The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Read online

  She had time for one final appraisal while she waited for her new friend and she positioned herself in front of the mirror staring at her reflection as objectively as she could. All things considered she was in fine fettle for a woman approaching such a big birthday. Dancing had kept her trim and her limbs supple while her peers had gotten older and not so much wiser but definitely wider. Creaking doors the lot of them. The light caught the sequins on her red dress and as they shimmered and sparkled, nervous excitement surged. The sight of sequins had always elicited this response in her. The only thing missing was tassels but the time for tassels was gone.

  Sixty-two years had passed since she’d debuted at Coco’s which was why it was fitting her swansong should be performed back where it had all started on the very night the curtain was to be called on the century and she’d find herself venturing into the uncharted waters of an octogenarian.

  She performed a twirl, struck a pose, and hearing the knock at the door crossed the floor to open it.

  Five and a half hours until midnight...

  ‘WOULD YOU ALL BE QUIET! Westlife’s about to come on,’ Roisin shouted. ‘And no, Moira I did not touch your fecking lipstick.’

  ‘Mummy,’ Noah said looking up at her. ‘Daddy says that just because you’re Irish doesn’t mean you’re allowed to swear.’

  Roisin apologised and sent a mental feck off to her soon-to-be ex-husband back in London.

  ‘Well someone helped themselves.’ Moira was not letting Chanelgate go. She glanced over at Cindy. She wouldn’t have sneaked into her room. They weren’t on those, sort of terms yet and if Rosi and Ash weren’t the culprits that only left one person. ‘Mammy!’

  All heads swivelled in the direction of the kitchen where Maureen O’Mara, with extra swishy hair and very red lips, stared back at them defiantly. She had the bowl of crisps clutched in front of her as if for protection.

  ‘Mammy, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times to leave my things alone.’ Moira stomped her foot.

  ‘And did you listen to me when I told you not to wear my polka dot mini dress with the white sailor collar?’ Maureen turned to her other two daughters. ‘She got tomato sauce down the front of it and I couldn’t get it out. That one suffers from a double dose of the original sin, so she does. She was always after helping herself to my things when she was a teenager.’

  ‘Those are my Balenciagas!’ Aisling screeched, pointing to the shoes on Moira’s feet.

  Moira began to back away from her sister slowly, her attention on her mammy. ‘It was retro, Mammy. I wanted to look cool for the school disco and I was only fourteen. You hadn’t worn, it in years. Sure, nobody can hold a grudge like you can.’

  ‘Remember what George Best said.’ Patrick stopped throwing the peanuts to join in the discussion.

  ‘What?’ they all chimed, Cindy included, although she had no clue who George Best was.

  ‘He said Irish Alzheimer’s is when you forget everything except your grudges.’

  ‘That’s terrible, Patrick, don’t be repeating that,’ Mammy admonished.

  ‘Moira, you can take those shoes off right now and I want an apology,’ Aisling demanded.

  Moira was sidling alongside Patrick now.

  ‘For fecks sake, all of you, I can’t hear a thing and they’re singing my favourite song,’ Roisin wailed.

  ‘Oh.’ Maureen jiggled up and down in her red silk dress. She’d had it made specially on holiday in Vietnam. The sisters were on the fence about the dress which they said gave their mammy the look of your prostitute one from China Beach. Right then and there though, she looked like she was about to have an accident as she sent a few of the potato crisps flying in the process.

  ‘Mammy, watch the crisps, the salt ‘n’ vinegar’s my favourite,’ Aisling moaned.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to get salt or vinegar in that growth of yours,’ Moira said.

  ‘Maureen, I’ll take those for you.’ Cindy shot out of her seat and took the bowl from her. She sniffed at it like there was no tomorrow.

  ‘Would you not just have one and be done with your Ciccone Scent diet, Cindy?’ Aisling pleaded, wanting her to get her nose out of the bowl. It was almost enough to put a girl off the potato crisp entirely. Almost!

  ‘Oh no, Aisling, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips. You should try it.’

  Aisling was sorely tempted to snatch the bowl from her and shove a handful in her pouty, pink gob.

  ‘Is it that song, you know the one about swearing? It’s very catchy so it is,’ Maureen said, doing a little dance.

