So it was, the O’Mara women and Cindy retreated down the stairs to the kitchen to begin their mammoth prepping session for the Christmas dinner with Mammy spouting off about Christmas miracles all the way. Aisling muttered a Christmas miracle would be if Patrick got off his arse and did the breakfast dishes while they were gone.
Chapter 28
Roisin untied the apron she’d donned and stood in the kitchen doorway, admiring last night’s handiwork in the dining room. It was resplendent with glitzy tinsel and lots of it, along with screeds of paper chains. It looked very Christmassy, she decided, sniffing greedily at the aroma from the roasting turkey. The smell of it was like sliding under a comforting warm blanket on a cold winter’s day, she thought. She’d never have believed she’d have room for Christmas dinner after the amount of food she’d tucked away at breakfast time but there was something about coming home to Dublin that always increased her appetite and the delicious whiffs from the kitchen were making her hungry once more.
Aisling had said the bird had another half an hour in the oven and then she’d get it out to rest. Mammy had crossed turkey off her list with flourish before leaning over Quinn’s shoulder to enquire about the plum pud. ‘Now be sure to add a decent splash of the cognac when you bring it through, Quinn,’ she bossed. She’d been walking around, Santa hat slipping down over one eye, in her yoga pants as she clutched a clipboard singing along to Frosty the Snowman. A short, bossy elf as she kept an eye on the smooth running of the kitchen, eager to get everything on her list crossed off by the time Bronagh, Mrs Hanrahan, Nina and Tom arrived. She heard her call out, ‘Moira, are your roast taties crisping?’
‘Yes, and could we please listen to something other than your Foster and Allen Christmas collection? Oh, and, Mammy, don’t forget to get changed before everyone arrives. The only person who should be in pants that tight is Tom.’
Actually, as Tom’s rear flashed to mind, Roisin had to agree with her and she didn’t fancy her chances of hearing the end of Foster and Allen. Her own jobs were finished, the smoked salmon starter having gotten the nod of approval from Mammy whose cheeks were looking flushed thanks to the mulled wine she’d insisted on sampling. ‘You don’t need a mugful, Mammy,’ Roisin had protested to no avail.
‘Look, Mummy,’ Noah cried, spying her in the doorway. He held up a serviette folded into the shape of... a peacock? No, Roisin realised, the fanning tail was that of a turkey. The upset of the mystery of the missing gerbil was obviously long forgotten. Mr Nibbles and Pooh were both upstairs with various Christmas treats to hand so weren’t missing out, but Pooh especially couldn’t be trusted down here in the kitchen. Noah was sitting at the end of the table, one of six pushed together to make a long rectangular table in the middle of the room. Aisling had done a lovely job setting it. Cindy was sitting next to Noah and it was obviously under her tutelage he was learning how to make the turkey serviettes. ‘It’s a Thanksgiving tradition at home,’ she drawled, blinding Roisin with her teeth.
‘Well, you’re doing a grand job the pair of you, they look fabulous. The perfect finishing touch to the table.’
She eyed Cindy who’d dressed with her usual leave-little-to-the-imagination flair, although she hadn’t escaped being mammified. On top of her head she wore a Santa hat, as did they all. It was tradition, Mammy had declared. Looking at her brother’s girlfriend she felt a cloud beginning to hover. It was threatening to blanket her good humour. She wondered if Patrick had been entirely honest with her as to his reasons for wanting to come home this Christmas. Because he certainly hadn’t been honest with his sisters. She wished she hadn’t overheard the conversation she’d heard earlier but she had and she couldn’t unhear it now. It was down to the table’s centrepiece that she had. The burlap arrangement of gingham ribbon and pine cones had been in the family for generations and Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas if it wasn’t on the table, Aisling had declared. ‘It must be in the box we keep the Christmas decorations in upstairs. I think I put it back in the hallway cupboard, would you mind fetching it, Rosi?’
Roisin had duly trooped up the stairs of the ghostly guesthouse; silent as its guests had all ventured out for their Christmas dinners, and as she pushed open the door to the family’s apartment, she heard Patrick’s voice. She was about to call out when she realised he was talking to Mammy. She’d thought she was in the kitchen with Moira and hadn’t noticed her leave. There was something in her brother’s tone, a wheedling, smooth sort of tone that made her ears prick up. She wasn’t the type to skulk about like Ita listening to other people’s conversations and this one was clearly meant to be private but she was unable to move. ‘Ten thousand will do it, Mammy. That will be enough to get the project off the ground and I’ll get it back to you with interest before the year’s out.’
Roisin shook her head. It seemed a leopard really didn’t change his spots after all. She’d made a show of banging the door shut then and shouting out she was looking for the decorations box. Mammy had appeared in the hallway looking shifty although why she should be the one who looked like she had something to hide, Roisin didn’t know. She wouldn’t let on, she decided, as Mammy pointed her to the cupboard and said she should find it in there. She’d not breathe a word of Patrick pressing Mammy for money to her siblings, not today anyway.
Voices at the top
