Title

MICHELLE VERNAL LOVES a happy ending. She lives with her husband and their two boys in the beautiful and resilient city of Christchurch, New Zealand. She’s partial to a glass of wine, loves a cheese scone, and has recently taken up yoga—a sight to behold indeed. As well as the Guesthouse on the Green series Michelle’s written seven novels—they’re all written with humour and warmth and she hopes you enjoy reading them. If you enjoy this Guesthouse on the Green, New Year’s Eve with the O’Mara’s short read then taking the time to say so by leaving a review would be wonderful. A book review is the best present you can give an author. If you’d like to hear about Michelle’s new releases, you can subscribe to her Newsletter here:

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Also by Michelle Vernal

The Cooking School on the Bay

Second-hand Jane

Staying at Eleni’s

The Traveller’s Daughter

Sweet Home Summer

The Promise

When We Say Goodbye

And...

Introducing: The Guesthouse on the Green Series

Book 1 - O’Mara’s

Book 2 – Moira-Lisa Smile

Book 3 – What Goes on Tour

Book 4 – Rosi’s Regrets

Book 5 – Christmas at O’Mara’s

And coming soon....

A Wedding at O’Mara’s pre-order https://books2read.com/u/bxvyJJ

New Year’s Eve with the O’Mara’s

By Michelle Vernal

Michelle Vernal asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This novel, New Year’s Eve with the O’Mara’s is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Dublin, New Year’s Eve 1999

Seven hours until midnight...

Maureen O’Mara breezed back into the guesthouse with Pooh in tow, her nose glowing red like Rudolph’s from the cold air. She’d just taken the poodle for a trot around St Stephen’s Green although, sometimes she wasn’t sure who was taking who for a walk. ‘Well that was invigorating,’ she announced stomping her feet on the mat. ‘How’re ye, Nina?’ The Spanish receptionist had swapped shifts with Bronagh and she smiled putting down the fax she’d been reading.

‘Fine thank you, Maureen. Are you looking forward to your evening?’

‘I am, thank you and it was very good of you to volunteer to work tonight.’

‘I’m happy to do so.’

Maureen knew she sent money to her family and guessed the extra cash she’d earn for working New Year’s Eve would come in handy.

‘Hola, Pooh,’ Nina said coming out from behind the desk to give the excitable pup a pat. She was fond of dogs, her family back home in Spain bred pointers. Compared to Pooh though, you’d think they were on Valium, their temperaments were much calmer and they didn’t have a penchant for nose diving where nobody should be snuffling without first being given permission.

‘Did you enjoy your walk?’ She gave him a scratch behind his ears and received a ruff by way of reply.

‘He always enjoys his walk. It helps burn off some of that excess energy. God Almighty, Pooh! Would you get your nose out of it? I’m sorry, Nina, he’s no shame.’

Nina laughed, pushing the poodle away before returning to the fax. ‘I’d better get this booking processed.’ The phone began to ring and she answered it cheerily in her accented English, ‘Good afternoon, O’Mara’s, the Guesthouse on the Green, how may I help you?’

Maureen left her to it giving her a wave and keeping a firm grip on Pooh’s leash as she headed through the reception area toward the stairs. She glanced into the guests’ lounge on her left and spotted an older woman enjoying a cup of what she guessed was tea. She was sitting on the sofa, her gaze turned toward the large picture windows and the street outside like a flower angling for the sun. Maureen paused, she’d always loved this lounge and had had such fun combing the antique markets for the treasures with which to fill it. When she and Brian had begun renovating, she’d poured her heart and soul into keeping the Georgian charm while ensuring the room was a cosy and inviting space for their guests. She liked to think she’d succeeded and it always gave her a lift to see one of their visitors relaxing in there, enjoying the ambience just as she’d hoped they would.

‘Hello there,’ Maureen called and the woman turned, a little startled at the voice, but managed to hold her cup and saucer steady. She beamed as she spied Pooh.

‘Hello. Is he a standard poodle?’ Her voice had a lilt which was a curious mix of Irish and American and she had the most arresting eyes. They were almost bottle green in colour.

