The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 16

  ‘Don’t believe a word of it, he’s worse than me when it comes to the grandchildren and it wasn’t just an orange. I remember your dear old mam telling me you got a peashooter when you were ten and menaced the village with the thing.’

  They smiled across the table at each other with the warmth of a life lived well together.

  ‘My son’s five and he’s the only grandson and nephew so I expect his stocking will have more than an orange and peashooter in it too.’ She smiled from one to the other. ‘A Merry Christmas to you both and safe journey home.’ Roisin moved on. The table at the far end of the room was ready to be cleared but as she made her way toward it, she spied a dapper gentleman who seemed lost in his thoughts as he sat with a plate of toast in front of him. He had sandy colouring, the sort that didn’t show the grey hairs, and she guessed he would have had freckles in his youth. Either way this wouldn’t do, Roisin thought. Mrs Flaherty would have conniptions if the toast were returned to the kitchen with her homemade marmalade jam untouched.

  ‘A penny for them?’

  The man blinked. He had bright, intelligent blue eyes, framed by neatly trimmed eyebrows. He looked surprised and mustn’t have seen her approach the table, Roisin thought. It was then she spotted the book on the table. When We Were Brave, by Cliona Whelan, the book she’d had signed by the author just the other day for Aisling. She gestured toward the book and told the man she’d met Cliona Whelan, the author, at a signing. At the mention of her name his face seemed to transform as he looked at her keenly. ‘You met Clio you say?’ He was American with a clipped, cool accent.

  Roisin nodded, her curiosity piqued. ‘I did, well insomuch as she signed the copy of the book I bought for my sister as a Christmas present at Easons.’ No need to tell him about the Christmas photo debacle.

  ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘No, although I read a review of it in the paper and it sounds very good.’

  He nodded. “It is. It’s brilliant but Clio always was brilliant.’

  ‘Oh, you know her?’

  ‘I do, yes, from a long time ago.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve come to Dublin? To catch up with her again?’

  ‘I’m hoping to, my dear. I’ve invited her to Christmas dinner at the Merrion but whether she’ll come.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, a lot of water’s gone under the bridge. I can only hope. My name’s Gerald. Gerald Byrne, I’m from Boston but you can call me Gerry.’

  ‘Roisin Quealey but I used to be Roisin O’Mara.’ She explained her connection to the guesthouse and he invited her to sit down.

  She did so and he placed a hand on the book. ‘It’s our story you know. Mine and Clio’s. Only the ending is different. The story in this book has a happier ending than ours did. I’d like to make mine and Clio’s ending different too.’

  Roisin forgot all about everything as she sat transfixed by the story he told her.

  Chapter 23

  ‘It’s lovely being ladies who lunch,’ Mammy said, her arms linked firmly through Moira and Roisin’s. All three of their faces were only visible in the gaps between the hats and scarves they’d donned as they stamped their feet against the cold, waiting for the lights to change so as to cross over to Baggot Street. An impromptu lunch had been Mammy’s bright idea and they’d opted to walk to Quinn’s bistro, aware of the amount of overeating they would be doing from hereon in until the New Year. Aisling, who’d had a successful morning shopping, had checked to make sure Quinn saved them a table.

  She’d said to Roisin it would be a chance to get to know Cindy a little better. ‘I’ve to be back at O’Mara’s for three to meet the American group off the bus, they’re back from their tour of the south and I want to make sure all their Christmas Day dinner reservations are confirmed,’ she’d said shrugging into her coat before they left.

  Baggot Street’s foot traffic was busy, Roisin noticed, as the lights changed at last and they made their way across the road, merging in with the Christmas shoppers. Aisling and Cindy, their heads bent as they talked and tottered in impractical shoes, were slightly ahead of them. Cindy, not used to the cold, looked like a well-endowed Russian Cossack with her faux fur hat, Roisin thought, smirking as a middle-aged man who should know better had an incident with a lamppost. Served him right for being so fixated on the blonde apparition mincing down Baggot.

  ‘It was good of your brother to offer to take Noah to the cinema,’ Maureen said. ‘It will be nice for the two men of the family to get to know one another better.’

