The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘I’d best be getting home then.’ Maureen had fumbled in her pocket for her keys and, locating them, she aimed them at her car.

  ‘Maureen...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re a special woman, so you are, and I’m very glad to have met you.’

  She’d given him a smile as she opened her door. ‘I’m glad I’ve met you too.’

  They’d grinned at one another like idiots until a car door slamming on the street broke the spell. ‘Goodnight, Donal.’ She’d gotten in her car, gunning it into life and she’d driven home with an enormous smile plastered to her face. It hadn’t faltered, not even when some eejit had failed to stop on the orange light, an act that would have normally had her hand pressing on the horn and fantasising about citizens’ arrests.

  This time it was Pooh who broke her trance by positioning himself at her feet before stretching a paw up to rest on either side of her blue wrap dress, which triggered the response he’d been aiming for. There was no such thing as bad attention in his opinion, attention was attention and he’d been home alone all evening. He’d entertained himself with a game of peekaboo with Peaches next door before having a one-sided battle with his rubber bone. Then he’d settled down to listen to the Kenny Roger’s CD Maureen had left playing before having a ribald game with his ball. Now, he was ready for a pat, snack and bed. In that order, thank you very much. He planned on plonking himself at the foot of Maureen’s bed tonight where the nice soft blanket she kept folded over was because he should be given special dispensation to the ‘in your basket’ rule on account of her being out all evening.

  Maureen poured some dry food in his bowl and as she padded toward her room spied the blinking light of the answerphone. She sighed, pushing play in case it was urgent.

  ‘Mammy, it’s Moira. Where are you? It’s Tuesday night. Nobody goes out on a Tuesday night. I wanted to see what you thought to Carol Foley falling off the wagon but you’re not home.’ There was click as she hung up. It took Maureen a second to realise Moira was talking about Carol from Fair City the Dublin soap opera neither of them would hold their hands up to being addicted to. She glanced over at the tele. She’d recorded it but now she knew what happened there was no point in watching it. Tom must have been waiting tables at Quinn’s tonight, or studying, because she wouldn’t have telephoned her mammy, unless she was home by herself. It was becoming clear to Maureen that while her girls were all entitled to be caught up with their fellas, they’d grown used to Maureen being on her own. Sure, she was a hard woman to pin down during the day because she’d kept herself busy by joining all manner of community groups since she’d moved to Howth but the evenings had stretched long. The thing was she hadn’t ever lived on her own before.

  Maureen had grown up in a small cottage in the village of Ballyclegg. There’d been seven of them squeezed inside its stone walls. And while it hadn’t been the happiest of childhoods there’d always been comings and goings. She’d left that cottage for Dublin and not looked back as soon as she was able and had found work at O’Mara’s guesthouse where she’d met Brian whose mammy and daddy ran the place. She’d had to leave Dublin in order to show him how much he’d miss her and had gone adventuring to Liverpool where she’d lived in a lodging house. There’d always been doors banging shut, taps groaning and shouts from the street below. Mrs Murphy, the landlady, could always be found in the kitchen with the kettle waiting to be boiled, keen to hear all about Maureen’s day.

  The sounds of life had always carried on around her but here in her double glazed, insulated apartment, the only sound was that of the radio or the television. It had helped when she’d wound up with Pooh but still it wasn’t the same because he could hardly make her a cup of tea and ask her how her afternoon had been. He didn’t sit opposite her at the table and share a meal or help with the washing-up. She wasn’t the sort of mammy to moan either. She didn’t tell Rosi, Aisling or Moira how alone she’d felt these last few years because they’d only have turned around and said, ‘But you’re not alone, Mammy. You’ve got us.’

  She wouldn’t think about how they’d take to Donal either. No, tonight she’d remember the way Donal’s lips had felt against hers. She felt Brian’s eyes boring into her then and she marched up to his photograph. ‘And don’t you be looking at me like that. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. You were my sun and moon, Brian O’Mara, but you’re not here anymore and it’s been a lonely life without you.’ She picked up the photo and carried it through to her room. ‘How did you get in here so fast you naughty boy?’

