Rosie was easily side-tracked, Aisling got back on track. ‘No, you don’t get it. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I did turn into Bridezilla. It was only because I was so determined to give us all a day to remember, a happy day after everything we’d been through with Dad. I wish Marcus had tried talking to me about how he was feeling at the time though because things could have worked out differently if he had.’ She swapped the phone over to her other side, cradling it between her neck and shoulder before unscrewing the mascara and pulling out the wand.
There was a click, followed by heavy breathing. ‘See I told you she was wavering where feck face was concerned Rosie. I could see it in her face at lunch yesterday and honestly you want to have heard her going on this morning. She’s over the hill blah blah and Marcus could be the ‘One’ blah blah and what if she misses her chance? You’d think her ovaries were shrinking as we speak. She needs to toughen up and be like your woman what’s her name? The one battling the big monster alien in that film.’
‘Sigourney Weaver.’
‘Yeah her, she wouldn’t take Marcus fecking coward McDonagh back, ovaries or no ovaries.’
‘Moira get off the phone,’ Aisling said. ‘Now!’
She waited until she heard the click. ‘She’s going to be the end of me, so she is.’
‘She’s right Ash, not about Sigourney Weaver your way too short to be like her. You do need to toughen up though and sure, you’ve loads of time to be worrying about your eggs and what not. Us O’Mara’s we’re from good childbearing stock. Look at Mam, she was nearly forty when Moira came along. Noah, put that back! He’s only after helping himself to the chocolate biscuits because I’m on the phone and his dad’s out for a run. And you know what she’d have to say on the subject.’
‘Who?’ Aisling was struggling to keep up with the conversation. She peered into the mirror and ran the wand under her lashes.
‘Mammy, of course.’
Ah, God here we go again, Aisling thought blinking and cursing to herself as a flurry of black dots appeared beneath her eye. ‘What?’
‘Marry in haste repent at leisure.’
‘Ow!’
‘What happened?’
‘I stabbed myself in the eye with my mascara. I look like I’m heading off to an audition for KISS. Damn it.’
‘You don’t learn the fine art of multitasking until you’ve had a baby Ash. And I’m done I’ve said all I’m going to say to you on the subject of Marcus McDonagh.’
And pigs might fly, Aisling thought blinking furiously.
‘Listen, if I don’t put Noah on to say hello he’ll burst a blood vessel.’
Aisling grinned, ‘Well we don’t want that, stick him on.’
Chapter 29
Aisling made it down the stairs with fifteen minutes to spare before she was due to meet Una. The weather looked fierce outside and she’d decided to wrap up warmly. It had been hard going, but she’d managed to squeeze into her black jeans, threw on a sweater and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Lastly, she pulled her black boots with the silver buckling detail on over her jeans. She’d fallen in love with them after spotting them in the window of Debenhams in last year’s sale. A quick check in the mirror that all those pesky mascara dots were gone, and she was good to go.
It was a relief to escape the apartment and her sister after the morning’s debacle. Moira didn’t look as though she intended rushing off anywhere, she was still in her pyjamas and in her happy place watching the EastEnders weekend Omnibus. She barely looked up from the screen when Aisling said she’d catch her later.
‘Morning James, everything under control?’ she said descending the stairs to reception.
‘Hi,’ he swivelled around in his seat looking fresh faced, his dark hair artfully styled. Aisling wondered if he’d even started shaving yet. ‘Grand Aisling. It’s been quiet, so far.’ He looked at her for a beat but was too polite to ask why she was late down. It was after all completely out of character for her. ‘Nobody’s been down yet though Room 3 is due to check out.’
‘Yes, the Petersons’ are on the move today and the Prestons’ are leaving too.’ She wondered idly whether the company had sold the young couple on relocating.
James brought up the screen on the computer and nodded, ‘Mr Walsh’s checking out too.’
Of course he was! Aisling had nearly forgotten he was going back to Liverpool today. It would have been dreadful if she hadn’t said goodbye to him in person. It wasn’t like her not to know the comings and goings of O’Mara’s guests off the bat and especially a regular like Mr Walsh. It was this business with Marcus. He wasn’t good for business!