  ‘It was,’ Roisin agreed. Patrick had surprised her with how much attention he’d given Noah and she’d been pleased when he suggested he and Noah go and see the Disney Christmas flick showing at the IMAX. Noah had been jumping up and down at the prospect of a boys’ outing. ‘I hope Pat doesn’t let him have the extra-large popcorn. If I know Noah, he’ll plump for it but he’ll make himself sick, stuffing all that down on top of the rasher sandwich Mrs Flaherty made him.’ Mind you, she wasn’t in a position to talk the way she’d snaffled hers down and now here she was off for a slap-up lunch! Thank goodness for yoga pants.

  ‘They’ll be grand. Don’t worry so, Roisin,’ Maureen said. ‘So, are you going to tell us how your evening went with your man? I hope you changed the sheets in your room.’

  ‘Mammy, nothing happened!’

  ‘I should hope not on a first date!’ Maureen was indignant. ‘You girls’ minds dwell in the gutter so they do. What I meant was your room smelt like a brewery when I poked my head around the door and as it’s a full house tonight, I’d hope you’d have at least put clean linen on the bed. I’m looking forward to us all being together under one roof again. And it’s been far too long since the O’Mara family attended Midnight Mass together.’

  ‘So, there was no riding,’ Moira lamented, looking disappointed.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Moira O’Mara!’

  ‘Did you kiss?’ Moira ignored her mammy.

  ‘Moira, mind your own business.’ Roisin peered around their mammy and eyeballed her sister.

  ‘Ah, Rosi, that’s not fair, especially after all the hard work I did sorting you and your fringe out,’ Moira moaned.

  ‘Will you be seeing him again do you think?’ Maureen asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rosi said. Her head was beginning to hurt again.

  ‘Jaysus, it’s harder getting information out of you than a cold war spy,’ Moira muttered.

  ‘She always did play her cards close to her chest,’ Maureen added, nearly tripping as Moira pulled them to a stop in order to admire the vibrant new Revlon display in the window of Boots.

  ‘That’s your woman who looks like a man one, isn’t it? I danced to that at the yacht club dinner.’

  ‘Shania Twain, Man I feel Like a Woman. Read the slogan, Mammy!’ Moira rolled her eyes. ‘I like that shade of purple.’

  ‘It’s lavender,’ Maureen said.

  ‘It’s not lavender, that sounds old ladyish,’ Moira bounced back.

  ‘She looks well on it, your Shania one, doesn’t she?’ Maureen said wistfully.

  ‘She does,’ Roisin agreed, though she was unsure why they were all stood staring at her poster. It was tempting fate in her opinion because she wouldn’t put it past Mammy to break into a line dancing routine. She kept a firm grip of her arm just in case.

  ‘Do you think she uses the magic skin plumpy thing-a-me-bobs that are all the go at the moment?’ Maureen asked.

  ‘Serum do you mean, Mammy?’ Roisin said.

  Maureen nodded, ‘Yes, semen.’

  ‘SERUM! And yes, for sure.’ Moira nodded knowledgably as though she was privy to Shania’s night time beauty routine.

  ‘Do you think I could do with a bit of plumping?’

  Both sisters peered at their mammy’s face.

  ‘Your face has plenty of plump, so it does,’ Moira said.

  Roisin recalled her exchange with Aisling where her sister had told her their mammy had been acting a little strangely si
nce the yacht club dinner. ‘Why do you need plumping all of a sudden?’ Her eyes narrowed as she studied her mammy’s face.

  ‘A woman of certain years is bound to wonder from time to time whether she might need plumping.’ Maureen looked shifty.

  ‘Well you don’t. You’re fine the way you are,’ Roisin snapped, pulling her and Moira away from the window. ‘Come on, Cindy and Ash will be on dessert by the time we get there.’

  THE FAMILIAR AND QUINTESSENTIAL, whitewashed building, with its brass nameplate, that was Quinn’s, came into their line of sight and Roisin found herself anticipating the cosy and warm atmosphere she knew they’d find inside. They bustled in through the door in time to witness Alasdair fawning all over Cindy.

  ‘I never thought I’d see you again, my darling!’

  Cindy looked bewildered, ‘I’m sorry but I don’t think we’ve met before. This is my first time visiting Dublin.’

  ‘Ah non!’ The flamboyant maître de clapped a hand to his chest. ‘You must remember! It is me, the Fellini to your Ekberg. La Dolce Vita, my darling.’ He blew her a kiss and Cindy looked at Aisling slightly alarmed by his carry-on. Aisling didn’t appear fazed; in fact she was smiling.

