The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 19

  Actually, as Tom’s rear flashed to mind, Roisin had to agree with her and she didn’t fancy her chances of hearing the end of Foster and Allen. Her own jobs were finished, the smoked salmon starter having gotten the nod of approval from Mammy whose cheeks were looking flushed thanks to the mulled wine she’d insisted on sampling. ‘You don’t need a mugful, Mammy,’ Roisin had protested to no avail.

  ‘Look, Mummy,’ Noah cried, spying her in the doorway. He held up a serviette folded into the shape of... a peacock? No, Roisin realised, the fanning tail was that of a turkey. The upset of the mystery of the missing gerbil was obviously long forgotten. Mr Nibbles and Pooh were both upstairs with various Christmas treats to hand so weren’t missing out, but Pooh especially couldn’t be trusted down here in the kitchen. Noah was sitting at the end of the table, one of six pushed together to make a long rectangular table in the middle of the room. Aisling had done a lovely job setting it. Cindy was sitting next to Noah and it was obviously under her tutelage he was learning how to make the turkey serviettes. ‘It’s a Thanksgiving tradition at home,’ she drawled, blinding Roisin with her teeth.

  ‘Well, you’re doing a grand job the pair of you, they look fabulous. The perfect finishing touch to the table.’

  She eyed Cindy who’d dressed with her usual leave-little-to-the-imagination flair, although she hadn’t escaped being mammified. On top of her head she wore a Santa hat, as did they all. It was tradition, Mammy had declared. Looking at her brother’s girlfriend she felt a cloud beginning to hover. It was threatening to blanket her good humour. She wondered if Patrick had been entirely honest with her as to his reasons for wanting to come home this Christmas. Because he certainly hadn’t been honest with his sisters. She wished she hadn’t overheard the conversation she’d heard earlier but she had and she couldn’t unhear it now. It was down to the table’s centrepiece that she had. The burlap arrangement of gingham ribbon and pine cones had been in the family for generations and Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas if it wasn’t on the table, Aisling had declared. ‘It must be in the box we keep the Christmas decorations in upstairs. I think I put it back in the hallway cupboard, would you mind fetching it, Rosi?’

  Roisin had duly trooped up the stairs of the ghostly guesthouse; silent as its guests had all ventured out for their Christmas dinners, and as she pushed open the door to the family’s apartment, she heard Patrick’s voice. She was about to call out when she realised he was talking to Mammy. She’d thought she was in the kitchen with Moira and hadn’t noticed her leave. There was something in her brother’s tone, a wheedling, smooth sort of tone that made her ears prick up. She wasn’t the type to skulk about like Ita listening to other people’s conversations and this one was clearly meant to be private but she was unable to move. ‘Ten thousand will do it, Mammy. That will be enough to get the project off the ground and I’ll get it back to you with interest before the year’s out.’

  Roisin shook her head. It seemed a leopard really didn’t change his spots after all. She’d made a show of banging the door shut then and shouting out she was looking for the decorations box. Mammy had appeared in the hallway looking shifty although why she should be the one who looked like she had something to hide, Roisin didn’t know. She wouldn’t let on, she decided, as Mammy pointed her to the cupboard and said she should find it in there. She’d not breathe a word of Patrick pressing Mammy for money to her siblings, not today anyway.

  Voices at the top of the stairs saw her push the cloud away and she moved to greet Bronagh and Mrs Hanrahan knowing the frail, elderly woman would need help getting down the stairs. She had indeed grown thinner but then it had been a long time since Roisin had last seen the sweet old woman. Her bones were like spindly twigs, she thought, being careful not to snap her as she hugged her hello. Her eyes held that same naughty twinkle ever present in her daughter’s though. ‘It’s wonderful you could come and you both look gorgeous,’ she announced. Mother and daughter preened.

  ‘Ah, Patrick,’ Bronagh said as he appeared behind them. ‘You’re just in time to help my mammy here down the stairs.’

  ‘It’s been a long while since I’ve been on the arm of a handsome young man. Hello, Patrick. The last time I saw you, you were still in short pants.’ It was an exaggeration but they all laughed nevertheless and Patrick played the part of gallant escort to the hilt.

