Dymphna had burst into tears when she saw the tattered old jumper her aunt was wearing the day before (this had been when they were making their way up to the Amelia Earhart Center). “Why would ye wear that mingin aul jumper? I'm mortified, so am are, that I ever forced it upon ye!” “I'm wearing it,” Ursula had said, “because ye made it with love. With the pure love of a twelve-year old wane.” Padraig, flinging rocks behind them, had snorted.
And now there were tears again. From the accused. Fionnuala. Paddy had gone up to the bedroom where she was sleeping off her hangover from the reception the night before. He had dragged her from the mattress and, barely giving her time to fling on her tattered bathrobe, her bleached hair a shambles, her eyes swollen with drink and lack of sleep, the mascara from the night before circling her eyes, one false eyelash still clinging on, her mood anarchic, her barks croaks, he had forced her down the stairs. She had been made to sit on the bench of the bay window, been refused a cup of tea, and they were all in a semi-circle around her.
“Anyone woulda done it!” she implored them through her sobs. “Any mother with a heart! With the love for her son! To stop him ruining his life!”
Lorcan was given pride of place directly before her, his fists curled, his face taut with anger.
“No, Mam,” he said. “They wouldn't.”
“Do ye not realize, woman, what ye've done?” Paddy said.
“Attempted murder, Mammy! That's what it was!” Dymphna said.
A look of scorn passed Fionnuala's tear-and-mascara stained face.
“Och, catch yerself on, would ye? Daft bitch. As ye usually are. No need to be all dramatic! Attempted murder, me arse! Don't make me laugh! A wee bit of hairspray, was all I sprayed on them ham hocks. And in his porridge. And a few spritzes of furniture polish on his fish. Didn't do him much harm. He's standing there shooting daggers outta his eyes before me now, isn't he? The picture of health, so he is!”
“Ye were gonny poison him with oven cleaner!” Ursula said. “Have ye any clue what that wouldn't done to his insides?”
Fionnuala wrapped her arms around her and glared accusingly at Paddy. She had steadfastly refused to acknowledge Ursula and Jed's presence in the room since she had been hauled into it.
“Why are them Barnetts here? I kyanny stomach it, themmuns standing there with them smarmy looks on their faces the both of them, the minted cow and the flash bastard, passing judgment on me!”
“Yet another thing,” Maureen said, “ye kyanny stomach. Sure, ye kyanny stomach much of anything, love.”
“The list be's endless, so it is,” Dymphna added.
Fionnuala snorted. “So ye say. I don't give a shite what ye say. Orange-loving slapper!”
Paddy broke in, “Jed and Ursula, me sister, if I might remind ye, they've been missing from this family, their family, far too long. And most of that be's down to you and yer spite. They've earned the right to be here, so they have. Just as the wee wanes have earned the right to be here for all the clatterings, the beatings, the slaps ye've dealt them since they was in their nappies.”
“And it was Auntie Ursula,” Siofra piped up, “what found the spud and the tin in yer handbag.”
They all turned to her, and Siofra shrank against the china cabinet filled with bits and pieces of electronics and the Kenny Roger's The Gambler tea set. Perhaps this was one fact that shouldn't have been mentioned. Ursula inched her way behind Dymphna for safety. Jed placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. As happy as he was to be invited into the family, he knew he had to keep silent. He watched the proceedings with fascination.
“Who found it out doesn't matter,” Maureen said.
“What matters, but,” Lorcan said, fighting to keep his anger in check, “be's what ye tried to do. Ye say ye didn't use that oven cleaner on me. Ye clearly had plans to, but. Spiteful cunt!”
Fionnuala's face crumpled and the moan of a ravaged creature escaped her lips.
“Awwww!! Sure, the abuse from all the others I can stick. From ye, Lorcan, but, son, do ye not realize how a harsh word from yer mouth hurts me more than a thousand from any of the others?”
Padraig looked like he would have gladly smashed a brick into his mother's face if one had been available in that room.
“Ye're not right in the head,” Lorcan fumed. “Ye're mental!”
“Deranged!” Maureen added for good measure.
“Naw, naw, naw!” Fionnuala sobbed into her lap. Seamus cried along with her and scurried away behind the ironing board leaning against the wall.
