‘Roisin O’Mara you could peel an orange in your pocket you could,’ Maureen replied upon hearing it. However, she gave Rosi a ‘we’re partners in crime’ wink as, with their matching yoga pant bottoms, they made their way down the wine aisle and she picked up enough casks of cheap red, plonk to have the Irish hurling team singing Danny Boy and doing a jig.
Chapter 22
Bronagh had not long got back from posting this week’s letter to Leonard. She’d written to tell him she hadn’t been quite so enamoured by the Genoise cake she’d partaken of last night. That wasn’t to say it hadn’t been very nice, because it was, but it had lacked that something extra the carrot cake had had. Probably the cream cheese icing she’d surmised in her letter. Now, she was busying herself trying to find the Marks & Spencer’s frozen chicken pasta dinner for two in the freezer. She knew it was in there somewhere because she’d put it away for nights like this when she didn’t feel like cooking. She was fidgety and wanted a quick tea, not wanting to bother with thinking about what she and her mam could have to eat. A quick tea was in order and then she’d be off to the party in Howth. She was looking forward to this evening. There was a good film on the tele tonight so Mam would be alright and Hilary usually rang for a chat, too.
There it was, she thought, victorious as she pulled the chicken meal from the freezer and put it on the bench. She switched the oven on to preheat as per the instructions, preferring to do it in the oven, as she liked the way the cheesy sauce crisped around the edges when it was baked. The microwave left it soggy and lacklustre she always thought. As she waited for it to heat, her mind flitted to Hilary.
It had been ages since Mam had been down to Tramore and Hilary hardly ever ventured back to Dublin, proclaiming it a dirty, overcrowded city, full of foreigners these days. It would have been nice for their mam to see more of the grandchildren, too. Children was a loose term these days. Declan and Erin both towered over their little nan and were pushing thirty. They’d both stayed on in Tramore with Erin engaged to a fellow who worked for her dad’s solicitor’s firm. She worked as a real estate agent while Declan had a good job in the AIB Bank. He enjoyed playing the lad and was showing no signs of settling down. Whenever Bronagh had broached the subject of one or both them coming to see their nan for a weekend, Hilary would tut and say they led busy lives and sure, where would they sleep. Hilary managed to say this in such a way she made Bronagh feel as if she did nothing but sit around on her arse all day and was not at all inclined to offer to give up her bedroom for one of her sister’s offspring.
It was a shame both her niece and nephew had been tarred by their mother’s brush. Still, she could hardly have expected them to turn out differently. You were a product of your upbringing. Bronagh backtracked on that particular thought because she’d had the same upbringing as Hilary and they were polar opposites. The thought of Erin and Declan not being bothered to pick up the phone to see how their nan was getting on from time to time rankled. All the times her mam had sent money for their birthdays or as a treat to go and do something nice with, not once had they called or written a note to say thank you. How she’d have loved to have heard what the money she could ill afford had been used for. It would have brightened her day no end to hear tales of a new dress or an outing to see a film. This was ignorant behaviour in Bronagh’s opinion and if they’d been her children, she’d have stood over them and made them telephone their nan. She’d learned long ago not to put voice to these opinions because it only upset her mam, and sure, what was the point in that? Besides, Mam simply said she didn’t send it wanting anything in return from them. She wanted them to know she was thinking about them was all.
Bronagh frowned as she remembered an occasion when Mam had decided, once the children began working, perhaps it was time to stop sending them spends and so she’d posted Erin’s birthday card with nothing inside but good wishes. Hilary had rung the moment it had arrived with her nose out of joint because Erin had been most disappointed when she opened her card to find the usual ten pounds wasn’t there. Bronagh had wanted to throttle her sister and had thought it a jolly good thing she lived in Tramore because there’d have been murder if she was close by. Mam had been beside herself.
Family was family though, you couldn’t pick them, she mused, not for the first time as she removed the cardboard packaging and punched a couple of holes in the seal of the container before sliding it into the warming oven. The birthday card incident wasn’t the worst thing Hilary had ever done, Bronagh thought, closing the oven door.
