The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 20

  ‘Yes, one daughter. Sarah. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years. We’re chalk and cheese. She can be very...’ she cast around for the right word.

  Maureen could see in the way she held her hands and the expression on her face that she would make a very good actress indeed. She had, what was the word? Presence that was it.

  ‘...Disapproving,’ Carol finally offered up. ‘But she’s been very good organising this trip back to Dublin and the celebration for my birthday tonight.’

  ‘Your birthday you say, well, many happy returns to you.’ The jug clicked off and Maureen poured the water into her cup and waited for the tea to steep.

  ‘It’s tomorrow but as of midnight I turn eighty. I can hardly believe it, eighty! I’m celebrating in style tonight.’

  Maureen could quite believe she would be. Satisfied the colour was just right she dropped the teabag in the bin and gave the brew a stir before carrying it over to the sofa and sitting down next to Carol. ‘I’d love to hear what your plans are.’

  Carol smiled at her and there was a decided twinkle in her eye. ‘I’m going back to where it all began, my dear, because I’ve decided it’s time my daughter knew exactly where I started out, and let me tell you, it wasn’t in a starring role on Broadway.’

  Six hours until midnight...

  IN THE O’MARA FAMILY’S apartment on the top floor of the Georgian guesthouse the whole clan had gathered, pet gerbil included. Maureen and Pooh had left their new friend Carol so she could go and get ready for her evening which promised to be a mighty craic. It had been a tonic to confide in her as to what was playing on her mind, Maureen thought. Much more satisfying than the confession with Father Fitzpatrick had been. She’d made Carol promise to show her her outfit before she left for the club. As for their evening, plans had been made to dine at Quinn’s Bistro where the craic was sure to be good, and then, after some vigorous post-dinner dancing—she liked a good dance did Maureen—they’d find a spot from which to watch the firework display over the River Liffey.

  The television was flickering with a New Year’s Eve variety performance show, and pre-dinner drinks had been served. It was all very civilised, Maureen thought, opening the cupboards to search for the bag of crisps she hoped nobody had helped themselves to while she’d been out. Civilised, that was, if you didn’t take into account Cindy’s skirt. Her son’s American girlfriend’s pink mini was a poor excuse for a belt. A moment later as she located the errant packet the mood became decidedly uncivilised as her youngest child, Moira appeared.

  ‘Aisling, you better not have used my new Chanel lipstick. Not with that fecking growth on your lip.’ She marched into the living room, or she would have, if her little black dress hadn’t been so tight. As it was, she sort of shuffled indignantly with her hands on her hips, bypassing her brother and Cindy who were sitting at the dining table half-heartedly watching the television. Cindy had a bottle of Evian water in front of her and her blonde head was dipped, revealing a shadow of dark roots as she sniffed at the bowl of salted peanuts in front of Patrick. It was Cindy’s thing, the latest diet sensation to hit Hollywood apparently. Sniff but don’t you dare eat. The Ciccone Scent diet, she said it was called. They were all getting used to it, sort of. Patrick, Moira saw out of the corner of her eye, normally a cocktail, metro sort of a man was channelling his inner lad. He was intermittently swigging on a can of beer and flicking peanuts into the air in order to show off his prowess at catching them in his open mouth to Cindy. It was like a peanutty mating ritual, or it would have been if Cindy was actually watching him, Moira thought, coming to a halt when she reached the sofa. She pointed a finger at her sister. ‘I hadn’t even taken the plastic seal off it, brand new it was, and the herpes is contagious you know.’

  Aisling and Roisin, with Roisin’s son Noah sandwiched in the middle, were glued to the television. Noah had just informed his aunty and his mother that he could hardly breathe because they smelt like the freshener his Granny Quealey used in the toilet. Roisin had told an indignant Aisling there was no point explaining how much French perfume cost given he was only five. She’d be wasting her breath. It hadn’t stopped her though. Maureen, had joined in at that point saying that there were some very nice air fresheners on the market these days and she had one at home that smelt a bit like her Arpège and only those with a sensitive nose like hers could tell the difference. Her friend from the rambling group she belonged to, Rosemary Farrell, had been very impressed by it apparently. Although, Maureen lamented, overly generous with her usage of it because she’d nearly choked when she’d popped into the throne room after her.