‘He is.’ Maureen bought him up short; he was desperate to go and introduce himself but she didn’t trust him not to send the tea flying.

‘How lovely. I used to have one of those. His name was Fred. Dear old fellow.’

‘Well this is erm, Pooh, I wasn’t responsible for naming him.’

‘Hello there, Pooh. I take it your named after the bear.’

‘I like to think so.’ Given the poodle had been named by toddlers who’d probably not long been toilet trained she wasn’t so sure.

‘Could I give him a pat?’

‘Certainly, he loves the attention, so he does, just watch him though he has a tendency to be a bit too friendly with the womenfolk. I’d put your cup down first if I were you.’

‘Ah, Fred was like that too. He had a thing for all my female friends. A bit like one of my ex-husbands!’ She tossed her head back and laughed in a throaty manner that told Maureen she would have been a high-spirited woman in her day. She liked the look of her and wouldn’t mind whiling away a half hour or so chatting with her.

‘I might join you in a cup of tea if you don’t mind. I’m Maureen O’Mara.’

‘I’m Carol but here in Dublin I’m known by Pandora. It was my stage name many years ago when I had an act called Pandora’s Box. Are you the proprietor?’

‘Your stage name you say? Now, that sounds interesting. I trod the boards once so I did, everybody said I made a grand monkey, I wanted to be Dorothy of course but Eva Carney always got the starring roles. I think it was on account of her da being the local bank manager.’ Maureen tapped the side of her nose, ‘Money talks. And, I’m the former proprietor, my daughter, Aisling, manages O’Mara’s these days. You would have met her when you checked in.’ Maureen brought Pooh over and watched in amazement as instead of beginning a full-frontal assault he sniffed Carol’s hand before sitting down at her feet panting happily as she began to pet him.

‘Ah, the pretty girl with all that wonderful strawberry blonde hair and of course I don’t mind, please, join me. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’ she cooed to Pooh.

‘He’s not. Not normally anyway, you’ve got the magic touch. And, yes, that’s Aisling, although she could do with getting her hair trimmed, it looks ratty like she’s been gnawing on the ends but will she listen to her mammy? No, she will not. I even offered to do it for her, just a little trim I said, but she said she might as well stick a bowl on her head and be done with it if she were to let me near her with a pair of scissors.’ Maureen set about making her tea. ‘I used to cut my children’s hair when they were little; I’ve four of them and I told her it was all the fashion when she was a child. They all had the bowl cut so they did. Do you have children?’ Maureen retrieved a china cup and saucer and chose an Earl Grey sachet. She put the teabag in her cup while she waited for the jug to boil.

‘Yes, one daughter. Sarah. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years. We’re chalk and cheese. She can be very...’ she cast around for the right word.

Maureen could see in the way she held her hands and the expression on her face that she would make a very good actress indeed. She had, what was the word? Presence that was it.

‘...Disapproving,’ Carol finally offered up. ‘But she’s been very good organising this trip back to Dublin and the celebration for my birthday tonight.’

‘Your birthday you say, well, many happy returns to you.’ The jug clicked off and Maureen poured the water into her cup and waited for the tea to steep.

‘It’s tomorrow but as of midnight I turn eighty. I can hardly believe it, eighty! I’m celebrating in style tonight.’

Maureen could quite believe she would be. Satisfied the colour was just right she dropped the teabag in the bin and gave the brew a stir before carrying it over to the sofa and sitting down next to Carol. ‘I’d love to hear what your plans are.’

Carol smiled at her and there was a decided twinkle in her eye. ‘I’m going back to where it all began, my dear, because I’ve decided it’s time my daughter knew exactly where I started out, and let me tell you, it wasn’t in a starring role on Broadway.’

***

Six hours until midnight...

IN THE O’MARA FAMILY’S apartment on the top floor of the Georgian guesthouse the whole clan had gathered, pet gerbil included. Maureen and Pooh had left their new friend Carol so she could go and get ready for her evening which promised to be a mighty craic. It had been a tonic to confide in her as to what was playing on her mind, Maureen thought. Much more satisfying than the confession with Father Fitzpatrick had been. She’d made Carol promise to show her her outfit before she left for the club. As for their evening, plans had been made to dine at Quinn’s Bistro where the craic was sure to be good, and then, after some vigorous post-dinner dancing—she liked a good dance did Maureen—they’d find a spot from which to watch the firework display over the River Liffey.