‘He’ll be down having his breakfast. I’ll go and say cheerio to him now. I’ll take that downstairs, shall I?’ She picked up the plate beside the computer. There was nothing left on it save a piece of bacon rind. Mr Fox would enjoy that later she thought. The phone began to ring, and James grinned giving her a thumbs up. ‘Cheers Aisling tell Mrs Baicu it hit the spot.’
Aisling smiled back, his mam probably sorted his breakfast at home before he left to come here, and then he no sooner sat down to do some work and Mrs Baicu served him up a second great helping. Ah well, look at the Australian brothers staying with them at the moment, the Freeman boys. Mrs Flaherty had been in seventh heaven seeing their heaped plates hoovered up each morning.
Branok and Emblyn Nancarrow were making their way gingerly down the stairs. Aisling paused at the foot of them as they reached the landing above her and called out a good morning. They both looked rather crumpled and still half asleep. Relics from a bygone era in their flowing tie-dyed ensembles. She hoped they had layers on under all that garb or they’d freeze today.
‘Thank you for your recommendation of Quinn’s, Aisling. We had the most divine Irish stew followed by a slice of gateau, but I don’t feel guilty,’ Branok patted his middle hidden beneath his loose shirt, ‘because we worked it off after dinner by putting our dancing shoes on. The chap playing the fiddle had everybody up.’
‘Branok forgets he’s not in his twenties anymore and he was throwing himself about the floor like he was at Glastonbury or Woodstock. His body brings him up with a short shrift reminder the next day though,’ Emblyn said. ‘We’re both in need of a good strong cup of coffee I’m afraid.’ She yawned to demonstrate her point.
Aisling laughed, ‘Well, you’ll find a pot brewed downstairs. Mrs Baicu hails from Romania and her coffee is thick and strong. A bit like Turkish coffee.’
‘Just what we need, Emblyn.’
She nodded her agreement.
‘A cup of that and a plate piled high with bacon and eggs will see you both right.’ She flashed them a smile before glancing at Una’s door on her way past Room 1. Perhaps she should knock in case she’d slept in. She hesitated but then decided to leave it. She was more than likely getting dressed, or she may even be downstairs having breakfast. Either way if she wasn’t in the guest lounge at eleven she’d tap on her door then she carried on down the stairs.
The dining room was busy, and Aisling smiled and greeted the guests, pausing to check in with Mrs Baicu who had Geraldine beavering away buttering toast. They were a well-oiled machine, and she’d only get underfoot were she to linger in the kitchen so she made a beeline for Mr Walsh.
He was ever the gentlemen, dapper in his suit. There was no such word as casual in his world and getting up he pulled the seat out for her.
‘That colour’s becoming on you Aisling.’
She glanced at the maroon scarf draped over her sweater. ‘Thank you. It’s a sad day to be sure Mr Walsh what with you leaving us again to cross the water,’ Aisling twinkled. She sat down opposite him shaking her head and putting her hand over the cup to signal that she was alright when he gestured to the teapot. ‘The weather certainly thinks so, it’s tipping down outside.’
‘Ah Aisling as much as it pains my heart, I have to leave. I’m a man with commitments. I’ve a dog needs picking up from the kennels and
a garden that will be due some attention,’ he bantered back.
‘We’ll miss you.’
It was true, Aisling had a lot of time for Mr Walsh. She could tell he had a kind heart. She wondered about his life in Liverpool. She had a vague idea he’d been a salesman or something like before he’d retired. He certainly had the necessary charm for that line of work. Her eyes strayed to his left hand and she wondered if he had a lady friend. There was no ring on his finger to signal he’d ever been married and was perhaps widowed. Then again he could be divorced, the ring tucked away in a drawer forgotten about. It was none of her business either way.
‘Be sure to tell Bronagh I said goodbye now won’t you. She’s a good woman that one.’
