I finished washing up the pots and pans and dishes after the dinner, and wiped around the sink, giving it a good rub to bring up the shine of the stainless steel. ‘Right! That’s done,’ I sighed, putting me hand on me head and feeling how hot and dry it is. Gawd. I really don’t feel too good.

I folded the cleaning cloth and dropped it into the little dish for holding the washing-up stuff. Happy now I was finished at last. I didn’t move, feeling it was too much of an effort, and stood looking out the window into the garden. Oh, me bloody head is dizzy and I feel a bit chilly. It must be the damp, I thought, looking out at the grey mist hanging in the air, with the evenings getting darker very fast now. It must be the foggy nights, I thought to meself, thinking I started to feel this way for the last few nights and first thing in the morning. It always comes on when the night starts drawing in, making the air chilly. It looks cold and damp out there, I thought, staring tiredly, looking at the nearly bare trees, and the wet damp from the mist settling on the grass.

I think I’ll go up to bed. Clare doesn’t need me any more, she has got Ollie down for the night after reading him his bedtime story. Right! That’s what I’ll do, I decided, staring at the floor, wanting to get meself moving. I moved slowly past the sitting-room door, hearing the television on, and Greg roaring his head laughing at it. I climbed the stairs thinking, God help anyone old or ailing. Now I know what it feels like to be ninety and trying to climb Mount Everest. It can’t be any worse than these stairs when you’re feeling banjacked. I opened the door to me room and sighed happily, seeing me lovely bed waiting for me. Oh, just let me in there, I shivered with cold and exhaustion. I threw off me clothes and dived into me pyjamas and slid under the bedclothes, giving a huge sigh of contentment, enjoying the feeling of me eyes going very heavy, and sinking very fast down into a deep sleep.

I heard a voice from the distance and tried to lift me head off the pillow. ‘Martha! Are you awake?’

‘Yes, yes! I’m coming.’ I struggled to bring the room into focus, everything was foggy. I could hear Clare calling me to get up and take Ollie to school. But everything was spinning and I couldn’t make out anything. Jesus!

‘No, stay there!’ I heard Clare say. I could see her shape standing in the doorway.

‘No, no! Just wait. I’m coming now,’ I said, trying to get meself out of the bed. Wanting to get up and go about me business.

‘No! You have to stay there. You look terrible,’ Clare said.

I gave up and dropped me head back on the pillow, thinking I should get up, and sank back into sleep. I woke up with an elderly long skinny man looking down at me, with his bushy eyebrows raised over a pair of glasses sitting on his nose. Then he lifted his head, talking to Clare, while the two of them stood next to me bed.

‘Good girl. Sit up,’ he said, holding one end of a stethoscope wrapped around his neck and the other ready to plank on me. Clare lifted the back of me pyjamas, and the doctor said, ‘Breathe in for me.’ Then he listened to me sounding like I was on me last gasp, heaving me chest for breath, and wheezing like a kettle letting ye know the water is boiled. ‘Hmm! Bad case of bronchitis,’ he said to Clare. ‘Antibiotic, warm drinks, keep her warm in bed, Clare, and get her to cough it up.’ Then he was gone, and I was out like a light again. Me last thought, thinking poor Clare! Now she has gobshite me to put up with, as well as the children, and I’m supposed to be helping her! I felt really ashamed of meself, because I never, ever got sick, not even for one day, when I was in the convent, more’s the pity!

I woke up hearing the muffled sounds of laughing and shouting and the television roaring coming up through the ceiling. I opened my eyes, staring straight ahead at the rain lashing against the window pane, and leaves blowing off the trees in the front garden. I could hear the wind howling around over me head in the attic, and I snuggled down deeper, sinking into me lovely soft mattress, and pulled the heavy green satin eiderdown over me, right up to me chin. ‘Ah, lovely!’ I sighed, feeling snug and warm and sleepy, letting me eyes slide around me lovely warm cosy room and the wind and rain howling outside, and the sound of cars hissing through the wet roads, all rushing to get home after a hard day’s work, wanting to be resting just like me. Snug as a bug in a rug.

