Feathers aside, Aisling thought, giving her mammy the once-over, she did look beautiful and she had a spring in her step of late that made Aisling wonder about this man friend of hers. When she got back from her honeymoon, she’d sit down with her and make her talk. The offer of tea and a bun at Bewley’s should do the trick. Adrenalin ricocheted through her. She’d be a married woman by then, she’d be Mrs Aisling O’Mara-Moran sitting down having a very adult conversation about relationships with her mammy.
‘I’ve given her the something blue,’ Moira chirped up.
Aisling had been touched that, despite her sister’s constant referencing of her student poverty, she’d splashed out what funds she had on a pearl studded, pale blue hair slide, fixing it in her sister’s hair herself. She’d stood back admiring her handiwork. Aisling had decided not to ask her if she’d splurged her bookkeeping earnings to buy the barrette. The odds had been on her winning the great weight loss race and she hadn’t disappointed. Moira, as such, was in the money. Bronagh’s sulk had only lasted a day, by the end of which they were all sick to the back teeth of hearing how Aisling had had an unfair advantage because she wasn’t suffering the ravages of the menopause.
The gift that had brought tears to her eyes along with shrieks from Moira that she was not to cry or her mascara would run, was from Maeve. It finally felt right to call Quinn’s mammy by her name. She’d knocked on the door to the family apartment at the guesthouse earlier that morning having made the journey especially so she could present Aisling with a delicate gold chain with a single pearl set in a daisy filigree of white gold. ‘It was my mammy’s, Aisling,’ she’d said. ‘I wore it when I married Quinn’s dad and I want you to have it now.’
Aisling knew it was her way of welcoming her into the family and she was touched. She was also relieved her hat wasn’t bigger than Mammy’s or there’d have been ructions.
Leila was making the rounds of the living room checking over her charges. She had been a superstar these last two days dealing with all the cancellations. With a smile of satisfaction on her face, Leila announced. ‘Well, I think we have time for a glass of bubbles before Ned arrives.’
‘Mummy, can I have bubbles?’ Noah beseeched Roisin. He was bored of all the primping and fussing.
‘No, you can’t. Bubbles aren’t for children.’
‘Ah sure, a tiny sip won’t hurt him, Roisin,’ Maureen bossed. Her grandson was back in her good books after yesterday’s misdemeanour. She’d been mortified when she’d introduced him to Cormac and he’d asked if he had a gerbil on top of his head. Cormac had not been amused.
Leila popped the cork and did the honours, passing out the flutes.
‘Thanks for this, Leila.’ Moira said, raising her sparkling grape juice.
‘You’re a bad influence, Mammy,’ Roisin said, seeing mammy give her grandson a tiny taste.
Aisling held up her glass, clearing her throat. ‘You all look so beautiful, and Noah you’re very handsome. I’m so blessed to have you in my life and thanks so much for putting up with me these last few weeks.’
There was a collective murmuring and Aisling picked up on Moira saying that, yes, she had been a pain in the arse but they all loved her.
She took a sip of the golden liquid, feeling giddy with happiness as the bubbles pinged in her mouth. A few mouthfuls later, the phone rang and Roisin answered it, announcing that Ned was waiting for them downstairs. Mammy led the charge.
‘Mammy, don’t you be doing that that thing you’re after doing with your hat, or you’ll trip going down the stairs,’ Roisin ordered, following behind her, a firm hold on her son’s hand lest he have any thought about racing off to drag Mr Nibbles along with them. The thought of the gerbil getting loose in St Theresa’s made her skin prickle.
They burst out the doors of O’Mara’s to where Ned was holding the door of the limousine open for them. The blonde one had convinced him to do a cut price church run. It was a first, he thought, wondering how the mammy one was going to get in the back with that rooster on her head.
Chapter 36
‘To Mr and Mrs Moran!’
Mercifully her brother-in-law had finished his long-winded speech although Aisling thought, she needed him to make a tiny correction. She tapped him on the arm before he sat down. He leaned over to listen to what she had to say before straightening and clearing his throat.
