‘You’d be more at home in the Rio Carnival than in a church hall in Howth,’ she said. ‘Look at the state of yer bosom jiggling all over the place.’
‘Aisling, you look grand but Roisin’s right, a bra wouldn’t go amiss. Go on with yer and put them away,’ Maureen stated
Aisling glanced down and saw she was exposing her left nipple. ‘Feck,’ she said, tucking herself back in her top. She’d have to watch that but she couldn’t wear a bra under this top, you’d see the lacy edges and straps.
Moira appeared next, having teemed her yoga pants with a black top and sensible shoes.
‘You remind me of Michael Jackson for some reason, you just need a sparkling white glove,’ Roisin tittered.
‘That’s not helpful.’ Maureen gave her a cuff around the ear. ‘Moira, well done you look smart.’
Moira was enjoying not being the one in trouble for a change and wondered if perhaps she should turn over a new fecky brown-noser leaf. ‘Are you going like that, Mammy?’ she asked, taking in her mam’s bumble bee ensemble. ‘I thought you saved that outfit for the airport?’
‘Sweet Mother of Divine, I’ve forgotten all about getting changed and me the hostess! Give me five minutes, girls.’
Aisling and Moira joined their sister in lounging around as they waited for Mammy to get ready. They caught up on each other’s news.
‘How’re you finding living with Aisling and—'
‘My husband,’ Aisling jumped in.
‘She does that all the time, it’s really annoying,’ Moira said. ‘Quinn’s great but he leaves the loo seat up and they’re always,’ she pulled a disgusted face, ‘fondling one another.’
‘Fondling!’ Rosi said, trying not to choke on the remains of her cheese sandwich. ‘Where did you get that word from?’ It conjured up all sorts of lurid images.
Moira shrugged. ‘Well, they are.’
‘No, we’re not. She’s exaggerating. You know what she’s like, Rosi. We’re very mindful of you and not making you feel uncomfortable, so we are.’
‘Well you could have been more mindful last night when the bed springs were squeaking. I was so traumatised I couldn’t sleep. I’m thinking about moving in with Tom but I have to work out the logistics.’
‘What logistics?’ Aisling asked, already imagining cosy breakfast table scenes with her and Quinn, no Moira sitting down the end with a face like that Persian that kept showing up on Mammy’s balcony.
‘How I’m going to pay my half of the rent.’
Maureen reappeared, halting all further conversation as her daughters took stock of her.
She had her rhinestone blouse on, yoga pants and cowboy boots, that wasn’t all though.
‘Mammy where did you get the cowboy hat from?’
Maureen peered mysteriously out from under the white Stetson. ‘I borrowed it from Laura, my line dancing teacher.’
Mammy always took things a step too far, all three sisters silently thought.
Chapter 24
‘Ten minutes until showdown girls!’ Moira clapped her hands, the sound echoing around the church hall.
‘Yee-ha,’ Moira replied, fist pumping the air, ‘And hoe-down!’
‘Don’t be cheeky.’
‘It’s the hat,’ Aisling whispered to Roisin. ‘It’s making Mammy behave even more oddly than normal.’
Roisin had to agree. She put her phone back in her pocket having just sent a saucy message to Shay as to what she had planned for them both once she’d escaped the yoga pants party. Moira’s Tom had offered to pick them all up after they’d tidied up as he wasn’t rostered on at Quinn’s this evening. She wondered if he knew what he was in for if her little sister was to move in with him. Poor sod.
The chairs in the church hall were laid out in a semi-circle as per Maureen’s instructions. The lighting was as dim as could be expected when dealing with garish fluorescent tubes that had probably been in place since the sixties. It was giving them all a jaundiced look, Roisin thought, glancing at her sisters. The food and wine was in the kitchen off to the side of the hall waiting to be served and Maureen had organised a stack of plastic cups for the wine, and a pile of serviettes too.
‘Now then, girls, it’s last minute I know but I’ve decided we need a brand for our pants. I’m after making an executive decision and they’re no longer to be called yoga pants.’
‘What are we supposed to call them then?’ Aisling was puzzled as she glanced down at the pair Mammy had gifted her with. She was rather taken with them, truth be told, they were very comfortable and surprisingly stylish.