  ‘Don’t do that, Mammy, it’s cringy,’ Moira said.

  ‘Swear it Again, Mammy, it’s been number one.’ Roisin rolled her eyes. ‘And yes, it would be catchy if I could hear the fecking thing.’

  ‘Don’t be using that language in front of you know who.’ Maureen made her way from the kitchen over to the sofa, giving Moira a wide berth. She swiped the bowl of crisps off a startled Cindy and set them down on the coffee table. ‘Room for a little one?’ she asked, before plonking herself between Roisin and Noah.

  ‘Nothing little about it.’ Moira sat down next to her brother and scooped up a handful of peanuts.

  ‘I heard that and don’t be eating too many of them or you’ll be complaining of the constipation. They bind you up something terrible do peanuts.’

  ‘Nana, you’re squashing us,’ Noah grumbled.

  Maureen responded by hefting her grandson onto her knee and squeezing him tight. ‘Now I’m squashing you.’

  He wriggled free and took himself off to see Mr Nibbles.

  ‘Rosi, aren’t they a fine-looking bunch of lads?’ She pointed at the screen and began to hum in a way that signalled she might just burst into song.

  Roisin side-eyed her. ‘Mammy, don’t you dare sing. I want to hear Shane Fillan, he’s a lovely voice so he has.’

  ‘And wonderful facial expressions, he makes me want to pinch his cheeks,’ Maureen said. ‘Just look at him all sensitive like.’

  ‘He looks like he needs the toilet,’ Moira called out through her mouthful of peanuts.

  ‘Moira! He does not.’ Roisin was cross on Shane’s behalf.

  ‘You’re always after lowering the tone, Moira. Sure, they’re the sort of lads I wish you girls had brought home when you were younger.’

  ‘Lads didn’t look like that when I was young, Mammy,’ Roisin lamented. ‘It was the early eighties. They all wore eyeliner and spent longer doing their hair than I did.’

  ‘Chance would’ve been a fine thing,’ Aisling said. ‘Although, my Quinn could be mistaken for your man Nicky there.’

  ‘Which one’s he, then?’ Mammy asked.

  ‘That’s him spinning around and clapping his hands.’

  ‘Oh yes, I can see a likeness.’

  ‘I think I had the look of the one on the end there when I was his age,’ Patrick piped up.

  ‘That’s Mark,’ Roisin supplied. ‘And you didn’t.’

  ‘Oh, honey, I think you look more like the hottie there on the left. Now he’s cute. What’s his name, Roisin?’ Cindy reached over and stroked Patrick’s arm giving him an eyeful. He preened. It was sickening.

  ‘Kian, and he doesn’t,’ Roisin tossed over. She was not happy with her brother, not after the conversation she’d overheard at Christmastime. Mammy was not in the money lending business the last time she’d checked, but it hadn’t stopped the entrepreneurial Pat from tapping her for a loan for his latest scheme. She hadn’t said anything to him or Mammy, nor had she mentioned it to her sisters. Aisling for one would go mad. She’d decided to wait until the New Year was over before broaching it with her brother, knowing he’d probably tell her to mind her own business anyway.

  ‘You’ve a memory like an elephant when it comes to some things, Mammy, and it’s like a sieve when it comes to others.’ Moira shook her head. ‘Do you not remember, Tait? He was the spit of yer man Brian there in the middle. You thought he was lovel
y.’

  ‘I do remember, now you mention it. But you chewed him up and spat him out like you did most of your boyfriends, poor love. He was heartbroken so he was.’

  ‘Mammy, he was not! It was him that broke up with me on account of his being gay.’

  ‘I can’t hear Shane,’ Roisin wailed.

  ‘What I want to know is does Shay know you have a thing for Shane Fillan?’ Moira asked.

  ‘I do not have a thing for Shane Fillan, sure I’m old enough to be his mammy.’

  ‘You’d have been a teen mom,’ Cindy volunteered, frowning as she tried to do the math. She reverted to using her fingers to count.

  ‘But you’re my mummy not his.’ Noah was huffy at the thought of sharing.

  ‘I know that, son, it’s just a figure of speech.’