‘Excuse me but that should have been to Mr Moran and Mrs O’Mara-Moran.’
‘To Mr Moran and Mrs O’Mara-Moran.’ Glasses were raised.
Maureen’s eyes prickled at the thought of how proud Brian would have been of his middle daughter today. Cormac did you proud in more ways than one she told him silently, reaching for Cormac’s hand under the table and giving it a squeeze. He returned it. She blinked those rogue tears away. Today was a happy day and as such she turned her attention instead to the bistro. There were no fancy table arrangements, although they had followed her seating plan. Dinner had been the house speciality here at Quinn’s, bangers ‘n’ mash. Paula was doing a superb job of keeping the wine flowing she saw, watching the girl scurry from table to table. Too much of a good job given how some were imbibing – her heathen brothers for starters. She gave Frankie and Brendan a hard stare and they put their glasses down. Her other brother, Colm, was in danger of a frozen neck. He hadn’t moved from his position, inches away from Cindy’s cleavage, for fear of missing something, since he’d sat down. She’d have words with him later if Patrick didn’t sort him out before then. Her son was glowering at his uncle. At least Roisin, Moira and Leila would be happy. Cindy’s bosoms had taken the onus off them.
There was no compère. but Shay and his band were going to play shortly and were setting up on the stage now. It had all gone very well, she thought, sitting back in her chair feeling satisfied with how the day had panned out. She heard Aisling’s laughter pealing across the room and she looked across at her radiant daughter. There was no doubt she was having the best day of her life. Quinn was no longer at her side and she assumed he’d gone to mingle. A finer son-in-law she couldn’t have wished for and Maureen knew if she’d been given the chance to handpick the man Aisling would marry it would be him. Brian would have too.
A foreign beat flared up making her and most of the other guests jump. She saw Aisling’s eyes widen, her hand fly to her mouth. Maureen swivelled her head to follow Aisling’s gaze to the area in front of the stage. Holy mother of Jaysus, there was Quinn spotlighted doing some fancy footwork as he quickstepped across the floor to the cha-cha-cha rhythm his face a study of concentration. He paused to gesture for Aisling to join him and Maureen held her breath, not knowing how she’d manage to do whatever it was she was about to do on the dance floor weighted down by that dress of hers.
Aisling didn’t know either but she knew she’d do her best because it didn’t matter one iota if she cocked up. She had Quinn and that was all that mattered.
NOREEN AND EMER WERE sitting next to each other, relaxed and content in each other’s company as the evening moved away from dinner and into the dancing. The table in front of them had long since been cleared, leaving a cluster of drinks – some full, some dregs. She was thin, Noreen thought, soaking up the sight of her niece in her turquoise dress as she sat engrossed in the band. She’d a pinched look about her that time and an unhappy marriage had wrought. No doubt she’d found her aunt much changed too, she mused. Despite the obvious etchings of age, she’d always see that little girl so eager to help her and Malachy in the shop when she looked at her though.
Emer felt her gaze on her and turned slightly in her chair. She smiled at her aunt and took her hand in hers giving it a squeeze. Noreen squeezed back. A burden had been lifted from her shoulders tonight. Weddings were about new beginnings and the loneliness she’d felt since Malachy’s passing had eased at the knowledge their niece was back in her life.
‘Shall we have a dance, Aunty Nono?’
Noreen was quite sure she’d be able to dance the nigh
t away so light did she feel. ‘In a minute, Emer. I promised Cormac the first dance.’
Emer gave her another smile and turned her attention back to the band, her toes tapping to the Irish beat. She too felt light, and freer than she had in a good long while. Life hadn’t been kind to her since her husband had left and as for their children, well, they were selfish mares the lot of them. All too caught up in their own lives to spare a thought for their poor mammy, left on her own struggling to make ends meet. She’d be alright now though. Aunty Nono had a tidy nest egg, and sure she was entitled to a generous helping of it, who else would she leave it to?
The End
Maureen’s Song
By Michelle Vernal
Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Vernal
Michelle Vernal asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel, Maureen’s Song 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.
