‘Maureen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my eighty years on this planet it’s this. The biggest obstacle in our way when it comes to being happy is usually ourselves. Now I didn’t know your Brian obviously but I’m guessing from the way you speak about him he wasn’t a selfish man.’
‘He was a lovely man, God rest his soul.’
‘Well then, with that being the case, I feel confident in saying I don’t think he’d have wanted you to be lonely or to feel guilty about not wanting to be lonely.’
Maureen pondered what Carol had said, deciding she was a very wise woman indeed.
‘Now then, wish me luck and help me into my coat, would you?’
‘Break a leg,’ Maureen said, holding Carol’s coat open for her to slide her arms into.
‘I’m hoping I don’t break my hip! Thank you,’ she said, belting her coat and, catching sight of herself in the mirror, she cackled. ‘I look like the flasher I encountered many moons ago in Central Park.’
‘A flasher!’ Maureen was aghast. ‘You mean like a dirty old man in a mac sort-a thing? I’d chop it off, so I would.’ She made a chopping motion with her hand.
‘Yes, not a good look with his shoes and socks and nothing else on especially given it was a cold day. I don’t mind telling you the sight of his shrivelled thing-a-me-bob sent me off in fits of giggles. He looked most put out.’
Maureen found herself laughing at Carol’s story then, remembering she wasn’t the only one who had things to be gotten off her chest tonight she added, ‘I hope it goes well with your daughter.’
Carol took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’ve enjoyed meeting you Maureen O’Mara.’
‘And, I you.’ The two women smiled at each other.
Four hours until midnight
CAROL, STILL WEARING her coat, peeped around the red velvet drapes and scanned the candlelit tables crowding the floor of the club. It was a full house and she was tempted to call out and wave as she recognised different family members and other faces that were blasts from the past. She refrained because they might guess what she was planning and it would ruin the surprise. She could see Sarah sitting by the area in front of the stage that was kept clear for dancing, of which she hoped there’d be plenty later on. Oh, she hoped Sarah took what she was about to do in her stride. She’d had enough of pretending where her daughter was concerned. She loved her dearly but tonight was her night and she intended to revel in it no matter what Sarah thought of this, her original act—almost.
She watched the waiting staff, all neatly turned out in black and white with dicky bows, passing around the hors d’ouvres. The bubbles too, were flowing freely. On stage the jazz band was ensuring that the audience’s toes were tapping and the air was hazy with cigarette smoke. Everything was exactly as she’d hoped it would be. Everything was just as it had been.
So much planning had gone into this evening, into getting it just right. To give credit where it was due, Sarah had been a marvel the way she’d managed the practical arrangements. In another life she’d have made a wonderful theatrical agent instead of opting for the career in accountancy she’d recently retired from. Carol fancied Sarah had thoroughly enjoyed herself organising it all. She wasn’t doing retirement well and really, if she wasn’t careful, she’d turn into the most awful neighbourhood busybody, and her grandchildren had informed her she was driving them around the twist with her helpfulness.
It had given Sarah purpose orchestrating her mother’s party. So many transatlantic phone calls had been made in order to pull it all together. It had been her, however, who’d organised the cake and who’d sat down to write each and every invitation by hand. A labour of love and, as she’d written out the different names, she’d tripped down memory lane with each of them. There were friends and family in the crowd who’d gathered to celebrate with her whom she hadn’t seen since she left for New York and there were people who’d travelled all the way from New York to be with her tonight.
The music began to wind down and Carol discarded her coat, feeling her familiar friend, adrenaline, begin to spike as, with an agility that belied her years, she climbed into the pop-out cake. It was really very clever with its cardboard interior and real icing exterior.
‘Alright, love?’ Mickey the stagehand grinned; he’d not seen an act like this before in all his thirty years backstage.
‘Never better, dear.’
Mickey gave her the thumbs up and closed the lid. It was hot inside and Carol thought nobody could say she hadn’t suffered for her art over the years. She felt the cake shudder and then begin to glide across the floor.
Two hours until midnight...
‘SLÀINTE!’ THE O’MARA family clinked glasses across the table they were all squeezed around, having made room for the four extras who’d just joined them. Quinn, Aisling’s fiancé and the owner of Quinn’s Bistro where they’d just enjoyed some delectable traditional Irish fare, was in his chef’s whites and the aroma of frying onions and garlic clung to him. It was a scent Aisling adored. He’d ventured out from the busy kitchen to join in the toast at her insistence. Tom, Moira’s trainee doctor boyfriend, who supplemented his income by waiting tables here at the bistro but who could have a fine career as a bottom model, if there were such a thing, had also abandoned his duties. Roisin’s new flame Shay, who played the fiddle in the band about to take to the stage and liven the place up now the dinner service was done, was about to drink to their health and, lastly
