Cruising with the O’Maras (The Irish Guesthouse on the Green #17)

Chapter 18

I t was very hard to be self-disciplined with all the food offered at the Lido Buffet, Maureen and Donal agreed. Especially given that they were paying a reasonable price. This was why they'd all but rolled back to their cabin. They’d not seen the rest of The Gamblers, nor had Maureen glimpsed Carole. She hoped she’d managed to relax and rejuvenate herself for her evening’s performance in the Atrium Lounge.

‘I’m going to be setting the alarm for the Sunrise Yoga class tomorrow morning, Donal,’ Maureen called out as he finished getting ready. There was no room for them to change in the space between the wardrobe and bathroom simultaneously, so Maureen suggested that Donal get ready first while she did her makeup. That way, he could head to the Havana Lounge and help set up with John, Davey and Niall. She wouldn’t be far behind.

‘Fair play to you, Mo. I think I might take a turn on the treadmill myself tomorrow.’ There was a grunting sound.

‘Are you alright there, Donal?’

‘Just doing up my fly, Mo. I’m telling you now, I won’t fit my Kenny suit in another week if I don’t curtail my portion size and start doing some exercise.’

‘We’re going to have to be disciplined, Donal, or my silver lamé dress will hang next to your Kenny suit, not seeing the light of day for the remainder of our contract.’

‘You’re not wrong there, Mo. Now, will I do?’ Donal emerged from the wardrobe alcove, transformed from the man in comfortable walk shorts with pockets who’d lost the plot with a ping-pong paddle into a handsome, big teddy bear-like country music icon.

‘You’ll do very nicely.’ Maureen remembered the red-headed woman bothering him at the omelette station that morning and vowed to stand by her man this evening if she happened along to the Havana Lounge with any ideas. She got up from the chair in front of the dressing table mirror and fluffed about with his lapels. ‘I’m a lucky woman, Donal McCarthy.’

‘It’s me who is lucky, Mo.’

They smiled at each other, and Maureen gave him a chaste kiss, not wanting to get lipstick all over him. Then, silently thanking Him upstairs for sending Donal her way, she shooed him out the door. She had things to do, starting with warming her voice up. The cabin didn’t have the best acoustics but needs must and, clearing her throat, Maureen began to tra-la-la-la her way through the scales. Only once she was satisfied it would be a doddle to hit Sheena’s high notes did she discard her dressing gown and unhook her silver lamé gown from the hangar.

The sucky-in knickers were a blessing, she thought, wriggling the dress’s zipper into place and then slipping her feet into the sparkly heels that made her feel a million dollars; she gave herself a once-over in the mirror. ‘You’ll do nicely too, so you will, Maureen O’Mara.’ She smiled at her reflection, pleased, and couldn’t resist giving herself a ‘come hither’ look in the mirror. It was a look best left for the privacy of the cabin if she didn't want all and sundry to ‘come hither’ while she was banging her tambourine. With a fluff of her hair and a moment’s mourning over the loss of her platinum wig, she picked up her bottle of Arp?ge. ‘The finishing touch,’ she said aloud, as you do on your own in a cruise cabin, and spritzed generously. Too generously.

Maureen was standing in a fragrant Arp?ge cloud, which would be all well and good if she had a window to open. The tickle at the back of her throat where the perfume was catching became a choking cough and she staggered out of the cabin, flapping the door back and forth to air it out as she wheezed and coughed.

‘Maureen, did you have the fish curry too?’ Tomasina asked in her accented English as she emerged from her cabin in a sparkling outfit. Only hers was barely there and had tassels.

‘No. I did not.’ Maureen croaked indignantly. ‘I was heavy-handed with the perfume, is all, and I’m airing the room out so Donal and myself can breathe later.’

‘Poor Pawel, he had the fish curry. I told him not to but these men,’ Tomasina made a pftt sort of a noise, ‘do they listen?’

Maureen would have liked to have said that her Donal was a very good listener but felt this would be an annoying response, so she opted to say nothing as Tomasina frowned, her nose wrinkling. ‘Pawel, he is not good with the fish curry. I told him if he eats it again I might not return when he makes me disappear in our act.’ She sniffed as she reached Maureen, who was still flapping the door. ‘I can smell it now, your perfume. I like it. It is preferable to the fish curry.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Maureen muttered as the younger woman sniffed again.

‘It has a vintage elegance and glamour, Maureen.’ Then, taking in Maureen’s silver lamé dress, she endeared herself to Maureen forever by adding, ‘Like yourself.’

If not for the word ‘vintage’ Maureen would have adopted her as her long-lost Polish daughter on the spot. Deciding to disregard it and roll with ‘elegance’ and ‘glamour’, she thanked Tomasina. 'Why don't you stand inside our cabin for a few seconds? Get the smell of fish curry from your nostrils with the added bonus of smelling elegant and glamorous. Arp?ge is my signature perfume.’

Tomasina did just that, standing with her arms outstretched as though about to be spray-tanned as she told Maureen how much she liked her dress.

Maureen, whose arm was getting weary from all the door flapping, gave her a coy smile and said, ‘Why, thank you,’ in a Southern drawl which saw Tomasina frown once more.

‘Why are you speaking in that even stranger accent than your Irish one, Maureen?’

Maureen thought about explaining why she pretended to be a Southern belle only to realise she didn’t know the answer. Instead, she asked where Pawel was, hoping the fish curry wouldn’t see him holed up in his cabin all night because, from what she’d seen of his and Tomasina’s magic show, they were a double act.

‘He’s already backstage. I had to return to the cabin because I forgot my good luck charm. I never go on stage without it.’

