Chapter 5
‘ W hat an afternoon!’ Maureen declared, closing the front door and returning to the living room. ‘They’ve finally gone.’
Donal was picking up the last of the toys strewn across the living room floor with one hand resting in the crook of his back. Pooh watched him from his bed, guarding the colourful stacking rings he’d commandeered off the twins earlier.
‘It was very good of you to look after all four children, Donal. Thanks to you, I’m all kitted out now for the cruise, and the girls are happy with the dresses and trouser suit they found for when they join us. Who’d have thought Aisling would look so well in a trouser suit but she does.’ Then, veering into the kitchen added, ‘I could murder a cup of tea. You?’
‘Are you sure they've gone, Mo?’ Donal’s eyes darted nervously about the open space to where she stood with a kettle in hand. ‘You know what they’re like. They have a habit of returning, not that I don’t love them all dearly. It’s just I’m knackered, so I am.’
‘I’m sure.’ Maureen laughed, filling the kettle and, over the noise of the tap, said, ‘It took forever for Moira and Aisling to load the children and all their paraphernalia into the car.' Roisin and Noah, who'd walked the short distance home, would have reached their front door in the time it took for Moira's old banger to splutter off down the drive. She turned the tap off with a shake of her head. ‘Life was simpler when we were young parents, Donal. You’ll remember. It was a case of chucking them in the backseat and boot.’ Maureen mimed a forward pass, ‘And off you went.’
‘You’re not wrong there, Mo. And I'm feeling far from young at the moment. These knees and back of mine are well past their best before date.’
‘That’s what you get for giddying Noah about the living room on your hands and knees.’ Maureen tutted.
Donal staggered bow-legged to his armchair, and he sank down in it. ‘It wasn’t Noah, Mo. He’s light as a feather. I barely noticed he was on my back.’
‘You weren’t after playing the Twister game again, were you? That thing should come with a warning: “Not suitable for anyone over the age of forty”.’
Donal gave her a wry grin. ‘No. It was Kiera, as it happens, but I’ve only myself to blame because if you do the horsey-back rides for one you’ve got to do it for the other, and she made it clear she wasn’t missing out.’
‘She’s a strong will on her that wan, just like her mammy, and she's the build of her Aunty Aisling at that age. I had to bend my knees to plop her in the bath back in the day.’ Maureen set about making the tea, listening as Donal told her how, struggling to clamber aboard Poppa D’s back, Noah had suggested his cousin use the chair in which he was now sitting as a mounting block.
‘Only she didn’t just climb on my back: she leapt. Dear God, Mo, it was like an enormous sack of potatoes landing on me, so it was.’
Maureen was laughing despite herself. ‘Sack of potatoes? That’s our granddaughter you’re talking about!’ She carried the tea over and then sat down herself. 'Where's the remote, Donal? Our show's about to start.’
Donal patted about the chair, lifting his backside and locating it there. He took aim at the television and the screen filled with the grinning face of the game show host. Maureen settled back in her chair, sipping her tea and trying to guess the answers before the contestants. Meanwhile, Donal only made it halfway through his brew before his head lolled back, and he began snoring.
As the credits rolled, half an hour later, Maureen’s mind turned to the bags she’d yet to unpack waiting for her on the bed. Now was as good a time as any to finish packing her suitcase.
Maureen delved into the bag and pulled out the wafting-about poolside caftan; she rolled it neatly and placed it in the open case on the bed, eyeing the rest of the packed items. It wouldn’t be easy condensing three months into one suitcase, but from what she’d heard the cabins aboard the cruise ships were cosy. She’d no wish for herself and Donal to be like those children in the Narnia books Aisling had enjoyed as a child, wading through clothes to get to what lay beyond the wardrobe or, rather, cabin door. Her list was keeping her in check and proving to be a Godsend.
Next came the nautical-themed t-shirt, then the casual day dress – linen, of course, for breathability in the hot weather. It was a shame knickers didn’t come in the linen, too, she mused. Mind, they might be a bit scratchy. The piece de resistance, however, was her silver lamé gown. The moment she’d slid the zipper into place and admired herself in the fitting room mirror, she’d known they were a match made in heaven. She wouldn’t roll it for fear of any of the silvery lamé falling off. Instead, she’d fold it carefully and lay it over the packed items.
Of course, the girls thought all that silver was over the top but they were hardly fashion connoisseurs, despite what they liked to think. They didn’t understand that being over the top was the whole point because Dolly was larger than life. Life was too short to be a wallflower.
They'd made a pit stop on their way home. Her first port of call was to revisit the nautical-themed café where she told the girls to wait outside because she’d not wish to be threatened with the tongs by your piratey man a second time. Then, clasping a bag with two more cream slices, she told them they were making a stop at Carrick’s the Cobblers because she wanted a word with Rosemary Farrell. ‘I’ve had an epiphany, girls.’
This was met with a groan.
Maureen didn’t care as she hurried along because she remembered something while in that fitting room twirling in her lamé. Rosemary had recently trod the boards at the local church hall as Melanie in Gone with the Wind for the Howth Retired (But Not From Life) Amateur Dramatic Society’s annual production. She’d auditioned for the role of Scarlett O’Hara, disappointed and a tad bitter, truth be told, to lose out to Bold Brenda who’d managed to get Scarlett’s coquettish aura down pat.