Aisling might not have had much in the way of sleep the night before and her brain may have only been running at half capacity but there was something in his tone of voice. It was the way his expression seemed to lighten and lift when Bronagh’s name rolled off his tongue. It had her matchmaking antennae all a quiver. She did the maths. Bronagh had never married, she lived with her ailing mammy. Mr Walsh would appear to be something of a bachelor. If she were a few years older, quite a few years older she’d have him pegged as a catch. One plus one equalled three! It was a match Moira would wholeheartedly approve of.
‘I’ll pass it on to her Mr Walsh. You know we’re only a phone call away. Keep in touch, won’t you? Don’t leave it a whole year until we hear from you again.’ She wanted to add that Bronagh’s hours were 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. Monday to Friday, she was single so far as Aisling knew and if he wished to correspond with her, she would happily forward all mail on. She thought that might be a little obvious however and refrained. She caught sight of his watch face, the time had ticked over to eleven o’clock. She couldn’t sit here any longer pondering subtle ways in which to orchestrate further contact between this dapper gent and her receptionist but as she made to get up from her seat, she had a brainwave.
‘Mr Walsh I’ve got to dash, I’m due to meet a friend but you know, I just realised you’re not on our Christmas card list. That’s a sin, so it is, what with you being our favourite guest and all. Why don’t you leave your address with James at the front desk?’
Mr Walsh nodded and at that moment Mrs Baicu, her dark hair silvered with grey scraped back in a bun burst through the kitchen doors and marched toward them. An efficient, angular woman who always reminded Aisling of a liquorice all sort, she put this down to her multi-coloured voluminous peasant skirts. She wore the same style of skirt no matter what the season and if it was cold, she pulled on woollen tights. Today was definitely a woollen tights day. Her accent still echoed strongly of her Eastern European roots. ‘Mr Walsh you can’t leave without this.’ She thrust a glass jar at him, its contents a dark and syrupy jam secured by a twist top lid. ‘It’s what we Romanian’s call magiun, plum jam. A speciality of mine. It would give me great pleasure to know you were enjoying this on your toast each morning once you are back in Liverpool. You spread the word the Romanian jam is good yes?’
Aisling’s mouth twitched. It was a good job Mrs Flaherty wasn’t here. The two cooks were fiercely competitive over their jam making skills. If she were to get wind Mrs Baicu was giving their regulars samples of her traditional plum jam to take home, there’d be a good deal of fecking. It would be followed by a shortage of oranges in Dublin as she set about whipping up her marmalade for all and sundry staying at O’Mara’s.
Aisling wished Mr Walsh all the best for his journey home and leaving Mrs Baicu fussing over him she made her way up the stairs and through to the guest lounge.
Una was perched on the same chair she’d been sitting in only a few hours earlier. The green quilted dressing gown, however had been replaced. She was wearing the same cardigan and skirt combo as yesterday along with the blue blouse Aisling had complimented her on. Somehow, she looked less severe this morning. It was down to the splash of subtle colour from the lipstick and blush she’d applied Aisling realised. For a woman who’d been up half the night she looked surprisingly well although her anxiety was palpable. Her hands were clasped so tightly in her lap her knuckles were white. She tried to put her at ease.
‘Did you manage to get a little more sleep Una? You certainly look rested.’
‘I did thank you, I went out like a light. I’d still be asleep now if I hadn’t set the alarm. Yourself?’
‘Me too. Have you had time for breakfast?’ It dawned on her she’d been too busy battling Roisin and Moira off earlier to grab anything. She could have helped herself to what was on offer in Mrs Baicu’s kitchen, but she’d gotten caught up chatting to Mr Walsh. Ah well, it wouldn’t do her any harm and her stomach was beginning churn on Una’s behalf, anyway.
‘No I couldn’t dear, not this morning.’
They were a right pair. Aisling gave her a smile to say she understood. ‘I’ll get James to call us a taxi, shall I? Oh and if you’ve a coat with you it might be an idea to put it on. It’s a miserable old Sunday out there.’
Una nodded, ‘I’ll go and get it now shall I?’
‘Grand.’