The door opened and Ollie marched in, with Clare coming in behind him carrying a tray. ‘Hullo, Martha. What happened to you? Why are you sick? Can you get up and take me to school? I have loads and loads of things to tell you,’ he puffed, trying to get everything out at once. ‘But Mummy said I can’t disturb you!’

‘Hi, Ollie!’ I croaked, pulling meself up in the bed and starting to cough.

The door flew in, hitting the wall, and Timmy came flying in, landing on the floor. ‘Me, Mummy, me!’ he shouted, picking himself up in an awful hurry, not wanting to miss out on anything.

‘Everybody out!’ shouted Clare. Landing the tray down on me bedside table.

‘Nooo!’ Ollie said, twisting himself in half to stop Clare grabbing him. ‘I have big important things to tell Martha,’ he said, looking up from the floor, half of him bent in two, with his eyebrows raised, pleading in a quiet voice. She stared at him for a minute, then he stood up, waving his finger, bending into her. ‘It won’t take long, Mummy!’ he whispered, sounding like he was the mammy and she was the child.

‘How are you, Ollie?’ I croaked, pulling meself up to a sitting position, and spluttering, taking a fit of coughing, me mouth filling with thick gobs of phlegm.

‘Spit that out,’ shouted Clare, looking around at the side table, grabbing a white Styrofoam cup. Just as Timmy came flying over screaming, ‘Me, me!’ reaching up to grab a hold of the tray.

‘No! Don’t touch that. It will fall,’ screeched Clare, grabbing his hands pulling at the tray.

I could hear the baby screaming coming up the stairs, and Greg flew in the door laughing, with the baby roaring in his arms. ‘Princess is having a major wobbly, darling,’ he said, stretching his long legs across the room with the baby red in the face, her eyes flying around the room and landing on the mammy. Then she stretched herself the full length, opening her little bud mouth wider and stuck out her tiny fists, letting her tongue hang out, and went even redder in the face, with her eyes shut tight and went mad with the rage, nearly having a fit. Greg carried her across his outstretched arms, letting her sit in the palm of his big hands, and landed her into the mammy’s arms.

Clare’s face creased into a half-cry and half-smile, looking around at all the confusion, not knowing what to do next. ‘Get the boys to bed!’ she shouted, reaching out with one hand to grab Timmy.

‘How’s the patient?’ Greg said, laughing down at me with his hands on his hips, taking no notice of the roars around him.

‘GREG!’ screamed Clare. ‘Get them out of here! Martha, grab that tray before it ends up on the floor. Everybody out!’ she roared, flying for the door. ‘I’m going to see to this little minx, you get them started on their baths, Greg!’

She stopped to look back, seeing Greg lean down to me, saying, ‘You have to cough that up, young lady! No swallowing it back.’

‘Right!’ I croaked, as I held onto the tray, trying to stop Timmy from upending me tea. Feeling foolish at all the confusion I was causing.

‘Gawd almighty! Give me patience,’ huffed Clare, staring at the ceiling with the baby hopping herself up and down in her arms screaming. ‘Bed!’ she shouted. Then flew out the door and down the stairs.

‘I have a champion conker!’ roared Ollie. ‘I have him in my bag. He’s called King! He knocked out seven other conkers! Do you want to see him? Do you, Martha?’ roared Ollie in one breath as he was being heaved out of the room.

‘Tomorrow! You can tell Martha everything tomorrow! Now it’s bedtime, young man!’ shouted Greg. ‘Come here, you! Timmy! No!’ he raced over to take me omelette out of Timmy’s mouth. He had managed to climb up on the chair and grab it while I was looking at Ollie. ‘Naughty Timmy!’ the daddy said, giving a little slap to Timmy’s fist to make him drop the whole omelette he was dangling in his mouth. ‘Take your tea, Martha, or what’s left of it,’ he muttered, half laughing. Then he grabbed up Timmy, dangling him under his arm, and whipped Ollie out the door, dangling him under the other arm, saying, ‘Come on, you holy terrors! Bath, book and bedtime. What are we reading tonight, boys?’