Maureen’s Song
by
Michelle Vernal
Chapter 1
Dublin 2000
Maureen O’Mara stared into her bathroom mirror trying to be objective. Was the face reflected back at her the sorta face you’d want to kiss? Not a peck on the cheek kiss either, a proper kiss on the lips. She wasn’t too bad, she thought, angling her head so she only had the one chin and smiling the way she’d done for Aisling’s wedding photos. This pose was a hot tip she’d received from Marian who belonged to her rambling group. Marian had brought some pictures in to show the group, of her daughter Amy’s big day and while she’d looked as though she might have been sending a prayer to Him up there in most of the photos, Marian did not have so much as a whiff of a double chin. When it came to the business of having your photo taken once you were a certain age you had to decide what mattered more—looking as if you were saying a prayer or having an all-in-one chin-neck. Mind, if Aisling had been marrying a chap with a face the sea wouldn’t even give a wave to like Marian’s poor daughter, she’d have been looking heavenward too.
In the end, Maureen had found a happy medium and the feedback when she’d passed the photographs she’d had taken on her camera so as she didn’t have to wait for Aisling to sort the official wedding photographs out, was positive. The ramblers on the whole agreed she had a mysterious air peering out from under her hat, like so, which was exactly the look she’d been going for and there’d been no mention of chin-necks or prayers.
Maureen wiped the fog her breath had caused from the mirror and held her head straight, looking at her reflection square on. She placed her fingertips on the top of both cheekbones and pulled her skin back to see what she’d look like if she was one of those Los Angeles types. Sure, even the men were at it over there because she’d an inkling her dear departed Brian’s brother, Cormac had been under the knife. It was likely only a little nip and tuck but he’d been looking very smooth and stretched when he’d been over for Aisling’s wedding, and Maureen had spent a great deal of time trying to spot a telltale scar behind his ears. Several of the ramblers had asked who he was when they’d seen the wedding photographs and when she’d mentioned he was Brian’s older brother they’d gasped and said, ‘Never!’ As for the other man in her life over in Los Angeles, her first born and only son Patrick, his teeth had made her want to sing Blinded by the Light every time he smiled this last visit. The bride was supposed to be centre of attention at a wedding not a set of gleaming, white teeth.
She put Patrick’s obsessive dentistry down to the sunshine and oranges; too much sunshine and vitamin C wasn’t good for an Irishman. His American girlfriend Cindy wasn’t a good influence either because her teeth were the same, like piano keys they were. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if they got a two for one deal at the dentist. Like distant relatives of the Osmond family the pair of them were these days. Marie and Donny’s lost-lost cousins. Then there were the two enormous watermelons attached to Cindy’s chest. They were far too perky to be the set the good Lord saw fit to bless her with and Patrick could do with taking a leaf out of Marian’s book and looking up where his girlfriend was concerned. He always had his nose near the things.
His girlfriend bore an uncanny resemblance to the Barbie dolls the girls had played with when they were young. Come to think of it, she’d caught Patrick doing something untoward with his Ken doll to Rosi’s Barbie once. Rosi had been most put out and she’d snapped Ken’s leg off. Oh, the drama of it all. She could still hear them shrieking and calling each other all the names under the sun. Perhaps that’s where his penchant for blonde women with big bosoms stemmed from. She didn’t want to think about Patrick, though. Not right now.
Her mind flitted in that direction anyway. Ten thousand American dollars she’d loaned him at Christmas and not a word from him about it since. There’d been no time to ask him how his new venture was going when he’d been over for the wedding because he’d been gone again in the blink of an eye. She’d have liked to have known the money had gone to good use and things were going well for him. It would have given her some peace if he’d at least acknowledged the loan and reassured her it would be repaid before the year was out. Then, she might not be feeling uneasy about the whole thing. She hated to think what Rosi, Aisling and Moira would say if they knew. No doubt it would be colourful!