The television was flickering with a New Year’s Eve variety performance show, and pre-dinner drinks had been served. It was all very civilised, Maureen thought, opening the cupboards to search for the bag of crisps she hoped nobody had helped themselves to while she’d been out. Civilised, that was, if you didn’t take into account Cindy’s skirt. Her son’s American girlfriend’s pink mini was a poor excuse for a belt. A moment later as she located the errant packet the mood became decidedly uncivilised as her youngest child, Moira appeared.

‘Aisling, you better not have used my new Chanel lipstick. Not with that fecking growth on your lip.’ She marched into the living room, or she would have, if her little black dress hadn’t been so tight. As it was, she sort of shuffled indignantly with her hands on her hips, bypassing her brother and Cindy who were sitting at the dining table half-heartedly watching the television. Cindy had a bottle of Evian water in front of her and her blonde head was dipped, revealing a shadow of dark roots as she sniffed at the bowl of salted peanuts in front of Patrick. It was Cindy’s thing, the latest diet sensation to hit Hollywood apparently. Sniff but don’t you dare eat. The Ciccone Scent diet, she said it was called. They were all getting used to it, sort of. Patrick, Moira saw out of the corner of her eye, normally a cocktail, metro sort of a man was channelling his inner lad. He was intermittently swigging on a can of beer and flicking peanuts into the air in order to show off his prowess at catching them in his open mouth to Cindy. It was like a peanutty mating ritual, or it would have been if Cindy was actually watching him, Moira thought, coming to a halt when she reached the sofa. She pointed a finger at her sister. ‘I hadn’t even taken the plastic seal off it, brand new it was, and the herpes is contagious you know.’

Aisling and Roisin, with Roisin’s son Noah sandwiched in the middle, were glued to the television. Noah had just informed his aunty and his mother that he could hardly breathe because they smelt like the freshener his Granny Quealey used in the toilet. Roisin had told an indignant Aisling there was no point explaining how much French perfume cost given he was only five. She’d be wasting her breath. It hadn’t stopped her though. Maureen, had joined in at that point saying that there were some very nice air fresheners on the market these days and she had one at home that smelt a bit like her Arpège and only those with a sensitive nose like hers could tell the difference. Her friend from the rambling group she belonged to, Rosemary Farrell, had been very impressed by it apparently. Although, Maureen lamented, overly generous with her usage of it because she’d nearly choked when she’d popped into the throne room after her.

On the coffee table in front of them, the two sisters each had a glass of wine and Noah, who was not long up from a nap to ensure he lasted the distance this evening, was making short work of his enormous glass of lemonade. Roisin gave it approximately ten minutes before, like a foot slammed down on the accelerator, the sugar would hit and he’d jump off her knee to begin bouncing off the walls. Rather like Mr Nibbles, his gerbil, whose little legs were currently going like the clappers as he did circuits on his wheel. Or, at the very least he’d annoy Pooh, who was worn out from his amorous and enthusiastic earlier greeting of the O’Mara sisters and Cindy. Unlike Maureen, he’d been delighted with Cindy’s skirt. He had problems that dog and the sooner he was seen to the better, Roisin thought. Looking at him now though, butter wouldn’t melt. He was sprawled on his pillow, happy doggy snores emanating along with other not so pleasant eruptions.

‘What have you been feeding him, Mammy? Sure, it smells like something crawled up there and died.’ Moira was momentarily distracted from taking her sister to task as she wafted her hand back and forth in front of her nose.

‘His meaty roll and dried biscuits are top quality, so they are. Check it’s not down to one of your sisters,’ Maureen replied, ripping open the bag of potato crisps.

‘It’s not, me,’ Aisling said.

