Chapter 19
Donal was pottering about in the kitchen, clearing away the dinner things, and thanks to the taties Maureen had piled onto his plate, he was in fine fettle.
She could hear him now, running through his vocal exercises.
Who’d have thought the humble potato was the poor Irishman’s oyster?
Donal had been all hands as she’d cleared their plates from the table, however.
She’d even called him Mr McHandsie, swatting him away like a mosquito because she’d important things to be doing.
There were phone calls to be made. Friends and family needed to be forewarned about Donal’s denuded face lest they take fright when they saw him next.
Once she’d ticked that job off her to-do list, she intended to duck around to Róisín’s.
Donal’s wise words had been taken on board and she would relay her worries about this home birth malarkey calmly.
Not once would she say, ‘I’m your mammy and you’ll do as you’re told.
’ First things first, though. Maureen reached for her little black book and began ringing around.
Half an hour later, having kept the calls short and sweet, there was only Bronagh and the girls left. Bronagh’s line, annoyingly, was engaged, so, hoping the mayhem of bath time was over, she rang the family apartment. Aisling answered.
‘Mammy, it’s not a good time.’
‘I’ll get straight to the point then. Donal’s after denuding his face.’
‘What did you just say?’
‘Donal has denuded his face,’ Maureen repeated, enunciating each word.
‘Mammy’s after saying “denuded”,’ Aisling told whoever was in the room with her. ‘What does that even mean?’
‘He’s shaved his beard off.’
‘Jaysus wept, Mammy, why would you not just say that?’ Then she repeated the breaking news for her audience.
There was a simple reason Maureen had used ‘denuded’ instead of ‘shaved’. It was dramatic and interesting, and she liked to be both.
‘Mammy, Moira and I agree, denuded is a terrible bad word and it’s going on the banned word list.’
Maureen ignored this because, if her girls had their way, she’d never open her mouth and say another word.
‘Listen, Mammy, it’s a madhouse here. I’m run off my feet.
It’s all fetch this, fetch that. Oh, my back.
And the twins think it’s great craic that Daddy can’t move from the sofa.
They’ve been tormenting him, so they have.
As for Kiera, she’s been doing a drum solo for the last half hour to make Uncle Quinn better.
It’s not worked because he attempted to get off the sofa and make a run for it, only to collapse in a heap.
She’s just this minute stopped because Tom’s carted her off for her bath. ’
In the background, Moira shouted, ‘It’s a madhouse all right, Mammy, and Aisling’s after eating the Taytos. It’s my time of the month and I need the salt.’
Aisling rebutted, ‘It’s stress eating, Mammy. I’m not responsible for my actions at the moment when there’s so much on my plate.’
‘Mammy there was nothing left on her plate. She licked it so clean at dinner we could have put it straight back in the cupboard,’ Moira called again.
‘Shut up, Moira. Oh, before I hang up, Mammy, the guest whose suitcase is responsible for Quinn’s back brought him a present to make amends. Marks & Spencer’s Finest tea and a box of fancy chocolates. That was kind of her.’
‘She’s eaten them too, Maureen,’ Quinn’s plaintive wail sounded in the background.
Maureen shook her head, got off the phone and tapped out Bronagh’s number again. This time it rang.
The two women exchanged pleasantries and Maureen got straight to the point of her call.
‘That’s a shame, Maureen. He suits a beard.’
‘He does, but he’s still a fine-looking man, and apparently Kenny did the same.’ Maureen wasn’t sure whether she believed Donal on this or not.
‘Did he? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a photograph of Kenny beardless.’
‘Well, when you next see Donal, you’ll get a good idea of what Kenny looked like without his.’
‘I suppose I will. I wouldn’t mind Lenny growing a beard,’ Bronagh lamented. ‘I always think a beard’s distinguished, Maureen. You know, like Sean Connery.’
‘He’s a fine-looking man too. Although not as fine as Daniel Day-Lewis.’ Maureen added this out of deep-seated loyalty to Daniel.
‘He is that. And, being Scottish, Sean’s a kilt wearer. You know what they say about men in kilts, don’t you?’
‘No?’
‘They don’t wear any underpants.’
There was silence at both ends of the line as the two women contemplated Sean Connery without underpants.
Bronagh spoke first. ‘There’s a fine line though, isn’t there, between Sean and your man in that Lord of the Rings film with the big beard? Or those hairy fellas in that American band with the song about legs?’
‘Oh yes, I know who you mean. ZZ Top. Patrick went through a phase of blaring their songs. And a beard’s not all that.
’ Maureen lowered her voice. ‘Between you and me, Bronagh, it’s not distinguished when they’ve food stuck in them.
I’ve had to take to Donal’s with a pair of scissors more than once.
I tell you, the toffee apple was the worst. Noah let him have a bite at the school fair and he got himself into a terrible state with it. ’
‘I hadn’t thought of that. Lenny’s fond of toffee too.’
Maureen remembered her conversation with Moira earlier in the day before things had gone pear-shaped with lost keys, home births and shaved-off beards.
‘While I’ve got you on the phone, Bronagh, I wanted to talk to you about your wedding.
A little bird told me Myrna’s insisting Hilary be your matron of honour and you’re not over the moon about the idea. ’
‘I’m not, but sure what can I do? Listen, Mo, I need a favour.
I’ve already cleared an hour or so tomorrow with Aisling to go and view a house Lenny’s taken with.
Would you come with me? For a second opinion, like.
He’s back next week, thanks be to God, but wants to move quickly with an offer if I’m as smitten with the place as he is.
I haven’t told Mam about the house and she wouldn’t come with me even if I had. But I could do with a second opinion.’
‘I’d be delighted to, and we can have a good chat about things then.’
‘Grand. The viewing’s at one o’clock.’
‘I’ll pick you up if you like. I’ll be driving in anyway so it makes sense.’
‘Thank you, Maureen. I’d appreciate that.’
‘Bronagh, are you all right?’ Maureen had detected a wobble in her friend’s voice.
‘I could do with a friendly ear to bend.’
Yes, there was a definite wobble. ‘Well, mine’s all yours to bend. We don’t have to wait until tomorrow. Bend away now if you want.’
‘Thanks, Mo, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
They said their goodnights and Maureen closed her little black book.
Poor Bronagh, she thought, but her friend’s problems would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, she had a geriatric daughter to be going to see about this ridiculous idea of having her baby at home.