She, Donal and Pooh had all tumbled in through the door, glad to be back in the warmth after their bracing stroll and she’d seen the blinking light of the answerphone. ‘I wonder if that’s more orders for the Mo-pants,’ she’d said, before directing Donal to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She replayed the messages, hastily scribbling down two new orders and then frowning as Aisling’s voice sounded. Her tone was snippy as she demanded her mammy telephone her back as soon as she got the message. Maureen would have been worried but she didn’t sound panicked, more annoyed and so, expecting to have to mediate the latest battle between Moira and Aisling she’d taken a deep breath and rung back.
Now, Donal put the knife down and said, ‘Come on, Maureen, you’re miles away. Why don’t you tell me what the problem is?’ She watched as he washed his hands and poured them both a glass of red. ‘The dinner can wait a while longer. C’mon let’s sit down.’ He handed her a glass and she followed his lead over to the sofa. Sitting down, he patted the seat beside him. Maureen obliged and, taking a sip of her wine, she savoured the bold, meaty flavour before relaying Aisling’s side of the telephone conversation he hadn’t been privy to.
‘Aisling, what’s got you all in a stew?’ she’d asked when her daughter picked up.
‘You have, Mammy. I can’t believe you’re after loaning money to Patrick. You know what he’s like.’
Maureen had sat down; she hadn’t expected that. ‘Aisling, I don’t know what you’re on about.’ The fib tripped off her tongue. Surely Bronagh wouldn’t have repeated their chat?
‘Yes, you do. Roisin overheard Patrick tapping you for ten thousand pounds at Christmas time and why she’s taken this long to tell me and Moira about it, I don’t know.’ Roisin had telephoned Aisling that morning from work to tell her what she’d heard when neither Patrick or Mammy knew she was within earshot at Christmas. ‘Why didn’t you tell us when you were here, or over for my wedding?’ Aisling had wanted to know.
‘Because there was too much going on. There’s always too much going on. I never got the chance to. But it’s bothering me and you’re better at broaching things like this with Mammy than I am,’ Roisin replied, feeling much better now she’d unburdened herself.
‘No, Rosi,’ Aisling had told her. ‘You just don’t do confrontation on any level.’ Roisin had hung up then on the pretext of urgent work she had to be getting on with, leaving Aisling with the phone in her hand and her blood boiling at the thought of her brother taking advantage of their mammy.
‘Loan, Aisling, there’s a big difference.’ She should have known it would’ve been one of her three with their big flappy ears, not Bronagh, Maureen had thought, still taken aback to be even having this conversation.
‘Aha, got you!’
She had walked into that one. Maureen was annoyed. There’d be no escaping this unpleasant conversation now unless she hung up. ‘I don’t see what business it is of yours or your sister’s what I do with my money, Aisling.’
‘Sure, Mammy, I know that but it’s not me trying to get my hands on your retirement fund now, is it?’
‘Your brother needed a buffer is all to get his new business off the ground. If you can’t help family who can you help?’ She’d felt Donal’s concerned gaze on her and was embarrassed he should hear her sounding like a fishwife down the phone. She tried to level her voice out. ‘Everybody deserves a helping hand from time to time.’
‘Mammy, Patrick’s had more helping hands than I’ve had hot dinners! The reason he needed to ask you for money is because he’s got champagne tastes on beer money and he has the business sense of a flea to boot. Sure, he’s like a fecking flea the way he bounces from one sure thing to another. He never sticks at anything long enough to make it work.’
‘Aisling O’Mara, don’t you be using the language or talking ill of your brother. I’ll have you know he’s doing very nicely over there in Los Angeles. His business is going great guns, so it is. I was only after speaking to him the other day and, for your information, I’m thinking of taking a holiday over there.’ This time she’d known Donal’s gaze would be startled. Hers had been just as startled by what had popped out of her mouth. She’d not even realised she was seriously entertaining the idea, but sure, why not?
‘Oh, did Pat offer to pay for this holiday? And did he mention a repayment plan to you during this conversation of yours?’
Maureen had thought she might get struck down by lightning if she fibbed twice. ‘No, but only because we didn’t get around to talking about it. Besides I gave him until Christmas to pay it back and that’s months off yet.’
‘Well more fool you, Mammy. Weren’t you after telling me the other day about Great Aunt Noreen and the postcard she sent you from New York? And how you were worried Emer was taking advantage of her.’
Maureen squirmed. She had indeed been telling her how Emer, Noreen’s canny niece who knew too well which side her bread was buttered, was taking advantage of her lonely old aunt. It wasn’t the first time Emer had done so either, but loneliness was a powerful motivation to put your blinkers on where family was concerned. Was she guilty of the same thing? No, she decided, Patrick was her son. He wouldn’t do wrong by her. ‘Sure, there’s no comparison. Patrick’s not at all
