blinked and Peaches stretched, languorously satisfied, she was the winner of the competition.
She turned away from the window and mooched into the kitchen, picking up a piece of the tomato Donal had already chopped. He refused to use canned tomatoes for his sauce. She popped the segment in her mouth and chewed, she was feeling decidedly unblessed at this moment in time thanks to Aisling.
She, Donal and Pooh had all tumbled in through the door, glad to be back in the warmth after their bracing stroll and she’d seen the blinking light of the answerphone. ‘I wonder if that’s more orders for the Mo-pants,’ she’d said, before directing Donal to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She replayed the messages, hastily scribbling down two new orders and then frowning as Aisling’s voice sounded. Her tone was snippy as she demanded her mammy telephone her back as soon as she got the message. Maureen would have been worried but she didn’t sound panicked, more annoyed and so, expecting to have to mediate the latest battle between Moira and Aisling she’d taken a deep breath and rung back.
Now, Donal put the knife down and said, ‘Come on, Maureen, you’re miles away. Why don’t you tell me what the problem is?’ She watched as he washed his hands and poured them both a glass of red. ‘The dinner can wait a while longer. C’mon let’s sit down.’ He handed her a glass and she followed his lead over to the sofa. Sitting down, he patted the seat beside him. Maureen obliged and, taking a sip of her wine, she savoured the bold, meaty flavour before relaying Aisling’s side of the telephone conversation he hadn’t been privy to.
‘Aisling, what’s got you all in a stew?’ she’d asked when her daughter picked up.
‘You have, Mammy. I can’t believe you’re after loaning money to Patrick. You know what he’s like.’
Maureen had sat down; she hadn’t expected that. ‘Aisling, I don’t know what you’re on about.’ The fib tripped off her tongue. Surely Bronagh wouldn’t have repeated their chat?
‘Yes, you do. Roisin overheard Patrick tapping you for ten thousand pounds at Christmas time and why she’s taken this long to tell me and Moira about it, I don’t know.’ Roisin had telephoned Aisling that morning from work to tell her what she’d heard when neither Patrick or Mammy knew she was within earshot at Christmas. ‘Why didn’t you tell us when you were here, or over for my wedding?’ Aisling had wanted to know.
‘Because there was too much going on. There’s always too much going on. I never got the chance to. But it’s bothering me and you’re better at broaching things like this with Mammy than I am,’ Roisin replied, feeling much better now she’d unburdened herself.
‘No, Rosi,’ Aisling had told her. ‘You just don’t do confrontation on any level.’ Roisin had hung up then on the pretext of urgent work she had to be getting on with, leaving Aisling with the phone in her hand and her blood boiling at the thought of her brother taking advantage of their mammy.
‘Loan, Aisling, there’s a big difference.’ She should have known it would’ve been one of her three with their big flappy ears, not Bronagh, Maureen had thought, still taken aback to be even having this conversation.
‘Aha, got you!’
She had walked into that one. Maureen was annoyed. There’d be no escaping this unpleasant conversation now unless she hung up. ‘I don’t see what business it is of yours or your sister’s what I do with my money, Aisling.’
‘Sure, Mammy, I know that but it’s not me trying to get my hands on your retirement fund now, is it?’
‘Your brother needed a buffer is all to get his new business off the ground. If you can’t help family who can you help?’ She’d felt Donal’s concerned gaze on her and
was embarrassed he should hear her sounding like a fishwife down the phone. She tried to level her voice out. ‘Everybody deserves a helping hand from time to time.’
‘Mammy, Patrick’s had more helping hands than I’ve had hot dinners! The reason he needed to ask you for money is because he’s got champagne tastes on beer money and he has the business sense of a flea to boot. Sure, he’s like a fecking flea the way he bounces from one sure thing to another. He never sticks at anything long enough to make it work.’
‘Aisling O’Mara, don’t you be using the language or talking ill of your brother. I’ll have you know he’s doing very nicely over there in Los Angeles. His business is going great guns, so it is. I was only after speaking to him the other day and, for your information, I’m thinking of taking a holiday over there.’ This time she’d known Donal’s gaze would be startled. Hers had been just as startled by what had popped out of her mouth. She’d not even realised she was seriously entertaining the idea, but sure, why not?
