A Wedding at O'Mara's (The Guesthouse on the Green Book 6) Page 12

  ‘Thank you, Ned, you’ve been a star so you have,’ the bride-to-be said, making him blush by giving him a kiss on the cheek before sorting her mammy and sisters out. She pushed the door open and herded them inside telling them to keep the noise down because it was a guesthouse not a fecking...

  Whatever it was he didn’t catch it, and getting back in his limousine he drove off home knowing it would be a very long time before his U2 CD saw the light of day again.

  Chapter 19

  Noreen

  Noreen tapped the side of the sieve and a sprinkle of icing sugar rained down on the Victoria sponge cake like snow. She stood back to admire her handiwork satisfied with the end result. It had become her signature cake around the village over the years. If ever there was a party, birthday or funeral and a cake was needed, she was enlisted to make one of her famous deep sponges. The baking of it never ceased to be bittersweet for the memories it evoked but memories were part of what made us who we were, Noreen always thought. You had to take the bad in order to have the good and as such there was no point in ignoring them. This sponge with its homemade jam, something she had time for now she no longer ran the shop, and fresh cream filling was intended for Father Peter. She wanted his advice as to what she should do about Emer and didn’t like to appear at the rectory empty handed. She knew Father Peter, a portly man with a penchant for anything sweet, like her Malachy, could never resist her sponge cake, and as such she’d have his undivided attention. Noreen untied her apron and went to tidy herself up.

  With her headscarf knotted beneath her chin to stop her hair from turning into a bird’s nest in the gusty breeze, she set off. It was a short walk through the village to the church at its edge. She was carrying the cake in her trusty container. She’d bought it years ago when Rosamunde had begun dabbling in Tupperware parties, balking at the price of it but Rosamunde had convinced her it would be an investment. It had been too, she’d be lost without it now. She spied Maisie Donovan’s cocker spaniel, Timmy, nosing around outside the butchers and held her container a little tighter. She didn’t trust the animal one little bit and had threatened Maisie with a phone call to the powers that be more than once. Sure, she’d once watched the crafty dog leap around the legs of Mrs Sweeney outside that very butchers. The poor woman, nervy at the best of times, had dropped the sausages she’d bought for her and Mr Sweeney’s dinner and the cocker spaniel had absconded with them, tail wagging all the way.

  She shooed Timmy away as she passed by him and said hello to Mr Farrell, who told her he was off for a warming bowl of stew in Murphy’s. Pint of ale more like, she’d thought, crossing over the stone bridge and hearing the stream babbling beneath it. The wind was cutting right through her today and she hoped Father Peter was in the rectory house and not the draughty old church.

  The church, she saw, peering around the door and inhaling its familiar smell of pungent incense was deserted and she followed the path around to the house, noticing the hydrangeas had been cut back for the winter months. Father Peter, Father Jim and Father Thomas all lived here in the rectory and the pruned flowering shrubs would be down to Father Thomas. It was he who had the green fingers. Father Jim and Father Thomas would be out visiting the housebound of the parish as was their custom on a Thursday, which was why she was hoping to catch Father Peter for a quiet word. She placed her container down on the step before rapping on the door, feeling the tug in her back as she bent to retrieve it.

  ‘Noreen, are you alright?’ Father Peter swung the door open in time to see her grimacing as she righted herself. ‘Here let me take that for you.’ He relieved her of the Tupperware, his eyes lighting up as he guessed at what might be inside.

  ‘It’s age, Father Peter, nothing more.’

  ‘Ah yes, it brings its aches and pains to be sure but how does the saying go?’

  ‘Do not resent growing old, many are denied the privilege.’

  ‘Truer words never spoken. Now then, come in out of the cold.’