The problem was she only had the one son and the last time she’d not done what he wanted which was sell the family guesthouse and split the proceeds amongst them all, she’d not heard from him for a good while. He’d flounced off to Los Angeles and look what had happened to him since then. He was in therapy he’d confided on this last trip home. Now that was an American thing, if ever she’d heard one. What did a boy with his looks and charisma need with therapy? And if he had a few things he wanted to get off his chest then what was wrong with going down to St Theresa’s, sitting in the confessional box, and talking it out with Father Fitzpatrick? It was free for one thing and you went home with a clear conscience to boot.
No, you got to a certain age in life when you realised what was important and family was everything. You didn’t want to be at odds with them, not when you knew how quickly they could be taken from you. There was Brian, fighting fit one minute and in the ground six months later. He wouldn’t have approved of her parting with their hard-earned money like so either. He’d taken a tougher line with Patrick which was why their son would come to her on the quiet with his woes. Family had to help one another, she liked to say, but the niggly voice in her head would override it with, ‘That’s all fine and dandy, Maureen, but a woman of your years can’t be throwing her money around, either.’
She realised she was still stretching her face in a manner that would have had her saying to the girls, ‘The wind will change and you’ll be stuck like that.’ She inspected this new look and decided she looked like your German cat woman, the one who’d been married to a trillionaire. Her photo was always in the magazines beside captions saying Why you shouldn’t have a facelift. Yer woman had more money than sense and given she could afford the best in the business what hope was there for the rest of them? If she went under the knife, she’d likely wind up looking like the old bint over the way’s Persian cat, Peaches. It had a face on it like a smacked arse and had taken to taunting Pooh. The ball of fluff liked nothing better than to peer around their adjoining balcony rails and stare in at her poor poodle like some sort of cat-demon. The first time she’d seen the ball of fluff there, she’d taken fright thinking it was one of those furry things from the Star Wars films. She dropped her hands to her side and let everything fall back into place.
Donal had said she was a fine-looking woman when he’d flicked through the wedding photos and he’d looked over at her with a gleam in his eyes. It was a gleam she’d not seen in a good long while, not since Brian, but she still recognised it. The gleam told her he’d like to
kiss her. Now, she puckered her lips and half closed her eyes homing in on her reflection. Jaysus wept! The poor man would take fright with that coming at him, she thought, opening her eyes and stepping back from the mirror. There was a whining and scrabbling at the door. She’d been in here long enough. It was time she took Pooh for a walk.
She opened the door with a sigh, knowing she’d find the poodle sitting with his lead in his mouth right outside it to be certain she didn’t miss him. The first time he’d plonked himself there she’d nearly gone over and, there but for the grace of God, she could have wound up needing her hip replaced like Rosemary Farrell. She’d copped on to his tricks now. ‘Let me get my coat on and we’ll see what the day’s doing out there.’ He stood up and ruffed. Maureen scratched behind his ear. ‘It’s all very hard this business of meeting someone new when you’ve been a married woman since you were a girl of twenty, you know, Pooh, and you don’t help.’
The poodle had a bad attitude when it came to Donal. He was jealous and Maureen had hoped he’d get over this if Donal joined them for his obedience classes but he’d been very disobedient at the last one. He was a tolerant man, was Donal. There weren’t many men who’d put up with being bitten on the arse by a green-eyed, standard poodle and having to have a tetanus shot as a result.
The instructor had said she was going to have to keep a watchful eye on Pooh’s behaviour around Donal. Maureen had rebutted, she wasn’t paying good money to be told the obvious, and the instructor had puffed up like one of those strange Japanese fish she’d seen on a nature programme before advising her distraction and reward was key when it came to cultivating obedient behaviour. She was to distract the poodle when he began to tense and growl in Donal’s presence and reward him when he behaved calmly. Lots of positive reinforcement was needed. This was something she was dubious about because she’d been told to do the same thing with Moira when she was a troublesome teenager. It hadn’t worked. What had worked was telling her, ‘I brought you into this world, my girl, and I can take you out just as easily.’ Usually followed by a wave of the wooden spoon.
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