Maureen gave a tentative sniff. It certainly smelt appetising and not at all like the sorta place where cockroaches would be lurking, she decided, inhaling the warm, yeasty aroma of pizza dough.
Her coat was whisked away by the maître d’ who lacked the flamboyant welcome she so enjoyed whenever she frequented, Aisling’s Quinn’s bistro. She was introduced to their waiter for the evening, who was about as Italian as she was with his red hair and freckles. His name, he said, in broad Dublin tones, was Antony. She fancied he’d made that up and his real name was Seamus, which suited him much better, as he led her over to the table where Donal was already seated. She put a hand up to her hair hoping the biting wind hadn’t undone all her hard work with the hairdryer earlier. She was aiming for a soft wave not a Farrah Fawcett flick.
Donal was old-school in the manners’ department, like Brian had been, and he stood up seeing her approach. His bearded face broke into a smile and his eyes lit up in a way that made her feel special. She turned her cheek and his lips, soft and warm, brushed her skin, his beard tickling her and giving her goosebumps—the good kind. He was looking very handsome in a white shirt and navy trousers. The crisp line down the middle of each leg didn’t escape her notice and the thought of him thinking she was worth the effort of ironing them pleased her.
‘Maureen O’Mara you look a picture, and you smell wonderful. Tell me again what your perfume’s, called,’ he boomed, and Maureen saw a few heads turn their way. Donal didn’t give a flying toss what others thought of him and she admired this quality amongst others in him.
‘Arpège,’ she said, straightening her dress and feeling pleased she’d taken the young girl’s, who needed a good meal inside of her, advice. It was what was called a wrap style.
‘It’s very flattering around here,’ the girl in the Howth boutique whose window display she often admired when walking Pooh, had said, patting her own non-existent midriff. Outside a plaintive whining had begun and Maureen had had to excuse herself in order to tell Pooh to quieten down or he’d be getting none of the treats she had in her pocket because his behaviour wasn’t falling into the positive reward realm.
‘I’ve had four children, you know, and one of them was over ten pounds,’ Maureen replied on her return, patting her own middle. ‘So, think on—’
‘Ciara, and I’ve no plans for children. I’m too young.’
‘Or lunch or dinner either, by the looks of you.’
‘I’m naturally thin.’
Maureen didn’t trust anyone who was naturally thin so when Ciara held up a dress and said, ‘Well now, this will be perfect for you then. It will streamline you where you need it.’ She’d been sceptical even when Ciara had taken a big sucky-in breath to demonstrate where Maureen needed streamlining.
‘I can see your ribs, young lady. Does your mammy not make you breakfast?’
‘Oh, I don’t do breakfast. I’m a coffee on the go, girl.’
‘Well I’m a mammy and I say you need to eat your breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day and there’s a bakery next door where you could get yourself a nice egg sandwich for your lunch, too.’
Donal interrupted her reverie. ‘I’ve not seen you in that colour before, it’s lovely on you,’ he said, waiting for her to sit down.
‘Thank you.’ Maureen smiled as Antony held her chair out for her. Electric blue wasn’t normally a colour she’d wear but Ciara had assured her it looked well on her. She’d felt like living dangerously and so she’d splurged, on the condition Ciara got herself a sandwich from next door for her lunch and ate a bowl of porridge before she left for work the next morning. They’d shaken on it.
Maureen sat down and Donal did the same. The waiter flapped around with her napkin and she resisted snatching it from him and telling him not to be making such a performance of things. It was an oversized hanky to be placed on the diner’s lap, not a rug you were after beating.
‘I hope you’re hungry?’ Donal beamed as he was handed the drinks menu. He pulled his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and inspected the list.
‘I am, it smells wonderful in here.’ Maureen beamed back. ‘Very garlicky.’
Donal knew she was partial to a red and he knew a thing or two about wine because he’d done a night school class on wine tasting so Maureen was happy to sit back and let him order. They agreed a garlic bread to share as a starter would be lovely.
‘How’s your erm...’ she lowered her eyes to the red chequered cloth covering the table, the candle flickering between them casting shadowy light across it.
‘Grand, there’s only a bit bruising there now.’
‘He’s very sorry, you know.’
Donal laughed that rumbly belly laugh of his. ‘I’m sure he is.’ It was said in a tone that said he didn’t believe a word of it. ‘You know, Maureen, I had a punch in the nose from the fella my Ida was courting before me for making eyes at her when I was a young fellow but a bite on the arse from a jealous poodle, well I have to say that’s a first.’
Most of the restaurant’s patrons looked their way upon hearing this. They went back to their meals when Maureen began to chatter about her day. ‘I had a