  On the coffee table in front of them, the two sisters each had a glass of wine and Noah, who was not long up from a nap to ensure he lasted the distance this evening, was making short work of his enormous glass of lemonade. Roisin gave it approximately ten minutes before, like a foot slammed down on the accelerator, the sugar would hit and he’d jump off her knee to begin bouncing off the walls. Rather like Mr Nibbles, his gerbil, whose little legs were currently going like the clappers as he did circuits on his wheel. Or, at the very least he’d annoy Pooh, who was worn out from his amorous and enthusiastic earlier greeting of the O’Mara sisters and Cindy. Unlike Maureen, he’d been delighted with Cindy’s skirt. He had problems that dog and the sooner he was seen to the better, Roisin thought. Looking at him now though, butter wouldn’t melt. He was sprawled on his pillow, happy doggy snores emanating along with other not so pleasant eruptions.

  ‘What have you been feeding him, Mammy? Sure, it smells like something crawled up there and died.’ Moira was momentarily distracted from taking her sister to task as she wafted her hand back and forth in front of her nose.

  ‘His meaty roll and dried biscuits are top quality, so they are. Check it’s not down to one of your sisters,’ Maureen replied, ripping open the bag of potato crisps.

  ‘It’s not, me,’ Aisling said.

  ‘Well don’t be looking at me. That dog eats better than we do,’ Roisin stated. Noah began to fidget as predicted. Ah well, she thought, Mammy had seen fit to give him such a generous glass of the fizz it was up to her to deal with the fallout. She would not be missing Westlife, thank you very much. They were all watching Pat Kenny in Studio4 and she was waiting for the five lads from Sligo who’d been storming the music charts. According to Pat though, they were in for a Riverdance treat next.

  Aisling dragged her eyes away from the screen to give her younger sister a death stare. ‘And for your information, it’s not herpes it’s a cold sore, and no, I did not steal your lipstick. Look,’ she puckered her lips, ‘Mine’s got too much of an orange base for you.’

  Moira made a cross sign with her index fingers and stepped back, ‘Jaysus, Ash, keep away from me with that thing would you.’

  ‘It’s not that bad.’ Aisling’s finger flew to her mouth and she began to prod at it.

  ‘It is, it reminds me of the spot Rosi was after getting that time. Remember the one that threatened to swallow her chin. I was only a child and I remember crying to Mammy that I didn’t want to ever be a teenager if things like that grew on your face.’

  ‘Leave me out of it,’ Roisin muttered, having no wish to be reminded of the trauma.

  Aisling sniggered glad to have the heat off her. ‘Ah God, I remember. Mammy was on about taking you to the doctors to see if he would lance it. You were supposed to be going on a date with yer man, Ewan, the one with the motorbike, Rosi, and you rang to cancel but he never got your message and turned up here anyway. Sure, it was a great craic when you opened the door and he caught sight of you.’

  The memory, even now, made, Roisin wince.

  ‘Toothpaste is good for pimples, Roisin,’ Cindy drawled, having come up for air from the peanuts. ‘Just a dab before you go to bed and voila it’s disappeared by the time you rise and shine. Works for me every time. You can’t afford to have ‘em in my business.’ Cindy was an actress who’d apparently been in a crowd scene on Baywatch w
hich was why she had an enormous bosom and extremely white teeth. As to why Patrick had matching teeth, the sisters didn’t know but he’d made his joy at Cindy having such an enormous bosom clear on more than one occasion since they’d turned up unexpectedly for Christmas.

  ‘No, I suppose not and thanks for that, Cindy, but I don’t tend to suffer from them these days. Aisling that could be worth a try on your cold sore,’ Roisin said snarkily. ‘Why don’t you go squeeze half a tube on it and see if that helps?’

  ‘It’ll be gone by tomorrow.’ Aisling brushed Roisin’s barbed suggestion aside. ‘And, I put that much concealer on you can hardly see it, anyway.’