Paddy's voice rose above her tortured sobs, and he addressed her shuddering back.
“Ye know the laws of the land prohibit me from divorcing ye. Much as I'd love to. So, the way I see it—”
“The way we see it—” Dymphna corrected.
“We all see it,” Lorcan confirmed.
“Is something drastic needs to be done,” Paddy finished off.
“There's no talking sense to youse?” Fionnuala was wildly clutching at straws, flimsy, cheaply made straws from China that had been water-damaged in the shipping.
“Can ye not get it through yer thick deranged skull, Mammy?” Lorcan said. Fionnuala moaned at the insult. “That be's precisely the problem. There's no talking sense to you!”
Paddy cleared his throat with such an air of authority all turned to him. It was as if he were the judge about to pass down the verdict. “Ye've three choices, Fionnuala.”
“Think of it, Mam,” Lorcan said, “like that program with the briefcases on the telly ye love so much. There only be's three left, and ye can choose only one.”
Paddy counted them out on his fingers. His voice rang with importance.
“One, we haul ye down to the Filth and get ye banged up by the coppers for the attempted murder of yer son.”
“Filicide,” Dymphna put in. “Rory looked it up on the Internet for me this morning.”
Fionnuala once would've snorted. A Catholic family taking one of their own to the PSNI? Now, as she looked at their grim faces above her, however...
“Two, we turn ye in to Gransha for tests to be done to yer head. I'm sure they've a rubber room and a straight-jacket with yer name on it.”
Fionnuala gasped. It was the mental hospital on the hill. They wouldn't! Would they...?
“Three...ye mind that caravan down in Culmore Ursula and Jed bought with the lottery winnings?”
“Ye mean that ramshackle dump in amongst nothing but flocks of sheep and the nearest pub miles away? The one with no electric and a toilet without a seat that doesn't flush properly?”
“Aye, that's the one. Ye move outta here and live there. All on yer lonesome. For the rest of yer days. Ye're dead to me. Dead to all of us. We don't want any more to do with the likes of ye. Them's yer choices.”
The scorn refused to leave Fionnuala's face, no matter how many tears fell from her eyes.
“Och, sure, ye kyanny be ser—”
“Enough!” Paddy roared with a force that made them all jump. A wail rose from Seamus behind the ironing board. “I've had, we've had years of hearing the contents of yer head. Yadda, yadda yadda...” He moved his thumb and his fingers as if his hand were a talking head. “No more blathering. Ye've done enough of it for one lifetime. To inflict as much damage as ye could.”
Lorcan spoke up. “We can put it to a vote. Or ye can decide for yerself. Or, like that telly program, the one with the briefcases, we can write all three choices down, put em under tea mugs, and ye can let chance make the choice for ye. What's yer pleasure?”
“What about...what if...” Fionnuala appealed to them with eyes that tried to seduce them all, tried to make them conjure up all the happy times they had spent with her. She shouldn't have wasted her energy.
“Them's yer three choices.” Paddy said.
“Which one are ye gonny chose?” Lorcan asked.
They heard a bird chirp beyond the filthy bay window, the groan of the house settling, the ticking of Jed's watch, the snif
fles from the ironing board.
Fionnuala's lips moved, and they all bent in closer. But what she muttered they couldn't catch, even with nine pairs of ears struggling to hear.
“Speak up!” Lorcan yelled.
“Get the tea mugs out,” Fionnuala said.
“Padraig, Siofra, get youse into the scullery for three mugs,” Maureen said. She reached for the notebook and the pencil she had ready on the coffee table. “I'll write the slips.”
Fionnuala was moved to the settee before the coffee table. Maureen scribbled down COPPERS, MADHOUSE and CARAVAN.
Siofra skipped back in, Padraig behind her.
“I've two for ye to choose from,” Siofra said. “I've me own One Direction mug, and then that one from the new pope ye bought off the telly the other month. That one has a wee crack in it, but.
The boy band members smiled out at Fionnuala from one, Francis waved at her from the other.
“I'll take the pope one,” Fionnuala said.
Siofra looked disappointed.
Padraig sneered as he placed the other two before her, one with rows of daisies, the other that said World's Best Mum XXX, bought by Dymphna years ago in what her daughter now thought was an act of madness.
