A Wedding at O'Mara's (The Guesthouse on the Green Book 6)

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘Oh right.’ James looked down at the fax he’d taken off the machine, studying it as though it might explain the workings of the female mind. He got the feeling a compliment of some sort was in order so he dug deep and came up with. ‘Well, you all look grand.’

  ‘Thank you, James,’ Moira said, sensing it was as good as they were going to get. She led the way toward the stairs but before she got there, she spied the guests from room eight sitting in the guest lounge. Mr and Mrs Dunbar had arrived for a long weekend in the fair city yesterday morning for no reason other than they’d always fancied exploring Dublin. They were a chatty couple with broad Scottish accents who said things like dinnae and laddie and lassie a lot. They hailed from a village near Edinburgh and Moira had whiled away a good half hour talking with them while she herded Aisling and Bronagh up and down the stairs yesterday morning. They’d said their goodbyes when Bronagh, red in the face, had threatened Moira with bodily harm if she made her do it again. ‘Hello again, Mr and Mrs Dunbar.’ She paused to smile at the older couple although Mr Dunbar was oblivious given he’d nodded off in the wingback chair. The hairs of his bushy moustache were blowing with each little snore she noticed as Mrs Dunbar waved over, a cup of tea in her hand.

  ‘Hullo, Moira. We’re not long back from doing the hop-on hop-off bus tour and now we’re enjoying a well-earned cup of tea, or at least I am. We’ve been on the go all day and we’re dead on our feet.’ She gestured toward her husband. ‘As you can see.’ The sweet-faced woman with faded red hair that curled at her chin smiled at the small group gathered in the doorway. ‘Did I overhear you lassies telling the wee laddie on the front desk you’d been having your hair done as a trial run for a wedding?’

  ‘Yes, it’s my wedding, Mrs Dunbar,’ Aisling said, pushing past Moira into the lounge. She wanted to go and see Quinn but she always had time to chat with their guests.

  ‘Call me Maggie, dearie.’

  Aisling smiled.

  ‘Well, don’t you look a bonnie lassie with those flowers in your hair. Now, what is it my grandson says when something’s good?’ She looked to her husband who gave a rumbling snore followed by a whistling sound. ‘Fat lot of good you are. It’ll come to me.’ She screwed her bright blue eyes up trying to find the words and then her face brightened. ‘Pure barry, that’s it. Your hair looks pure barry, Aisling. Mine used to be that colour when I was younger believe it or not. And you two bonnie lassies are the bridesmaids I take it?’

  Roisin and Moira nodded.

  ‘Come in and have a blether about these wedding plans of yours,’ she invited.

  They weren’t in any rush and so Roisin played mother making the tea while Aisling sat down on the sofa with Moira chatting away to the friendly Scots woman. She told her all about the latest look in Holland that had her bridesmaid’s resembling praying mantises. Mrs Dunbar was chuckling away at the picture Aisling was painting when Roisin, dunking a teabag into a cup, interrupted and told them all about Sten misinterpreting her expression and how he’d not had the lightest of touches after she’d made it clear she was spoken for. They all laughed as she relayed how his goatee quivered when he got excited or annoyed.

  ‘Oh, and what about Mammy,’ Moira snorted, mimicking her informing her poor stylist, Polly she was the mammy of the bride and as such could wear her hair, however which way she wanted.

  ‘Mother of the bride is a lovely thing to be indeed. My hair was on my shoulders when my daughter got married, I had it blow waved and set for her big day and wore a magenta hat with my dress. Navy it was with a magenta rose pattern. What did your mammy decide to do with her hair?’

  ‘Curls, Maggie.’ Aisling said. ‘And for some reason when I think of Mammy’s curls I want to start singing and doing a spot of the tap-dancing,’ Aisling said.

  All eyes turned toward her, unsure what she was on about.

  She got up from the sofa beginning to jig about as she burst into song. On the Good Ship Lollipop, she tapped away.

  ‘Shirley Temple!’ Maggie clapped delightedly. ‘She went for ringlets then.’

  ‘They were supposed to be pin curls but they were very tight. The drizzle out there should sort them out though, even if she does wear a headscarf over them.’ Aisling gestured to the large windows facing the street from where they could see a glimpse of the glistening, slick pavement outside before sitting back down again.

  Roisin carried two cups of tea over and as she started laughing, they rattled ominously on the saucers.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Moira asked.