I could hear the shouting fading away as Greg put out his long leg, kicking the door shut after him and I stared at it for a few minutes, wondering if the room really was silent again. Then me eyes lit on the tray with the half-eaten omelette and the fried tomatoes sitting on the plate and I reached over, grabbing hold of the tray, and landing it on me lap. I looked at the other plate with the three slices of melted butter on the toast, and poured out a cup of tea from the little teapot and put in milk from the little stainless-steel milk jug and dived into the egg and tomatoes. Lovely. Yum, delicious! With bits of rashers inside and thick melted cheese on the outside. I wasn’t in the mood for eating up until now. I still wasn’t bothered until I tasted this. Gawd! Clare is the best person in the whole world. She’s a real lady, not like them gobshites in their fur coats at that very grand school! No, they’re only tuppence half-penny looking down at tuppence. Clare is the real thing. Greg was very lucky to get her! She’s the best mammy as well.

I suppose Clare is lucky, too, to get Greg! He worships the ground she walks on. They match each other great. Even though he’s a bit dopey when it comes to helping Clare with the children. She has to tell him every single thing. He pretends he can’t do anything. Then she gives up and does it herself, saying it’s quicker that way. He laughs, and beetles off, rubbing his hands together, and planks himself down to watch the television and read the newspaper. Huh! I’m well up to his game! So is Clare!

‘Oh, it’s all go!’ gasped Clare, puffing and struggling her way down the stairs with two heavy bags and another one thrown over her shoulder. With me banging down behind her dragging the carrycot, and Ollie and Timmy pushing behind me, carrying a big bag of terry-cloth nappies between them. ‘Greg, get them blasted bags out of the hallway, we can’t move with them there!’ she roared, trying to squeeze past the big suitcases stacked against the wall, blocking the stairs. Then we heard a car pull in and a door slamming, then the doorbell rang. ‘Oh, for the love of God! Someone open the door. That’s Granny. GREG! What are you doing up there? I only asked you to bring the pram down. Not make it!’

‘Coming, my sweet!’ Greg roared in a sing-song voice. Then he was towering above us, swinging the pram at the top of the stairs.

‘Will you move, darling? You are blocking the whole stairwell! I can’t get out!’ she screamed. ‘These bloody cases are blocking everyone in!’ Then she muttered curses under her breath, looking back with her face twisting, and trying to lift the heavy bags up in the air.

‘Everybody back up!’ Greg shouted, landing the folded-up pram back on the landing and grabbing the bag off Ollie and Timmy, who were fighting over wanting to carry it by themself. I turned around with me bags and went up the stairs again, and Greg snatched it off me and landed it on the landing, then belted off down the stairs and squeezed past the mammy, grabbing up the cases and landing them in the sitting room. Then he whipped the door open, shouting, ‘Mother- in-law! It’s marvellous to see you. Come in, come in. Goodness! You get better-looking and younger every time I see you,’ he said, grabbing the woman with a smile about to light up her face. I was watching from the crack in the door. But before she could draw the next breath, he was steering and swinging her into the hall.

A little woman appeared in the door wearing very high heels and staggered to her feet, trying to steady herself, as Greg grabbed her again with one hand around her waist, and the other one on her shoulder, making her head disappear under his arm, because she was so small. ‘Darling, it’s your mother!’ he roared, looking up the stairs, then peeling his eyes back down again, landing them on Clare standing right in front of him, forgetting she was there. Clare stared daggers at him, looking like she wanted to shout curses at him this time. ‘Here we are,’ he said, talking to the granny as if she was a child. Then letting her go, shutting the hall door, and stretched his face, making his eyes turn, crossing them, then rolled up inta the back of his head. Tormenting Clare behind the mammy’s back. And he vanished into the sitting room, humming a tune, taking the bags with him that Clare dumped out of the way.

‘Mother! Thank God you’re here! It’s like a mad house! It’s absolute bedlam. We’re trying to get the baby’s things organised!’ Clare screamed, sounding like she was crying.

‘Oh, darling! I’m here at last,’ gushed the mammy, looking up at Clare, then sweeping past me and staring down at all the stuff coming down the stairs, and vanishing, with Greg flying up and down into the sitting room. ‘Greg, dear! Would you ever run out to the car and bring in my suitcases?’

