‘That poodle has behavioural issues,’ Moira said, then, indicating the cutlery drawer, ‘You could set the table, Rosi.’
Roisin did so while Noah petted Pooh who was lying with his head resting on his paws. His doggy face in repose looked like butter wouldn’t melt. ‘Go and wash your hands, Noah, we’ll be eating in a minute.’
Her son huffed and puffed out of the room narrowly missing his Aunty Moira who was carrying two heaped plates of food over to the table. Pooh waited until they were all seated and Maureen had said the grace before getting up and wandering over to the table. He sat at Aisling’s feet having decided she was likely the softest touch and stared up at her with huge baleful eyes begging for a morsel. ‘Mammy, he’s making me feel ever so guilty.’
‘Ignore him, Aisling, he could win an Oscar for his role in Starving Dog, so he could.’ Maureen tutted, forking up the mince and pasta dish enthusiastically.
‘This is delicious, Moira,’ Roisin said, winking across the table at her mammy and receiving a ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full, Rosi,’ in return.
Noah’s eyes whizzed from one family member to the other, unused to so much banter at the dinner table.
Roisin caught up on her sisters’ news as she tucked into her meal. Moira was immersed in her course at the National College of Art and Design and after an initial rocky start as she got used to being a student and no longer having a disposable income, she was loving it. She and Tom were getting along very well and before she could launch into exactly how well, Mammy interrupted by asking her to pass the salt. Aisling was kept busy ensuring the smooth turning of the cogs at O’Mara’s during the day and was spending most of her evenings at Quinn’s these days. ‘Shay was asking after you last week when his band was playing. I told him you were coming home for Christmas. Meaningful and inuendo-laden glances were exchanged around the table but with Noah at the table nobody said a word on the subject. Roisin adopted her best, ‘So what?’ expression as her stomach did flip-flops. He’d been asking after her. He knew she was going to be home. Perhaps she could leave it all to fate and just see what happened. She realised Aisling was speaking. ‘What did you think of the Californian Giant Redwood on display downstairs?’
‘It’s gorgeous but it is big, you’ll have problems fitting everyone in reception if you have any large groups due to arrive.’
‘It’s a health and safety hazard, is what it is,’ Aisling muttered, before adding she hadn’t a show of getting anything smaller. There was no getting around Bronagh once she’d her heart set on something and her heart had been very firmly set on the biggest tree she could find. ‘She talked one of the tour operators into putting it in their van and delivering it for her, bribed them with a custard cream and a cup of tea, so she did.’
‘Now then girls.’ Maureen changed the subject. ‘I’d like us to visit with Father Christmas tomorrow.’
Moira sniggered and Roisin and Aisling glanced at each other, silently communicating the words, ‘What the feck is she on about now?’
‘I’d like to get a family photograph taken with Noah on yer man’s knee and us girls can gather around them. I happen to know Father Christmas is in his grotto at the O’Connell Street, Easons.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I can picture it. It will be lovely to have as a keepsake.’
‘I can picture it too, and I’m seeing short red dresses and Santa hats and it’s not happening, Mammy.’
‘Don’t lower the tone, Moira, sure it’s Father Christmas we’re talking about here not yer man who runs all those seedy London nightclubs.’
‘Peter Stringfellow,’ Aisling added helpfully.
‘That’s him, dirty old man, so he is.’
‘I want to go and see Father Christmas,’ Noah chimed in.
‘There we go then, that’s settled. Tomorrow afternoon. Let’s say two o’clock, and I don’t want any excuses. You’ll not spoil things for Noah here.’
Nana and grandson looked smugly complicit. He reached over the table for the last piece of garlic bread while his aunties engaged in moaning about being grown women and having to sit on Santa’s knee. His nana was lobbing back that the only one sitting on his knee, thank you very much, would be Noah, when a commotion began.
Pooh woofed, startling them all silent, before getting up and stalking toward the front door, a low growl emanating from his throat. The O’Mara women looked to one another. It was peculiar behaviour. He began to bark in earnest and they all jumped as they heard the front door bang shut.
‘Who’s there?’ Maureen called, ‘State your business.’
If the sisters hadn’t been feeling nervous, they would have giggled at their mammy’s turn of phrase. Pooh had begun to go berserk and all the guests would be complaining about the noise, and so Maureen bravely stood up to investigate but before she could remove herself from the table a voice boomed.
‘Whoever’s dog this is would you tell it to get its nose the hell out of my girlfriend’s crotch?’
Eyes widened and Maureen disappeared like a lightning streak in the direction of the voice.
‘So,’ Aisling said, looking at Roisin and Moira, ‘the prodigal son’s returned home for Christmas.’
Chapter 10
He looked good, in a slick American sort of way, Roisin thought, as her brother, larger than life, appeared in the living room. Mammy was hanging off his arm and gazing up at him as though the Messiah himself had wandered into the apartment. Mercifully for Patrick he’d escaped the short gene of the O’Mara women taking after their daddy. Mammy, Roisin saw, had a firm hold of Pooh’s collar with her other hand. He’d always been a good-looking fella their
