The television was flickering with a New Year’s Eve variety performance show, and pre-dinner drinks had been served. It was all very civilised, Maureen thought, opening the cupboards to search for the bag of crisps she hoped nobody had helped themselves to while she’d been out. Civilised, that was, if you didn’t take into account Cindy’s skirt. Her son’s American girlfriend’s pink mini was a poor excuse for a belt. A moment later as she located the errant packet the mood became decidedly uncivilised as her youngest child, Moira appeared.
‘Aisling, you better not have used my new Chanel lipstick. Not with that fecking growth on your lip.’ She marched into the living room, or she would have, if her little black dress hadn’t been so tight. As it was, she sort of shuffled indignantly with her hands on her hips, bypassing her brother and Cindy who were sitting at the dining table half-heartedly watching the television. Cindy had a bottle of Evian water in front of her and her blonde head was dipped, revealing a shadow of dark roots as she sniffed at the bowl of salted peanuts in front of Patrick. It was Cindy’s thing, the latest diet sensation to hit Hollywood apparently. Sniff but don’t you dare eat. The Ciccone Scent diet, she said it was called. They were all getting used to it, sort of. Patrick, Moira saw out of the corner of her eye, normally a cocktail, metro sort of a man was channelling his inner lad. He was intermittently swigging on a can of beer and flicking peanuts into the air in order to show off his prowess at catching them in his open mouth to Cindy. It was like a peanutty mating ritual, or it would have been if Cindy was actually watching him, Moira thought, coming to a halt when she reached the sofa. She pointed a finger at her sister. ‘I hadn’t even taken the plastic seal off it, brand new it was, and the herpes is contagious you know.’
Aisling and Roisin, with Roisin’s son Noah sandwiched in the middle, were glued to the television. Noah had just informed his aunty and his mother that he could hardly breathe because they smelt like the freshener his Granny Quealey used in the toilet. Roisin had told an indignant Aisling there was no point explaining how much French perfume cost given he was only five. She’d be wasting her breath. It hadn’t stopped her though. Maureen, had joined in at that point saying that there were some very nice air fresheners on the market these days and she had one at home that smelt a bit like her Arpège and only those with a sensitive nose like hers could tell the difference. Her friend from the rambling group she belonged to, Rosemary Farrell, had been very impressed by it apparently. Although, Maureen lamented, overly generous with her usage of it because she’d nearly choked when she’d popped into the throne room after her.
On the coffee table in front of them, the two sisters each had a glass of wine and Noah, who was not long up from a nap to ensure he lasted the distance this evening, was making short work of his enormous glass of lemonade. Roisin gave it approximately ten minutes before, like a foot slammed down on the accelerator, the sugar would hit and he’d jump off her knee to begin bouncing off the walls. Rather like Mr Nibbles, his gerbil, whose little legs were currently going like the clappers as he did circuits on his wheel. Or, at the very least he’d annoy Pooh, who was worn out from his amorous and enthusiastic earlier greeting of the O’Mara sisters and Cindy. Unlike Maureen, he’d been delighted with Cindy’s skirt. He had problems that dog and the sooner he was seen to the better, Roisin thought. Looking at him now though, butter wouldn’t melt. He was sprawled on his pillow, happy doggy snores emanating along with other not so pleasant eruptions.
‘What have you been feeding him, Mammy? Sure, it smells like something crawled up there and died.’ Moira was momentarily distracted from taking her sister to task as she wafted her hand back and forth in front of her nose.
‘His meaty roll and dried biscuits are top quality, so they are. Check it’s not down to one of your sisters,’ Maureen replied, ripping open the bag of potato crisps.
‘It’s not, me,’ Aisling said.
‘Well don’t be looking at me. That dog eats better than we do,’ Roisin stated. Noah began to fidget as predicted. Ah well, she thought, Mammy had seen fit to give him such a generous glass of the fizz it was up to her to deal with the fallout. She would not be missing Westlife, thank you very much. They were all watching Pat Kenny in Studio4 and she was waiting for the five lads from Sligo who’d been storming the music charts. According to Pat though, they were in for a Riverdance treat next.
Aisling dragged her eyes away from the screen to give her younger sister a death stare. ‘And for your information, it’s not herpes it’s a cold sore, and no, I did not steal your lipstick. Look,’ she puckered her lips, ‘Mine’s got too much of an orange base for you.’
Moira made a cross sign with her index fingers and stepped back, ‘Jaysus, Ash, keep away from me with that thing would you.’
‘It’s not that bad.’ Aisling’s finger flew to her mouth and she began to prod at it.
‘It is, it reminds me of the spot Rosi was after getting that time. Remember the one that threatened to swallow her chin. I was only a child and I remember crying to Mammy that I didn’t want