‘Oh, did Pat offer to pay for this holiday? And did he mention a repayment plan to you during this conversation of yours?’
Maureen had thought she might get struck down by lightning if she fibbed twice. ‘No, but only because we didn’t get around to talking about it. Besides I gave him until Christmas to pay it back and that’s months off yet.’
‘Well more fool you, Mammy. Weren’t you after telling me the other day about Great Aunt Noreen and the postcard she sent you from New York? And how you were worried Emer was taking advantage of her.’
Maureen squirmed. She had indeed been telling her how Emer, Noreen’s canny niece who knew too well which side her bread was buttered, was taking advantage of her lonely old aunt. It wasn’t the first time Emer had done so either, but loneliness was a powerful motivation to put your blinkers on where family was concerned. Was she guilty of the same thing? No, she decided, Patrick was her son. He wouldn’t do wrong by her. ‘Sure, there’s no comparison. Patrick’s not at all like Emer,’ she’d said, knowing exactly when Aisling’s distrust of her brother had taken root. It was when, shortly after Brian died, she’d given the family the ultimatum to either take over the running of the guesthouse or she’d be selling O’Mara’s. Living with her memories and without her husband in the family apartment had become too much for her and she’d been desperate for a fresh start here in Howth. If they’d sold, the children would have got their inheritance early and Patrick had been desperate to offload the old place. He’d wanted to take his share of the proceeds of sale and put them into one of his entrepreneurial schemes. The other three had wanted the family business to stay in the family and Aisling, with her background in tourism, had stepped up and taken on the managerial role. Patrick’s nose had been knocked firmly out of joint by the announcement Aisling would be taking over the day-to-day management of O’Mara’s and he’d made sure they’d all known it.
Donal had put a cup of tea down on the side table next to where she was sitting then, and she’d been suddenly weary of the conversation knowing there was no resolution to be had. ‘Aisling O’Mara. I’m only going to say this the once. I’ll not be dictated to by any of you. Not yourself, Roisin, Moira or Patrick for that matter. I’m the mammy in this family and you’d do well to remember it.’
She finished telling Donal what had transpired and took another sip of her wine. She gave him a sidelong glance wondering if he’d think she’d been foolish where Patrick was concerned, just as she’d thought Noreen was for forking out so as Emer could have a fancy holiday.
‘Maureen, it’s not up to me to tell you what to do or to get involved in your family affairs. Patrick’s your son and we always want to help our children to better themselves, it’s what we do as parents. My only advice would be to talk to him if it’s bothering you and put your mind at rest. We spend too much time worrying over things we could resolve if we only talked to one another. As for Aisling, I think now she’s blown off steam she’ll be back on the phone within the hour to apologise.’
‘You’re right, Donal,’ Maureen said. Aisling wasn't a sulker. She smiled up at him feeling fortunate to have him here to listen to her family dramas and even more fortunate he had no intention of interfering.
‘What I would like to know, though, is when you’re planning on going to Los Angeles because you hadn’t mentioned it?’
‘I hadn’t thought of it, not really. The other day when I spoke to Pat, I thought it would be lovely to go and see him over there in America, you know the way you do. The holiday thing just came out of my mouth.’
Donal chortled. ‘Well, I don’t mind telling you I wouldn’t mind escaping the tail-end of this weather. Oh, yes, I could swap it for a few palm trees and a hotel with a pool.’
‘You’d come with me?’
‘If you’d have me.’
‘I’d like that.’
They smiled at each other in mutual admiration once more.
Over at O’Mara’s, Aisling was curled up on the sofa next to Moira. Moira had a face pack on and was picking poodle hair off her Mo-pants muttering on about that dog having been sitting on the furniture when no one was looking. She’d offered to give Aisling a facial too but after the last debacle where she’d used cheap shite on her and Aisling had wound up with hives for days, she’d told her to feck off with her face pack. Now, she turned to Moira and said, ‘I still can’t believe she hung up on me.’