‘I think the Mo-pant has a lovely ring to it.’
There was a snort from Roisin who’d been doing a lot of that these last few hours and Moira jumped up and down. ‘You’re naming them after me, Mammy! My very own fashion brand.’ This made up for her not being glamour girl.
‘Behave yourself. No, I am not. Mo is short for Maureen, you eejit, because this here,’ she waved her arm around, ‘well, it was my idea so the Mo-pant it is. Maureen’s too long-winded and Moira you can wipe that look off your face because your role is important too. You’re going to be our guests’ first port of call, greeting them as they arrive and issuing them each with one plastic cup and a serviette.’
‘Why not a paper plate?’ Moira asked sulkily.
‘Because, I’m using this.’ Maureen tapped the side of her hat. ‘You can’t load up a napkin the same as you can a plate. We want to stretch the finger food out.’ She frowned, or at least that’s what Moira thought she was doing. She couldn’t see her expression properly beneath the hat. ‘And you want to watch out for Joan Fairbrother. She’s known for taking more than her share at the bowls club afternoon tea.’ She issued Moira with her description leaving her on the lookout for a woman with chunky thighs in her mid-sixties, more than likely wearing a mini-skirt. ‘And be sure to keep the wine flowing, the more relaxed our guests are the more likely they are to buy.’
Roisin, Moira and Aisling glanced at one another, not familiar with this shrewd mammy who wore white Stetsons and poured cheap, casky wine into expensive bottles.
‘Mammy?’ Moira asked.
‘You should be getting your cups and serviettes not standing there mammying me.’
‘What are you going to be doing while I’m run off my feet being charming to everyone?’
‘I’ll be standing alongside you directing guests over to the chairs.’
’And what about Aisling and Rosi? What are they going to be doing?’
Maureen rolled her eyes as if it were obvious. ‘Aisling will be milling about the place, giving everybody a good gawp at the glamourous side of living in yoga pants.’
‘An eyeful of her boobs more like, and you said they’re to be called the Mo-pant,’ Moira muttered, while Aisling hastily checked she hadn’t had fallen out between leaving the apartment and arriving at the hall.
Maureen carried on, ‘As for Rosi, she’ll be doing a live yoga demonstration.’
‘The whole time?’
‘No, sure she’d be far too distracting. Only when I introduce her and tell everybody she’s going to show us all some proper bendy moves. We’re going to play it by ear but I may do a line dance demonstration too.’
Moira turned to her eldest sister. ‘Don’t you be doing the downward dog, that was a cheese sandwich you were after having at Mammy’s and you know what you’re like on cheese.’
‘Moira, kitchen, now!’ Mammy thundered as a head appeared around the door.
‘Coo-ee, only me,’ said Rosemary Farrell. She limped forth.
Moira hurried off to get the cups and serviettes having no wish to be cornered by Rosemary. The last time she’d seen her, she’d been stuck listening to her go on about her dodgy hip for ages, to the point where Moira had begun imagining her own hip was aching and she’d limped about the place for the rest of the day.
HALF AN HOUR LATER Moira and Maureen had their routine down pat and were proving to be a formidable double
act. Moira greeted their guests and handed them the cup and serviette, after which Maureen would steer them towards a chair with a gracious sweep of her arm. They also had a full house which had seen Roisin and Aisling hastily setting out another row of seats for the last-minute guests arriving. Maureen shot Roisin an ‘I told you so’ look when two of the tourists she’d demonstrated her lunges to in the Arrivals hall of Dublin Airport took a seat. Moira pinpointed a woman fitting Joan Fairbrother’s description and took note of where she was sitting so as to move on quick smart once she’d taken her allocated one skewer from the tray. Bronagh also arrived and decided to settle herself near where Aisling was striking a pose. She stared over at her curiously. ‘What are you doing, Aisling?’ she asked.
‘I’m modelling.’ Aisling flicked her hair back over her shoulders, one hand on her hip which was thrust forth, a pout in place.
‘I see.’ Bronagh didn’t see at all. Roisin sat down next to her. ‘Mammy’s after telling her she’s the glamour girl. She’s demonstrating how the yo-erm, Mo-pant, can be stylish and sophisticated, to show everyone they’re not just for exercise, or lounging about.’
