Sixty-two years had passed since she’d debuted at Coco’s which was why it was fitting her swansong should be performed back where it had all started on the very night the curtain was to be called on the century and she’d find herself venturing into the uncharted waters of an octogenarian.
She performed a twirl, struck a pose, and hearing the knock at the door crossed the floor to open it.
Five and a half hours until midnight...
‘WOULD YOU ALL BE QUIET! Westlife’s about to come on,’ Roisin shouted. ‘And no, Moira I did not touch your fecking lipstick.’
‘Mummy,’ Noah said looking up at her. ‘Daddy says that just because you’re Irish doesn’t mean you’re allowed to swear.’
Roisin apologised and sent a mental feck off to her soon-to-be ex-husband back in London.
‘Well someone helped themselves.’ Moira was not letting Chanelgate go. She glanced over at Cindy. She wouldn’t have sneaked into her room. They weren’t on those, sort of terms yet and if Rosi and Ash weren’t the culprits that only left one person. ‘Mammy!’
All heads swivelled in the direction of the kitchen where Maureen O’Mara, with extra swishy hair and very red lips, stared back at them defiantly. She had the bowl of crisps clutched in front of her as if for protection.
‘Mammy, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times to leave my things alone.’ Moira stomped her foot.
‘And did you listen to me when I told you not to wear my polka dot mini dress with the white sailor collar?’ Maureen turned to her other two daughters. ‘She got tomato sauce down the front of it and I couldn’t get it out. That one suffers from a double dose of the original sin, so she does. She was always after helping herself to my things when she was a teenager.’
‘Those are my Balenciagas!’ Aisling screeched, pointing to the shoes on Moira’s feet.
Moira began to back away from her sister slowly, her attention on her mammy. ‘It was retro, Mammy. I wanted to look cool for the school disco and I was only fourteen. You hadn’t worn, it in years. Sure, nobody can hold a grudge like you can.’
‘Remember what George Best said.’ Patrick stopped throwing the peanuts to join in the discussion.
‘What?’ they all chimed, Cindy included, although she had no clue who George Best was.
‘He said Irish Alzheimer’s is when you forget everything except your grudges.’
‘That’s terrible, Patrick, don’t be repeating that,’ Mammy admonished.
‘Moira, you can take those shoes off right now and I want an apology,’ Aisling demanded.
Moira was sidling alongside Patrick now.
‘For fecks sake, all of you, I can’t hear a thing and they’re singing my favourite song,’ Roisin wailed.
‘Oh.’ Maureen jiggled up and down in her red silk dress. She’d had it made specially on holiday in Vietnam. The sisters were on the fence about the dress which they said gave their mammy the look of your prostitute one from China Beach. Right then and there though, she looked like she was about to have an accident as she sent a few of the potato crisps flying in the process.
‘Mammy, watch the crisps, the salt ‘n’ vinegar’s my favourite,’ Aisling moaned.
‘You wouldn’t want to get salt or vinegar in that growth of yours,’ Moira said.
‘Maureen, I’ll take those for you.’ Cindy shot out of her seat and took the bowl from her. She sniffed at it like there was no tomorrow.
‘Would you not just have one and be done with your Ciccone Scent diet, Cindy?’ Aisling pleaded, wanting her to get her nose out of the bowl. It was almost enough to put a girl off the potato crisp entirely. Almost!
‘Oh no, Aisling, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips. You should try it.’
Aisling was sorely tempted to snatch the bowl from her and shove a handful in her pouty, pink gob.
‘Is it that song, you know the one about swearing? It’s very catchy so it is,’ Maureen said, doing a little dance.
‘Don’t do that, Mammy, it’s cringy,’ Moira said.
‘Swear it Again, Mammy, it’s been number one.’ Roisin rolled her eyes. ‘And yes, it would be catchy if I could hear the fecking thing.’
‘Don’t be using that language in front of you know who.’ Maureen made her way from the kitchen over to the sofa, giving Moira a wide berth. She swiped the bowl of crisps off a startled Cindy and set them down on the coffee table. ‘Room for a little one?’ she asked, before plonking herself between Roisin and Noah.
‘Nothing little about it.’ Moira sat down next to her brother and scooped up a handful of peanuts.
‘I heard that and don’t be eating too many of them or you’ll be complaining of the constipation. They bind you up something terrible do peanuts.’
‘Nana, you’re squashing us,’ Noah grumbled.
Maureen responded by hefting her grandson onto her knee and squeezing him tight. ‘Now I’m squashing you.’
He wriggled free and took himself off to see Mr Nibbles.
‘Rosi, aren’t they a fine-looking bunch of lads?’ She pointed at the screen and began to hum in a way that signalled she might just burst into song.
Roisin side-eyed her. ‘Mammy, don’t you dare sing. I want to hear Shane Fillan, he’s a lovely voice so he has.’
‘And wonderful facial expressions, he makes me want to pinch his cheeks,’ Maureen said. ‘Just look at him all sensitive like.’
‘He looks