“Turn yer head, love,” Maureen said.
Fionnuala glared at her, but did as she said.
Ursula and Jed gripped each other, and Dymphna, as Maureen placed a slip of paper under each mug, then shuffled them on the coffee table. Lorcan was finally smiling, vindicated.
“Ye can look now, love,” Maureen said.
Fionnuala turned around and looked down at the three mugs before her. Maureen turned to the others.
“Does anyone want to give em another wee shuffle? Lorcan? Paddy?”
“Naw,” Lorcan said.
“I think,” Paddy said, “Ursula can do it.”
Ursula pointed at herself in shock. Her brother nodded kindly. Jed beamed behind her as she walked uncertainly towards the coffee table. Fionnuala's nostrils were enraged-bull like as Ursula moved the mugs around, then stood back.
All stared down at Fionnuala.
“Choose,” Paddy said.
Fionnuala's hand hovered over the mugs. Her fingers were shaking.
“Can we not—”
“Make yer choice, Mam.” Lorcan's voice was hard. It tore at her heart, seeing him look at her that way.
She offered up a fevered prayer to the Lord. And then she chose. She grabbed the Pope Francis mug and picked it up. They all leaned over, breathless, silent, and looked at the slip of paper underneath. There were murmurs and little nods. Fitting, each of them thought. Fionnuala's roars of protest rang out, her legs kicking, her arms swinging.
“Naw! Naw!”
The mug clunked to the floor.
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT (AND HOW WE MIGHT SEE THEM LATER):
Paddy Flood: Paddy was made foreman of the Fillets-O-Joy packing plant until it closed down two months later. He then trained to become a security guard, and Zoe hired him to protect her storage units, Pence-A-Day. He is enjoying life without Fionnuala, and perhaps there is a new woman in his life.
Moira Flood: Moira met a Maltese woman, a sculptress of tin, while shopping in an outdoor market in Malta. They both reached for the same can of Kinnie, Malta's favorite soft drink, at the same time, had a torrid two year relationship, then finally decided to learn Catalan and move to Barcelona to tie the knot there (because Moira had been mistaken all those years, and Malta only allowed civil partnerships, not full blown gay marriages). Her partner, no, her wife's career exploded after an article in the Spanish version of Art In America, and Moira gave up writing to look after their two adopted children (one Ukrainian, the other Senegalese), though she does dabble in poetry about baby food and changing diapers occasionally .
Dymphna Riddell: Zoe allowed Dymphna to keep the wedding ring on her finger. She doesn't know exactly what she's going to do with her life, but at the moment she has her hands full with Keanu, Beeyonsay and, after a few months, her and Rory's new child. It was a boy. After agonizing over Willpat or Patwill, a mixture of the very Protestant name William and the very Catholic name Patrick,, she decided to call their son Greenornge (stress on the second syllable). She was relieved her new son had pale flesh and blue eyes and spoke perfect Hiberno-English. And she is pregnant again. This time, the doctor said, it's a girl. Perhaps she'll call her Greenorngetta. Watch this space.
Padraig Flood: Padraig was arrested for setting a chemist's on fire when he was fifteen, and he followed his two older brothers' footsteps to the Young Offenders Unit, but as we have seen from Eoin and Lorcan, that doesn't necessarily mean Padraig won't have a useless life. He is getting therapy on Tuesday afternoons and Thursday evenings, and there are also handicraft and computer skills classes, so perhaps this incarceration will be the making of him.
Seamus Flood: Seamus finally learned how to talk and made his mammy proud by deciding to became a priest. He will be attending theology school soon, and we'll see if he finally does go all the way. Finally! A priest in the Flood family, and a welcome addition after Fionnuala' second uncle the Bishop.
Lorcan Flood: Lorcan joined Eoin in Florida, and though his brother continued to work at the Irish pub for years, Lorcan saw more opportunity and even more money in becoming a gigolo to Miami's female millionaires. Many mother's days came and went before he ever sent Fionnuala a card.
Maureen Heggarty: The Heggarty matriarch lived on and on and on until her 102nd year; in fact, she's still living (that 102nd birthday hasn't arrived yet).