  ‘No, you’re right it’s grand,’ Moira muttered. ‘You’d hardly notice you’ve sprouted a third lip.’

  ‘Aisling O’Mara, stop poking at it. You’ll make it infected and then you’ll be sorry,’ Maureen called over, emptying the packet of crisps into a bowl.

  ‘What flavour are they, Mammy? Aisling dutifully dropped her hand.

  Maureen picked the bag up and inspected it. ‘Salt ‘n’ vinegar. And I thought you were on a diet.’

  ‘I am and I was only asking. You don’t need to eat the head off me.’ Aisling wasn’t good when she was hungry. Arms folded across the chest of her green party dress, she turned her attention back to Moira. It was her fiancé Quinn’s favourite dress. He said it set off the copper highlights in her hair to perfection, which was quite flowery for Quinn, so she’d decided to wear it even though she preferred her blue one with the side splits. She was hoping it would distract him from her lip. ‘And you,’ it was her turn to point at Moira, ‘you’re supposed to be a poor student. You were only after telling me the other day you won’t be paying for your bridesmaid’s dress. What are you doing splashing the cash on the likes of Chanel when the rest of us girls, who are actually earning, use Boots No. 7?’

  Roisin flapped her hand to shush them both. ‘Would the pair of you shut up, I can’t hear what Pat’s saying.’

  ‘Rosi, you nearly had my eye out then.’ Aisling was getting heated.

  ‘It’s all about priorities, Aisling,’ Moira stated. ‘Only Chanel does that particular shade of vampish red therefore I prioritise my finances in order to be able to afford to buy it. And, it is so the herpes. Poor Quinn.’ She shook her head. ‘Has he seen it yet?’

  That was the final straw. ‘Mammy, tell her!’ Aisling shouted over to the kitchen where Maureen O’Mara was now helping herself to the crisps.

  ‘Sure, you’re as bad as each other.’

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything, it was her who came in accusing me.’ Aisling was wounded.

  ‘I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it. D’you hear me?’

  Five hours and forty-five minutes until midnight...

  CAROL’S NAME MEANT song of joy or song of happiness and she liked to think her dear old mammy and daddy had picked her name well. She hoped she had spread happiness and much joy throughout her many years and tonight, on the eve of not just a new century but her eightieth birthday, she planned to sprinkle a little more. She just hoped Sarah took her performance in her stride. She put down the lipstick she’d been applying to inspect her carefully applied stage make-up. Her eyes were her best feature, they’d always given people cause to comment. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for the good job she’d made with the false eyelashes; a must if eyes were to have oomph under the bright lights and no easy task to apply when one normally relied on glasses. Thank goodness for her steady hand. Fluttering her lashes for effect and to check they were firmly in place she blew a kiss at her reflection before retrieving the blonde Monroe wig, securing it over-top of her own sparse white hair.

  She wore her hair short these days partly because it was the more flattering option and partly because it had simply stopped growing. A most peculiar thing hair. It refused to grow where you wanted it to and grew like weeds where you didn’t. There was one last thing needed to complete her toilette. She reached for the bottle, taking out the stopper and dabbing her signature Femme Rochas behind her ears. The rich dark plum and sandalwood notes burst forth making her feel like the femme fatale figure the fragrance had been designed for. Her first experience of the French perfume had been a gift from an admirer over sixty years ago who’d told her the shape of the bottle had been designed to resemble a woman’s curves. She’d fancied he was spouting what the girl on the perfume counter at Brown Thomas had told him but she hadn’t cared. She was flattered. It was the first of many gifts she was to receive during her time as the star act at Coco’s.

  Carol’s eyes fluttered over to the wardrobe where the dry-cleaning bag containing her costume was hanging from the handle. She’d been counting down the hours until she could put it on, not that she hadn’t had a lovely day in Dublin’s fair city. The sounds and scents as she’d ventured down familiar pavements, her arm linked companionably through Sarah’s, had transported her back to her younger years. She’d felt the glow of youth settle over her and had been startled to look up at Sarah and see a woman of fifty with lines of disapproval etched into her face. How had the time passed so quickly that she had a daughter who was half a century?

