‘Hilary’s on the phone?’ There’d been a spark in her mam’s weary voice at the mention of her eldest daughter. ‘Help me up, Bronagh. There’s a girl. It’s good of her to call. She’s very busy you know, what with the children and running that house of hers.’
Bronagh had wanted to snort. It irked her the way her mam put her selfish mare of a sister on a pedestal when she was the one who worked full time, but making a snidey remark wouldn’t help matters. ‘Here we are pop this on, Mam.’ She’d held out her dressing gown for her and when she’d slipped her arms inside it, she’d belted it closed. She’d kept a tight hold of her arm as she helped her down the stairs. How they’d manage the coming back up, she didn’t know. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. Her mam’s body seemed to be giving up on her and, not trusting her ability to stand on her own for long, she’d dragged a chair in from the kitchen for her to sit on. She’d waited beside her until she’d sat down and said, ‘Hello.’ before taking herself off into the kitchen to put the potatoes on to boil. She who’d nothing important to do with her time if Hilary were to be believed! She’d kept her ear cocked to see how the conversation played out.
‘The doctor’s, you say?’ Her mam’s voice had sounded thin, reedy almost. There was silence as she’d listened to whatever it was Hilary was saying. ‘Ah now, you know Bronagh can be dramatic. I’m a little tired that’s all, but yes, if it makes you feel better, I promise I’ll go tomorrow. How are the children? Are they about?’
Her grandchildren’s voices would have been a tonic for her mam, Bronagh had thought, but Hilary had already ended the call.
‘She’s very busy. She’s a function to go to this evening and she had to give the children their tea.’ Myrna had excused her eldest daughter’s rush to get off the phone as she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Bronagh turned the boiling water down a notch and pulled out a chair for her.
‘Sit down, Mam,’ she’d said, before tossing the sausages in the fry pan. She’d heard her mam sigh over the top of the hissing, spitting sausages.
‘I don’t know why you’re always prickly when it comes to your sister.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are, I can see it in the set of your shoulders now. You shouldn’t be worrying her like that either. She’s enough on her plate. I’m alright, you know, but if it means you’ll stop panicking and telling all and sundry your old mam’s on death’s door, I’ll go and see Doctor Burke tomorrow.’
Bronagh had stabbed a fat sausage with a fork, that was something at least.
Now, as her mam sipped her tea, she asked her how she’d gotten on. ‘What did Doctor Burke have to say this time around Mam, has he given you anything to take?’
‘He couldn’t find anything wrong with me. I’m worn out that’s all. He thought it might be women’s problems. This here,’ she raised her teacup, ‘is better than any pills he could prescribe.’
Bronagh shook her head and left her to enjoy her tea. It was like banging her head against a brick wall trying to get anywhere. Women’s problems, was a broad term for I haven’t a clue what’s wrong with you, she thought, taking herself off to the kitchen to peel the potatoes and carrots to go in the hotpot she was making for their dinner.
Present
The fax clicking and whirring into life brought Bronagh back to the here and now. She’d never thought she’d become a caregiver. It was a role that had sneaked up on her. It wasn’t as though she’d gone for an interview as she’d done for this job, here at O’Mara’s. There’d been no reference from her previous employer to hand over to be glanced at. She hadn’t had to smile and put her best foot forward, it had simply happened. A gradual slide as her mam’s bouts of being unwell had continued to recur. She’d thought, as most women her age back then had done, she’d marry and have children, taken it for granted she’d do so in fact. Kevin had wanted to marry her, she was sure of it, even if he hadn’t gotten around to asking her. It wasn’t meant to be, though. She wouldn’t think about him. It would do nothing to improve her mood. Bronagh didn’t believe in regrets but if she did, she’d regret the way things had turned out. Her sigh came from deep within her as she got up from the seat to see what the machine behind her was spitting out.
Chapter 9
Maureen bustled into her old stamping ground, the guesthouse, where things were ticking over nicely in Aisling’s absence. She’d left Pooh at home this morning having loaded her stereo with country music CDs and setting it to random selection. He’d given a mournful howl as she’d pushed play and edged her way out the door, which Maureen was certain was an attempt at singing along with Loretta Lynn. He really was very clever, she thought, sneaking out the door and leaving him to it.
She hadn’t come to O’Mara’s to check up on the staff; they were all perfectly capable of managing on their own for the fortnight, Aisling was away. All of them, except perhaps, Ita. Maureen might give her a gentle rally today and it wouldn’t do any harm to check on the rooms that were expecting guests tonight to ensure they were up to standard. She was young, Ita, and needed to be steered in the right direction until she could find her place in the world. Maureen had a soft spot for their director of housekeeping as she called herself because she knew she’d had a tough time when her dad had left, as had