  She leaned in towards her getting a strong whiff of her sugary sweet perfume and stage whispered, ‘Alasdair has had more past lives than I’ve had hot dinners. He’s famous for them. He even gets a mention in the Lonely Planet. He’s what you’d call a Dublin icon and he’s very good for business. My guess is he’s decided you were Anita Ekberg when he was Frederico Fellini.’ Aisling, copping an eyeful of cleavage as Cindy undid the buttons on her coat, could see where he’d gotten the idea from.

  Cindy’s mouth formed an ‘O’ as though she got it. She didn’t; they were all a bit mad in Ireland from what she’d seen, but she let Alasdair help her out of her coat, nonetheless.

  Maureen pushed forward, more than happy to be on the receiving end of one of Alasdair’s effusive greetings. He didn’t disappoint her, exclaiming over how divine she was looking – how divine they were all looking as he took their coats and whisked away the pile of hats and scarves so they disappeared like magic. Paula, the waitress working the lunchtime Christmas Eve shift, saw them to their table which was in a prime spot in the middle of the heaving restaurant. They sat themselves down and Roisin looked on enviously as Cindy fluffed her hair and it formed a becoming halo around her face despite her Cossack hat. She fluffed her own hair knowing it would have moulded itself into the shape of the woollen hat she’d pulled down low enough to keep her ears warm on the walk over.

  Aisling looked pleased as Cindy oohed and aahed over how “Irish” the restaurant was. The chatter filling the inviting space around them was convivial and interspersed with the sounds of glasses clinking, the chink of knives and forks on plates, and bursts of laughter. The aroma of hearty food, the sort that would stick to your ribs, clung to the air, and Roisin’s tummy grumbled despite her hearty breakfast.

  ‘I love the wooden beams and the fire, it’s so cute,’ Cindy gushed, and Aisling puffed up proudly although she deflated slightly when Cindy followed this up with a giggling, ‘It reminds me of the cottage out of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs or Goldilocks.’ Aisling excused herself eager to find Quinn so she could introduce him to her brother’s new girlfriend, hoping she’d keep her fairy-tale comparisons to herself.

  ‘Will we have wine?’ Maureen asked, looking from one to the other and shaking her head as her eyes settled on Moira. ‘Well not for you, Moira, obviously.’ She turned to Roisin. ‘And given your mushy peas complexion I think you’d do better on the Coca-Cola like your sister.’ She smiled at Cindy, ‘There’s no reason Aisling, Cindy and myself shouldn’t enjoy a tipple though.’

  ‘I’ll stick with the mineral water, thanks, Maureen,’ Cindy dimpled. ‘I have to keep an eye on my calorie intake.’

  Maureen looked down at her own middle.

  Aisling returned with Quinn, who was looking handsome and incredibly immaculate in his chef’s whites. It always amazed Roisin, given his profession, how he kept them so clean. If it were her let loose in the kitchen, she’d have more sauce down her front than simmering in the pots! ‘How’re you all,’ he grinned. ‘It’s an honour having all the beautiful O’Mara women here together. And, Cindy, it’s grand to have you here all the way from Los Angeles. Welcome.’

  ‘Get away with you,’ Maureen said, preening. She loved being made a fuss of. It had been a highlight in her social calendar year when she’d treated Rosemary Farrell from her rambling group to a birthday lunch at Quinn’s. He’d made them feel like proper VIP guests and Rosemary had been very impressed, especially when the chef gave them his personal lunch recommendations. ‘Now then what would you recommend we order today, Quinn?’ she asked as Paula passed around the menus.

  ‘Well now, Maureen, I know you’re partial to coddle and it’s particularly tasty today. The sausages are specialty free range pork and I used new potatoes.’

  ‘What’s coddle?’ Cindy simpered over the top of her menu. Aisling frowned. Was she flirting with Quinn? She was one of those women who flirted not even knowing she was flirting.

  She looked at Quinn who was oblivious to her charms as he replied theatrically, ‘Only the finest meal in Ireland.’

  ‘It’s sausage and potato boiled up in one pot,’ Moira stated.

  ‘Oh, sounds, um, wonderful.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Mammy said. ‘Cindy and I will have the coddle. Aisling will you share a carafe of the house red with me?’

