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

Chapter 21

I t took Donal three attempts to throw a leg over the moped. He’d hired the bike for an hour after flashing his driver’s licence like an FBI agent at the young man manning the stand. A piece of paper had needed to be signed before he was handed two helmets and a set of keys. Maureen had only half been joking when she said he was signing his life away. Now, they were waiting to get the show on the road. ‘This gym malarkey is no good for men over sixty, Mo. I’m telling you, it does more harm than good. It might help if you count me down.’

Maureen rolled her eyes. ‘On the count of five. Ready?’

Donal was like a man eyeing the high jump, grim determination glinting in his eyes, fists clenched by his sides as he gave Maureen the nod. ‘As I’ll ever be.’

‘Five, four, three, two, two and a half, one!’

Donal worked through the pain to leap majestically on the moped. Once he’d recovered from the exertion, he raised his arms victoriously.

Maureen, holding the helmets, had their hats stashed in her backpack. She stole a glance at Donal’s bare legs and then at her own. ‘It would have been nice to have had the protective leathers to wear.’

‘In this heat?’ Donal held his hand out for one of the helmets. 'We'd have got very sweaty, so.'

Maureen passed the helmet over and then slipped the other onto her head, feeling slightly claustrophobic and hot. ‘You’ve a point there, I suppose, Donal, it is hot.’ Still and all, she liked to look the part, and biker girls and their fellas wore leathers. She wasn’t sure about moped girls and their fellas, though. Donal secured his helmet, then helped Maureen with hers, giving her a wink as he said, ‘Climb on board my ride.’

Maureen giggled, ‘Ooh, saucy.’ Then, seeing the tiny piece of seat protruding behind Donal’s backside said, ‘Where am I supposed to sit? There’s no room.’

‘I’ll shuffle up. Sure, we’ll be grand.’ Donal did so until he was all but perched on the handlebars.

Maureen was eager for the off because the sooner Donal had done a few circuits of Cabo and relived his glory days, the sooner they’d sit in that see-through boat sailing out to observe the rainbow-coloured fish. So, despite her misgivings, she clambered on the back, fidgeting about trying to ensure that half of her backside was on the bike and not hanging off the end. She wrapped her arms around Donal’s waist. ‘You promise you’ll go slowly?’

‘Of course I will. Are you sorted?’

‘I think so.’

That was good enough for Donal, and he turned the key. The moped roared into life, surprisingly gutsy for such a small bike. Unfortunately, at that moment, Maureen felt a stinging on her thigh and, glancing down, saw a mosquito having lunch. She released her grip on Donal to swipe it off just as he twisted the throttle and shot forward. The suddenness saw her sail right off the rear of the moped to land on her back, cushioned by her backpack and then floundering like a tortoise trying to right itself. She gave up: lying there, winded and blinking up at the blue sky in surprise at where she found herself. At the same time, oblivious that she was no longer hanging off the back, Donal zipped off down the road.

‘Are you alright?’ a familiar voice was asking.

Maureen found herself looking up into the face of Tony, the Manchild. Was she hallucinating?

‘Give the woman some space,’ he ordered the curious passersby who’d stopped to watch the unfolding drama.

Meanwhile, Maureen, getting over her shock, managed to sit upright and declared to the onlookers, ‘There’s nothing to see here. No broken bones.’ She’d a strong sense of deja vu flashing back to the mule incident in Santorini but that was then, and this was now, so addressing Tony, she said, ‘Would you help me stand up, please?’

He thrust his hand toward her, and she grabbed it with hers. It was definitely real, as were the rope-like sinews standing to attention in his arm as he hauled her to her feet. ‘Thank you.’ She let go of his hand and jiggled her arms and legs, realising she was missing a flip-flop. Then, she threw in a couple of squats to check that everything was as it should be. Aside from a bruised bottom, she was fine. She was still wearing her helmet; she took it off and scanned the horizon, spying Donal a little way down the road. He’d pulled over to the side and was casting about bewilderedly, apparently only just having realised he was riding solo. She waved out and, seeing her, he threw his arms out in a ‘What’s going on?’ gesture before nosing the bike around to make a U-turn.