‘Did you drive yourself, Mother dear?’ Greg beamed, rushing back and staring down at her with his hands on his hips, a big grin spread all over his face.

‘Oh, you have no idea what I went through. I got stuck in Nenagh, right on the bridge, with a herd of sheep running in all directions. I thought the lot of us was going to end up in the river!’

‘Mother! Greg! Sorry to interrupt, Mother. Greg! Please do something. Bring in Mother’s cases from the car. Don’t just stand there!’

‘Right, darling. On my way!’

‘No, stop! Bring down the baby’s cot first.’

He stopped dead, with his head and foot out the front door and his arse still stuck inside, and whipped himself back in, saying in one breath, ‘Whatdoyouwantmetodofirst!’ He puffed. Standing still, like a statue, waiting for his next orders.

‘Oh, really, Greg! You would try the patience of a saint,’ Clare said, hearing the baby wake up and start to roar her head off. ‘That’s all I need,’ she muttered, swinging herself off, sounding like she was going to cry her eyes out, and ran into the kitchen to grab up the baby just as she was working herself up for a piercing roar.

‘Sorry, darling. Do nothing. You go and put your feet up. Leave everything to me!’ he roared down the hall.

Then he tore up the stairs, and Ollie roared. ‘Granny! Did you bring us something nice? Have you got a present for us?’ he said, tearing over to grab at her big brown leather handbag.

‘Oh, Oliver darling! Let me look at you,’ she squealed, grabbing him and pushing him out to stare at him, then whipping him back, crushing him in a big hug, roaring, ‘You got so big since I last saw you. Give Granny a great big kiss,’ and she plastered his face with red lipstick. He rubbed his cheek like mad, keeping his eyes glued on her handbag and trying to whip it off her arm.

‘Me, me, Mummy!’ screamed Timmy, flying over and tripping himself up in his hurry.

‘Sorry, Mumsy. Gangway!’ roared Greg, humping the pram down the stairs, squeezing past her with the pram in the air.

‘Oh, did you bring in my luggage, Greg, dear?’ she breathed, her head whipping up to him and flying around in all directions, trying to take everything and everybody in all at the same time. ‘Come on! Come on, darlings! Let’s go into the kitchen and see our new baby sister,’ she roared, whipping away her handbag and flying off down the hall in her big pointy high heels.

‘Presents!’ screamed Ollie, still holding onto the bag, getting himself pulled down the hall.

‘Me, me! Sweeties!’ roared Timmy, flying after her.

Greg staggered in with two huge suitcases, landing them down behind the door and muttering, ‘My worst nightmare! She’s come to stay for good.’ Then he gave the door an almighty kick with the back of his foot. Just as the bell rang again.

Then the letter box rattled and a voice shouted in, ‘Cooee! Greg, let me in. It’s me. Mummy.’

Greg dropped his head, and started to tear his hands through his hair, scratching like mad, mumbling, ‘I give up! All hell is about to break loose.’ Then he stared at me for a second, standing on the end of stairs, and whispered, ‘These two hate each other,’ he said, stabbing his thumb down the hall. ‘Never the twain shall meet. It’s the war of the grannies!’ Then he whipped himself to the door, opening it and letting out a roar. ‘Mammy! Come in, come in,’ wrapping his arms around a huge woman wearing a black three-quarter-length wool coat, with a brown fur animal wrapped around her neck and a big felt hat with a feather sticking up.

‘Oh, Greg, sweetie! Don’t be so common!’

He wasn’t listening. He was too busy sucking on her cheeks, and whipping back to roar into her face, waving his arms around, singing, ‘I’d walk a thousand miles for one a dem smiles. MA A AH . . . MEE . . . MAMMEEEE!’

‘Oh, really,’ she said, laughing and twisting her face in disgust. ‘Go away out of that with yourself, you silly boy,’ she whined, flapping him with her soft kid-leather beige gloves. ‘Where is everybody? Are they in the kitchen? Cooee! It’s meee! Granny’s here! Where’s my boys?’ she sang, rushing herself down to the kitchen and stopping dead just inside the door. ‘Oh! How nice to see you, Mrs Enright,’ she said in a low moan, not sounding like she meant a word of it.