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Shush,’ Aisling said. ‘This is the best bit when Mark Feehilly does his solo bit.’

  ‘Jesus wept, would you look at the dimples on him! I bet his mammy’s sitting at home there in Sligo crying buckets watching him on the television. Aisling, you had a lovely voice, why didn’t you and your girlfriends get together and do something like this. Sure, I could have been sitting here watching you now.’

  ‘The Spice Girls beat them to it, Mammy,’ Moira said. ‘One Ginger Spice in the world is more than enough.’

  ‘Don’t be speaking with your mouthful, Moira. God above, you’ve the manners of a heathen.’

  ‘I might have done if they’d let me be in the choir at St Theresa’s,’ Aisling pointed out.

  ‘Not even my porter cake held any sway with the choir mistress. You can’t say I didn’t try, Aisling, and the woman was tone deaf in my opinion.’

  ‘Mammy, you tried bribing half of Dublin with your porter cake. Remember when Patrick didn’t make the hurling team and Moira wanted to be head girl because she thought she’d be able to do what she liked at school?’ Roisin said.

  ‘And don’t forget you, you heffalump, when you failed your ballet exam,’ Patrick shot across the room.

  A grand debate ensued as to whether or not Maureen O’Mara had attempted to bribe Dublin officialdom in order to advance her children. Meanwhile the song drew to a close with none of the O’Mara family having heard a word of it. The boy band was bowing by the time Mammy looked back at the television and insisted everybody clap.

  ‘Ow! Ooh, it stings, it burns.’

  ‘Aisling, I nearly spilled my drink. What are you carrying on about?’ Roisin asked.

  ‘I got salt in my cold sore.’

  Mammy stood up then. She went into the kitchen and retrieved a teaspoon which she used to tap the side of her wine glass. Once they’d all quieted down, she went red in the face and blurted, ‘I want you all to know I have a man friend.’

  Aisling forgot all about the stinging of her cold sore and Maureen was grateful when the phone rang. It was Carol inviting her to come and see her all dressed up in her finery. She hung up grateful to make a get-away before they all came to their senses and started firing questions at her like she was a teenager going on her first date.

  Five Hours Until Midnight...

  ‘TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH, Carol, I was glad to escape. You should have seen their faces. They looked just like they did when I told them Father Christmas had been on the telephone to say that he’d not be calling on the O’Mara children come Christmas Day unless they started listening to their mammy and doing as they were told.’ Maureen perched on the edge of the bed. She was over her shock at the sight of all those sequins and had been very impressed with Carol’s false eyelashes.

  ‘They’ll get over it, Maureen. That’s the hard part done now.’

  ‘No, I don’t think it is, Carol. If I’m honest I almost wanted them to be outraged so as I’d have a reason not to see him again. Brian’s all around me you see and I can’t help but feel happy one minute and terribly guilty the next. My mood’s swinging worse than when I had the menopause.’ It felt good to unburden herself to someone completely without bias.

  ‘Maureen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my eighty years on this planet it’s this. The biggest obstacle in our way when it comes to being happy is usually ourselves. Now I didn’t know your Brian obviously but I’m guessing from the way you speak about him he wasn’t a selfish man.’

  ‘He was a lovely man, God rest his soul.’

  ‘Well then, with that being the case, I feel confident in saying I don’t think he’d have wanted you to be lonely or to feel guilty about not wanting to be lonely.’

  Maureen pondered what Carol had said, deciding she was a very wise woman indeed.

  ‘Now then, wish me luck and help me into my coat, would you?’

  ‘Break a leg,’ Maureen said, holding Carol’s coat open for her to slide her arms into.

  ‘I’m hoping I don’t break my hip! Thank you,’ she said, belting her coat and, catching sight of herself in the mirror, she cackled. ‘I look like the flasher I encountered many moons ago in Central Park.’

  ‘A flasher!’ Maureen was aghast. ‘You mean like a dirty old man in a mac sort-a thing? I’d chop it off, so I would.’ She made a chopping motion with her hand.

  ‘Yes, not a good look with his shoes and socks and nothing else on especially given it was a cold day. I don’t mind telling you the sight of his shrivelled thing-a-me-bob sent me off in fits of giggles. He looked most put out.’