  Noreen did so and followed the priest down the shadowy hallway with its worn runner through to the kitchen where the old Aga was ticking over and keeping the room cheerful. The scent of toast hung on the air along with something else. She spied a jar with sprigs of thyme in it and realised that was the underlying smell. Beyond the back door, Noreen knew, was a well-tended garden with a raised bed of herbs and a fruitful vegetable patch. If she were to pop her head out the door, she knew she’d find parsnips, swedes, leeks and Brussel sprouts – Father Jim’s penchant for the latter was well known and his reputation preceded him in the confessional box. Father Thomas kept his fellow priests well fed from his efforts in the garden. Given the priests looked after themselves, the place was kept very respectably Noreen thought, pulling out a chair and sitting down at Father Peter’s bidding, noting the scrubbed table and clear worktop as she did so. They were house-proud men.

  ‘I shall make us a cup of tea to have with what I hope I’ll find in here.’ He set the container down on the table at which Noreen sat.

  ‘It’s one of my Victoria sponges, Father, with fresh cream and homemade jam.’

  Father Peter’s eyes gleamed greedily as she’d known they would. ‘Well this is a good day, a good day indeed, but to what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘It’s advice I’m after, Father.’

  ‘Well now, Noreen, it has to be said I give my wisest opinions on a full stomach.’ He retrieved two side plates and a knife. ‘If you could do the honours while I tend to the tea that would be grand.’

  ‘Certainly, Father.’

  He nodded and set about making a pot of tea.

  Noreen had placed a sliver of cake in front of herself and a large triangle for Father Jim by the time he’d set the tea things on the table. He poured them both a cup of the steaming brew before murmuring a very quick grace, smacking his lips, and tucking in.

  Noreen hadn’t much of an appetite but managed to fork up the best part of her cake so the priest didn’t feel he was eating alone. He made short work of the sponge and in no time was pushing his chair back. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, missing the blob of cream on the tip of his nose. Noreen didn’t like to say anything and fixed her eyes on her china cup and saucer instead.

  ‘Now then, Noreen, let me tell you, if you were to enter that sponge of yours in a cake competition, I’ve no doubt it would take first place. An unexpected and most enjoyable treat on a cold winter’s afternoon. Thank you.’

  Noreen smiled acknowledging his praise.

  ‘So, why don’t you tell me what it is troubling you.’ He clasped his hands resting them on his lap as he leaned back, satiated, in his chair.

  ‘I’ve a family wedding to attend in a few weeks in Dublin and my niece who I’ve not spoken to after she wronged myself and my dear departed Malachy thirty years ago will be there. My sister, Rosamunde’s after ringing me and telling me it’s time to put old grievances aside. She wants me to find forgiveness in my heart for what her daughter did to Malachy and myself. Part of me would like very much to do this because she was like a daughter to us and I miss her, but I’m not sure I can.’

  ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me what happened all those years ago.’

  Noreen finished her tea and setting it back in the saucer took a deep breath finding, herself back in 1970.

  Chapter 20

  1970

  ‘This came this morning, Noreen. Read it.’ Rosamunde flapped the envelope under her sister’s nose. The shop was blessedly quiet because Noreen had seen from the look on her sister’s face when she burst through the door she was in a state. Malachy was out and she couldn’t very well close up in order to hear whatever it was in this letter that had her sister all worked up. And she certainly didn’t want their customers knowing their family’s private business. She glanced toward the door, willing it to stay shut for the time being, before taking the envelope from Rosamunde. She put the glasses, hanging on a chain around her neck these days, on and pulled the l
etter from the envelope. She recognised the handwriting instantly – it was Emer’s – and her eyes scanned the page, reading quickly. As she drew near the end, her lips tightened; she could see why Rosamunde was upset.

  Emer had completed a bookkeeping course in Cork after leaving school and it hadn’t been long after, she’d headed for Dublin. Her new qualification had secured her a position in a furniture factory’s office and she’d lodged with a group of girls she’d gotten friendly with while studying in town, all keen for a taste of capital city life. At first, she’d written regularly and had come home once a month, full of news of what life like was like in the big smoke. Noreen and Malachy had counted down the days between those visits, worrying in between times she was burning the candle at both ends, but comforting one another with the fact they knew she was happy and living life to the full. Slowly though, the letters had become fewer and the visits non-existent apart from holidays and birthdays. Independence was all part of growing up, Malachy had said, and she’d agreed with him but it didn’t stop her missing Emer and was she that busy she couldn’t write a little more often.