‘How are you, Mrs Flynn?’ squeaked the other granny. Making it sound like a threat. There was a silence for a minute and I tore down the hall not wanting to miss anything.

‘Come and see what Granny has for you!’ Greg’s mammy shouted, waving at the boys and landing her big bag down on the kitchen table.

‘I think they are about to have their tea. Isn’t that right, Clare?’ said the little granny. Looking woebegone. Hanging onto a big bag of lemon sweets nobody wanted any more. She stood, holding them out in the air, letting them dangle, but still nobody was interested in them.

‘What did you bring us?’ screamed Ollie, flying over to grab at the big shopping bag as the granny landed out big bars of chocolates, bags of Tayto crisps, packets of biscuits.

‘And a lovely teatime express cake for your tea, dear,’ she said, handing Clare a big box with a yellow ribbon tied around it. Then the little granny flew over and whipped the baby out of Clare’s arms, saying, as she settled her in her arms, throwing her eye to the other granny, much as to say, ‘Well, you’re not getting your hands on this one!’

‘Oh, Clare, love,’ she said, sitting herself down in the armchair next to the Aga, making the baby comfortable in her arms. ‘She’s the spitting image of your great-aunt Mindy, who went out on the African missions and never came back. Every bit of her the spitting image of my side of the family.’

‘Nonsense!’ roared the big granny, whipping her head around, making the feather shiver on her hat, busying herself in the middle of peeling the silver paper off the big bars of chocolate, leaving Timmy trying to get the whole bar bigger than himself shovelled down his neck. ‘Where do you think she got that beautiful strawberry blonde head of hair from?’

‘Not from him,’ the little granny snorted, pointing her finger at Greg bending down, grinning with his hands in his pockets, looking from one granny to the other. ‘Sure he has brown hair,’ the little granny sniffed, lifting her baldy eyebrows. She had to paint in eyebrows with an eyebrow pencil. But she didn’t get it right. One side of her face had an eyebrow going halfway across her face, nearly to her ear. While the other side was up in the air, nearly working its way to her forehead. Making it look like the two halves of her face didn’t belong to each other. Ahh! I felt a bit sorry for her, staring at the almighty show she made of herself with the baby-blue eyeshadow sitting over one eye, where it had smudged.

‘Of course he was blond when he was a baby! Weren’t you, Greg, dear?’

‘Oh! The car keys, Mother! I want to start loading up the baby’s stuff.’

‘Yes!’ Clare sniffed, disgusted at the way her mother was being treated. ‘Time is running out. We still have a lot to do!’

‘Yes, yes, of course, Clare, dear! Will your mother be staying to look after the boys? Naturally, I am taking baby. It would be too much to expect of your mother at her age of advancing years!’ There was a terrible silence while they all swallowed this. Then the little granny exploded. ‘On the contrary! You would have to be in your full health and be on your toes looking after two fine healthy strong boys! Someone in your condition wouldn’t be able for all that running around.’

‘I am sorry!’ the big granny snapped, whirling herself around, stopping the peeling of the chocolate, and narrowing her nose, squeezing her mouth into a pucker. ‘Might I ask what condition would you be referring to?’

‘Oh, I don’t mean to cause offence!’ mewled the little granny, delighted she’d caused an awful lot of offence. ‘I just meant with you having to carry all that weight. It must be an awful burden on your heart. I know of course you can’t help it. It’s in your nature. Being such a big woman and all that!’

‘MOTHER, IS THE CAR OPEN? WHERE’S DAD?’ screeched Greg, whipping himself into action, looking around at the hall, then giving a quick look over at Clare, who was staring stony-faced down at the baby’s feet kicking like mad to get out of the granny’s arms.