  Maureen found herself laughing at Carol’s story then, remembering she wasn’t the only one who had things to be gotten off her chest tonight she added, ‘I hope it goes well with your daughter.’

  Carol took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’ve enjoyed meeting you Maureen O’Mara.’

  ‘And, I you.’ The two women smiled at each other.

  Four hours until midnight

  CAROL, STILL WEARING her coat, peeped around the red velvet drapes and scanned the candlelit tables crowding the floor of the club. It was a full house and she was tempted to call out and wave as she recognised different family members and other faces that were blasts from the past. She refrained because they might guess what she was planning and it would ruin the surprise. She could see Sarah sitting by the area in front of the stage that was kept clear for dancing, of which she hoped there’d be plenty later on. Oh, she hoped Sarah took what she was about to do in her stride. She’d had enough of pretending where her daughter was concerned. She loved her dearly but tonight was her night and she intended to revel in it no matter what Sarah thought of this, her original act—almost.

  She watched the waiting staff, all neatly turned out in black and white with dicky bows, passing around the hors d’ouvres. The bubbles too, were flowing freely. On stage the jazz band was ensuring that the audience’s toes were tapping and the air was hazy with cigarette smoke. Everything was exactly as she’d hoped it would be. Everything was just as it had been.

  So much planning had gone into this evening, into getting it just right. To give credit where it was due, Sarah had been a marvel the way she’d managed the practical arrangements. In another life she’d have made a wonderful theatrical agent instead of opting for the career in accountancy she’d recently retired from. Carol fancied Sarah had thoroughly enjoyed herself organising it all. She wasn’t doing retirement well and really, if she wasn’t careful, she’d turn into the most awful neighbourhood busybody, and her grandchildren had informed her she was driving them around the twist with her helpfulness.

  It had given Sarah purpose orchestrating her mother’s party. So many transatlantic phone calls had been made in order to pull it all together. It had been her, however, who’d organised the cake and who’d sat down to write each and every invitation by hand. A labour of love and, as she’d written out the different names, she’d tripped down memory lane with each of them. There were friends and family in the crowd who’d gathered to celebrate with her whom she hadn’t seen since she left for New York and there were people who’d travelled all the way from New York t
o be with her tonight.

  The music began to wind down and Carol discarded her coat, feeling her familiar friend, adrenaline, begin to spike as, with an agility that belied her years, she climbed into the pop-out cake. It was really very clever with its cardboard interior and real icing exterior.

  ‘Alright, love?’ Mickey the stagehand grinned; he’d not seen an act like this before in all his thirty years backstage.

  ‘Never better, dear.’

  Mickey gave her the thumbs up and closed the lid. It was hot inside and Carol thought nobody could say she hadn’t suffered for her art over the years. She felt the cake shudder and then begin to glide across the floor.

  Two hours until midnight...

  ‘SLÀINTE!’ THE O’MARA family clinked glasses across the table they were all squeezed around, having made room for the four extras who’d just joined them. Quinn, Aisling’s fiancé and the owner of Quinn’s Bistro where they’d just enjoyed some delectable traditional Irish fare, was in his chef’s whites and the aroma of frying onions and garlic clung to him. It was a scent Aisling adored. He’d ventured out from the busy kitchen to join in the toast at her insistence. Tom, Moira’s trainee doctor boyfriend, who supplemented his income by waiting tables here at the bistro but who could have a fine career as a bottom model, if there were such a thing, had also abandoned his duties. Roisin’s new flame Shay, who played the fiddle in the band about to take to the stage and liven the place up now the dinner service was done, was about to drink to their health and, lastly but by no means least, Alasdair the maître d’ had joined them at Maureen’s insistence. He was presently insisting that she was in fact Maureen O’Hara not O’Mara. “Think The Quiet Man,” he’d said, professing he’d been John Wayne in a past life—it was Alasdair’s thing.

  Noah had yet another glass of lemonade plonked in front of him and was managing the late hour well, even if he did look like his eyes were being held open by matchsticks. Cindy for once had opted for a white wine spritzer which, given she’d sniffed her way through her meal, was making her giggly. The sight of her jiggling assets was causing several male patrons to receive swift retribution under the table from their female dining companions.