Chapter 23
‘Morning, Ash,’ Roisin, a morning person, sang brightly down the phone from the desk in the office at the yoga studio.
‘Can you not sound quite so perky and Pollyanna-ish first thing, Rosi? I’m still on my first cup of tea.’ Aisling griped as the usual morning mayhem unfolded around her.
‘Is she in labour yet?’ Moira, looking for the satchel she’d dumped on the living room floor after returning from college yesterday, glanced over.
She patted around under the sofa to see if the twins had shoved it under there.
This was their current favourite hiding place, or lair, as she thought of it.
‘Rosi, Moira wants to know if you’re in labour.’
‘Tell her no, I’m not, and if I was, I wouldn’t be ringing for a chat.’
‘No. And if she was, she wouldn’t be ringing for a chat, you eejit,’ Aisling ad-libbed.
Moira wasn’t paying attention anyway, as she jubilantly slid her satchel out and held it aloft.
‘Is Quinn’s back any better this morning, Ash? Mammy told me what happened with lugging that guest’s suitcase upstairs,’ Roisin asked.
‘He’s up and hobbling into the restaurant this morning, which I’m counting my blessings over. I couldn’t be doing with another day of him lying on that couch with his hand stretched out weakly like he was in the Sahara, desperately needing water.’
‘Poor Quinn.’
‘Poor Quinn my arse. He milked it for all it was worth.’
‘She’s no bedside manner, Rosi and has forgotten her wedding vows already. In sickness and in health. She definitely got the Mammy gene,’ Moira called over.
Aisling ignored her. ‘Are you at the studio?’
‘Yeah. I came straight in after I dropped Noah at school. My first class is in fifteen minutes and I’ve laid out the mats. I’m good to go, so I thought I’d give you a quick call.’
‘You’re amazing, Rosi. I can’t believe you’re still teaching classes so close to your due date.’
‘It beats sitting around at home waiting for things to kick off, and it’s not like I’m doing the poses.
I just talk the class through them. I’ve been getting a few Braxton Hicks contractions these last few days, though.
I had them with Noah too, only I was convinced I was in labour back then, so being sent home from the hospital was a bit of a let-down.
I don’t need to worry about that this time around. ’
‘Well, hats off to you because if it were me, I’d be doing a Quinn—lying about and milking it for all it was worth.’
Rosi laughed. ‘You’ve got double standards, Aisling. You know that, don’t you?’
Moira called out before Aisling could reply. ‘Ask her if Mammy put the screws on her over the home birth.’ She was now trying to pin her daughter down to put her shoes on.
Aisling started to repeat the question, but Roisin stopped her.
‘I heard her.’
‘She heard you.’
Aisling was distracted from what Roisin was saying by Kiera wriggling free of her mammy’s grasp and making a break for freedom.
She legged it past her into the kitchen, where she began barricading herself behind the pots, pans and Tupperware the twins had already tossed from the cupboards.
The twins, watching on, squealed with delight. They loved a good rebellion.
Moira shook her head. ‘I give up. Tom! Get off that toilet and come and sort your daughter out. He’ll give himself piles with all that straining,’ she said to no one in particular.
Then, her eyes round with horror, she clapped a hand to her mouth, mumbling through her fingers.
‘Jesus wept, I sounded just like Mammy then.’
‘Moira’s suffering from Mammyitis, Rosi,’ Aisling informed her with a snigger as her younger sister cosied up beside her to share the earpiece.
‘It’s okay. I’m alright now. It won’t happen again. So come on, Rosi, what happened with Mammy?’ Moira asked.
‘She called over last night and we had a chat. Everything’s fine. We’re on the same page now.’
Aisling and Moira looked at one another incredulously.
‘How did that happen?’ Aisling pressed.
‘What did you say to her?’ Moira asked.
‘I didn’t say much, really, other than sticking to my guns and telling her I was having my baby at home and that was that. It was Shay who sorted things out between us.’
‘What, like a mediator?’ Aisling frowned.
‘I suppose so. He had a quiet word in my ear and I realised I’d been making all the calls, and this baby is his too.
It turns out it’s not just Mammy who’s worried about me having the baby at home—he is too.
Not because of my age, like Mammy kept driving home, by the way.
Honest to God, you’d think I was drawing the pension the way she was carrying on. But because he was scared.’
‘Erm, if you don’t mind me saying, Rosi, what’s he got to be scared of?’ Aisling asked.
‘Yeah,’ Moira added. ‘It’s not like he’s the one pushing a pumpkin-headed baby out.’
‘Thanks for that, Moira. He’s scared he might not be able to cope with seeing me in pain and not being able to help.’
‘But he’s not there to help. I hope you told him his purpose is to be sworn at and have the teeny-tiny bones in his hands crushed.’
‘She’s got a point, Rosi,’ Aisling said.
‘And where does Mammy come into it?’ Moira wanted to know.
‘Shay said he’d feel a whole lot better if she was there too, and being asked to be part of things might stop her fretting.’
‘He’s touched in the head.’
‘Moira, that’s the man I love you’re talking about.’
‘Well, I’m with Moira,’ Aisling said.
‘And I’m grateful I’ve got a man who’s in touch with his feelings.’
Aisling and Moira rolled their eyes.
‘Woo-woo bollocks,’ Moira mouthed.
Aisling nodded. ‘Typical Rosi.’
‘I know what you’re saying.’
‘No, you don’t. It’s only Mammy who has the all-seeing eyes,’ Moira said.
‘Well, I’ve a fairly good idea, anyway. She’s delighted she’s going to be Shay’s support person. The home birth’s the best thing since sliced bread now.’
‘I hope you told her she’s not to be telling the midwife what to do,’ Aisling warned.
‘I did, and that she’s not allowed to tell me to soldier on or sing the song. Nor is there to be any mention of pumpkins in any way, shape or form between now and when things get underway. That goes for you too, Moira.’
‘I’m not going to be there. I can say what I like, and you might be lucky—your baby might have a butternut pumpkin head.’
‘That’s so not funny. Someone’s coming up the stairs. I’ve got to go.’
The line went dead, and Moira and Aisling looked at one another.
‘Rather her than me,’ Aisling said first.
‘Mammy was there with me when I had Kiera, but not by choice. To be fair, the Pope could have popped his head in to say “How do?” when it all kicked off and I wouldn’t have given a toss.’
‘Good point. I was the same with the twins.’
‘So you wouldn’t have cared if Bono had bowled in singing “Where the Streets Have No Name”?’ Moira was dubious.
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’