Chapter 7
Maureen was thinking about Bronagh and what was to be done about this wedding of hers when she realised her house keys weren’t in her pocket.
A quick pat-down ensued. She was already halfway up the hill en route to home and a phone call on her mobile to Donal, also on his mobile, followed.
He confirmed he was not home and wouldn’t be for a while.
He was talking with his mouth full at the time, and Maureen felt a pang of guilt, picturing him nibbling on his dry crackers like a mouse at his niece’s kitchen table.
‘We’ll have to go back to the studio, Pooh,’ she sighed. ‘I must have left them on the floor by my mat.’
‘Ruff.’
The spring in her step wasn’t quite as springy as they turned back, retracing their steps to the studio.
Her mind was on poor Donal. There he was dining on the dietary rations she’d packed him for lunch while she’d been scoffing down a cream-filled treat.
She’d have to come clean with him when he got home.
Honesty, after all, was as important in a relationship as communication.
Maureen was turning heads as she strode back down Main Street, something she put down to the pink jacket.
Thinking no more of it, she headed down the little lane.
She was loath to do so but could see no other choice than to leave Pooh with Rosemary once more as she nipped up to the studio.
If she were to tie him to a post outside the cobbler’s shop, he’d howl like a werewolf at the moon.
So it was that she stuck her head through the door of the shoe shop and asked if Rosemary would mind him for a minute.
Rosemary’s only reply was a series of whistles and clicks, and as Maureen pushed the poodle through the door she thought it was like communicating with one of those bird-watching twitchers.
Still, as she headed up to the studio, Maureen vowed to practise that yoke herself when she finally got home.
How hard could it be? Sure, she’d have Pooh eating out of the palm of her hand in no time.
If she’d had more time, she would have allowed herself a Crufts fantasy whereby she and Pooh were clicking and whistling their way around an arena to deafening applause.
As it was, she was already at the top of the stairs, so she shelved the dog-show dream, hearing Roisin’s voice drifting from the studio.
She was using the voice, signalling a class was underway.
Maureen pushed the door open, wincing as it creaked, and hovered in the entrance. She tried to catch her daughter’s eye by waving. There was nothing doing. Roisin’s eyes were shut as she centred and grounded those laid out on the floor, their exhalations a collective hiss.
It was obvious her only option, if she didn’t want to disturb the class, was to use her own version of the voice. In a monotone, soothing manner, Maureen said, ‘Rosi, excuse me there. Rosi, have you seen my keys?’
Roisin’s eyes pinged open and, spotting her mammy, she inclined her head towards the office off the studio without saying a word.
Maureen tiptoed around the edge of the class with the stealth of a cat burglar and, finding her keys on the table next to a stack of mail, pocketed them and retreated the same way.
Roisin’s pal Becca, whom she’d bonded with at the school gates, appeared at the base of the stairs, breathless and a little frazzled, as Maureen made her way down them. ‘Oh, hello there, Becca. How’re you?’
‘Running late as usual, but aside from that, grand, Maureen. How’s yourself?’
‘Very well thanks, and the class is only just underway. You’ve not missed much.’
‘Thanks.’ Becca beamed, breezing past Maureen, who flattened herself against the wall to let her pass. Then, pausing mid-step, she looked back towards the door where Maureen was backlit. ‘Maureen, I just wanted to say I think your Rosi’s such a warrior woman. Does she get it from you?’
Maureen puffed up. ‘I like to think she does, yes.’
‘So, did you have home births for your children too?’
Home births? What was she on about? ‘No.’ Maureen was aghast at the very thought. ‘I did not. I had my babbies in the hospital, which was just as well given the size of their heads. Roisin should be doing the same. We’ve a pumpkin-head gene in our family on their late daddy’s side.’
Becca shifted uncertainly. Oh. Okay. Well, I’d best get up there.’
Maureen was frowning as she closed the door to the lane behind her and saw Rosemary and Cathal loitering with Pooh. The door to the cobbler’s shop was wide open.
‘Were you after giving Pooh cream, Maureen?’ Rosemary enquired suspiciously.
‘No. I was not,’ Maureen lied.
Rosemary eyed her. ‘Well, he let off in the shop just now. We’ve had to evacuate the premises. It’s just as well there were no customers at the time. And if it wasn’t cream you were after giving him, then why’ve you got a cream moustache?’
Maureen’s fingers flew to her top lip. Christ on a bike! She’d been strutting about Howth like that. She fossicked around in her pocket for a tissue to wipe it off with.