‘Time to go,’ she mouthed at Pat. He leaned down and tried to find Cindy’s ear under her hat to tell her they were going to head back to the guesthouse.
‘Stick together,’ Maureen bossed, always the camp leader. All she needed was an umbrella to hold straight up in the air and she’d be set, Roisin thought, as she marched forth.
They’d wound their way away from the crowds when Maureen announced she needed to spend a penny, adding, ‘You know what I’m like when I get excited.’
‘Ah, Mammy, can you not wait? We’re nearly home, so we are.’
‘I’ll ask you the same thing after you’ve borne your fourth child, shall I, Roisin?’
Roisin was duly silenced.
Maureen pointed ahead. ‘Look, there’s a pub at the end of that laneway. Sure, they won’t mind me availing myself of their amenities. I’ll duck in there.’
‘Well I could do with putting this fella down for a minute,’ Patrick announced. Noah was sound asleep in his uncle’s arms; a dead weight. We’ll wait for you here, Mammy,’ he said, sitting on the bench seat by a bus stop. Roisin and Cindy followed suit.
Maureen set off the short distance, but as she reached the lane, a car pulled up, effectively blocking her entry. She squinted. It was an awfully big car, one of those stretch limousine things people like your man Bono probably got about in. Well, it might belong to someone rich and famous but it was still illegally parked and she was a woman in need of a toilet. She steamed on up to it and rapped on the tinted window. It slid down slowly and Maureen scrutinised the scene, all set to tell whoever it was that nobody was above the law and that they needed to move their vehicle on. It took her a moment to twig but when she did, for once in her life, she was rendered speechless.
Sweet Mother of Divine! She’d know those dimples anywhere. Sure, it was only the band they’d been watching on the television a few hours earlier. The five lads from Westlake. The boys in the back of the limo grinned at her.
She finally found her voice although it came out high and squeaky a bit like a mouse. ‘I bet your mammys are all very proud to have such talented and sensitive sons, so.’ She barely heard the driver as he apologised for blocking her way, explaining he’d had to take an urgent phone call.
‘Ah, it’s not a bother.’ She was starstruck and had forgotten all about nobody being above the law. New Year’s well wishes were exchanged, the window slid up and the limo slipped away into the night as though it were never there. Maureen forgot all about the toilet as she shouted, ‘Rosi, Rosi! You’ll never believe it!’
One Hour Past Midnight...
‘I’M TELLING YOU IT was, them. It was Westlake,’ Maureen stated, catching wind of the conversation as she sat back down at the table, they’d all had dinner around earlier.
‘Westlife, Mammy,’ Roisin corrected her for the hundredth time.
Maureen ignored her. She hadn’t expected to be back at Quinn’s but sure, hadn’t she been turned away like Mary and Joseph from the inn when she’d asked at the pub if she could use their facilities.
It had taken her a few minutes to come down from the high of having come face to face with her new favourite boy band but nature had called loudly once more and she’d taken herself off down the lane. A burly man who looked like he’d polished his head was on the door of the pub and much to her chagrin he’d refused her entry. They were closed he’d said and she’d pointed out that she could see people moving about through the frosted glass window pane and hear some eejit murdering a Pogues song inside. He’d folded his arms across his chest then and reiterated his earlier sentiment that they were shut. He’d reminded her of Arnold Schwarzenegger in those films of his and she’d seen red, standing on her tippy-toes in order to prod him in the chest, ‘Well,’ she’d said, trying to eyeball him but still only coming up to his shoulders. ‘I hope some Terminator meets Mr T type doesn’t turn your poor mammy away from the door in her hour of need.’ With that she’d waddled, knock-kneed back to where the others were waiting. It was Patrick who’d suggested they make their way back to Quinn’s as it was their closest port of call.
Now, as Quinn placed a trayful of Baileys down in front of them before squeezing in next to Aisling, she was glad they had come back. Shay who’d finished loading up the band’s gear joined them, giving Roisin’s hand a squeeze under the table. Noah was sound asleep on Patrick’s knee, only the tips of his lashes visible on account of his hat having slipped down over his eyes. His cheeks were flushed rosy pink and he was making contented snuffling noises much like Pooh had been earlier. The tables around them were in need of clearing but Quinn had told Tom to leave them and come and join everyone in a drink. Given he’d been run off his feet for most of the night, Tom was glad of the break. The fire was beginning to die down in the grate but the space was warm from the body heat generated on the dance floor throughout the evening. A man at a table near the stage was beginning to sing Danny Boy, and one of his friends had produced a harmonica.
Maureen picked up her glass. ‘I’d like to make a toast but first I want you all to promise me you’ll blacklist the Fretting Ferret on Conway Lane.’
There were murmurings of ‘we promise’ and ‘isn’t it disgraceful turning a woman who’d