Rory Riddell: Rory graduated from university with his degree in whatever technical thing he was studying. He, Dymphna and their children moved into a new smart house on the Waterside, two blocks down away from Rory's mother, and Zoe bestowed on him an entry level position at Riddell Enterprises. Rest assured, he will be fast-tracked.
Zoe Riddell: The next year, thanks to the popularity of the wedding in all the Sunday newspaper supplement, Zoe won Derry Businesswoman of the Year. Not runner up. She has even more projects up her sleeve, and with the new Catholic in her family, twice as many people in Derry willing to do business with her (though she would call it Londonderry).
Bridie McFee: The Virgin Mary never appeared to Bridie again. If She had even appeared in the first place. But the experience had changed her. Her cold sores never came back, and she did cut back on chips and other fatty foods. A few years later, a slimmer Bridie got promoted to manager at Kebabalicious, and she met a handsome musician who was complaining about a foreign object in his Cow-A-Licious-On-A-Bun. Their first date is next week, and Bridie can't believe her good luck. She thanked the Blessed Virgin for it.
Mrs. Mulholland: Nothing much of interest happened to Mrs. Mulholland. Indeed, the demonstration on Dymphna's wedding day was the most exciting thing that ever happened to her.
Slim and Louella Barnett: Slim was finally released from hospital, and is now practically the same man he was when he went in, except for the twinge in his left knee when it rains, and the 100 pounds he shed. Louella finds the new Slim very sexy. She helps run the business, and has forgiven Ursula for causing the accident. But she still cheats when they all play cribbage together.
Jed Barnett: He and Ursula survived due diligence, because Jed could show Mitchell, Playboy, he really had joined Gambler's Anonymous. They received the $150,000, and, with Mitchell's contacts and marketing nous, and the rewriting of the jingle, sung by a popular female artist instead of Ursula, Slim Jed Jerky exploded across the mid-west, and is on track to conquer the east and west coasts as well. Profits increased 100% in the first three months, and the only way is up. Jed misses gambling, but his love for Ursula is greater.
Ursula Barnett: Inspector Scarrey keeps calling her and asking her to go to dinner with him, but she keeps telling him she's happily married. Since the trip to Derry for Dymphna's funeral, the part of her life that felt missing is now back. She is now no longer blocked from the Floods' Facebook accounts, and she
spends many hours chatting with the members of her family she had been estranged from for far too long. She is happy.
Siofra Flood: We look far, far into the future for wee Siofra. The only child to totally escape from her mother's clutches, Siofra worked at the meat and cheese counter of the Top Yer Trolly until she graduated school, and then she worked there a few years longer. But she then won the green card lottery when she was 21. She moved, not to Florida, but to New York City, where she had a brief, successful career as a model, and she invested the money made doing that to start her own clothing company, showcasing her own designs. She attracted the eye of an entrepreneur who was a dead ringer for Playboy. She startled, then charming him with her accent, and wowed him with her style. They got married, and even after the birth of her twins, a boy and a girl, she continued to run the company to huge critical acclaim and profits the percentage of which Slim Jed Jerky could only dream of.
Fionnuala Flood: Dr. Chandrapore had startling news for Fionnuala: they had mixed her blood and urine samples with those of three other patients, and that was the reason for the peculiar test results. He was still uncertain as to what caused her fainting spells. Perhaps it was the stress of family life. Fionnuala is suing for malpractice. From the caravan in Culmore, the purgatory where she has nothing to do but wipe down surfaces, gaze out the mud-spattered window at the sheep and cows and cry herself to sleep at night. She called Paddy, Lorcan, her mother and Dymphna with the frequency of a stalker, and after three months of voicemail, all four numbers were mysteriously changed.
Randaleen Jagger: Randaleen went to rehab and is now a born-again Christian.
I THANK YOU SO MUCH for getting this book. If you enjoyed it (and I hope you did!), why not review it on Amazon? I don't even mean a review; many people don't like to write them. Really what's important are the stars, so even a sentence would do. Reviews/stars are so, so important for us authors, and we are always grateful for them. Please go to Amazon and rate this book here. I’d love to hear from you!
Best Served Frozen (The Irish Lottery Series Book 4) Page 41