Suppose Donal was attempting to saw her in half? In that case, she’d dare say she’d always have a good luck charm on her, too, Maureen thought, stepping aside as Tomasina exited the cabin. Checking she had her lanyard around her neck, she shut the door. ‘Is it a rabbit’s foot?’ Maureen asked as they shimmered and shone their way toward the lift. She half expected to see a furry thing dangling off a key chain or clipped onto Tomasina’s lanyard.

Tomasina side-eyed her. ‘You are a funny woman, Maureen. Why would I carry a dead rabbit’s foot? This is my good luck charm.’ She dug into a minuscule hidden pocket on the hip of her costume to reveal a small brown pebble. ‘In Poland, Amber is considered good luck. I find this with my brother on the coast.’

‘Your brother who is in Ireland?’

As they stepped into the lift, pushing the buttons for their respective floors, Maureen took note of Tomasina’s downcast expression, figuring this was down to her brother. ‘And is he having the luck o’ of the Irish with his brown pebble in Dublin?’

Tomasina shrugged. ‘He says he is doing well in his emails but I know him, and I am sensing he’s keeping something back from me and mama.’

‘Hmm, like what, I wonder?’

‘I don’t know, but I am hoping he’s not in some sort of trouble. He is my little brother. I worry.’

‘Has he got himself in hot water before?’

‘My brother is very clean, Maureen; he bathes daily!’

‘No, Tomasina, I mean: has he been in trouble before?’

‘Oh, then why would you not just ask this?’ She shook her head. ‘And no more so than any young man living away from home for the first time.’

The two women lapsed into silence and were pleasantly surprised to have a clear run in the lift. When Tomasina arrived at her floor she said goodnight to Maureen, who called after her, ‘Break a leg, Tomasina!’

‘Maureen, why would you say this terrible thing to me?’ Tomasina held the lift open with her hand as her eyes flashed, demanding an explanation.

The language barrier was proving tricky, Maureen thought, all set to explain what the saying meant in the entertainment world in which they both moved.

Tomasina, however, had broken into a grin. ‘I am pulling your leg. See, I too know some of these strange English sayings.’

Just then, the woman on the motorised scooter who’d attempted to ram-raid their full-to-capacity lift last night caught sight of Tomasina’s tassels. She was so busy gawping that she veered off course, nearly taking out the pop-up perfume stand. Before Maureen could shout after her to keep her eyes on the road, so to speak, the doors closed. A second or two later she was sashaying down to the Havana Lounge, which was now magically transformed by haybales.

‘How’re you lads?’ she greeted, joining the band where they were all fiddling with their equipment in the small area allocated for the band and dancing; even Donal was having a go. He had a microphone he was tapping on but no sound came from it. Maureen decided to throw caution to the wind and give him her ‘come hither’ look, gratified to receive a long, slow whistle in response from Donal. Unfortunately, the microphone chose that moment to screech into life as he whistled into it and several patrons nearby slapped their hands over their ears, wincing.

Donal apologised before breathing into the mic with a, ‘Testing, testing, one, two, three.’

The lads told Maureen she looked very well in her silver lamé and, preening, she reached for her tambourine, which she’d charged Donal with looking after. She took her place to the side of Donal and checked out the audience, spotting a few ankle boots and Stetson hats in the mix.

‘Ready?’ Donal asked Maureen, Niall, Davey and John.

‘Ready,’ came the reply.

Donal leaned into the microphone again, tapping his foot. ‘A one, a two, a one, two, three, four.’

They opened as they always did with the crowd-pleaser their band was named after, ‘The Gambler’, and it wasn’t long before the dance floor was filled with Stetsons and ankle boots, all taking a turn.

Donal’s whistle wasn’t the only one Maureen received that night. The band finished their first half with ‘Reuben James’. Donal announced a short break before stepping away from the stage area to order drinks, and mix and mingle their way around the Havana Lounge. Maureen was on a natural high as she always was during and after a show: relieved, too, that her voice hadn’t let her down after her choking session earlier in the cabin. She’d been worried she’d be sounding more like Marianne Faithfull than Dolly, but the applause at the end of the song had said she’d nailed it. Sheena was for the second half, and the lads were talking about throwing in a Billy Ray Cyrus number to get the remaining slow pokes on the dance floor.

Niall was sidling out of the bar; she noticed, suspecting he was whipping out to watch Carole for five minutes. The lad was smitten! She was waiting at the bar to order a drink for herself and Donal, having left him chatting to an American couple who’d seen Kenny perform last year. Her gaze drifted around the lounge, pleased to note the red-headed omelette station woman had now taken a shine to Davey. At the same time, John captivated her friend with his drumstick-twirling prowess. Maureen mused that he was like one of those marching girls with their batons, recalling that Aisling had wanted to be a marching girl. It wasn’t a match made in heaven, given she had a terrible rhythm. Maureen had suspected it was the white boots Aisling had coveted. She’d had a thing for shoes even back then. That was when Maureen saw him. He was breezing past the Havana Lounge with no cares in the world. Tony the Manchild.

There was no time to tell Donal she’d be back in a jiffy because her heels were already carrying her out of the bar as fast as her silver lamé gown would allow. This time, Maureen decided she’d use the element of surprise because she’d no doubt he’d run like the wind if she were to ‘yoo-hoo’ him again.

Her opportunity came as he paused to exchange flirty banter with the girl manning the pop-up jewellery stand. Maureen tip-toed up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, young man. I’d like a word with you.’

Tony spun around, the colour draining from his face, his reaction so swift it left Maureen blinking in shock as he whipped out a silver whistle like the one a lifeguard at a pool would use and blew it hard. ‘Back away from me.’

In shock at the unexpected shrill noise, Maureen nearly lost her footing, teetering on her heels as she did just that. Then, Tony shot off in a sinewy blaze of glory, leaving her and the girl flogging the gold bracelets and necklaces staring at one another open-mouthed.