  Tom was the next to arrive, a bottle of wine in each hand, which left him defenceless when Moira grabbed his backside by way of greeting. She said she was checking his pockets for her Christmas present but they all knew better. It earned her a telling off by Mammy but she wasn’t deterred and homed in on him for a very merry Christmas kiss. Nina followed closely behind Tom. She’d brought a plate of sweets with her. ‘They are called turrón,’ she told them in her accented, precise English. ‘It’s a traditional Spanish nougat made with almonds we always have at Christmas.’

  ‘It looks delicious, thank you.’ Roisin said taking the plate from her and hoping by the end of the afternoon Nina would have lost the sad look that always lurked in her eyes. Bronagh exclaimed over the table and the decorations. Mammy fussed around seating Mrs Hanrahan and fetching her a cup of mulled wine.

  It wasn’t long before they sat down to a feast and Patrick kicked the festivities off by clinking his glass with his spoon and announcing he’d like to say a few words.

  ‘Brown nosey fecker,’ Aisling mouthed at Roisin, making her smirk. She wondered what he would have to say.

  ‘Here’s to O’Mara’s, not just a family legacy but a family home. To O’Mara’s.’

  ‘To O’Mara’s,’ everybody chimed, and Roisin kept her whirling thoughts about her brother firmly under wraps. Nothing was going to spoil today, nothing.

  THERE WERE CRIES OF that was delicious and oh, I’m so full as Roisin carried through the last of the dinner dishes to the kitchen and adding it to the mounting pile declared, ‘I say the men do the washing up.’

  ‘I agree,’ Aisling said, soaking the oven dish, that had cooked the turkey to perfection.

  ‘Here, here,’ Moira piped up from where she was scraping leftovers into the bin.

  ‘Ladies, away with you, I’ve a plum pudding to be sorting.’ Quinn herded them out and sitting back down at the table Roisin looked down the length of it at the Christmas crackers that had been pulled. The lame jokes had been read out to groans and laughter and the Santa hats abandoned in favour of paper crowns. The conversations bouncing up and down and back and forth as they all awaited the arrival of pudding were full of laughter and she could feel the love in the room. She leaned back in her chair, tempted to clasp her hands over her belly. She felt for the first time in a very long while, content. This had been her year of second chances. She’d had a second chance at life, love and now today this was her second Christmas. And it had been a very good Christmas indeed.

  ‘CAREFUL YOU DON’T SET fire to the paperchain!’ Maureen exclaimed. ‘Where’s the fire extinguisher?’ The plum pudding was alight with blue flames and Quinn stood back triumphantly while everybody clapped.

  ‘He knows what he’s doing, Mammy,’ Aisling said, offering to help dish the dessert as the flames died and he began doling the pudding into bowls along with a healthy dollop of cream. He was quite sharp with her, Roisin thought frowning, as he told her no, he could manage passing the first of the bowls down the table.

  Aisling looked a little put out too as she sat back down. Quinn never took a tone with her.

  ‘Is there money in this, Mummy?’

  ‘I think there might be, Noah,’ Roisin replied, tucking in.

  ‘Mammy, watch your false teeth, we don’t want any accidents,’ Roisin heard Bronagh say as a jubilant shriek went up from Maureen who’d found five pence. Noah too was victorious but Aisling’s reaction was a bit extreme, she thought, looking across the table at her sister who, annoyed at Quinn, had tucked in with gusto. Now her mouth was opening and shutting at a rate of knots as she said, ‘Oh my God, I don’t believe it.
I just don’t believe it.’

  Was she crying? Roisin looked at her incredulously. Sure, it was only five pence!

  ‘Oh, Quinn!’

  This was getting ridiculous.

  ‘Aisling, what’s gotten into you?’ Maureen demanded, pointing her spoon at her. ‘If you’ve money worries you only have to say.’

  Roisin didn’t look at her brother.

  ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’

  Was that a yes to the money worries? she wondered as everybody else stared at Aisling as though she’d grown a second head. What on earth was going on?

  ‘Look! Look what was in my pudding!’ Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and her eyes flashed with excitement as Aisling held up a sparkling solitaire diamond ring for them all to see.