‘Wine, Bronagh?’ Moira asked before Bronagh could reply to Roisin. She was holding up the bottle to ensure Bronagh could see the label.
‘Ooh, lovely, I don’t mind if I do.’
Moira made the rounds and smirked upon hearing Rosemary Farrell telling her friend, she enjoyed good wine as it helped ease the ache in her hip and this was a fine drop indeed. Maureen had done them proud. She had to duck out back and replenish her bottle more than once and by the time she’d finished filling everyone’s cups, Mammy was standing in the centre of the semi-circle about to begin.
‘Good evening, ladies and er, gentlemen.’
All heads swivelled back to where Maureen had directed the latter part of her introduction. Roisin felt an urge to giggle but knew she’d cop it from Mammy later if she did. It was the man from the airport who’d watched Mammy’s demonstration and he was looking just as bewildered as he had in the Arrivals hall, only now he was beetroot because forty odd women were all eyeballing him. How’d he snuck in without her noticing?
‘Thank you for coming,’ Maureen beamed. ‘We’ve a grand evening ahead of us with wine, some lovely finger food, and a live yoga demonstration by my daughter, Roisin.’
This time all eyes settled on Rosi and she gave a small wave.
‘My name’s Maureen for those of you who don’t know me and I’m here tonight to introduce you to the Mo-pant.’
‘I can’t hear you down the back!’ shouted, a woman with a helmet of grey hair, a hearing aid visible in either ear.
‘Turn them on,’ her friend sitting next to her bellowed tapping her own ear.
Maureen thought, there’s always one in the room before continuing, her voice a decibel louder. ‘The Mo-pant is the one pant for all occasions. The one size fits all pant. It’s the comfiest, most flattering pair of pants you’ll ever own. First off though, you’ve met Roisin now say hello to Moira my youngest daughter who’s your waitress tonight.’
‘Hello, Moira,’ came the dutiful reply.
‘Could I have a drop more wine, Moira, please, it’s going down ever so well, so it is,’ said a sweet-faced little lady Maureen recognised from bowls on account of the fact she was a known cheater.
Moira smiled beatifically. ‘Certainly.’
‘And to my middle daughter, Aisling,’ she turned to gesture over to where she’d last seen Aisling who was taking her role very seriously and had decided to improvise. She was strutting around the semi-circle of seating as though stalking the catwalk. Her hand was on her hip and each foot placed carefully in front of the other before she came to a halt beside Maureen turning slowly around affording everyone the chance to check out the Mo-pant from every angle. Unfortunately, her exertions had freed the boob and Maureen hissed in her ear to put it back where it belonged because this was a Mo-pants party, not a peep show.
Roisin felt a dangerous bubble of laughter rise in her throat as she overheard a woman behind her say, ‘I don’t know if her booby was supposed to be bobbing about like so but sure, her bottom looks grand in the pants.’
‘It does, Dolly,’ came the reply, ‘It reminds me of the story by yer man Dahl. You know the giant peach one.’
‘Didn’t she do well!’ Maureen rallied her crowd, determined to ignore the wardrobe malfunction. They duly applauded and Aisling took herself off to the side, flashing a look at Moira that managed to convey, ‘I’m bigger than you so don’t you dare breathe a word of my boob walk to anyone’ without a single word spoken out loud.
‘So you can see, ladies and erm, sir, the Mo-pant looks just as at home here in the church hall as it would out for dinner or at a nightclub.’
‘Or strip club,’ someone mumbled, as murmurings in the crowd about the naked breast having no place in a church hall began, but any dissent was swiftly quelled by Moira beginning to offer about the platter of tasty skewers. She whipped it by Joan Fairbrother who barely managed to get one in her hot little hand let alone two.
‘In a moment,’ Maureen said. ‘I’m going to pass around two pairs of the Mo-pant and you can feel for yourself how soft and luxurious the material is. Ladies,’ she leaned in conspiratorially. ‘you’re never going to want to wear anything else again.’ She handed a pair of pants to the two ladies at opposite ends of the first row of chairs and stood back as they were passed along. ‘Feel free to ask any questions.’
