The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

bat back and forth about their children and grandchildren. She liked to keep up with all the goings on in their lives but later, when she went home to her quiet, little house, she’d feel an emptiness. The sound of children’s laughter would never bounce off this house’s walls. She’d always thought she would take on the role of another grandmother to Emer’s children just as she’d played the role of a second mother to her growing up. She’d missed out on knowing Emer’s family. The children would all be grown and have no interest in spending time with their widowed great aunt.

‘I think Rosamunde has a point,’ Kathleen said, having clearly mulled over what Noreen had told them. Spying the expression on Noreen’s face, she held up her hand. ‘No, don’t give me that gin-soaked-prune look of yours. Hear me out.’

Noreen’s lips tightened once more and she knitted a frantic red row with her head tilted to one side. It was enough to show Kathleen she was listening.

‘I’ve known you long enough to know it’s a heavy burden you carry where Emer is concerned. What she did was wrong but Malachy dug his heels in when he could have asked her why she’d done it.’

Noreen made to protest he had asked and hadn’t liked her answer but she closed her mouth knowing what Kathleen meant was, what lay at the root of what she’d done.

‘You couldn’t cross his decision but I think if you’d had a say in it all back then, you’d have patched things up with her. Malachy isn’t here anymore, Noreen, and knowing him as I did, I’m telling you as one of your oldest friends he wouldn’t want you to be alone. There are friends and there are family in this world of ours. We get to choose our friends but not our family and when it all boils down to the nitty-gritty, if we don’t have family what do we have?’

‘Hear, hear,’ Alma said, placing the currant bun in front of Noreen. Noreen didn’t have the energy to tell her not to be listening in on a private conversation, besides she knew she’d be wasting her breath. Alma was an eavesdropper of the highest order. The door jangled announcing a customer, and with a groan about her knees not being able for all this standing she waddled off back behind the counter.

‘But how?’ Noreen muttered to the trio, none of whom were knitting.

‘How what?’ Agnes asked.

‘What do I say to her?’ This was the part that was all a puzzle. Should she walk up to her niece at the reception with her hand held out and say, It’s time we buried the hatchet. Or should she act as though nothing had happened and chat away to her as if she had no cares in the world.

‘Tell her the truth. Tell her you want to put the past behind you,’ Kathleen, who was full of wise advice this morning, said.

‘She’s right,’ Agnes agreed, dabbing the crumbs up off her plate with her index finger. Despite her protestations there was nothing left of the bun. ‘It’s simple.’ She popped her finger in her mouth.

Was it simple after all? Noreen pondered. Perhaps, she thought, a spark of hope for the future igniting, it wasn’t too late to start over again after all.

Chapter 23

Aisling and Quinn shuffled about the floor trying to mimic the actions of Maria and Antonio Lozano who were gyrating toward one another in a manner that suggested they should get a room. The beat of the fast-paced salsa music Aisling had picked for their wedding dance was filling the studio above the shops on Dame Street. ‘Do you not think it’s a little over the top?’ Quinn whispered to Aisling who had to resist the urge not to stomp on his foot.

‘No, I don’t. I think it’s very romantic.’

‘But we’re Irish not South American.’

‘Oh, so would you rather me wear a red ringlet wig and a short green dress and jig my way across the floor toward you?’

‘Not at all, but we could do a swaying, slow dance sort of a thing, couldn’t we?’ Hope sparked in his eyes but it was doused as Aisling jeered back at him, ‘Everybody has that. I don’t want our wedding to be like everyone else’s.’

Quinn gave up and tried to concentrate on emulating their instructors. He’d mastered a few steps at the lessons he and Aisling had done before they’d become a couple but he was by no means a natural.

Aisling eyed Maria and Antonio thinking Quinn had a point as the couple oozed sensuality and rhythm, unlike them. They were like two wooden puppets, Punch and Judy she thought huffily, with hip swivel problems. She flung her arms up in frustration and stepped back from him. ‘This is hopeless, Maria, Antonio! I can’t seem to find my rhythm.’ She looked down at the swingy skirt and towering heels she’d worn thinking they’d put her in the mood to salsa about, before glaring at Quinn as though it were all his fault. The look on his face told her he’d rather be anywhere but here. She fumed silently, unsure why he kept throwing cold water over all her ideas. First the table settings were over the top and now this. Well tough, she’d asked the husband and wife salsa duo to help choreograph their wedding dance and they’d agreed, although they weren’t doing it out of the goodness of their hearts. They were charging like wounded bulls, not that she’d tell Quinn. Time was money and she couldn’t afford for the magic not to be happening on the dance floor tonight.

Quinn rubbed his temples, he was feeling very second-hand thanks to his uncommon night on the town. His brothers had kept it clean but had been enthusiastically sliding all manner of shooters down the bar top towards him for most of the evening. Quinn had knocked them back with equal enthusiasm. It had been a good craic