  Pooh was already ensconced on the bed. He’d curled up into a ball of curls and was pretending to be asleep. He was too big as a standard poodle for Maureen to lift and so she placed Brian’s photograph on the bedside table before doing her ablutions. She climbed into bed weary and, although she’d never admit it, she was grateful for the warm lump beside her feet as she said goodnight to her husband before flicking the light out and pulling the covers up under her chin.

  Chapter 4

  Maureen slept surprisingly well and whether it was down to the bicarbonate soda or whether she’d worn herself out with the emotions that had surfaced the night before, she didn’t know. Either way, Wednesday, she decided, flinging the covers aside, was going to be a good day. She’d start off by practicing her Sheena Easton in the shower and then she had line dancing at ten o’clock on the dot, in the church hall.

  Pooh held a vigil outside the bathroom door, wincing as Maureen hit the high notes.

  The first conundrum of the day occurred when Maureen tried to squeeze into the jeans she wore to line dancing. They must have shrunk in the wash given how tight they were around the middle, or was that down to last night’s pasta? Pasta always made her bloat, she thought, holding her breath as she zipped them up. She stood in front of the full-length mirror in the spare room and stuck her fingers in the loops of the unforgiving denim before striking a pose. No, it wouldn’t do. She couldn’t get through a minute of this let alone an hour. It was a yoga pants day, she decided, retrieving the last pair she’d pilfered from Rosi’s suitcase when she was over for Aisling’s wedding.

  ‘Ah, bliss,’ she said out loud once she’d slipped them on—like a second skin they were. There were no belt loops but sure she could stick her thumbs inside the waistband. She did a practise twirl and clap before buttoning up her plaid shirt, knotting it at the bottom, country style! Lastly, she slid her feet into her boots and gave herself a once-over. She still looked the part, she decided, humming Ruby Don’t Take Your Love to Town as she headed off to make breakfast.

  A toast solider was dipped into her soft-boiled egg when the telephone began to shrill. ‘That’ll be Moira,’ she muttered, getting up from the table to answer it, knowing the buttery yolk would be congealed on the toast next time she saw it.

  ‘Good morning, Moira.’

  ‘How did you know it was me?’ Jaysus, she was all seeing was Mammy, Moira thought, wondering if she knew in that mysterious mammy way of hers, she was wearing Aisling’s black Valentino booties.

  ‘And get your sister’s shoes off because there’ll be murder if she knows you’ve been wearing them while she’s been away.’

  It was spooky, Moira thought, glancing down at the leather booties. It was a shame because they suited the grunge rock chick look, she was after. So what if she was only off to college for the day? She was an adult student at art college where image mattered and as such it was her duty to set the fashion trends for the young ones fresh out of school. She’d risk it, she decided, remembering why she’d rung.

  ‘You were out last night.’ Her tone was accusatory.

  ‘I was indeed; is there a problem with my being out, madam?’

  ‘It was Tuesday, Mammy. We always swap notes on Fair City on a Tuesday.’

  ‘Not always, Moira. You, yourself, have been out and about on occasion come Tuesday night and did you spare a thought for your poor Mammy at home by herself.’

  ‘You’ve
Pooh to keep you company.’ Moira brushed the poor mammy routine aside. ‘Where were you? I was worried and so was Roisin.’

  ‘Roisin wouldn’t have been worried at all if you hadn’t telephoned her.’ Maureen pursed her lips.

  ‘Well, I had to because Aisling’s over in ABBA land and I was home by myself.’

  Maureen sighed. She might as well own up or she’d get no peace. ‘I, was out for dinner with my man-friend, Donal, if you must know.’

  ‘I thought as much.’ Moira’s eyes narrowed. She had mixed feelings about this Donal business.

  ‘You don’t need to sound like I just told you I was prostituting myself on Mabbot Lane.’

