‘Mammy!’ Roisin made to protest but when she put a hand to her hair, knew she had a point. It was a matted mess and would need to be dealt with.
‘One o’clock at Johnnie Fox’s.’
‘I know, Shay’s dropping me there.’
‘Don’t be late.’
‘I won’t.’
Maureen put the phone back and moved over to where Pooh was gazing with a love-struck expression on his face at Peaches shivering out on the veranda. She petted him to soften her words. ‘She’s not coming in, Pooh. It wouldn’t be proper.’ It was time she got ready herself. She’d already decided to wear the blue wrap dress. It was the right amount of dressy without being over the top. She’d keep her make-up light, subtle, no bright lipsticks. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of meeting Donal’s girls. What would they make of her? What would she make of them?
Chapter 26
The roads were busy for a Sunday with a hurling match having been played somewhere and there were eejits driving home cheering and carrying on. Maureen had allowed an hour to get to Glencullen so as to be on the safe side. Her trusty little car wound its way up the quiet stone-walled laneways, lush with greenery, into the Dublin mountains. On a sunny day the drive was spectacular but today the windscreen wipers gave an occasional swish to remove the light drizzle falling steadily outside.
She reached the picturesque pub with fifteen minutes to spare and pulled into the gravelled parking area over to the side of the cottagey building, grateful to find a space to slide into. Once she’d parked, she looked about to see if she could spy Donal’s car. Her view to her right was blocked by a shuttle bus; the place was popular with the tourists and she should know having recommended it to her guests many times over the years. There was no sign of Donal’s car or anybody else with whom she might link arms in solidarity. Aisling and Moira were getting a lift from Tom who must be getting thoroughly sick of playing chauffeur to the O’Mara girls and their entourage she thought. She’d give it five minutes and pretend she was very busy doing something important on her phone while she waited.
She was engaged in looking busy and never heard the footsteps approaching, nearly jumping out of her skin at the tap on the window. Moira was standing there jigging about in the cold air despite having dressed sensibly compared to her usual standards. Aisling was behind her, hands thrust in her coat pockets, white puffs of air coming from her mouth, looking very green around the gills. Maureen got out of the car, her coat falling open as she did so.
‘I’ve not seen that dress before,’ said Moira.
‘It’s a wrap dress. It sucks me in here,’ Maureen gestured to her middle. ‘Ciara at the shop I bought it from says so.’
‘The colour’s nice on you, Mammy.’ Moira was doing her fecky brown-noser bit, not because she was a reformed character but to ensure a free lunch. Mammy would never know she’d told Aisling moments ago she felt like Cinders about to meet the ugly stepsisters. Aisling had been phlegmatic, saying they probably felt as though they were about to meet their evil stepmother. She had a point, Moira had thought, but now she feigned amazement. ‘And sure, Mammy, you’ve no sign of a waist on you at all, Ciara was right.’ That could have been overdoing it, she thought, seeing her eyes narrow.
Maureen looked past Moira to her other daughter. ‘Aisling, good to see you’ve put your bosoms away today. How’s the head?’
‘Ah, don’t, Mammy. I’m scarlet so I am and it’s better than it was.’ Mrs Baicu had been far more sympathetic than Mammy had earlier and had served her and Quinn a plate of Ireland’s finest each, which had gone a long way to ensuring she didn’t crawl back to bed.
‘Come on,’ Moira urged. ‘My hair’s going to kink standing around out here.’ She led the charge past the wooden sign swinging in the breeze welcoming them to Ireland’s highest pub, to where two children were charging around the outdoor tables playing tag, oblivious to the drizzle. The tables were deserted given the weather and a girl with a wave of blonde hair posed against the black vintage car parked alongside the pub as her boyfriend, presumably, took her photo. The brilliant purples and pinks cascading over the sides of the hanging baskets brightened a dull day and they stepped over the threshold of the quaint, lime-washed stone pub. The door closed behind them and they were instantly enveloped by the smell of browning butter and onions and the comforting sound of mellow laughter. Maureen looked up at the low ceiling and imagined Donal would have to duck if he didn’t want to hit his head on the beams.
‘Is Rosi here? Shay was going to drop her off,’ Aisling asked, craning her neck, looking around but despite her heels she still couldn’t see overtop of the punters clustered around in groups.
‘I don’t think so.’ Moira replied.
Donal waved out from a table near the stage area which was deserted today. It was a good thing, Maureen thought. She wasn’t able for Irish dancing not today. Her stomach was doing enough of a jig as it was. She had a split second to contemplate the two women sitting with him, older versions of the teenagers immortalised on his living room wall, before he was out of his seat and making his way through the crowded space to where the O’Mara women were hovering by the bar.
‘Maureen,’ he boomed, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. Then, taking a step back, he looked from Aisling to Moira who’d been put on the back foot by the effusive greeting. ‘Now then with that gorgeous hair, I’m going to guess, you’re Aisling.’
Aisling nodded. She didn’t know what