  She managed to set the tea down in front of her sisters without spilling it and took centre stage in the room before launching into her heartfelt take on Tomorrow.

  ‘Little Orphan Annie!’ Mrs Dunbar chortled, thoroughly enjoying this impromptu version of charades.

  The giggles were getting loud and James poked his head around the door to see what was going on. He shook his head on seeing a room full of women and a snoring man. It reminded him of when his mammy got together with her sisters, and his da always nodded off thanks to the extra glass of whisky he’d have knocked back in order to cope with his sisters-in-law.

  Moira wasn’t going to be left out. ‘My turn.’ She stood up and began to perform some fancy footwork while singing Michael Jackson’s ABC. The others were in fits and when poor Mr Dunbar woke himself up with a particularly violent snore he had to blink rapidly because he’d found himself in a room full of giggling women. And what he’d like to know was why was the bonnie lassie he’d been speaking to yesterday dancing around singing a song he hadn’t heard since the seventies? They were a mad lot these Irish, he thought, reaching for his cup of tea.

  Chapter 15

  Aisling swept into the house in Blanchardstown that Quinn shared with his mam and dad, glad to be in out of the cold. She’d felt like your character from the Narnia book the half human, half horse one that got frozen as she waited for the bus. Now, the homely smell of fabric softener and fresh baking washed over her. She greeted her soon-to-be mammy-in-law with a big fecky brown noser smile and received a warm one in return. She’d known Mrs Moran since her student days and was very fond of her but lately she’d found herself feeling irritated by her fiancé’s mam’s incessant fussing over Quinn. He wasn’t a baby, he was a grown man and it was ridiculous the way she ran after him.

  Quinn’s siblings had all long since left home, as had he until he decided to open his bistro. It was a decision that saw him leave behind his career in London to move back to Dublin. He hadn’t intended to move home but given the soaring accommodation costs in the city and the uncertainty of trying to get a new business off the ground, it had been the sensible thing to do. Sometimes, Aisling thought he’d gotten a little too used to being back in the family fold. She expected them to be a partnership when they finally moved in together at O’Mara’s, the sensible option given Aisling needed to be on site and Quinn’s bistro was a hop, skip and a jump away, and began their married life. You would not find her waiting on her new husband hand and foot the way Mrs Moran was prone to doing with her husband and sons.

  Of course, it wasn’t all down to her. Quinn seemed perfectly happy to let his mammy do so. She’d broached the subject with him a few weeks back but he’d shrugged in that laid-back way of his that was at times endearing and at times frustrating and said, ‘I think she feels she has to prove herself after her stroke, you know. She likes to feel needed.’

  Aisling had blustered back, ‘But that’s silly.’

  ‘Aisling,’ Quinn had said in a way that suggested she was very naïve when it came to the stuff of life. ‘Sometimes it’s easier to go with the flow than to upset someone over things that don’t matter in the big picture.’ She’d had the feeling he was talking about her and hadn’t pressed it further, not wanting to hear something she might not like.

  ‘How’re you, Mrs Moran,’ Aisling asked now, noting she had her customary shamrock apron tied around her waist.

  ‘Aisling dear, I’ve tol
d you a million times you’re family. It’s Maeve and I’m very well although I’m having problems getting the stains out of Quinn’s chef whites. I’m after trying vinegar and baking soda.’

  Aisling wished her mammy could hear this conversation. Not the part about slaving over Quinn’s whites, the other part, because it was her fault she struggled with being on a first name basis with her soon to be in-laws. It had indeed been ingrained in her to address her elders with a Mr, Mrs or Aunty this or that. Perhaps she should go for the middle ground and call Mrs Moran, Mrs Maeve. ‘Have you been baking? It smells wonderful in here.’ She was only being polite because Mrs Maeve was always after whipping something up in that kitchen of hers. This house was a dieting woman’s worst nightmare.

  ‘I have and you’re in luck. There’s a batch of biscuit brownies fresh out of the oven, that’s if Quinn’s not eaten them all.’

  Aisling groaned inwardly. Mrs Maeve’s biscuit brownies were the best.

