There was steam coming out of the ears of the diners at the surrounding tables. You couldn’t pay for entertainment this good!
‘Mammy, lower your voice, you’re getting hysterical,’ Aisling whispered, her face puce as she saw people staring over.
‘I miss Daddy, Mammy.’ Moira sniffed not caring who saw as a tear streaked down her cheek.
The wind went out of Maureen’s sails. ‘I know you do. We all do.’
Aisling dropped an arm around her sister and Moira leaned into her.
‘Can you not try and understand. I’ve been lonely and what a tonic it’s been for me meeting Donal?’
‘I do understand.’ Moira’s voice wobbled. She was tired of being angry and knew what lay at the root of it all. ‘I’m sorry, Mammy. I know I’m being selfish. I can’t help it but I feel like I’m being disloyal to Daddy if I pretend I’m happy about you and this Donal fella.’
‘It’s Donal not this Donal fella, Moira, as I keep telling you and I know you do.’ Maureen reached across the table and patted her daughter’s hand. ‘Because I struggled with those feeling myself but your daddy wouldn’t want me to be lonely, Moira. He was a kind man and he didn’t have a selfish bone in his body. Do you remember what he told us about how he wanted us to look after one another when he was gone and how we needed to find our way without him the best we could, which is what I’m trying to do.’
Moira looked at her mammy, tears clinging to her lashes.
‘All I’m asking, Moira, is for you to keep an open mind where Donal’s concerned.’
‘I’ll try,’ Moira said, taking the serviette from Maureen and dabbing her eyes.
‘And you too.’ Maureen turned to Aisling who nodded.
The clearing of a throat made them all look up. The pirate man from behind the counter was standing there with Maureen’s cappuccino.
Chapter 16
Bronagh was enjoying her Saturday morning. She’d allowed herself a sleep in until past eight o’clock, a luxury not available Monday to Friday and had gotten up to make a leisurely breakfast of toast and eggs for her and Mam. Now she was sitting at the kitchen table, her back being warmed by the rays of sunlight flooding into the room as she penned her letter to Leonard. It was a newsy update as she wrote about the upcoming yoga pants party and the taster of carrot cake with thick cream cheese icing she’d made short work of on her way home last night. She’d thought the lemon drizzle hard to beat but there was something about that cream cheese icing and the way it offset the sweetness of the cake. It was delicious, she scribbled. Given she was a cream and icing sort of a girl, she was putting this high praise of the carrot cake down to the mix of cream cheese and icing sugar.
Her mam was in the living room, industriously arts and crafting with her scrapbook along with her old pal Linda. She’d been bright lately which lifted Bronagh’s spirits and today Linda had called in to see her with a bag full of odds and sods with which to decorate their various projects. Linda was working on a doll-size book for her great granddaughter who’d entered the world a month ago, while Myrna’s was a keepsake of memories from when she and Hilary were small.
Myrna had known Linda since before Hilary was born. They’d worked together at Arnotts, her mam in the millinery department, Linda behind the counter in children’s wear. They were busy snipping and pasting photographs and cardboard embellishments at this very moment and Bronagh could hear them laughing. She imagined it to be over some memory an old photo of Myrna’s had evoked. She put the pen down as she remembered another time when her mam had been laughing along with Linda in the front room.
1971
‘I’m off now.’ Bronagh stuck her head around the living room door where she saw her mam sitting in the armchair, warming her feet by the gas fire. Linda, her friend from her Arnotts days, was opposite her in her mam’s old chair, her toes vying for space. They were reminiscing over their days behind the counter at the department store, both grinning like Cheshire cats at the laughs they’d had when their floor manager’s back was turned. ‘The dinner only needs warming through when you’re ready,’ she said. It was only early but she wasn’t going to be home for her tea so she’d made stew and dumplings which could be reheated. Linda who’d arrived an hour or so ago had said she was happy to stay and have her dinner with Myrna which pleased Bronagh. She didn’t like the idea of her mam eating on her own.
‘That perfume’s lovely.’ Myrna sniffed. ‘Is it new?’
‘It is. It’s called Rive Gauche, Mam. It’s French.’ Bronagh breathed, ‘French’ with reverence. She hoped she hadn’t been too heavy handed with it. She’d done what the woman behind the perfume counter had said. She’d sprayed a cloud in the air and walked into it, feeling misty droplets settle over her. It would have mellowed by the time she got to Grafton Street. She’d splurged on the fragrance, having fallen in love with the modern blue canister and the way the scent made her feel like a woman about town. There was something so glamorous about French perfume. Look at Maureen O’Mara; she always smelled gorgeous with her Arpège.
‘Let’s have a look at you,’ Linda said, the slice of thickly buttered brack Bronagh had put out for their afternoon tea halfway to her mouth. ‘I like seeing you young one’s fashions.’
Bronagh stepped into the room to show off her trouser suit.
‘Is that new too, Bronagh?’ her mam asked, taking in her daughter’s lilac tunic with its tie belt and matching trousers. ‘I always liked you in lilac. It’s very smart, so.’
Bronagh felt a bit of a spendthrift,