Chapter 30
Aisling was sitting in the back of the taxi, Una in the front. She glanced at her profile. The hood of her rain jacket was bunched around her shoulders. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, and her mouth set in a firm line. She looked away to stare out the window, rivulets of water were running down. It was bucketing down they were getting a taste of the winter to come today for sure.
Their driver she’d seen when he’d strode cheerily into O’Mara’s announcing his arrival had a bulbous red nose. He also had the telltale broken capillaries of a man who was partial to a glass or two—they formed a network to rival the London Underground across both his cheeks.
Now he began intrepidly trying to engage his two passengers in cheerful patter about the gloomy day and where they might be off too on a wet Sunday morning. Neither Una nor Aisling replied with more than the bare minimum of conversation necessary so as not to appear rude. They were both worn out from the talking they’d done through the night and were content to sit in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
The driver heaved a sigh and gave up as he drove them over the Liffey. All they could hear as they reached the red brick suburb in which Aideen lived was the ticking over of the metre, the sluicing tyres as they rolled through the puddles and an annoying jaw clicking sound the driver was making. It was painful to listen to.
‘It’s just up there, if you pull over beside the park that will do nicely. Thank you.’ Una gestured to the wedge of dull green grass up ahead on the left.
‘Are you sure? You’ll get soaked so you will. Can I drop you to the door of wherever it is you’re going?’
‘Thank you, no. We’ll be fine.’ Una was curt, her voice tense. ‘What do I owe you?’
Aisling opened her purse, but Una was insistent she pay as the driver idled the car. There was no point arguing and getting out of the car she popped her umbrella. The street was quiet with a row of cars parked along one side nose to nose. There were no signs of human life, but she wasn’t surprised they weren’t a country of early risers. She’d be in bed herself if she hadn’t arranged to come with Una. Her eyes flitted over the deserted park. The play area stood in the middle, empty and forlorn. She saw a tree its branches drooping under the rain, a bench seat beneath it and surmised that was where Una had been whiling away her days since she’d been in Dublin. The sight of it saddened her.
Aideen’s house was one of the houses in the row of smart terraces across the road. How would they be received? Aisling hoped the sight of her sister standing on her doorstep after all these years didn’t prove too much of a shock for Aideen. She wasn’t well after all. Aisling was nearly as anxious as Una who appeared beside her a beat later. Her face was pale and apprehensive as she peered out from under her rain jackets hood. Aisling held her umbrella up over both of them while they waited for the taxi to drive away. Then she linked her arm through Una’s—to of
fer reassurance and to make sure she didn’t try to change her mind as they crossed the road.
The house Una came to a halt outside was opposite the park.
‘This is Aideen’s, number eighteen.’
Aisling opened the gate and keeping a firm grip on Una walked up the front path. Despite the time of year the garden was neatly kept, the foliage trimmed back for winter and the path led them to a cheery red door. It had the shiniest brass knocker she’d ever seen. Aideen was obviously house proud and before Una could protest, she lifted it and rapped three times. Aisling could feel her body ramrod and rigid next to her as they waited. The seconds stretched long.
‘She’s not home, we’ll come another time.’
‘Una she’d have barely had time to get out of her chair. Give it a minute.’
Aisling crossed her fingers that Aideen was home. She didn’t fancy her chances of getting Una back here again. Her gut told her if the sisters didn’t reconnect today it wouldn’t happen. Una would get back on the train and chug away for good.
They should have gotten the driver to wait even if that jaw clicking thing was annoying. It was not the day to be standing on the side of the road waiting for taxis. She picked up the knocker and rapped it twice more willing Aideen to open the door. She’d count to twenty really slowly and if no one had answered by, then they’d have to go. They couldn’t loiter on her front doorstep all day, the neighbours would get suspicious and they’d wind up with pneumonia.
‘I really think we should leave.’ Una shifted impatiently.
Aisling had counted to fifteen. She sighed, maybe Una was right. Hang on, she could hear movement she squeezed Una’s arm in nervous anticipation.
‘Someone’s coming.’
She heard the sharp intake of breath next to her as the door opened.
Chapter 31
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