  ‘Mammy! Don’t be disgusting.’

  Maureen was unrepentant. ‘We went to a grand Italian place in Raheny, lovely it was too. I had the ravioli and it came with a very nice cream sauce. We had tiramisu for afters, thank you very much for asking.’

  ‘There’s no need to be smart, Mammy. I only rang to make sure you were alright. It’s my daughterly duty because there’re some strange people in this world and you’ve led a very sheltered life, so. We’ve not met this Donal fellow. I mean what exactly do we know about him?’

  ‘Moira O’Mara. Don’t you be forgetting who’s the mammy and who’s the child. I am a good judge of character, thanks very much. I married your father, didn’t I? Now then, for your information he’s not America’s Most Wanted he’s a widower with two grown-up daughters, one of whom has children of her own. He’s gas fitter by trade who’s semi-retired and he owns his own home in Drumcondra. He’s plenty of money so you don’t have to worry he’s after mine.’ She pushed the image of Patrick aside. He’d make good on his promise, she was sure of it. Should she tell Moira about Donal’s hobby? No, she decided, that was a whole other conversation and she’d never get off the phone and back to her soldiers and egg were she to mention she was going to be taking a turn with the microphone, too. ‘He’s a good man with a kind heart and you’ll find that out for yourself soon enough because we’re all going to Johnnie Fox’s for lunch to get to know one another, his two daughters included once Aisling’s back from her honeymoon.’

  That gave Moira pause and the wind was momentarily blown from her sails.

  ‘Anyway, I can’t be standing around justifying my actions to you all morning, I’ve a line dancing class to be getting to.’

  ‘Well, I’m busy too you know, but I’m never too busy for my mammy.’

  Maureen snorted. She was full of it and she knew as soon as she got off the phone, she’d be burning up the wire ringing Roisin. ‘And don’t you be ringing Roisin at work either. You’ll get her in bother with her boss man, tying her up on personal calls.’

  Moira frowned; she really did have the sight she was sure of it.

  ‘Moira, do you hear me? You go and get yourself along to that college of yours and stop worrying yourself about things that are not for you to be worrying about.’

  ‘I hear you.’ Moira’s nose was out of joint as she hung the phone up, hitting Roisin’s work number, which she had on speed dial the moment she heard the dial tone.

  Maureen sighed and went back to her breakfast although it was nowhere near as enjoyable as it had been when it was hot. The dishes didn’t take long and she ran them through the sink instead of loading the dishwasher. That was another thing about living on your own. It took forever to fill the dishwasher and by the time you had it was beginning to smell and there wasn’t so much as a cup left in the place. It was easier to wash-up the old-fashioned way. While the sink filled she looked out the window observing the howling winds of yesterday had settled down, leaving a swept-clean, blue sky in their wake. She wasn’t fooled by the calm outlook though, she’d still need her coat. They were a ways off spring yet. Oh, for the love of God, that cat was back. She opened the door to the balcony and shooed away Peaches who was sitting on her table eyeballing her in a way that would give you the heebie-jeebies. She’d no ideas of boundaries that cat, she thought, watching its pom-pom tail slink off around the side of the wall.

  Poor Pooh had enough issues as it was, without her sitting there half the day teasing him. She went back inside squeezing past the poodle who’d been observing the goings on. What to do with him? It was tempting to take him with her and tie him up outside the entrance to the church hall where he could see what was going on. He loved the line dancing ladies, but again the word ‘boundaries’ sprang to mind. He’d marked his card with some of them, even though he’d stopped all that sniffing where he shouldn’t business since he’d had his little procedure. Rosemary Farrell thought he was the bees knees these days and spoiled him with doggy treats every time she called around. That was going to have to stop if she was going to make headway with the positive reinforcement yoke. ‘Will you be a good dog and not howl and carry on while we’re trying to do our dancing?’

  Pooh panted and gave her a plaintive look.

  ‘Right then, come on I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, so.’