‘You’re not hurt then,’ Tony, the Manchild, stated somewhat flatly.

‘Are you disappointed?’

‘No, but I'm your man if you’d a slight sprain or something. I’ve not long finished my first aid training.’

‘Well, I’m tickety-boo.’ She checked on Donal, who was still waiting for a break in the traffic, and decided this was her chance to set the record straight. ‘But I think you and I have got off on the wrong foot, young man.’

Tony took a wary step backwards, looking vulnerable in his colourful singlet and tight little shorts.

‘I am not nor have I ever been a cougar. I’m the mother of a son older than yourself, and I’m in a very happy relationship with Donal McCarthy.’

‘You mean the Kenny Rogers look-a-like fella who just took off on a moped like a bat out of hell and left you for dead?’

‘I don’t think he realised I was no longer on the back but yes, that’s him.’ Seeing doubt flickering across Tony’s face, she decided to fess up. ‘I only sang the “We’ve Got Tonight” song in the lift to annoy you because you annoyed me trampling all over myself and Donal’s dream to sing on a stage as big as the one in the Grand Theatre. It was on my bucket list, so it was, and you were very obnoxious, shooing us off like so.’

Tony shook his head. ‘But you chased me.’

‘Only so I could explain the misunderstanding.’

‘So, you’re saying I crushed your dream and you sang a very suggestive song in the lift to wind me up?’ Tony was beginning to squirm.

That was a little dramatic, and her behaviour sounded very childish relayed like so, but yes, that was about the sum of it. Maureen would roll with it, she decided, nodding. ‘Crushed it into teeny-tiny smithereens.’

Tony sniffed, ‘I know what it’s like to have your dream crushed. My dream was never the cruise ship circuit. I wanted to see my name in lights in London’s West End. I nearly made it, too. I was this close to getting a part in Cats .’ He showed her how close with his thumb and forefinger, then made paws of his hands and pretended to lick them.

‘Very good. I’d have given you the part.’ So long as it was a hungry stray he was auditioning for. He’d be no good as a plump domestic cat. The only thing Maureen knew about the musical – other than it was about cats, obviously – was the “Memory” song. It was very haunting so. She was more of a dog person and had never fancied seeing it. Now, if your Lloyd Webber wan had written a musical called Dogs , she’d have been in like Flynn. ‘And sure, you're young enough not to give up on your dreams. A person should never give up on their dreams, young man. Think of the Mayan Princess as a stepping stone. I can feel it in my water. You’ll see your name in lights, Tony.’

‘You can?’ Tony’s eyes were eager and full of hope, and then they narrowed. ‘How did you know my name?’

‘I thought we’d moved past all that. I’ve not been stalking you and Tony, if you don’t mind me saying, it's a very high opinion you have of yourself. I overheard you and your friend talking. And, yes, I can feel it in my water. If my daughters were here, they’d tell you I get all sorts of funny feelings in my water.’

‘I’m sorry for trampling all over your dream.’

‘Tis alright,’ Maureen said.

‘You know my name but I don’t know yours.’

‘Maureen. Maureen O’Mara from Dublin.’

‘Tony Smith. I'm from London, but my stage name is Antony Garcia. My mum’s maiden name. She’s Italian.’

‘Well then, Tony Antony Smith Garcia, shall we shake hands and pretend we’re meeting for the first time?’ Tony held his hand out and Maureen shook it vigorously. ‘Nice to meet you, Tony.’

‘And you, Maureen.’

Donal roared up alongside them. Well, it was more of an annoying whine, truth be told, and he stilled the engine to ask, ‘Mo, why did you get off? You should have just said that you didn’t want to go for a ride. I was frightened when I realised you weren’t on the back.’

‘I didn’t get off, you great big eejit. I fell off when you took off like you were in that film Easy Rider , and the “Born to be Wild” music was playing. Tony here came to my rescue. Tony meet Donal.’