  ‘They’re his favourites as you know,’ the little woman continued. She reached out and rested a hand on Aisling’s forearm to waylay her a moment longer. Her voice dropped almost conspiratorially. ‘When you’ve a moment, Aisling I’ll show you how to bake them, I’ve been making notes of all his favourite foods for you because you know how the saying goes. The way to a man’s heart—’

  ‘Is through his stomach,’ Aisling finished for her. Mr Moran had told her the other day he was on the fence about his son finally leaving home because he was sure the baked goods on offer would go downhill.

  ‘You’ll find Quinn in the kitchen going over his books. Oh, I nearly forgot. How did you get on with your hair appointment?’ She looked at Aisling’s hair which was flowing loose as per her usual style. She’d taken all the bobby pins and woven flowers out once back at the guesthouse. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise on her wedding day. She patted her hair self-consciously and told Mrs Maeve this.

  ‘And your dress, did you find what you wanted?’

  The thought of her beautiful dress made Aisling smile. ‘I did and I love it, it’s perfect.’ She quickly added. ‘You know you were welcome to come along with us. My mammy was saying she’d like to get to know you better, now we’re all going to be family. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to join us tonight too?’

  ‘I must organise a lunch for us all and it was thoughtful of you to include me, Aisling, but sure you know how tired I can get when I’m out and about too long and you didn’t need me huffing and puffing about the place. As for a hen night, I’ve not got the stamina.’ Maeve felt guilty seeing the earnest expression on Aisling’s face. She was telling the truth about not having the stamina for this evening’s festivities but the truth of why she hadn’t gone along to help Aisling choose her dress was because her future daughter-in-law was so frazzled of late. She’d only met Maureen a handful of times too and she’d been worried about treading on toes, or saying the wrong thing to Aisling. Not that she’d told Quinn that of course.

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded.’ She didn’t want her future mammy-in-law to feel pushed out of things because this wedding was as much about her son as it was about Aisling and her side of the family.

  ‘Well I’m sure you’re going to be the most beautiful bride, Dublin’s ever seen, dear. And sure, you’ll have a grand time tonight. It will do you good to let your hair down. You’ll find Cathal on his chair in the front room if you want to pop your head in and say hello. I’d best get back to the whites.’

  Mrs Maeve scuttled off and Aisling ventured into the front room where Mr Moran was reclining in his La-Z-Boy chair with a newspaper held open in front of him.

  ‘Hello there,’ she called, stooping down to pet Tabatha the cat who’d gotten up from her corner of the sofa in order to greet her. The cat rubbed against her legs purring loudly as Mr Moran lowered his paper and peered over top of it. ‘Hello there, yourself, Aisling. How’re you doing?’

  ‘Grand thanks, yourself?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t complain.’

  Aisling noticed the cup of tea with a piece of the brownie tucked in alongside it on the saucer on the side table next to where he was sitting, and picturing his wife buzzing around making sure he was comfortable thought, no you can’t. It’s the life of Riley you’re after living. He was a lovely man but he was also a solid, lazy, lump of a man and woe betide Quinn if he made noises about purchasing a La-Z-Boy chair when he moved into O’Mara’s.

  ‘All set for tonight, then?’ she asked, referencing Quinn’s stag do. Hugh, the oldest of the Moran boys, was to be his baby brother’s best man and it was in this role that he’d organised the stag do. Aisling was pleased about this because Hugh at forty, married with four sons of his own, was a sensible family man unlike the two middle Morans, Ivo and Rowan, neither of whom was married and both of whom who had long-suffering girlfriends. Aisling would never say it to Quinn but she’d mentally given the two eejity brothers the nicknames of Lloyd and Harry from the Jim Carey film, Dumb and Dumber.

  ‘I’m conserving my energy, Aisling, in order to keep up with the young ones.’

  ‘Fair play to you, Mr Moran.’

  ‘Call me Cathal, for goodness sake, Aisling.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’re too polite for your own good, so you are.’ He grinned to soften his words before vanishing behind his paper once more. She took her cue to leave him to it and with a final tickle behind Tabitha’s ear ventured off to the kitchen to find Quinn.

  He was sitting at the big family-sized pine table about to stuff a piece of the biscuit brownie in his gob. Spread out in front of him were the books from the bistro and he looked up with a sheepish grin when he saw Aisling in the doorway.

  ‘Caught me.’

  ‘I’m betting it’s not your first piece either.’ Her eyes flitted to where the tray was on top of the oven. The slab of the chocolate treat was missing quite a few pieces.