1971
Summer was drawing to a close and Bronagh had been stepping out with Kevin for months now. She was a different woman to the one who’d caught his eye when he’d come to fix the broken door lock at O’Mara’s insomuch as she brimmed with the confidence being part of a pair brought with it. Although some would say hers and Kevin’s relationship was more of a triangle, Bronagh was oblivious. Others, more kindly inclined, had noticed and commented as to how well she was looking. It wasn’t only in the physical sense because she laughed more, the sort of laughter where you threw back your head and laughed until your stomach hurt. Kevin had brought rainbow hues into a life that had been a little beige and she loved him, he loved her too, and Myrna loved him as she would a son.
Bronagh and Kevin had settled into an easy pattern over the last months with him being understanding over their time needing to be shared with her mam. He treated her mam like a queen and she loved him all the more for it. He never complained either that she wouldn’t stay overnight at the flat, rising from the bed with the springs that dug into her back and leaving his bedsit to go home each and every time.
On Wednesdays he came for dinner straight from whatever job he’d been on and then he and Bronagh would traipse off for a drink at the local pub, The Four Horses—one of the few that didn’t have a problem with a woman frequenting it. Ireland was backward in so many respects she’d think on occasion, but it was home. She’d sip her Babycham and Kevin his pint while they held hands under the table, listening to the live music played on a Wednesday. Friday nights they stayed in with Kevin happy to pass around the bag of sweets he brought to share as they sat watching The Late Late Show. Myrna thought the sun rose and set with Kevin.
It was only fair, given they’d been together a while now and had reached a stage in their relationship where it was hard to remember what things had been like before they’d met, Kevin should want her to meet his family. They’d heard all about her and his mam was insistent they come up for a weekend. The family wanted to meet this girl who’d turned their Kev’s head. Weekends away were not something Bronagh had entertained since her mam got sick because she didn’t like the thought of her home on her own. When she was well she worried she’d be lonely and when she was ill she worried about her toppling over if she were to have one of her dizzy spells. The thought of her hitting her head as she fell, or lying on the ground unable to get up was unbearable. She couldn’t very well ask if she could invite her mam to Donegal either. Sure, what sort of impression would that make? She imagined Kevin greeting his mam with, ‘This is Bronagh, oh, and her mam, Myrna’s come too to see what the craic’s like.’
So, when he’d first broached the subject of two nights away with her, she’d skirted around the subject of a weekend in Donegal, giving him a vague, sometime soon, reply. The second time he’d brought it up they’d been lying in his bed in a tangle of sheets with Bronagh desperately trying to ignore the spring poking in her side because she didn’t want to move and break the spell around them. As he asked her if she’d give him a date for when they could go because his mam was hounding him, she’d known it wasn’t fair not to give him a definitive answer. He was always so considerate of her and mam’s situation.
She’d kissed him and told him she’d sort something out for her mam and they’d put plans in place. They’d organised to head up to Donegal in three weeks which gave his mam plenty of notice to have her cottage gleaming and Bronagh time to organise for
her mam to have a break in Tramore. It was high time Hilary had her to stay.
The next evening she’d waited until Mam had gone to bed to call her sister. She didn’t want her to overhear her conversation and feel as if Bronagh was trying to fob her off.
‘Hilary, how’re things?’ she asked as the phone was answered on the fourth ring.
‘Bronagh, this is late for you to be calling.’
‘Were you in bed?’
‘No, but we’ve had our supper.’
Bronagh rolled her eyes. Hilary and George were supper people. Every evening, once Declan and Erin were in bed, she’d make a plate of sandwiches and pour them both a gin and tonic. She thought it made them terribly sophisticated. Bronagh hoped they got indigestion from their corned beef sandwiches or whatever they were after eating.
‘Is Mam alright?’ Hilary inquired.
‘She’s alright, yes. How’re you all?’
‘Busy,’ Hilary sighed, ‘Life’s busy. The children have me run off my feet. Are you still with that locksmith chap from Donnybrook?’