  Noreen hadn’t confided in anyone but Malachy to being a little hurt when her niece got engaged to Phelan Daly without breathing a word to her of it being on the cards. His family owned the furniture business where she worked. Emer had mentioned in passing, on a rare visit home, she’d been stepping out with the boss’s son but there’d been no talk of it being serious. She hadn’t even brought him home to meet the family. It had stung a little, hearing the news her precious niece was engaged to a veritable stranger via a quickly scrawled letter landing on the mat inside the front door of the shop on a Wednesday morning.

  And now this. She folded the letter up and tucked it back inside the envelope before handing it back to her sister. ‘Poor Emer, a broken engagement and no job as a result.’ Her heart went out to her niece even as she wondered why she’d had to hear this news from Rosamunde who clearly didn’t know what to do about the situation her daughter found herself in. ‘She doesn’t say what happened though does she? Only that her fiancé and her have parted ways which means she feels she can no longer work at the factory and she’s been living off her savings this past month as finding a new job is proving a challenge.’

  ‘Yes, but she won’t be able to do that much longer. To be honest, Noreen, I’m surprised she has any savings. You know how money always burned a hole in her pocket. If she can’t find work then she’ll have to come home,’ Rosamunde said, stuffing the envelope in the pocket of her cardigan before wringing her hands. ‘But what will she do here? Sure, it’s why she left in the first place. There’s not much in the way of prospects for a young person in Claredoncally and around abouts.’

  ‘There’s always Cork.’ Noreen had felt she should have applied for work in town when she finished her course. It was much closer to home and if it was city life she was after wanting to try, Cork was every bit as much a city as Dublin, though granted a little smaller.

  ‘There is but I think she needs to be home with her family in order to get over all the upset with Phelan, and sure the bus to town is slower than a horse and cart. It would take her well over an hour to get in and out every day. You know how she hated it when she was studying. No, I was thinking something closer to home.’

  Ah, now Noreen could see what had brought her sister steaming over to the shop. She’d never been very subtle. She sighed, her words coming out in an exasperated hiss, ‘Rosamunde, why don’t you say what it is you came to say?’

  Rosamunde licked her lips and eyed her sister speculatively for a moment. ‘Alright then. You always were straight to the point, Noreen. Would you see your way to giving Emer a job here at the shop, until she can get herself on her feet again?’

  It was as she’d thought. ‘I don’t know, Rosamunde. I don’t think there’d be enough work here to keep her busy.’

  ‘Noreen, please, she needs your help.’

  It was all she’d ever wanted; to be needed the way a child needs her mammy and Emer was the closest thing to a daughter she was ever going to have. Of course, she wanted to keep her close, she would like nothing more than to work alongside her but it was pointless if all they’d be doing was twiddling their thumbs. ‘I’ll talk it over with Malachy.’

  ‘Bless you, Noreen, you’re one in a million so you are.’

  One month later...

  ‘Emer, you’ll rub a hole in the glass if you polish that window any harder,’ Noreen said, opening the till. ‘I’m going to finish up for the day. Put your rag away and get yourself off home.’

  ‘Right-ho, Aunty Nono,’ Emer called back cheerfully, finally satisfied she had the panes gleaming. She dropped the cloth back in the bucket and returned it to the cupboard under the stairs. Next, she went to take her shop coat off, but first things first, she pulled the crumpled pound note from her pocket and stuffed it into her bag hanging on the hook on the door. It separated the shop from the stairs leading to the living quarters upstairs. Then she took her coat off, glad to see the back of the ugly old thing as she hung it in place of her bag. She was off to the cinema tonight with her friend, Delia, and had been short thanks to the dress she’d treated herself to with last week’s wages. Now she’d be able to wear her new dress, have dinner in the cafe Delia had suggested, and go to the cinema. Sure, she was only after taking what was her due anyway. She worked hard, her arm was aching from polishing the windows so it was, and received a pittance in return. Yes, it was only fair she justified, flicking her hair out from under jacket collar before wandering back into the shop to turn the sign from open to closed as had become her habit on her way out each evening.