‘YES, IT IS!’ screamed the big granny, raging at being interrupted while she was trying to think of something vicious to throw back at the little granny. ‘He’s gone on walkabout!’ Then she lifted her huge breasts, taking in big breaths, and marched over, snatching the baby out of the little granny’s grasp, cooing, ‘Come to Granny. You must surely be making strange, with all these foreign faces huffing and puffing around you, you poor little precious diddledums. But you know your Granny Flynn! Of course you do!’ she said, tickling the baby under the chin, who just gaped back up at her, her huge big blue eyes starting to water, and her tiny little mouth starting to wobble, wondering when she should start crying, with all this snatching going on.

‘Yes, I was the first to see you after you were born!’ she rasped, nodding her head up and down, sounding hoarse from all the insults she was flying around. ‘Except for my son, of course,’ she cooeed over at the little granny, who shut her gaping mouth, clamping her lips together, her eyes narrowing, looking like she was thinking it would be worthwhile doing time in Mountjoy Prison just to wipe the smirk offa that aul one’s face.

‘Come on, Martha. Give me a hand to load up,’ said Greg, then he was out of the room and tearing out with the pram. ‘Bring the carrycot!’ he shouted back to me.

I raced into the sitting room, grabbing up the cot, and was out the door, standing in next to no time beside a big black car. ‘Gawd! This is very grand,’ I breathed to Greg, watching him opening the big car boot and throwing in the pram. ‘Your parents must be very rich.’

‘No, Mother just lives beyond Father’s means. He spends so long hidden away in that dusty old office, you would have to send in a search party to find him. Then dig him out buried underneath all those boxes and files. The poor man sits day and night poring over figures, I expect he’s covered in cobwebs by now.’

‘What does he do, Greg?’

‘He’s an accountant,’ Greg sniffed, ‘not a millionaire, as Mother would have people believe. Mothers!’ he moaned, curling his lip and rolling his eyes. ‘Here! Give me that cot. We’ll put this in the back seat for baby to sleep in. Now! Back into the fray.’ Then he threw himself back into the house.

I laughed, racing in behind him again, to bring out the tons of bags the baby was going to need. ‘That’s the lot,’ Greg said, standing with his hands on his hips, eyeing the car with the back wheels nearly sitting on the ground from so much stuff we packed into it. ‘Would you ever believe one tiny girl would need so much stuff?’ he asked, shaking his big mop of curly hair. ‘Any more than this and we will need to hire a removal truck to send her off. Oh, Dad’s coming,’ he said. Waving at a tall, thin, grey-faced old man with a grey moustache. Looking like his head was too heavy for his shoulders, he was so stooped. He was wearing a grey pinstriped suit, with a trilby hat sitting on his head, sucking on a pipe. The old man took the pipe out of his mouth, giving a big smile, and waved back.

‘Good girl, Martha! Thanks for all your help,’ Greg said, smiling down at me then taking off, slowly running to meet his dad.

‘How are you?’ I heard the old man say, clapping Greg on the back.

I turned and rushed back into the house. Clare was filling the baby’s bottles with milk she’d made up and looked around at me with a very tired look on her face. ‘Everything’s packed up for the baby, Martha,’ she said quietly, as I moved over to stand beside her.

‘Yeah, we couldn’t squeeze another thing in, Clare. The car is filled to the brim.’

‘Oh, don’t say that,’ she whispered, looking at me very seriously. ‘I hope you left room for the old battle axe over there!’ And she lifted her eyebrows, throwing her eyes back over her shoulder.

‘Yeah,’ I laughed in a whisper. ‘But she’s going to have a tight squeeze.’

‘Good enough for her. So long as I get her out of here, the sooner the better,’ she whispered, jumping her eyebrows up and down, her eyes laughing. I snorted, wanting to give a big laugh. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said, giving me a dig with her elbow. ‘Come on. Get me the Milton steriliser over from the worktop. I want to empty it. Then we can get her moving.’

‘Right,’ I whispered, flying over and handing her the big box holding all the soothers sitting inside, getting sterilised.

We loaded the stuff into a big leather bag, then Clare said, ‘Is there room on the back seat for this? Where’s Greg got to?’

‘Oh, he’s talking to his dad.’

‘Here we are,’ Clare said. ‘Are we all ready, then? Say goodbye to Granny, boys. She’s going to take care of baby while Mummy and Daddy are away.’