  Aisling nodded, yes, she would, and Quinn kissed her on the cheek. It wasn’t all he did.

  ‘I saw that pat on the bottom,’ Maureen tutted, and he gave her a grin that made him look like a naughty schoolboy, before leaving Paula to take care of them.

  She scribbled down their orders. Two coddles and three Dublin Bay prawns. ‘Easy,’ she said with a smile before taking their order through to the kitchen.

  Maureen rummaged in her bag which was hanging on the side of her chair and retrieved a pen and notepad. ‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch, ladies,’ she announced looking very businesslike. ‘To save squabbling in the kitchen over who’s doing what tomorrow I thought we’d write a list allocating all the jobs to be done.’

  Moira interrupted, ‘Bags not stuff the turkey. I can’t stand sticking my hand up its arse.’

  ‘Moira!’

  ‘I’ll do the turkey, Mammy, and once I’ve got it in the oven, I’ll set the table, oh and don’t forget Quinn’s made the plum pudding. It’s curing as we speak.’ Aisling smiled, knowing if she put her hand up for this then she wouldn’t get the job of scrubbing potatoes or prepping the Brussels.

  Maureen scribbled earnestly before looking at Cindy. ‘Now then, Cindy, how about we put you on carrots, parsnips and the Brussels. Hmm, and,’ she chewed the end of the pen for a moment, ‘Moira you’re on potatoes and you can help your sister decorate the dining room. Roisin, you can be in charge of the smoked salmon starters and mulled wine.’

  ‘What are you doing, Mammy?’

  ‘I’m on the roast ham and bread sauce.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any point asking what Pat’s going to be doing,’ Aisling said.

  ‘Sitting on his arse, that’s what,’ Moira said.

  ‘Leave your brother alone, girls. Sure, he works hard all year, he deserves to put his feet up.’

  All three sisters looked from one to another in mutual outrage. ‘It’s nearly the Millennium, Mammy, that kind of thinking went out with the dark ages,’ Aisling said, but Mammy pretended she couldn’t hear her as she stowed her pen and pad back in her bag. She decided to let it go, knowing she’d be wasting her breath and turned her attention to Moira and Cindy who were chatting.

  Roisin glanced around the restaurant. There were no empty tables, she saw, as her eyes settled on the empty stage upon which two littlies were playing a game of chase. She pictured Shay standing there and remembered how their eyes had l
iterally met over a crowded bar. Mammy talking in her ear brought her back to the here and now and her chat with their American guest, Gerry sprang to mind. ‘Mammy,’ she said her voice lowered so Aisling wouldn’t overhear and have her Christmas surprise ruined, ‘have you heard of Cliona Whelan?’

  ‘Sure, of course I have, she’s a fine journalist, and she was a role model in my day, so she was, for women in the workforce. She’s written a book hasn’t she?’

  ‘She has, and, Mammy, you won’t believe it, listen to this...’ Roisin filled her in on the story Gerry, the guest she’d encountered over breakfast, had told her about his and Cliona’s ill-fated romance back in the late nineteen-fifties. ‘He told me she changed the names and the story’s been fictionalised but at the core it’s their story only in Cliona’s book, instead of her staying in Dublin she goes to Boston and marries him. He claws his way up to the top echelon of American politics and she manages, against the odds, to carve a career for herself as a journalist. He said Cliona was always a woman before her time.’

  ‘That’s a big word, Roisin.’

  ‘Echelon? I know, Gerry used it.’

  ‘Well, it’s quite the story. I’ll have to read the book now and would you credit it, him staying at O’Mara’s?’

  ‘Yes, I couldn’t believe it, especially with me having bought the book the day before for Aisling. She broke his heart he said. Although he came to understand her reasons for doing so.’

  ‘And did he marry?’

  ‘Eventually. He told me he followed the path laid out for him and when his parents steered him toward a woman from what they called “good stock” he went along with it. He married her but it didn’t last. They had two children, boys who are grown up with children of their own now.’

  ‘Did she, Cliona, I mean ever marry?’

  ‘No, her work always came first. I read in the foreword of the book that she said it had to in the times she moved in, if she wanted to succeed.’

  ‘She smashed through the glass ceiling alright, and it wouldn’t have been easy.’