Even so, she’d taken an age to get ready come Saturday. She’d fussed with the rollers and had been pleased with the way her hair curled under at the ends. As for her bouffant, for once it didn’t look like a sponge pudding sat on top of her head. All in all, someone was on her side she thought, giving it a final dousing with the setting spray. She’d compromised inasmuch as she ever did by teeming her checked pants with a lemon sweater. She didn’t normally bother with make-up, she was always in too much of a hurry to head out the door and find out what was happening in the world. Today however, she applied a peachy, pink lipstick before standing back from the dressing table mirror to admire her handiwork. A giggling sounded from the doorway and she spun around to see Fidelma peering around it. She made kissing noises and, as Clio lunged at her, she tore off down the hallway, her feet thundering down the stairs to the safety of her mam’s skirts in the kitchen. Clio followed at a pace befitting a young woman about to go for afternoon tea at the Merrion.
‘Leave your sister alone, Fidelma,’ she heard Mammy admonish over the cacophonous noise coming from the kitchen. She poked her head around the door in time to see her sister’s cheeky face peer around her mam to see how the land lay. A pot was bubbling on the stove, its lid rattling, and the savoury smell of stew clung to the air. The twins Tom and Neasa were banging spoons on upside down pots playing the drums and looking pleased with their musical ability. Tom was clutching a piece of cheese in his spare hand and Tabitha, Mittens’ predecessor was cowering in the corner ever hopeful of a tasty titbit being sent her way.
It was a madhouse, she thought calling over top of the ruckus, ‘I’ll be off then, Mammy.’
‘Ah now, hang on just one moment, young lady. Tom, Neasa, give that a rest, you’re giving me an awful headache so you are. And Tom give me that cheese if you’re not going to eat it.’ Tom pressed the cheese into his mouth defiantly and Mammy sighed, turning her attention back to Clio.
‘Now who is he this fellow of yours? And what is it he does?’
‘Mammy!’ Clio rolled her eyes. She’d already told her more than once. ‘We’ve been through all of this.’
‘Don’t you Mammy me, not when you’re after stepping out with a fella we’ve not met.’
Clio decided to tread a little more carefully. She was lucky it was just Mammy she was having to deal with, Da thanks be to God had gone to watch the match. ‘His name’s Gerald Byrne and he’s an Irish American from Boston. He’s in Dublin for the year studying at Trinity—a third-year law student.’
‘A law student, and from Boston, you say.’ Mammy’s eyes were alight and slightly glazed. Clio knew she’d just transported herself from her kitchen in Phibsborough to a swanky Boston society wedding where she, as mother of the bride, was clad in the very latest haute couture. She’d have a hat on too, Clio mused, a great big one with feathers like one of the three musketeers knowing Mammy. She read far too many magazines for her own good.
CLIO FELT LIKE SHE’D stepped into another world as she was ushered through the doors of the elegant Georgian hotel. She paused for a moment in the foyer and fancied she could smell the stories imprinted on the Merrion’s walls. The air was fragrant with extravagant floral arrangements and, to Clio’s mind, there was a hushed, almost reverent atmosphere rather like being in church. The foyer was quiet this time of the day and a well-groomed young man with a pencil-thin moustache looked up from the concierge desk to ask if he could help her. ‘I’m meeting a friend in the drawing room,’ she explained a hand automatically going to her hair to check it was still sitting where it was supposed to be and hadn’t morphed into a bird’s nest on the journey here.
‘Certainly, madam.’ He gave a tight smile, his moustache curving upwards, and gestured to a porter asking if he would ‘Show madam to the drawing room.’ She hurried behind the liveried boy who didn’t look much older than herself and found herself in the entrance of an understated, refined room full of intimate tables and comfortable armchairs in which several guests lounged with the casual air of people well used to the finer things life had to offer. A colossal chandelier dominated the space sending shafts of rainbow lights darting about the room. Flames spluttered and coughed from the open log fire and there, sitting in the middle of it all and looking every bit as handsome as she remembered, was Gerry.
His face lit up as he saw her, and Clio thanked the porter. She tried to stop the big goofy grin from spreading over her face as he got up to greet her. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come. You look wonderful by the way.’ He kissed her on the cheek and she inhaled his scent closing her eyes for the briefest of moments trying to pinpoint the familiar, fresh smells. It was Pears soap and green apple shampoo