Bronagh’s hackles rose. ‘Kevin’s his name and he’s from Donegal not Donnybrook.’ She managed to keep her tone neutral, determined not to bite. She had to keep Hilary on side while she broached the subject of their mam coming to stay with her for a weekend. ‘Yes, I am. Actually, that’s why I’m ringing, Hilary. He’s asked me to go up north with him for a weekend to meet his family but of course I won’t leave Mam on her own.’
‘No, of course you wouldn’t,’ Hilary snipped, sarcastically.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Bronagh forgot her resolve of only moments earlier.
‘Well, honestly, Bronagh, sometimes I don’t know who’s more reliant on who. It can’t be easy for that fellow of yours always playing the third wheel. Nobody loves a martyr, you know.’
Bronagh was indignant but managed to keep her voice down. ‘I’m not and he’s not the third wheel! And Kevin thinks the world of Mam for your information. I think you’ve a bare faced cheek criticising me when you never lift a finger to help.’
‘I’ve my family to be thinking of. They’ve got to come first. You’ve let Mam become reliant on you, Bronagh. There were other options for the times she’s poorly but you insisted on managing her care on your own.’
‘Because she’s our Mam and I don’t want a stranger looking after her.’
They’d reached an impasse and the ensuing silence was deafening. Bronagh, whose heart was thudding from the altercation, could hear the theme tune of whatever programme Hilary and George were watching being played, despite the television being in the living room and her sister standing in the hall. She decided to come right out with it and say what she’d intended to say at the beginning of their conversation. ‘Like I said, Hilary, I don’t want a stranger looking after her and Kevin’s asked me to go to Donegal with him to meet his family so, how’re you fixed to have Mammy come and stay with you for the last weekend of this month? I’ve looked into it and there’s a bus I can see her onto that leaves Dublin at two o’clock on the Friday afternoon.’
‘But how would she get to the station, you’d be at work wouldn’t you?’ Hilary shot back.
‘It’s all sorted. I’ve asked Maureen O’Mara my employer if I could leave a few hours early on the Friday and she said it’s not a bother.’ She could visualise her sister’s face working as she tried to find a reason as to why it wouldn’t work. She had to come up with something that wouldn’t put her in a bad light because Hilary was all about keeping up appearances and being seen to do the right thing. She’d hate for anybody to think she left the care of their mam solely to Bronagh, even if she did seem to think Bronagh had foisted that role on herself. This was why she wasn’t going to make it easy for her. She was Mam’s daughter too and she could jolly well pull her weight.
‘The last weekend in November you say?’ Hilary said.
‘Yes. It’s all arranged.’ Bronagh wasn’t giving her an inch. ‘Kev’s family’s expecting us and Mammy is due to see you and the children. It would save you all piling up to Dublin for a visit now, wouldn’t it?’
Hilary would be choking on her G&T. ‘Well, I’d have to check with George of course.’
‘Of course. Why don’t you ask him now? You said you were still up. It will save you having to phone me back.’ She pictured her sister, red-faced, steam coming out her ears.
‘Give me a moment.’
Bronagh heard the clatter of the phone being put down on the hall table and then voices at a muffled distance. She shifted from foot to foot waiting for her sister to come back on the line and say whatever she was going to say.
Hilary’s tone was clipped when she finally picked up the phone. ‘George and I have had a chat and yes, that will be fine.’
‘Grand.’ She wouldn’t say thanks. Myrna was her mam too, why should she? ‘I’ll talk to her about it in the morning. She’ll be excited to have a holiday and to see you and George and the children. I’ll let you get back to your supper then. Give my love to George and the children.’
She hung up before Hilary could get a word in, not wanting any more cross words between them and put the phone back in its cradle. She had a bubbling sense of excitement she knew would make it tricky for her to sleep. It was going to happen! She was going to Donegal to meet Kev’s family. She’d have to think about what she was going to take to wear because she wanted to make the best impression she could, especially on his mam because she knew he doted on her. She was nervous too, determined they like her because Kevin had been talking about their future lately and she had a feeling a proposal might be on the cards. She already knew she’d say yes if it was forthcoming.