‘I’ll take the baby. You go on out to the car and seat yourself in. Give Granny a kiss, boys!’ the big granny shouted, wondering if she was getting the bum’s rush out the door or not.

‘Bye-bye, Granny,’ Ollie said, wrapping his arms around the granny’s neck. Timmy came tearing himself up from the floor, covered from head to toe in chocolate. His hands were soaked in it, and he held them out in front of him, just as the granny turned around, with her eyes suddenly turning to shock, and not getting a word out before he had his hands grabbing hold of her furry animal with the head and eyes staring out, and the two paws dangling at the other end. He grabbed a hold of it and swung out of it, planting a lovely big kiss on her eye, covering it in chocolate. I stared, then burst out laughing as she grabbed for her handbag, squealing, ‘Oh, no! Naughty Timmy! Don’t touch Granny. Wait until I get my handkerchief. Where is it?’ She searched her handbag, squinting, with one eye closed. Then rubbed her eye, making it worse.

‘Me, Mummy, me!’ Timmy shouted, looking up at her, not finished with his kisses.

Oliver stared, then said, ‘Granny, you look terrible! Your eye is covered in brown chocolate.’

The little granny screeched, laughing, saying, ‘Oh, dear. Poor Timmy! Look at the state of your poor Granny Flynn. Tut tut! What a shame he ate all that chocolate. Now you will be sick!’

‘Somebody get me a tissue. Oh, goodness! My make-up will be ruined. What am I to do? Is there a mirror down here? Do I have to go up to the bathroom? Oh, this is too much. Clare! Clare! Wait a minute, I have to repair my make-up!’

Clare whipped her head around, standing at the car talking to the granddad. Then she whipped it back for a second look and let out an almighty laugh. ‘Oh, Greg! You are dreadful for saying such a thing,’ Clare roared, trying to cover up the laugh, by slapping Greg on the arm, and holding the baby in the other, while the granny stared, wondering if she was laughing at her.

‘Wha . . . what!’ Greg barked, spinning his head, wondering what was going on. Clare buried her face in the baby’s blanket, while the granddad looked up at the granny under his bushy grey eyebrows. Then looked at Clare with a glint in his eye.

I rushed back in, closing the door, and whipped Timmy over to the sink, lifting him under the arms, keeping him well away from me, and turned on the tap, grabbing his hands and holding them under to wash them. ‘Now! Lovely and clean,’ I said, grabbing the washcloth and rinsing it under the tap to wipe his face and hair. ‘Oh, oh! Somebody is going to need a bath tonight,’ I said, looking at his little white face beginning to turn a different colour. It looks a bit green, I thought, staring at him as he licked the water from his chin, tasting the soapy facecloth. ‘Hmm! You look a bit sick to me. For once, Timmy, I don’t think you will be wanting any grub for your tea! Will you now?’ I said, leaning into him and landing a kiss on his face. It felt wet and cold, and still smelled of chocolate. He shook his mop of blond hair up and down then all around. Not sure what the right thing to say was.

‘Come on,’ said the granny. ‘Let’s get up to the bathroom.’

‘Eh, I think Missus Flynn is still up there,’ I said, looking at her. Watching her thinking, then seeing her face crease into a big grin.

‘Oh, you are so right, dear,’ she said, giving me a mouthful of yellow false teeth with the lipstick plastered over them, and half of her face. Then she grabbed Timmy and sat him down on her lap, saying, ‘Now, tell Granny what you have all been up to since I last saw you.’

‘Granny! Where’s Granny Flynn?’ asked Clare, steaming into the kitchen.

‘She’s up in the bathroom repairing her make-up, so she calls it. Gawd help us! More like looking for a chisel and hammer to take it off, I say,’ sniffed the little granny.

‘Oh, I hope she gets a move on. The baby will be due another feed before she gets her home at this rate of going,’ Clare moaned, rushing out to the hall. Then she came flying back in. ‘Mother, why don’t you go upstairs and get yourself settled? You haven’t even taken your coat off yet,’ she said, eyeing the canary-yellow coat with the big silver buttons, and the wide wraparound collar.

