A clattering down the stairs made them both pause and turn in time to see a young man with a briefcase in his hand. He gave them a cursory wave as he whirled through reception and out the door.
‘Mr Cleary from Room 4. Late for a meeting’s my guess,’ Bronagh said.
‘Hm, must have overslept,’ Maureen said. She remembered what it was that had brought her to O’Mara’s today. ‘I came here to ask a favour of you. Would you mind typing this for me?’
Bronagh took the handwritten sheet from her and said out loud, ‘You’re invited to a Yoga Pants Party. What’s this all about then?’
‘You’ve heard of Tupperware parties?’
‘Of, course I have.’ Bronagh could recall having gone to more than one back in the early seventies and spending a small fortune on storage containers. Mind they’d been handy in their day. ‘Hasn’t everybody got a Tupperware container with no fecking lid lurking down the back of their cupboard?’
‘True enough.’ Maureen had a brown canister that had cost her a pretty penny when the children were small. She’d been convinced by yer woman hosting the do, her life wouldn’t be the same without this superior piece of kitchenware keeping her spaghetti noodles fresh. It had long since lost its lid somewhere or other. ‘But it’s nothing to do with Tupperware.’
‘I know that. It says yoga pants party but you brought up the Tupperware.’
They were getting sidetracked and Maureen was glad she wasn’t in a rush because it looked like she was going to have to start at the beginning. ‘What it is, Bronagh, is this. I was at my line dancing class this week and I wore my yoga pants instead of my jeans on account of the jeans cutting off my circulation around my middle.’
Bronagh made a noise indicating she knew where Maureen was coming from.
‘They were so comfortable, like wearing no pants at all and I still looked the part doing the Tush Push. Afterward, all the ladies were asking where they could get a pair for themselves and that’s when I had the idea for the party. Rosi’s on board, she’s going to be my supplier. You can have yours at cost if you come along to the church hall, your mammy’s more than welcome too. We’ll have drinks and nibbles. It’ll be grand. And I’m going to get Rosi to do a demonstration of all her bendy yoga moves so everyone can see what you can get up to in the yoga pants.’ Aisling would be back by then and if she’d been holiday-eating she’d probably be wanting a pair of yoga pants to be getting about in herself. Moira could come and help her and Rosi set it up, as penance for being a cheeky mare this last while.
Bronagh began tip-tapping the invitation out. She liked the sound of these yoga pants.
Chapter 10
Maureen set off for home having had a quiet word in Ita’s ear about what needed doing about the guesthouse, leaving their young director of housekeeping with the impression she’d be calling back later on without actually saying so. She’d left her hurrying off to the cleaning supplies cupboard and, satisfied all was as it should be at O’Mara’s, Maureen set off with the neatly typed invitation in her hand. She’d plans to call in at Reads to get copies run off and would multi-task once back in Howth by distributing them to her various groups as well as taking Pooh for a walk.
Meanwhile, Bronagh, sitting behind her desk, eyed the date of the party, the invitation still on her screen. It was on a Thursday evening in just on two weeks. She was looking forward to it and not because her skirt was once more straining at the middle because she couldn’t very well wear yoga pants to work, now could she? Mind, Maureen had said they could be dressed up or down. What she was looking forward to most with regard to the party was sharing it with Leonard. She looked forward to sharing all the ins and outs of her day-to-day goings on with him. She opened her desk drawer, bypassed the biscuits and retrieved the latest letter she’d been poring over when Maureen had called in.
Most of the guests were out and about and the pile of reservations waiting to be entered into the computer could wait until she’d read through it again properly. She wanted the opportunity to savour the letter for a while. Leonard, or Mr Walsh as she’d always thought of him until his unexpected Christmas card, would be back in Dublin come September and although Bronagh knew how time had a way of running away on itself, September seemed a long ways off. He came every year at the same time, staying at O’Mara’s in the same room, and had done so for years. He’d leave his home in Liverpool to visit his sister who still lived in the house he’d grown up in here in the city. He maintained his reason for not staying in his old family home was so as to put some distance between himself and his sister, a necessity if he wanted to keep his sanity during his visits.
The tone of the letters was conversational and, as she read them, Bronagh imagined she was having a cosy chat with a good friend. A little like she’d just done with Maureen only it was different because she’d get a fluttering sense of anticipation as she began to read them. The letters from Leonard were her secret, and a delicious one at that.
‘Who’s that you’re writing to, Bronagh?’ Myrna had asked seeing Bronagh putting pen to paper for the first time in a very long