Moira’s setting green mask cracked as she spoke. ‘I think you went too far and you know you’re going to have to ring her back and apologise or Mammy will act the martyr.’
‘Oh, pipe down, Shrek,’ Aisling said, folding her arms across her chest and sliding down her seat in a sulk. She wasn’t ready to ring back. She wasn’t in the mood for criticism from Moira either. “Well, someone has to speak up where he’s concerned or he’d walk all over her.’
‘Mammy gave him until Christmas to pay her back, Ash, you jumped the gun telephoning her and giving out like so.’
Aisling chewed her lip, she loved her brother, of course she did, he was family but he was still slippery as an eel. Maybe just maybe she had been a tad hasty.
‘I want to know more about this holiday of hers to Los Angeles. Do you think she might take us?’ Moira asked.
‘I’m a married woman, she’d have to take my husband too.’
‘Feck off, Aisling,’ Moira said. ‘And ring Mammy.’
Aisling sighed, she wasn’t a sulker and she hated going to sleep on a fight so she might as well get it over with, and picking up the phone, she pushed redial.
Chapter 32
The weeks had tumbled over one another the way they do and as the days had passed, orders for the Mo-pants had dipped. Maureen had come to the reluctant conclusion, just as had happened with the Flower Power movement and other revolutions that had gone before, the comfy pants day was done. They’d had their moment in the sun and shone brightly but there were only so many women she could reach out to from here in Howth. Truth be told, she didn’t feel inclined to undertake a nationwide tour to promote the Mo-pants either, not now she had Donal. Mind, if they did have a holiday over there in America, she might be tempted to take a few pairs over and see how the land lay. For now, though, it was gratification enough to see her fellow line dancing ladies stepping that little bit wider although she wished Rosemary Farrell would stop harping on about how she still couldn’t lunge on account of her hip, Mo-pants or no Mo-pants.
Today, Maureen was having her final lesson with Maria before Saturday’s big birthday bash where she’d be singing alongside Donal. They’d still not squeezed in an official practice with the rest of the band but she’d sung her two numbers with Donal every chance they got and was satisfied she was as ready as she’d ever be.
‘Do you think we could run through the scales one last time, without the tambourine, Maureen?’ Maria asked, looking up at her expectantly from her piano stool before smoothing her flowy skirt.
Maureen, who was standing in a puddle of sunlight wh
ich was making her feel as though she were spotlighted on stage, reluctantly put the tambourine down. Maria smiled her thanks, flexed her fingers and off they went running through their Do-Re-Mi-Fa-So-La-Ti-Do.
‘Good, very good, Maureen,’ Maria said when they’d finished. ‘Now then, I managed to lay my hands on the sheet music for We’ve got Tonight and Islands in the Stream, shall we see how we get on with those?’
‘We can’t.’ Maureen shook her head.
‘Why not?’
‘We’ve no Kenny and I can’t be doing all three. It’s not possible.’
Maria took a deep breath. She was a kind woman was Maureen O’Mara, a heart’o gold on her because hadn’t she brought her a lovely dense porter cake today? The children would enjoy a slice of that for their afternoon tea and, given she didn’t bake much, her husband would be in seventh heaven when he got to sit down for his evening supper with a wedge. She might even pop out later and get a bottle of cream to whip for him to have on the side. ‘I’ll be Kenny, Maureen,’ she explained patiently, as though to a small child.
‘But you’re a woman.’
Maria dug her nails into her palms. ‘I realise that, I’ve birthed three children, Maureen, but sure, we can improvise, can’t we?’
‘Do you have a white jacket you could put on?’
‘Begging your pardon?’
‘A white jacket. You know like Kenny wore, white trousers too, would be grand if you’ve any. I always think it’s good to look the part, you know.’
‘No, I’m sorry, Maureen, I don’t.’
‘Well then if you’ve no jacket and trousers can I use the tambourine? To get myself in the mood, like.’ Her hand was already inching toward it.
‘You can use the tambourine,’ Maria said through gritted teeth.
‘I suppose we could give it a try then.’
The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 57