  ‘Goodnight, Aunty Nono, Uncle Malachy, see you tomorrow.’

  Malachy grunted his goodbye from where he was sitting on a stool pricing a late delivery of tinned fruit.

  ‘Have a good evening, Emer,’ Noreen called, smiling back at her niece, pleased to note the colour was beginning to return to her cheeks now she was away from the city with all its pollution and grime. Fresh air was a tonic for most things, a broken heart included, she thought as the door banged shut behind their newest employee.

  She began to tally up the day’s takings counting silently as she did the arithmetic that had become second nature to her over the years. For the second time that month though it didn’t add up. She prided herself on being accurate when it came to her dealings with their customers and Emer, well, Emer was a qualified bookkeeper. She knew her figures right enough. She frowned and looked down the aisle at Malachy. He needed reading glasses but refused to admit this was the case. Was he after giving out too much change? She’d have to broach the topic carefully with him, he could be a sensitive soul. She made her mind up to talk to him and nudging the till shut with her hip she put the coins and notes in the bag. They kept their money bag in the sideboard drawer with Malachy taking the week’s earnings to the bank each Friday. ‘I’ll go and put the dinner on,’ she called over to her husband. He was a pussycat on a full stomach.

  Three months later...

  ‘Where’s our Emer?’ Rosamunde asked Noreen one afternoon as she picked up a tin of baked beans and put them in her basket. ‘They’ll go nicely with our sausages tonight.’ She put another tin in for good measure. The boys had hollow legs on them these days and she debated a third tin but decided no, they’d have to fill their boots with slices of bread on the side.

  ‘It’s Friday, she’s gone into town to do the banking.’

  ‘It was very good of Malachy to teach her to drive. Terry wouldn’t have had the patience.’

  ‘He didn’t mind. She picked it up easily by all accounts and Malachy wanted to give her a sense of responsibility by getting her to do the banking and collect the odd order. She’s qualified in bookkeeping and the like so it must bore her silly stacking shelves and serving customers all day.’

  ‘She’s seems happy enough to me. It’s working out well then? Having Emer here.’

  ‘It is.’ Noreen had
to admit it was, they’d be lost without her now. ‘I was worried we mightn’t find enough for her to do but business is brisk. People always need their milk and bread and other essentials. Her being here means Malachy and I can take things a little easier, too.’ They were enjoying the opportunity Emer’s presence afforded them to take more breaks, she’d even found Malachy upstairs with his feet up and the paper spread out in front of him the other day! It wasn’t only Malachy who was making the most of not being needed on the shop floor continuously. She’d slipped away and had her hair set the other day and found time for a cup of tea with her old friend, Kathleen, at Alma’s. Mind you, she’d nearly broken a tooth on her currant bun, rock hard so they were. She’d told Alma in no uncertain terms, if she wanted to keep her customers, she needed to up her game.

  Rosamunde hesitated in that way of hers which told Noreen she had something weighing on her chest.

  ‘Come on then, Rosamunde, I can see you’ve not called in for the baked beans alone. Out with it.’

  Her younger sister looked shifty as she dug deep for the words she was after. She cleared her throat. ‘I, erm, I was wondering what you’re paying Emer, that’s all.’

  ‘The going rate, why?’ Noreen was put out by Rosamunde implying they were making the most of their niece being family and employing her on slave wages.

  ‘Oh, don’t get snippy, Noreen. I know you’re more than fair with her. But she’s forever coming home with new things that to my mind should be beyond her means.’