  Roisin didn’t know who screamed the loudest out of them all, Moira, Mammy, herself or Bronagh as the penny finally dropped. She pushed back her chair and raced around the table to hug her sister.

  This really was a Christmas they’d never forget.

  THE SOUND OF A BIN lid clattering to the ground startled Roisin from her sleep. It took her a moment to figure out what it was that had woken her up, but when her sleep fogged brain twigged she gently nudged Noah. He made a mumbling sort of a noise but she didn’t give up, telling him to wake up because she knew he wouldn’t want to miss out. ‘We’ve got a visitor,’ she whispered. ‘Come on.’ That stirred him and she pushed the duvet aside waiting for him to clamber out of bed first before getting up herself. They padded over to the window and Roisin pulled the curtains back, bracing herself for the polar blast as she opened the window just enough for them both to be able to peer down to the courtyard below. Just as she’d thought, illuminated by the sensor light and staring back at them was Mr Fox. The snow from Christmas Eve had melted now and the courtyard’s paving stones glistened slickly.

  ‘Mummy, should we go and get him some cheese?’ Noah’s whisper was loud on the silent night.

  ‘No, no need, there’s enough leftovers to feed a small army in that bin, so there is. Mr Fox is going to have himself a fine Christmas feast.’ She hugged her boy close to her and they both watched as, having decided they weren’t a threat, the little red fox nosedived into the bin. ‘Do you think we should leave him to enjoy his dinner, Noah?’

  Roisin shivered and Noah nodded, but before they closed the window he leaned out and called softly, ‘Merry Christmas, Mr Fox,’ before running back to their warm bed.

  Epilogue

  Clio strode into the foyer of the Merrion. She was still very much a trouser wearing woman and had chosen a simple lemon suit today that she knew suited her well. Oh, how times changed though, she thought, remembering how out of place she’d felt in the hotel the first time she’d come to meet Gerry here. Confidence was indeed a perk of age. She nodded a greeting to the concierge and only paused in her stride to sign her name with practised flourish, wishing the guest who’d run over book in hand— her book would you believe it—a Merry Christmas. She knew the way to the drawing rooms and it was as if time had stood still as she pushed opened the door. The chandelier still shone with rainbow light, the armchairs you could sink into and forget you ever had a care in the world still invited you in, and the fire crackled and spat to ensure you forgot all about the cold outside.

  He was there, just as he’d promised he would be. He looked up as soon as the door opened, holding her in his clear and beautiful blue-eyed gaze. The smile, the dimples were the same, she saw, hanging back a moment, her heart threatening to jump from her chest. This was her chance to open herself up to the possibility of them rewriting their ending just as she had in her book. They could have their happy ever after because life was full of never-ending possibility and with that Clio stepped into the room, her face breaking into that goofy grin, the one she’d never been able to contain when she set eyes on Gerry.

  New Year’s Eve with the O’Maras

  Bonus short read

  By Michelle Vernal

  Copyright © 2019 by Michelle Vernal

  Michelle Vernal asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  This novel, New Year’s Eve with the O’Mara’s is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express, written consent of the copyright holder.

  Dublin, New Year’s Eve 1999

  Seven hours until midnight...

  Maureen O’Mara breezed back into the guesthouse with Pooh in tow, her nose glowing red like Rudolph’s from the cold air. She’d just taken the poodle for a trot around St Stephen’s Green although, sometimes she wasn’t sure who was taking who for a walk. ‘Well that was invigorating,’ she announced stomping her feet on the mat. ‘How’re ye, Nina?’ The Spanish receptionist had swapped shifts with Bronagh and she smiled putting down the fax she’d been reading.

  ‘Fine thank you, Maureen. Are you looking forward to your evening?’

  ‘I am, thank you and it was very good of you to volunteer to work tonight.’

  ‘I’m happy to do so.’

  Maureen knew she sent money to her family and guessed the extra cash she’d earn for working New Year’s Eve would come in handy.

  ‘Hola, Pooh,’ Nina said coming out from behind the desk to give the excitable pup a pat. She was fond of dogs, her family back home in Spain bred pointers. Compared to Pooh though, you’d think they were on Valium, their temperaments were much calmer and they didn’t have a penchant for nose diving where nobody should be snuffling without first being given permission.

