Chapter 31
‘Mam, you won’t believe the afternoon I’m after having,’ Bronagh called out as she burst through the front door to be greeted by canned laughter from the television and the smell of last night’s lingering stew.
‘I’ve so much to tell you!’ She shook off her coat and hung it up, dumping her bag on the chair by the telephone.
The high she’d been on since witnessing little Luke’s arrival had her walking on air all the way home.
She’d felt positively evangelical in her need to spread the joy, not caring in the least that her smiling hellos to strangers had been met with guarded expressions and a wide berth. ‘Mam?’
‘I heard you, Bronagh. Don’t be shouting your news at me from the hall. Come in here and tell me what’s got you so excited,’ Myrna called back over the top of the noisy programme on the television.
Bronagh sailed into the front room, where her mam, with her knitting on her lap, was jabbing the remote at the television.
‘There, we can hear ourselves think now,’ Myrna declared, as though she weren’t the one responsible for the volume in the first place. She fixed her daughter with an expectant look. ‘Stop hovering over me like some sort of avenging angel. You’re making me nervous. Sit down, for pity’s sake.’
Sinking onto the sofa, Bronagh closed her eyes for a nanosecond. All the raging endorphins—or whatever it was that was making her feel like climbing onto the rooftops and preaching about the miracle of life—were beginning to take their toll.
‘Come on now, don’t be falling asleep and leaving me in suspense.’
Bronagh’s eyes pinged open and she sat bolt upright as though she’d been given a shot of adrenaline. Her words tumbled over one another and she sounded like a record being played at high speed in her haste to get everything out.
‘Whoa.’ Myrna held up a hand. ‘Slow down. I can’t keep up with what you’re after telling me. Whatever it is has you so giddy you're putting me in mind of the days when you’d come home from the pub after a night out with your pals, tiddly and full of yourself.’
‘I’ve not been drinking, Mam.’
‘Is it the sugar then? You’re the same way when you’ve been at the cake. Did you stop at the Cherry on Top shop for a treat and eat it on the way home?’ Myrna’s eyes flitted around the small room as though expecting a piece of cake to materialise before asking hopefully, ‘Did you save me a piece?’
‘I’ve not been eating cake either, Mam, although we’ve cause for celebration all right. Now are you going to let me say my piece or not?’
‘I’ll not say another word.’
This time Bronagh made a concerted effort to speak slowly. ‘Roisin’s after having a babby boy. They’ve called him Luke.’
‘Luke,’ Myrna repeated. ‘Now that’s a lovely, strong name for a boy, plucked straight from the Bible.’
‘It is. I think Maureen was worried Rosi would go for something yoga-like.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, Mam, Luna?’
‘What sort of a name’s Luna?’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because Rosi’s called him Luke.’
‘Just as well. Luna would have him picked on in the playground once he got to school. I’ve already knitted yellow booties for the babby to be on the safe side, but I’ve some grand blue wool in my knitting bag that’ll be perfect for a matinee jacket for little Luke.
I’ll get onto it this minute.’ Myrna leaned over the side of her chair and retrieved the bag, bursting with a veritable rainbow of balls of wool.
Whatever she’d been clacking away at before was discarded in favour of fresh needles and the light blue wool she insisted Bronagh come over and feel.
Bronagh reached across and dutifully squeezed the ball of wool. ‘It’s lovely and soft, Mam.’
A faint ringing sounded.
‘What’s that?’ Myrna frowned, looking towards the television to see if it was coming from the flickering screen.
Bronagh’s heart immediately began battering against her ribs as she launched herself off the sofa, having a fair idea who it might be.
‘My mobile. It’s in my bag in the hall, Mam.
’ She crossed the room in two strides, making sure to close the door behind her.
The television volume immediately amped up.
Unearthing the phone from the depths of her handbag, it felt like a hot potato in her hand as she fumbled to answer it.
‘Good evening, O’Mara’s Guesthouse. You’re speaking with Bronagh.
How may I help you?’ She hadn’t even realised her mistake until Jeremy, equally as formal, replied,
‘Erm, hello, Bronagh. You’re speaking with Jeremy from Noonan’s Estate Agency. How’s the babby and his mammy doing?’