The two men nodded a greeting, and then Donal swung his stunned gaze in Maureen’s way. ‘You fell off, you say? Are you hurt?’

‘Not at all. Well, I’ve a bruised bottom, but I’m grand apart from that.’

‘Thank goodness.’

‘But Donal if you think I’m getting back on that thing with you, you can think again.’

Donal made no argument as he removed his helmet and thanked Tony for coming to her aid.

Maureen suspected Donal’s attitude might have been altogether different had it been Captain Franco who’d been the hero of the hour.

Tony glanced at his watch and announced he was meeting friends in a bar. ‘Would you like to join me? The bar does a mean burger.’

‘No, you’re grand, Tony lad. Mo and I have a date in a see-through boat. We’ll take a rain check, though: maybe next time.’

Maureen bobbed her head to the raincheck.

They said their goodbyes, and Donal wheeled the moped back to the stand, meekly handing in the helmets and key. A quick search for Maureen’s missing flip-flop ensued, and they found it hanging off a nearby cactus. Donal attempted to bend to help her slip it on her foot like she was Cinderella. Only his sore muscles wouldn’t allow it. Maureen told him it was the thought that counted as she shoved her foot back in the flip- flop. Then, linking arms, they decided to put the moped debacle behind them and embrace the see-through boat experience. Maureen pretended she couldn’t feel Donal’s arm trembling. She appreciated his willingness to do something out of his comfort zone for her benefit.

‘That was gas!’ Donal gushed about their ocean excursion while they waited in line to board the Mayan Princess . Niall and Carole were in front of them, glowing from too much time in the sun, hair bedraggled and salty but with all body parts intact.

Carole had already told them about their snorkelling adventure, which they’d thoroughly enjoyed.

‘We did see a reef shark,’ Niall informed Donal, who shuddered. ‘They’re more scared of us than we are them.’

‘If you say so.’ Donal didn’t look convinced.

‘Who’d have thought fish would come in so many colours,’ Carole said. ‘It’s a whole other world under the water.’

‘I liked the parrotfish best of all with their rainbow colours. What about you, Mo?’ Donal asked.

Maureen, unusually quiet but no longer green, couldn’t have given a toss whether there’d been a flipping peacock fish swimming about in the water. She muttered something non-committal.

‘How are you feeling now?’ Donal asked, passing the water bottle her way. ‘Here, drink some of this and put some fluids back into your system.’

Maureen took a dutiful but wary sip, tuning Donal and his Finding Nemo saga out. In her mind, she fetched her bucket list and drew a big red line through sailing in a see-through boat twice. She jotted it down under a new list headed, ‘Over My Dead Body Will I Do That Again’. Riding pillion on a moped with Donal came in at number two.

The excursion had not got well on her part because no sooner had she sat down in the boat than her stomach had begun to churn. She’d found it not just unnatural but unnerving to be able to see the water beneath them like so and had quickly become hypnotised by the waves they were puttering over. Around the halfway mark between the marina and the arch all the boats made a beeline for she’d wound up hanging over the side of the ship feeling like she was dying. Donal, however, was in his applecart. He’d been thrilled by the entire experience, exclaiming delightedly over the schools of fishes swimming under the boat in between assuring her she’d find her sea legs. He would never know how close he’d come to being pushed overboard when he’d rocked the boat further by waving out to fellow sight-seers on the water as though they were long-lost family.

Maureen had not found her sea legs, nor had she ever been so relieved to step back onto dry land in all her days.

Donal was still harping on about the see-through boat experience hours later as Maureen, refusing to engage, rubbed the Deep Heat into his tight calf muscles in their cabin. They’d an hour before The Gamblers’ evening show. Despite her earlier vow, she’d bought a tube of the smelly wintergreen stuff from the ship’s pharmacy once back on the boat. This was because Donal assured her he had learned his lesson about not doing the warm-up before exercising. However, it was mostly because she’d decided the cruise ship passengers had not paid good money to see a bow-legged Kenny Rogers look-a-like singing his biggest hits.