Chapter 23
‘How many more of these fecky skewer things do I have to make?’ Roisin moaned from where she was stationed at the worktop in the kitchen, threading cheese, olives and fancy thin slivers of ham called prosciutto onto bamboo skewers. She was sick of looking at the things and feeling sick from the number of olives she’d snaffled when Mammy wasn’t looking. She was partial to the green fruit and hadn’t been able to help herself.
‘Until you’ve used everything we bought for the skewers up. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you stuffing your face, so,’ Maureen batted back from her end of the work station where she was artfully arranging crackers on her cheese board.
Roisin marvelled over her all-seeing ability.
They had an hour until they needed to head down to the church hall to set up for the party. Kenny Rogers was crooning softly in the background. Pooh was curled up in his basket, occasionally venturing out to investigate what they were doing in the hope a piece of meat might come his way—with the price of the prosciutto he was fat out of luck. When nothing was forthcoming, he’d mooch over to the doors leading to the deck to see if Peaches was back; she wasn’t and he’d stalk huffily back to the basket and so it went.
A knock at the door interrupted their flow and Maureen washed her hands calling out an ‘I’m coming’ before going to answer it.’
Moira and Aisling bowled in and Roisin looked up from her task. It was all the excuse she needed to take a break and she ran her hands under the tap, drying them on the apron her mam had supplied her with before giving them both a hello hug.
‘Nice pinny,’ Moira sniggered, checking out the embroidered wine glass and crown above the words ‘Your Wineness’ Roisin had on overtop of her sweater and yoga pants. Remembering she was the one who’d bought it for Mammy in the first place, she stopped.
‘Rosi’s put a pair of yoga pants out for you both in the spare room but before you go and get changed, I’ve a job for one of you.’
‘Moira will do it.’ ‘Aisling will do it.’
‘You’ll both do as you’re told. Moira, you can hold the bottle, she’ll pour,’ Maureen pointed to Aisling. ‘You’ve a steadier hand.’
‘What are you on about, Mammy?’ Aisling asked, following her over to the kitchen.
Maureen directed them to
a clear spot on the worktop and retrieved the casks of wine she and Rosi had bought earlier.
‘Jaysus wept, Mammy, did you buy up Dublin’s supply of cask wine. That stuff’s like drinking vinegar so it is.’ Aisling grimaced.
‘Paint stripper,’ Moira added.
Maureen was undeterred as she retrieved the two bottles of red she’d enjoyed on different occasions with Donal.
‘What are you up to?’ Aisling asked, noticing Roisin grinning.
‘It’s a cost saving exercise,’ Roisin told her sister.
‘The cask wine is to be poured into these bottles and when we run out you’re to repeat the process but be sure no one sees you doing so.’
‘Mammy!’ Aisling said. ‘You can’t do that.’
‘Oh yes, I can. No one will know the difference and they’ll all be happy thinking they’re after getting a free glass or two of top-class wine. It’s a win, win.’
‘I think it’s very devious, Mammy, but smart,’ said Moira.
‘It was actually my idea,’ Roisin said.
‘Nice one.’
Aisling looked at her mammy and sisters. It was sneaky and underhand but it was oh, so clever and she and Moira set about their task.
Maureen was wiping down the worktop and Roisin was flopped in an armchair eating a hastily slapped together cheese sandwich as the olives had digested and she was hungry. There was no chance of a proper dinner as she waited for her sisters to finish getting ready so this would have to do. The platters were covered in cling film and ready to be taken to the church hall along with the wine and extra cask supplies to be topped up as and when needed.
‘Ta-dah!’ Aisling chirruped, stepping into the room. ‘Glamour Girl or what?’ She twirled Wonder Woman-style, her long red-gold hair splaying out around her.
Rosi snorted at the sight of her. She was wearing a plunging red velvet top that left nothing to the imagination along with yoga pants and strappy Valentino heels.
The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 53