‘Just fine, Jeremy. They’re staying overnight at the National Maternity Hospital as a precaution and will be going home tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be sure to drop some flowers in first thing then.’
Get to the point. ‘That would be a lovely gesture.’
‘So, Bronagh, I’ve spoken with the owners of 16 Cullingford Drive and, as I previously mentioned to you, they’ve already relocated to Germany for work.
As such, they’re keen for a quick sale. They were gobsmacked when I told them the story of the baby being born there in the bathroom and passed on their congratulations once they’d got over their shock.
I was clear when I went on to present your offer that there was no wriggle room for negotiation and that you and Leonard had gone in strong with your best price. ’
Blah, blah, blah. It was little more than white noise. Bronagh’s whole body was tensed, right down to her toes, as she jammed the Nokia against her ear, terrified she might miss what Jeremy was about to say next.
‘And they’ve accepted your offer.’
‘Could you repeat that, Jeremy?’
‘Your offer has been accepted.’ The young estate agent sounded almost as delighted as she felt.
‘I faxed the contract through and I’ve just received it back, signed with your suggested settlement date of the thirtieth of October.
So, it’s official, Bronagh. You and Leonard are the new owners of 16 Cullingford Drive.
’ He chuckled. ‘It’s congratulations all round today! ’
They’d bought the house. It was theirs. Bronagh repeated the words silently to herself several times before realising Jeremy was waiting for her to say something.
‘This has been one of the best days of my life.’ The feelings surging through her were much the same as she'd felt when Lenny had slipped her gorgeous sparkling engagement ring onto her finger.
She glanced down at it now, giving her fingers a little waggle as she thanked Jeremy before ending the call.
Her bag was shoved onto the floor so she could sit down and absorb the fact that she and Lenny were joint homeowners.
Voices from the television drifted through the wall.
Myrna could wait. Right now Bronagh wanted to revel in her excitement for just a few moments longer before going into battle now that all the speculation about moving had become official.
Besides, Lenny would be anxiously waiting to hear from her.
She set her mobile aside and picked up the landline instead. He answered after only two rings.
‘Hello, Lenny.’
‘Bronagh, love. I hoped it was you.’
She pictured him gripping the phone just as tightly as she'd gripped hers while waiting for Jeremy's verdict.
She wasn't about to subject him to idle chit-chat about his day and got straight to the point. ‘I loved the house. I made the offer and it’s ours. Oh, and Roisin had her babby boy in our upstairs bathroom.’
Leonard began spluttering, and Bronagh told him to go and make himself comfortable so she could walk him through the afternoon. He listened in utter disbelief. Bronagh could almost feel it wafting down the phone line.
‘You can see why I just knew the house was meant to be ours, can’t you?’ she said when she’d finished. ‘I mean, aside from it being perfect. It was a sign. Rosi’s little Luke arriving there like the babby Jesus in the stable.’
‘Say that again, Bronagh.’
‘Like babby Jesus?’
‘No, not that part.’
‘Which then?’
‘The part about the house being meant to be ours.’
Bronagh obliged, smiling as she repeated it.
‘Ours,’ Leonard said softly. ‘Yours, mine, and Myrna’s.’
Bronagh’s smile faltered. The black cloud hanging over their future plans was currently cackling away at something on the television. When Leonard asked after Myrna and how she'd taken the news, she fibbed. ‘Grand. I always knew she’d come round. Listen, love, we’re on peak rates.’
‘And I’d better crack on with the packing. I’m finally winning with the garage. Will you pass on my congratulations to Roisin and Shay? It’s wonderful news. Wonderful.’
‘I will.’
There was talk of celebrating with cake and champagne next week when Lenny was finally back for good. That was followed by 'I love you.' ‘And, I love you more.’ Then came the smacking kisses.
‘You hang up,’ Bronagh said.
‘No, you.’
‘You.’
Lenny hung up.
Feeling oddly bereft, Bronagh held the receiver for another few moments, trying to delay the inevitable. Finally, she placed the phone back on its charger and stood, steeling herself.
It was time to tell Myrna.