‘To think that’s where we met,’ he shouted over the wind. They both stood there, lost in the memory of their first encounter. Maureen had been at the yacht club Christmas party, an event she’d been looking forward to until she’d wound up sandwiched between two eejits at the dinner table. Donal and his band were the entertainment and she’d escaped for a dance, their eyes had locked, and the rest was, as they say, history. Donal squeezed her arm. ‘I thought you a fine-looking woman in your red dress the moment I saw you step onto the dance floor, Maureen O’Mara.’
Maureen smiled up at him. ‘I thought you had a look of Kenny Rogers about you alright and I always thought he was a fine-looking man.’
They stared at one another in mutual admiration until Pooh began to strain at the leash, eager for the off. Maureen’s step was lighter this morning after their luncheon at Johnnie Fox’s yesterday, although given what she’d eaten it had no right to be. The lunch had started off promising to be a disaster but it had all turned around over dessert and they’d left the pub with promises of doing it again soon and two orders for the Mo-pants to boot. She didn’t know what had been said in the Ladies Room between Anna and Moira but they’d rejoined them at the table giggling over a private joke and Maureen had blinked in disbelief as Moira passed Anna a spoon and Anna began to share her dessert with her. This was remarkable, not just because Anna seemed to have undergone a personality transformation in the powder room, but because Moira by nature was not a sharer. All in all, the family meet-up had been a success. It was baby steps for them all in these new unchartered waters but the first big storm had been averted and they’d sailed into calmer waters. It was the Irish Sea and the sight of Ireland’s eye out there making her all metaphorical, Maureen decided.
Roisin had gone back to London last night but before she’d left, they’d had a board meeting as to how they could fill the orders streaming in. When they’d gotten back to the apartment after lunch on the Sunday there’d been a ton of messages left on the answerphone from women requesting a pair of the Mo-pants because so and so had told them they were marvellous. There was a comfy pant revolution going on in Ireland to be sure. The plan so far was for Roisin to add postage to the orders and send them directly to the customer. There was definitely scope for another Tupperware, Mo-pant style party in the future. Given Moira’s recent good deed with Anna and Aisling’s boob aberration, Moira might find herself promoted to the role of Mo-pant glamour girl next time around.
Pooh cocked a leg and they halted once more. Donal greeted a chap with a rod slung over his shoulder and a bucket of something smelly for catching fish in his hand. They embarked on a great chat as to what could be found here in the harbour if you had a lucky spot as yer man with the smelly bucket did. She stood politely, waiting for the conversation to come to a natural close, pleased Pooh hadn’t shown them up by deciding to do a number two when they had company. Her mind flitted to Patrick. She’d taken it upon herself to telephone him. Sure, someone had to. He’d been delighted to hear from her and she’d held the phone away from her ear wondering if this man with an accent that had picked up more than one Americanism was really her son. She’d felt a longing to tousle his hair and wrap him in a hug the way she’d done when he was a boy. It was high time she got over there to Los Angeles to see where he was living for herself.
For Patrick’s part he’d been full of his new venture which involved investing in something that went completely over the top of Maureen’s head. If things were going well, it boded well for him paying back his loan and the last burden resting on Maureen’s shoulders had lifted. She’d never doubted him. She’d asked after Cindy before hanging up, even though she was on the fence as to her suitability as a long-term prospect for her beloved eldest son. Apparently, she was becoming sought after in the world of toothpaste adverts. Patrick had insisted on putting her on and Maureen had nearly choked when Cindy, in that breathy, little girl voice of hers had said, ‘Hi, Mom, how are you?’
She realised Donal had said cheerio to the chap, who was whistling as he carried on his way to his lucky spot, and they set off walking once more. This time Maureen squeezed his arm. She was a lucky woman, truly blessed with her lot in life.
Chapter 31
Maureen eyeballed Peaches without realising she was doing so. The cat was taunting her as she sat outside on the balcony table daring her to shoo her away. She was oblivious to the fact Maureen might as well have been staring at a brick wall because she was lost in thought not engaging in a staring competition. Pooh was sitting by her feet enraptured by the Persian who again was oblivious to the poor dog’s adoration. Donal was in the kitchen chopping an onion having insisted on cooking his world-famous, in Drumcondra at least, spaghetti bolognaise for their dinner. He was crooning along to a country music compilation he’d brought with him for Maureen and Pooh to have a listen to. Maureen registered the sharp smack of onion as she blinked and Peaches stretched, languorously satisfied, she was the winner of the competition.
She