  ‘No comment. Can I tempt you?’ He gestured toward the oven and she frowned as her mouth watered at the thought of it. Quinn did not make her efforts to lose a few pounds before the fourteenth of February, easy.

  She focussed on her dress and the need to be able to slide that zipper up and down with ease. ‘No, thanks. I won’t.

  Quinn shovelled the brownie down as though frightened it might be taken off him. He wouldn’t it put it past her, she’d been kind of crazy lately in the build-up to this bloody wedding of theirs. He’d seen her checking out his middle the other day and did not want to find himself being ordered to do a crash course of the Weight Watchers. He pushed his chair back and patted his knee. She went and sat down slipping her arms around his neck.

  ‘I wanted to see you before tonight.’

  ‘Why do you look so worried?’

  ‘I don’t, do I?’

  ‘Yeah, you do and you know you don’t need to be. We’re going for a meal and a few drinks that’s it. There won’t be any strippers or that sort of carry on, you know that, not with Hugh having organised it. Ivo and Rowan were all for it but I put my foot down. It’s my stag night and that isn’t my bag. Besides, Dad would be mortified if anyone waggled any naked bits under his nose.’

  The two middle brothers went up a notch in the eejit stakes. They were elevated from mere eejits to super eejits. Hugh however was allocated a halo.

  ‘I’m not worried, I trust you. I feel edgy, I suppose.’ Aisling paused, unsure how far she should go. Quinn had told her often enough that she had nothing to worry about where he was concerned, he loved her. She knew all this in the logical part of her brain but still there was this feeling she couldn’t shake that somehow things would go wrong. She decided not to put her fears into words. She didn’t want to put a dampener on his evening. She wanted him to enjoy himself tonight and not be worrying about his overly sensitive wife-to-be.

  ‘Do you know what I think your problem is,’ he said, nuzzling her neck.

  ‘Don’t do that, your mammy might walk in.’

  He paused in his nuzzling.
‘You’re hungry, Ash. Have a piece of that brownie, it’ll sort you out so it will.’ He was teasing her.

  ‘Ah, ignore me and my moaning, I’m grand and I do not, read my lips, do not need the brownie.’

  He looked sceptical but didn’t push matters. ‘And what about you, what’s Leila got planned for you? Is it the Chippendales you’ll be going to see or have those Riverdance fellows ventured into the murky waters of Irish dancing with nothing but a bow tie on to keep them warm?’

  Aisling screwed her face up. ‘God Almighty, Quinn. That would give me nightmares so it would. All those high kicks, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  He laughed.

  ‘So far as I know, Leila’s organised a few drinks at O’Mara’s with party games then we’ve a limousine picking us up to take us for a meal and onto a few pubs.’

  ‘Does the unsuspecting Dublin public know your mammy and Bronagh are being let loose on the town?’

  Aisling elbowed him playfully, her mood lifting. It was one of the things she loved most about him, his ability to make her laugh. She kissed him full on the lips, suddenly uncaring if his mammy were to walk in on them. ‘I love you very much, Quinn Moran.’

  ‘And I love you, Aisling O’Mara.’

  Chapter 16

  Maureen could hear the phone ringing as she turned the key in her lock and she pushed the door open before stampeding over to answer it. She could murder a cup of tea but it would have to wait, she thought as Pooh managed to get caught up around her legs in his haste to get to the laundry. He was desperate to see what was on offer in his food bowl. Cursing, she let go of his leash and righted herself before she hit the deck. Thoroughly flustered, she grasped hold of the receiver and answered it with a breathy, ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello there, yourself, Maureen. How’re you doing on this wet and wild afternoon?’

  She smiled upon hearing the voice at the other end and forgot all about her coveted cup of tea and the high drama she’d had trying to get to the phone. She relieved herself of her rain jacket carrying it through to the laundry to hang up. ‘I’m very well, Donal. Thank you for asking.’ She was frozen to the bone after braving the elements on Howth Harbour but his cheery voice warmed her as much as the central heating would do. He brought out her generous side which was lucky for Pooh because she held the phone to her ear while scooping a load of dried biscuits into his bowl with her free hand. It wasn’t his dinnertime for another hour, and the poodle’s tail wagged at this unexpected bonus. Leaving him to enjoy his food, Maureen took herself back to the warmth of the living room and, kicking off her shoes, she settled herself down for a cosy chat.