  ‘Did you enjoy your walk?’ She gave him a scratch behind his ears and received a ruff by way of reply.

  ‘He always enjoys his walk. It helps burn off some of that excess energy. God Almighty, Pooh! Would you get your nose out of it? I’m sorry, Nina, he’s no shame.’

  Nina laughed, pushing the poodle away before returning to the fax. ‘I’d better get this booking processed.’ The phone began to ring and she answered it cheerily in her accented English, ‘Good afternoon, O’Mara’s, the Guesthouse on the Green, how may I help you?’

  Maureen left her to it giving her a wave and keeping a firm grip on Pooh’s leash as she headed through the reception area toward the stairs. She glanced into the guests’ lounge on her left and spotted an older woman enjoying a cup of what she guessed was tea. She was sitting on the sofa, her gaze turned toward the large picture windows and the street outside like a flower angling for the sun. Maureen paused, she’d always loved this lounge and had had such fun combing the antique markets for the treasures with which to fill it. When she and Brian had begun renovating, she’d poured her heart and soul into keeping the Georgian charm while ensuring the room was a cosy and inviting space for their guests. She liked to think she’d succeeded and it always gave her a lift to see one of their visitors relaxing in there, enjoying the ambience just as she’d hoped they would.

  ‘Hello there,’ Maureen called and the woman turned, a little startled at the voice, but managed to hold her cup and saucer steady. She beamed as she spied Pooh.

  ‘Hello. Is he a standard poodle?’ Her voice had a lilt which was a curious mix of Irish and American and she had the most arresting eyes. They were almost bottle green in colour.

  ‘He is.’ Maureen bought him up short; he was desperate to go and introduce himself but she didn’t trust him not to send the tea flying.

  ‘How lovely. I used to have one of those. His name was Fred. Dear old fellow.’

  ‘Well this is erm, Pooh, I wasn’t responsible for naming him.’

  ‘Hello there, Pooh. I take it your named after the bear.’

  ‘I like to think so.’ Given the poodle had been named by toddlers who’d probably not long been toilet trained she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Could I give him a pat?�
�

  ‘Certainly, he loves the attention, so he does, just watch him though he has a tendency to be a bit too friendly with the womenfolk. I’d put your cup down first if I were you.’

  ‘Ah, Fred was like that too. He had a thing for all my female friends. A bit like one of my ex-husbands!’ She tossed her head back and laughed in a throaty manner that told Maureen she would have been a high-spirited woman in her day. She liked the look of her and wouldn’t mind whiling away a half hour or so chatting with her.

  ‘I might join you in a cup of tea if you don’t mind. I’m Maureen O’Mara.’

  ‘I’m Carol but here in Dublin I’m known by Pandora. It was my stage name many years ago when I had an act called Pandora’s Box. Are you the proprietor?’

  ‘Your stage name you say? Now, that sounds interesting. I trod the boards once so I did, everybody said I made a grand monkey, I wanted to be Dorothy of course but Eva Carney always got the starring roles. I think it was on account of her da being the local bank manager.’ Maureen tapped the side of her nose, ‘Money talks. And, I’m the former proprietor, my daughter, Aisling, manages O’Mara’s these days. You would have met her when you checked in.’ Maureen brought Pooh over and watched in amazement as instead of beginning a full-frontal assault he sniffed Carol’s hand before sitting down at her feet panting happily as she began to pet him.

  ‘Ah, the pretty girl with all that wonderful strawberry blonde hair and of course I don’t mind, please, join me. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’ she cooed to Pooh.

  ‘He’s not. Not normally anyway, you’ve got the magic touch. And, yes, that’s Aisling, although she could do with getting her hair trimmed, it looks ratty like she’s been gnawing on the ends but will she listen to her mammy? No, she will not. I even offered to do it for her, just a little trim I said, but she said she might as well stick a bowl on her head and be done with it if she were to let me near her with a pair of scissors.’ Maureen set about making her tea. ‘I used to cut my children’s hair when they were little; I’ve four of them and I told her it was all the fashion when she was a child. They all had the bowl cut so they did. Do you have children?’ Maureen retrieved a china cup and saucer and chose an Earl Grey sachet. She put the teabag in her cup while she waited for the jug to boil.