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

Chapter 28

M aureen slept through the Sunrise Yoga session for the second time that week. Still, she managed to be on the top deck for the Mayan Princess ’s 8am arrival into the balmy bay of Banderas in Puerto Vallarta. Donal, who'd also slept through going to the gym accidentally on purpose, had announced he was a new man as he strode without a hint of the bandy legs down the corridor outside their cabin to the lift. From their vantage point, Maureen and Donal soaked up the view of the city set amongst lush, tropical scenery. All the while Davey, who’d trailed up the stairs after them, gave them a monotone monologue from his guidebook as to what was what.

‘And see the church with the crown perched on top of the spire? That’s Our Lady of Guadalupe.’

Maureen lifted her sunglasses and followed the direction of Davey’s outstretched arm to where his finger was pointing. ‘It’s spectacular,’ she breathed, admiring the spire that looked like a royal crown had been placed on top of it. She’d be sure to light candles for Carole and Tomasina’s Piotr when they visited it.

Davey looked pleased, as though he was responsible for the place of worship. He began jabbering about how it took 84 years to go from a rustic little chapel to the magnificent landmark structure they could see before them. Maureen cut him off as the boat navigated into its berth in the city’s modern cruise port and led the charge to gather the troops for a quick breakfast. There was no time for lingering over a second cup of tea or coffee today, not if they wanted to enjoy a full day exploring. So as soon as knives, forks, spoons, and cups were set down, they donned hats and slapped on sun cream, ready for disembarkation.

Maureen avoided eye contact with the security officers as they were swept off the boat in the tide of sunburned passengers; she supposed Carole would be doing the same, knowing they’d be sure to be back at the ship in good time this afternoon. Today, the group bypassed the colourful craft stalls and merely waved at the exuberant Mariachi band as they exited the terminal to be greeted by a crowd of touts eager to sell their tours and whisk them away on a whirlwind adventure.

‘Look at that,’ Maureen said, her attention caught by a pistol-wielding pirate statue. It was a world away from the bronze Molly Malone figure on Grafton Street, also known as the ‘Tart with the Cart’. ‘Will you take my photograph next to it?’ Maureen thrust the camera at Donal and moved next to the statue to strike a pose. She raised her chin so there wasn’t a whiff of the second one that had taken up residence like an unwelcome squatter. Then she thrust a flowy trouser leg forward, angling her hip in a slimming angle like the celebs in magazines did.

‘Say cheese.’ Donal raised the camera.

Maureen opened her mouth to say cheese but, as she did, the statue suddenly mimicked her pose, and a scream burst from her lips instead. ‘It’s alive!’

The statue resumed its former pose like they’d imagined the whole thing. Donal and the others were bent double as they all put their hands in their pockets to toss loose change the street performer’s way. Maureen wasn’t amused but, sure, it would have been a shot for the album if the statue person hadn’t moved. Now captured on film forevermore was a slender pirate statue with a firm jawline and a female Jack in the Box with her gob hanging open. She moved a few steps away, searching in her bag for her sunglasses, aware a hot debate had been entered over who fancied doing what.

‘I need to send an urgent email home before we do anything,’ Maureen called over to where John had turned away from the others and was negotiating with a cowboy hat, blue jean-wearing tout who came up to his chest. She gave up on her sunglasses, deciding she’d just have to buy a make-do cheap pair, and sidled over to Carole, keeping a wary eye on the pirate statue.

‘The men want to do a Tequilla tasting tour at a local distillery,’ Carole informed her.

Davey, leaving John to fix his fair price, said to the two women, ‘Purely for cultural enriching purposes, ladies. It’s Mexico’s national drink, after all.’

Maureen and Carole eyed one another sceptically, and Maureen spoke up, ‘If you say so, Davey. Before we go anywhere, though, Carole and I have to call in at an internet café. We’ve important business. Did you catch that, John?’

‘I did Maureen, important business.’ A few seconds later, John shook hands with the tout who flashed his gold tooth at them, tipped his hat, then, hooking his thumbs in his jeans belt loops, introduced himself as Francisco.

‘But you, my friends, can call me Pancho. I look forward to showing you around my family farm, left to my brother and me by our beloved mama and papa. At the L?pez farm, you will learn how Mexico's finest tequila is made.’

‘Yes, but will we get to taste it?’ Davey butted in.

‘Yes, my friend, you can taste-test our many varieties and purchase directly from the manufacturers. Myself and my brother.’

The lads began working out how many bottles they could sneak back on the boat.

Pancho’s mobile phone, attached to his jeans by a leather pouch, rang. He ignored it, saying over the ringing that he would meet them in one hour outside the Church of our Lady of Guadalupe. Then, using his hand to demonstrate hanging a left off the Malécon followed by a right, he began waggling his middle and index fingers to demonstrate walking in a straight line for a few metres, telling them where they could use the internet. ‘See you in one hora .’ He swaggered over to a line of white minivans.

Pancho’s helpful directions saw Maureen sitting in front of a winking computer monitor five minutes later. She was patting around her person, trying to locate her glasses, when she saw Donal at the café window. He tapped the top of his head and she, reaching up, found that’s where her glasses were perched. ‘What would I do without you?’ she mouthed, slipping them on and logging into her Hotmail account. It would be best to send the email straight to O’Mara’s inbox, she decided, knowing Bronagh would ensure it made it into the right people’s hands and, entering the address, she moved down to the subject line to type ‘URGENT MATTER FOR TOM AND QUINN TO ATTEND TO’.

Carole was sitting directly opposite her, and Maureen could feel waves of dejection coming from her. She’d slumped in her chair and there was no need to stretch her neck and look over the computer to see the other woman’s face. She knew it would be long. Emma hadn’t yet accepted the olive branch her mother had held out.

‘Give her a chance to digest what Carlos passed on, Carole,’ Maureen said, digging out the piece of paper Tomasina must have slid under their cabin door first thing that morning with Piotr’s contact details in Dublin.

‘It’s going to be a rollercoaster of emotions whenever I check my Hotmail account from now on, I expect,’ Carole said dully, her gaze turning to the window through which she could see the lads milling about on the pavement outside. ‘I’ll wait out there for you, Maureen.’

Maureen nearly said, ‘Soldier on,’ but decided on, ‘Chin up’ instead. ‘It’s bound to be an emotional wait, Carole, but remember it’s been less than 24 hours.’

‘I know. Give me a few minutes to wallow then I’ll put it into perspective.’ Carole mustered up a smile as she left Maureen typing away. Once she’d finished, she scanned over her words satisfied that she had conveyed the need for speed in doing a welfare check on the young Pole. Sure, he didn’t live far from the guesthouse. They could run round to his flat as part of their marathon training if they wanted, she thought, pushing ‘send’. She paid up and exited the café, instantly feeling the humidity press down on her like someone had tossed a wet blanket over her head. ‘Shall we pay a visit to the church, then?’

‘Better now than after the tequila tour.’ Niall did that chortling thing Donal was prone to.

Maureen put her glasses away in their case, then remembered she’d tried and failed to locate her sunglasses. ‘I forgot my sunglasses and it’s terrible glary out here. Have we got time for me to pick up a pair on the way?’

‘There’s no need, Mo, they’re hooked into your shirt.’ Donal pointed to the neckline of her top.

Maureen looked down, and there they were. Her sunglasses. She really would be lost without Donal!