  The atmosphere on the fairy-light strewn streets was festive, and the sense of anticipation for the big night ahead was palpable. On Grafton Street, buskers had strummed guitars or crooned songs and, unable to resist the aroma of chestnuts roasting over a street vendor’s brazier, she’d even treated herself to a bag of the delicious nuts to share with Sarah. They were the taste of winter she’d told her daughter, enjoying the warmth of the paper bag she held in her hands and hoping they didn’t give her indigestion. So many things did these days.

  Sarah had organised the trip and she’d picked their accommodation. She’d done well on both counts. O’Mara’s, the Guesthouse on the Green, was directly opposite St Stephen’s Green where she could recall feeding the ducks on long ago, lazy Sunday afternoons. It was also located a mere ten-minute walk, not that she’d be walking of course, from Coco’s Cabaret Club where she was due on stage later tonight. O’Mara’s was a definite step up from the flea infested pit she’d stayed in the last time she’d performed at Coco’s. This time around she’d told Sarah she wouldn’t be sharing a room either because at her age she was entitled to her own space. The days when hardship and discomfort were of no consequence so long as she got to do what she loved were long gone. Although Carol still loved to perform. She’d been basking in applause since she was eighteen and her talent for song and dance and well, other things, had been her ticket to a new and glamorous life in America. She’d started at the bottom of the ladder and worked her way up, rung by rung, until finally Broadway had beckoned and she’d never looked back until now.

  Getting up from the dressing table, Carol retrieved her costume and pulled the protective plastic sleeve off it. It was a little early to be getting changed but she knew from past experience there wouldn’t be space to swing a cat in the box-sized dressing room out the back of Coco’s. No, it was better she got ready here and put her coat on over the top of her costume to wear to the club. Besides she’d promised to give Maureen a sneak preview before she left. She’d thoroughly enjoyed their chat. There were some people in life one just gelled with and she’d felt like that with Maureen. The poor woman was in an awful quandary as to how to tell her children she’d struck up a friendship that might be more than just a friendship with a man she’d met at a yacht club dinner before Christmas.

  Carol’s advice had been simple and straight to the point. ‘Bite the bullet and be done with it just as I’m going to tonight. You don’t need your children’s approval in life, Maureen. If they choose not to give it so be it. You’ve your own life to be living and you need to grab it as hard as you can right by the balls, my dear!’

  Carol was about to undo her robe when a sudden clattering beneath her window startled her. Surely, she was too old to be a target for a peeping Tom? She retrieved her glasses from the bedside table feeling her false la
shes tickling the lenses as she put them on and, checking her robe was securely tied, she moved across to the window of the ground floor room. The element of surprise was key and she wrenched the drapes open, although if it had been a peeping Tom skulking about, he’d have disappeared in the time it took for her eyes to adjust to the dark.

  She peered out into the courtyard and spotted the culprit. A bushy tailed creature was trotting stealthily away from the rubbish bin, the lid of which was still spinning on the ground. A fox! She hadn’t seen one in years and she watched fascinated as he reached the brick wall, unaware she was holding her breath as she wondered what he’d do. He turned, bold as brass, his pointy ears twitching and looked straight at her. She could see he had something in his mouth. Was it half a sausage? Yes, she decided, it was, and quite possibly the remnants of her own breakfast. She’d ordered the full Irish and had been unable to finish it all. The cook, Mrs Flaherty had bristled at the sight of a half-eaten meal although her feathers had been smoothed when Carol had gushed as to how delicious it was but that the plate had been almost as big as she was! No wonder the little red fox looked so pleased with himself. She fancied he’d stopped to look back in order to thank her and she watched as, with a flick of his tail, he disappeared underneath the brick wall and into the gardens she knew lay beyond.

  She drew the curtains once more and donned her costume. Slipping into the shoes that reminded her a little of the ruby slippers Judy Garland had worn when she played Dorothy, made her think of Maureen once more and she picked up the phone to tell her she was ready.