‘Don’t be cheeky.’
‘It’s the hat,’ Aisling whispered to Roisin. ‘It’s making Mammy behave even more oddly than normal.’
Roisin had to agree. She put her phone back in her pocket having just sent a saucy message to Shay as to what she had planned for them both once she’d escaped the yoga pants party. Moira’s Tom had offered to pick them all up after they’d tidied up as he wasn’t rostered on at Quinn’s this evening. She wondered if he knew what he was in for if her little sister was to move in with him. Poor sod.
The chairs in the church hall were laid out in a semi-circle as per Maureen’s instructions. The lighting was as dim as could be expected when dealing with garish fluorescent tubes that had probably been in place since the sixties. It was giving them all a jaundiced look, Roisin thought, glancing at her sisters. The food and wine was in the kitchen off to the side of the hall waiting to be served and Maureen had organised a stack of plastic cups for the wine, and a pile of serviettes too.
‘Now then, girls, it’s last minute I know but I’ve decided we need a brand for our pants. I’m after making an executive decision and they’re no longer to be called yoga pants.’
‘What are we supposed to call them then?’ Aisling was puzzled as she glanced down at the pair Mammy had gifted her with. She was rather taken with them, truth be told, they were very comfortable and surprisingly stylish.
‘I think the Mo-pant has a lovely ring to it.’
There was a snort from Roisin who’d been doing a lot of that these last few hours and Moira jumped up and down. ‘You’re naming them after me, Mammy! My very own fashion brand.’ This made up for her not being glamour girl.
‘Behave yourself. No, I am not. Mo is short for Maureen, you eejit, because this here,’ she waved her arm around, ‘well, it was my idea so the Mo-pant it is. Maureen’s too long-winded and Moira you can wipe that look off your face because your role is important too. You’re going to be our guests’ first port of call, greeting them as they arrive and issuing them each with one plastic cup and a serviette.’
‘Why not a paper plate?’ Moira asked sulkily.
‘Because, I’m using this.’ Maureen tapped the side of her hat. ‘You can’t load up a napkin the same as you can a plate. We want to stretch the finger food out.’ She frowned, or at least that’s what Moira thought she was doing. She couldn’t see her expression properly beneath the hat. ‘And you want to watch out for Joan Fairbrother. She’s known for taking more than her share at the bowls club afternoon tea.’ She issued Moira with her description leaving her on the lookout for a woman with chunky thighs in her mid-sixties, more than likely wearing a mini-skirt. ‘And be sure to keep the wine flowing, the more relaxed our guests are the more likely they are to buy.’
Roisin, Moira and Aisling glanced at one another, not familiar with this shrewd mammy who wore white Stetsons and poured cheap, casky wine into expensive bottles.
‘Mammy?’ Moira asked.
‘You should be getting your cups and serviettes not standing there mammying me.’
‘What are you going to be doing while I’m run off my feet being charming to everyone?’
‘I’ll be standing alongside you directing guests over to the chairs.’
’And what about Aisling and Rosi? What are they going to be doing?’
Maureen rolled her eyes as if it were obvious. ‘Aisling will be milling about the place, giving everybody a good gawp at the glamourous side of living in yoga pants.’
‘An eyeful of her boobs more like, and you said they’re to be called the Mo-pant,’ Moira muttered, while Aisling hastily checked she hadn’t had fallen out between leaving the apartment and arriving at the hall.
Maureen carried on, ‘As for Rosi, she’ll be doing a live yoga demonstration.’
‘The whole time?’
‘No, sure she’d be far too distracting. Only when I introduce her and tell everybody she’s going to show us all some proper bendy moves. We’re going to play it by ear but I may do a line dance demonstration too.’
Moira turned to her eldest sister. ‘Don’t you be doing the downward dog, that was a cheese sandwich you were after having at Mammy’s and you know what you’re like on cheese.’
‘Moira, kitchen, now!’ Mammy thundered as a head appeared around the door.
‘Coo-ee, only me,’ said Rosemary Farrell. She limped forth.
Moira hurried off to get the cups and serviettes having no wish to be cornered by Rosemary. The last time she’d seen her, she’d been stuck listening to her go on about her dodgy hip for ages, to the point where Moira had begun imagining her own hip was aching and she’d limped about the place for the rest of the day.
HALF AN HOUR LATER Moira and Maureen had their routine down pat and were proving to be a formidable double act. Moira greeted their guests and handed them the cup and serviette, after which Maureen would steer them towards a chair with a gracious sweep of her arm. They also had a full house which had seen Roisin and Aisling hastily setting out another row of seats for the last-minute guests arriving. Maureen shot Roisin an ‘I told you so’ look when two of the tourists she’d demonstrated her lunges to in the Arrivals hall of Dublin Airport took a seat. Moira pinpointed a woman fitting Joan Fairbrother’s description and took note of where she was sitting so as to move on quick smart once she’d taken her allocated one skewer from the tray. Bronagh also arrived and decided to settle herself near where Aisling was striking a pose. She stared over at her curiously. ‘What are you doing, Aisling?’ she asked.
‘I’m modelling.’ Aisling flicked her hair back over her shoulders, one hand on her hip which was thrust