Personally, Maureen thought Rosemary was a little long in the tooth to play Melanie on what she fancied had been the longest night of her life, watching the play adapted straight from the film on a hard wooden pew. The show had dragged on and on, and Donal, who could sleep with his eyes open when the need arose, had nodded off. She’d had to nudge him awake, however, when he began snoring as your wan who always ate all the sausage rolls after the bowls said the line everybody had been waiting for, ‘Frankly my dear—’ Nobody had heard the rest because of Donal’s snore.
Rosemary had donned a platinum, Southern Belle-style wig as part of her costume. She’d confided in Maureen that she’d kept it because Cathal was partial to her as a blonde. The mind boggled as to what Cathal and Rosemary got up to after hours. In-hours, for that matter, given how many times the 'back in five minutes' sign was hung in the window.
The cream slices had worked a treat and soon they'd been puffing and panting up the hill toward home. Maureen liked to look the part and was determined to channel Dolly for her performances on the Mayan Princess . She’d cross the Sheena Eastern bridge when she came to it.
With Donal snoring in the living room, Maureen decided to have a quick try-on. She slipped into her silver dress and tucked her hair under the bouffant blonde wig. A swipe of glossy pink lippy and taking a step back from the dressing table mirror, her eyes widened. She was the image of Dolly, albeit not as well-endowed. Still, this called for a song, and she broke into ‘Jolene’ even though it wasn’t on The Gambler’s playlist. Her voice urged Jolene not to take her man when the phone rang. She’d best answer it because by the time Donal roused himself from his chair whoever it was would have rung off.
Indeed, a moment later, as she shuffled forth, Donal was still half-asleep; he’d half-pulled himself out of his chair but catching sight of a silver lamé-wearing, blonde wigged vision, he fell back into it clutching his chest.
‘Donal, it’s me, Maureen.’
‘Mo?’
‘Mo,’ Maureen confirmed, reaching for the phone.
‘For a moment, I thought you were RuPaul!’
There was no time to dwell on this as Maureen answered the call with an inexplicable Tennessee accent, still in Dolly mode. Her eyes narrowed, realising it was one of those annoying bang-on-tea-time telemarketers, and she curtly replied, ‘No, we do not need a Tenerife timeshare opportunity. We’re heading away on a cruise ship for three months in a few days.’ Then, putting the phone down on the bench with a clunk, glared over at Donal.
He pushed his glasses on. ‘Ah, now I can see it, Mo. You’re Dolly’s double, so you are.’
Mollified, Maureen was about to give him a ‘Jolene’ rendition when she saw two faces appear at the French doors. Terence and Amanda, their neighbours. Their mouths were agape, clocking Maureen.
Donal let them in while Pooh yipped and yapped.
‘Sorry if we’re interrupting a spot of role-playing,’ Terence said over the ruckus. ‘I always said they were a pair of sly dogs, these two, didn’t I, Amanda?’
Amanda nodded. ‘You did, Terence.’
‘There is nothing at all untoward going on,’ Maureen informed the neighbours she knew were part of the Howth swinging scene. ‘I’m trying on my Dolly costume for the cruise.’
‘Dolly?’ Terence frowned, bewildered. ‘I thought you were RuPaul.’
‘So did I,’ Amanda agreed.
Maureen pulled the wig off in a huff, tossing it aside, deciding she wouldn’t be asking these two to join herself and Donal in the garden to enjoy a pre-dinner aperitif.
‘We did knock at the front but nobody answered,’ Amanda explained, batting her lashes at Donal. ‘We were off for our evening stroll and remembered your list, Maureen. Do you have it ready?’
Donal moved behind Pooh.
‘The list. Right-ho.’ Maureen tore a page off the pad by the phone headed, ‘Amanda and Terence’s To Do List’. Their neighbours had kindly offered to water the garden in the unlikely event of an Irish heatwave while they were away, bring the bins in and keep a general eye on the house. It wasn’t a long list but Maureen liked to get things in writing. She folded it in half, aware of Terence giving her another slow once over as she passed it to his wife. ‘Roisin will have the front door key and her phone number’s on the list if there are any problems. And this is a small thank you for your troubles.’ She fetched the box of Celebrations.
‘You needn’t have, but thank you.’ Amanda’s tone suggested they were posher, Thornton’s-chocolates sort of people.
Maureen and Donal saw them off and, deciding she should get out of her silver gown before she managed to spill something on it, Maureen disappeared to the bedroom again to change and finish packing.
She’d just laid the dress down on top of all the other items in her case and was about to close it when Donal shouted for help. Maureen, picking up on the note of panic in his voice, wondered what was going on as she wasted no time bursting through to the living room, half-expecting to see him bailed up by Amanda.
The sight she was met with brought her up short as it burned into her retinas, making her momentarily freeze. Then, leaping into action, she yelled, ‘Pooh, get off that!’
The poodle, in seventh heaven, ignored her.
‘Mo, I think he thinks your wig there is a female bichon frisé the way he’s going at it.'
'Donal, do something!’
‘I’ve been trying but, each time I get near it, he nips at me.’
'What exactly does he hope to achieve? I mean, he's been seen to.'
‘I would think that’s fairly obvious, Maureen.’