‘She’s very good,’ Bronagh said to Roisin in between nibbles of her skewer. ‘So’s this.’ She waggled her cup as Moira passed by indicating she’d like a top up. ‘She’s like a yoga pant guru, your mam.’
‘Mo-pant,’ Roisin corrected. She was surprised because her mammy was indeed like one of those women from the infomercials on the television. She was a natural and she fancied she could already hear the purses opening behind her.
By the time Maureen had answered all the questions fired at her and Moira was doing the rounds with the last tray of food, the voices in the hall were noticeably louder and laughter rang out here and there. The wine was going down a treat. Maureen almost rubbed her hands together with delight over how the party was panning out. Self-congratulations would have to wait for now though because it was time for Roisin’s demonstration. She made the introduction and sat down in the chair Roisin had just vacated, watching as she laid her yoga mat out.
Rosi told her rapt audience what she was going to do and then ran through a simple sun salutation routine, not heeding Moira’s warning about downward dog. She ended her display with a headstand that had the crowd gasping.
‘I’d like to be able to do that,’ said the woman with the helmet hair and hearing aids.
‘Not with your bad shoulder, Flo,’ said her friend sitting alongside her.
The pants were taking on magical qualities, sure anything was possible when you were wearing the Mo-Pant! This underlying feeling in the room was exacerbated by Maureen deciding to end things on a lively note. She pushed play on the portable stereo she’d borrowed from Moira and, with a clap of her hands and a turn of her toes, launched into the Tush Push, urging those that wanted to join her to come on up and take a turn on the floor. There was a scraping of chairs followed by a veritable stampede as the women and one man formed two rows following Maureen’s lead. Roisin, Aisling, Moira and Bronagh watched their mammy lead the crowd in amazement.
‘She almost makes me want to line dance,’ Aisling said.
‘Me too,’ agreed Roisin.’
‘That’s only because you’re drinking the casky wine,’ said Moira. ‘That’s your third cup each.’
‘I’m going to give it a go,’ said Bronagh, getting up and tagging on the end of the back row.
Needless to say, they sold out of the Mo-pant and Tom wound up being the courtesy driver for a hall full of women who’d had a skinful by home time.
Chapter 25
‘Mammy, my head hurts and it’s y
our fault for buying the casky wine,’ Aisling bleated down the telephone. She was dressed but only just, and sitting on the sofa sipping a milky brew with an extra teaspoon of sugar in it. The television was flashing bright pictures she was staring at but not seeing in front of her. Quinn was snuggled up next to her on the sofa enjoying a lazy morning with his wife having given up on the idea of anything more than a cuddle because, when he’d made hopeful overtures, she’d told him if he wanted to go riding then he’d best get himself off down to a stables and find a new filly. He’d taken that as a no. She should push him off, she thought, knowing she would’ve normally been downstairs by now checking in on young James who manned the fort of a weekend. She couldn’t summon the energy yet though. Moira was making an unnecessary amount of noise sorting her breakfast out in the kitchen.
‘Don’t blame me, blame your sister. The cask wine was Rosi’s bright idea.’
‘I can’t blame her, she’s at Shay’s.’
‘How many cups were you after having?’
‘Five or six.’ Her stomach roiled at the thought of it but she’d needed to blank out the boob incident. Quinn had thought it hilarious when Moira told him what happened and she was currently not speaking to either of them. Moira’s earlier words to her had been, ‘Forced down your throat was it?’ when her sister moaned about the state she was in earlier.
Maureen repeated the sentiment. ‘Well, you’ll get no sympathy from me, Aisling, nobody forced it down your throat. It serves you right, you should know better at your age.’
‘Mammy!’ Sympathy and tender loving care was what Aisling needed now.
‘Don’t Mammy me and don’t you be thinking you’re wheedling your way out of lunch today either. One o’clock, Aisling, at Johnnie Fox’s.’
Aisling sighed. She’d go and see Mrs Baicu, a fry-up would sort her out. ‘I know, Mammy, and I don’t see why Quinn isn’t invited. He’s my husband you know.’
The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2 Page 54