  Maureen was eager to get down there a few minutes early because Rosemary was always early to everything. She was bursting to see her face when she told her she was going to be in a band. She’d be pea green so she would.

  Chapter 5

  Maureen trotted along Main Street with Pooh panting at her side making sure she had a firm hold of his leash as they approached Colliers. The butchers, with its window display of tantalising cuts, was his favourite shop in all of Howth. They made it past without incident and he even chose to do his business on the grassy patch beside the public library instead of the pavement which was a first. Sure, we all had to go when we had to go, she thought cheerily, still full of the joys of the night before as she scooped his doings up into one of the bags, she kept in her coat pocket. She popped it in the rubbish bin by the library entrance. She carried more paraphernalia with her for Pooh than she ever had for her babies she mused, giving him a treat before carrying on up the road to where the church loomed.

  She could already see several cars parked outside the church and a handful of women milling about on the pavement. She wondered if Rosemary was amongst them. Who’d have thought it? She, Maureen O’Mara, would be singing in a band at her time of life. She was living, breathing proof it was never too late to grab hold of your dream. Actually, her dream had been to play the tambourine on stage, you know like yer Stevie wan from Fleetwood Mac. Perhaps she could do both. Perhaps, she thought, her pace quickening at the idea, she should ring the local paper and tell them. She could be the poster girl for women of a certain age living their best life. No, she slowed again, she couldn’t do that, not when she’d already decided to hold off on letting this latest news slip to Rosi, Aisling or Moira. The lunch would suffice for now. Sure, they didn’t need to be privy to all the goings on in her life and the three of them would have a grand old time taking the mick.

  ‘Hello there, Fidelma, Nuala,’ she called out as she approached the two women she knew from golf. They were loitering on the pavement beside Nuala’s car, looking very ill at ease in their denim jeans and boots. ‘First time is it?’

  ‘It is.’ Nuala spoke up.

  ‘It’s all in the counting; just do what I do and you’ll be grand. Have you met Pooh?’

  ‘No.’ Both women took a step back, flattening themselves against the zippy blue Honda they’d just exited.

  Maureen was unperturbed. ‘He won’t bite you. He’s only after saying hello.’

  ‘It’s not biting we’re worried about, Maureen,’ Nuala muttered. ‘Rosemary told us what he was like.’

  ‘Oh no, that’s all in the past. He’s not bold around the ladies anymore, not since he had the,’ she made a scissor motion with her index and middle fingers.

  ‘That might work on your Charlie.’ Nuala elbowed Fidelma with a ribald grin.

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

  ‘Are you talking about your dog or your husband?’ Maureen asked, not keeping up with the conversation. The sight of Rosemary
Farrell limping towards her sidetracked her from the subject of Fidelma’s husband. ‘I’ll see you inside, ladies, and remember, follow my lead in there and you can’t go wrong.’

  ‘I don’t know how I’ll go today, Maureen. My hip’s awfully stiff,’ Rosemary said, reaching her and bending down to make a fuss of Pooh.

  ‘See,’ Maureen called after Nuala and Fidelma. ‘He’s as saintly as the Pope, these days.’ She swivelled back to Rosemary. She found it hard to understand how a hip made of titanium or was it, kryptonite? she could never remember, could get stiff but Rosemary was always after complaining it was paining her. Maybe it was the same as when you lost a limb and had that phantom pain where it used to be. ‘Ah well, just do what you can do.’

  ‘What are you wearing?’ Rosemary looked up, her eyes fixed on Maureen’s trousers.

  ‘My yoga pants. Rosi put me on to them and, Rosemary, I have to say they are the most comfortable trousers I’ve ever worn. I can do all sorts in them, look,’ she lunged forward and back up.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t be able to do that, yoga pants or no yoga pants, not with my hip but they do look comfortable, especially around here.’ She patted her middle.

  ‘I don’t even know I’m wearing them. Sometimes I have to check I haven’t left the house in just my knickers when I’ve got these on, but listen, before we go in, I’ve some news to tell you.’