‘I was going to give Timmy his bath,’ the granny said, looking down at Timmy sitting on her knee, sucking his thumb, looking dead tired now.

‘No, you go on upstairs. You are in our bedroom. I’ve made the bed up for you. Come on, Mother! I’ll get Greg to bring up the cases as soon as I get rid of the one upstairs.’

‘Yes, now that you mention it, darling, I am feeling very tired after that long drive from Tipperary! Do you know,’ she said, putting Timmy on his feet and holding his hand, taking him with her, and Ollie grabbing her other hand, the three of them following Clare up the stairs, ‘I was actually sitting in the drive of the house, after pulling the car to a stop. Before I realised I had actually arrived! Can you beat that now?’

‘Oh, Mother! I worry about you driving that car,’ Clare said, sounding definitely very drained.

I stood in the kitchen, wondering what I should do to help. Clare usually gets the tea. Hmm! Maybe I should wait to see what’s happening. I looked around the empty kitchen, thinking the life has gone out of it now. It’s funny the way a room can be teeming with life one minute, then cold like a morgue the next. Wonder if I could nip in and watch the television?

I wandered out to the hall, seeing the grey emptiness in the sitting room, and looked out through the open front door, seeing Greg standing at the driver’s side of the windscreen, leaning on the car chatting to his father. It felt freezing cold with the door open, and the dark night creeping in already made me shiver. It couldn’t be any more then around four o’clock but the day is gone already. Gawd! I’m suddenly feeling flat as a pancake. It must be because Clare is going tonight. I’m going to miss her! The house already feels empty without her.

Me eyes peeled back at the kitchen, and I wandered back in again, sitting meself down in the armchair and leaned into the heat from the Aga, feeling glad of the bit of heat. I must still be under the weather from that aul dose of bronchitis. Jaysus! It really knocks the stuffing out of you. I listened, hearing the big granny and Clare coming down the stairs. With Clare sounding very worried the granny might not know everything there is to know about taking care of little baby Aoife.

‘Yes, she’s sleeping in the carrycot. Greg is out there keeping an eye on her, and talking to his father. Now, you know her routine. Generally, she takes a feed every four hours, but if she wakes before that, give her a bottle. You know the formula, and how to mix the feed. I’ve written everything down on the lists for you.’

‘Don’t worry, Clare, dear!’ the big granny laughed, making it sound like a cat being strangled. ‘I have reared three of my own, you know! They are all still hale and hearty. You should know. You are married to one of the great big lumps.’

I wandered out to get a look, seeing the big granny take her compact out of her bag and put more powder on her face, squinting into the compact mirror, and rubbing it hard into her purple nose. Then she slapped it back into her big handbag, and slammed the clasp shut, and fixed her hat, pulling it down and over to one side. Then she put on her leather kid gloves and took off out the door, stopping to look back at me and wave. ‘Well, I’ll be off, then! Goodbye . . . eh, dear!’ Then she was gone, with Clare trailing out the door after her, and standing on the footpath with her arms folded. While Greg came around to stand beside her and put his arm around her, pulling her in beside him. She kept bending down and looking in the back seat at the baby, making sure she was OK. I stared at the two of them standing side by side, even though Clare looked a bit cold and lost, without her baby, and even Greg’s arm around her didn’t make up for her loss.

The car started up and the granddaddy waved and the granny turned around, waving and smiling underneath the big hat! I rushed back into the kitchen, not wanting them to see me watching. I felt out of place. Like it wasn’t my business to be hanging around taking in everything that somehow seemed a bit private. Like I knew I’m not one of the family. It’s times like this when I’m caught off guard that make me realise just how much I miss not having that. Underneath all that guff, I do be telling meself that it’s just grand being on me own with no one to tell me what I can and can’t do. When really underneath I would give anything, just to belong to a family like this. Maybe one day I’ll meet a lovely man like Greg, and be just like Clare. Have me own family, and make them all happy. Just like Clare does. The room lights up when she comes into it. A good mother is everything. Yeah! And a good man to back her up, just like Greg. You can’t have one without the other! You definitely need a good man to make a happy family. I think that’s maybe more important then having loads a money. What good would that be when you’re cold and lonely?