‘Well don’t be looking at me. That dog eats better than we do,’ Roisin stated. Noah began to fidget as predicted. Ah well, she thought, Mammy had seen fit to give him such a generous glass of the fizz it was up to her to deal with the fallout. She would not be missing Westlife, thank you very much. They were all watching Pat Kenny in Studio4 and she was waiting for the five lads from Sligo who’d been storming the music charts. According to Pat though, they were in for a Riverdance treat next.

Aisling dragged her eyes away from the screen to give her younger sister a death stare. ‘And for your information, it’s not herpes it’s a cold sore, and no, I did not steal your lipstick. Look,’ she puckered her lips, ‘Mine’s got too much of an orange base for you.’

Moira made a cross sign with her index fingers and stepped back, ‘Jaysus, Ash, keep away from me with that thing would you.’

‘It’s not that bad.’ Aisling’s finger flew to her mouth and she began to prod at it.

‘It is, it reminds me of the spot Rosi was after getting that time. Remember the one that threatened to swallow her chin. I was only a child and I remember crying to Mammy that I didn’t want to ever be a teenager if things like that grew on your face.’

‘Leave me out of it,’ Roisin muttered, having no wish to be reminded of the trauma.

Aisling sniggered glad to have the heat off her. ‘Ah God, I remember. Mammy was on about taking you to the doctors to see if he would lance it. You were supposed to be going on a date with yer man, Ewan, the one with the motorbike, Rosi, and you rang to cancel but he never got your message and turned up here anyway. Sure, it was a great craic when you opened the door and he caught sight of you.’

The memory, even now, made, Roisin wince.

‘Toothpaste is good for pimples, Roisin,’ Cindy drawled, having come up for air from the peanuts. ‘Just a dab before you go to bed and voila it’s disappeared by the time you rise and shine. Works for me every time. You can’t afford to have ‘em in my business.’ Cindy was an actress who’d apparently been in a crowd scene on Baywatch which was why she had an enormous bosom and extremely white teeth. As to why Patrick had matching teeth, the sisters didn’t know but he’d made his joy at Cindy having such an enormous bosom clear on more than one occasion since they’d turned up unexpectedly for Christmas.

‘No, I suppose not and thanks for that, Cindy, but I don’t tend to suffer from them these days. Aisling that could be worth a try on your cold sore,’ Roisin said snarkily. ‘Why don’t you go squeeze half a tube on it and see if that helps?’

‘It’ll be gone by tomorrow.’ Aisling brushed Roisin’s barbed suggestion aside. ‘And, I put that much concealer on you can hardly see it, anyway.’

‘No, you’re right it’s grand,’ Moira muttered. ‘You’d hardly notice you’ve sprouted a third lip.’

‘Aisling O’Mara, stop poking at it. You’ll make it infected and then you’ll be sorry,’ Maureen called over, emptying the packet of crisps into a bowl.

‘What flavour are they, Mammy? Aisling dutifully dropped her hand.

Maureen picked the bag up and inspected it. ‘Salt ‘n’ vinegar. And I thought you were on a diet.’

‘I am and I was only asking. You don’t need to eat the head off me.’ Aisling wasn’t good when she was hungry. Arms folded across the chest of her green party dress, she turned her attention back to Moira. It was her fiancé Quinn’s favourite dress. He said it set off the copper highlights in her hair to perfection, which was quite flowery for Quinn, so she’d decided to wear it even though she preferred her blue one with the side splits. She was hoping it would distract him from her lip. ‘And you,’ it was her turn to point at Moira, ‘you’re supposed to be a poor student. You were only after telling me the other day you won’t be paying for your bridesmaid’s dress. What are you doing splashing the cash on the likes of Chanel when the rest of us girls, who are actually earning, use Boots No. 7?’

Roisin flapped her hand to shush them both. ‘Would the pair of you shut up, I can’t hear what Pat’s saying.’

‘Rosi, you nearly had my eye out then.’ Aisling was getting heated.

‘It’s all about priorities, Aisling,’ Moira stated. ‘Only Chanel does that particular shade of vampish red therefore I prioritise my finances in order to be able to afford to buy it. And, it is so the herpes. Poor Quinn.’ She shook her head. ‘Has he seen it yet?’

That was the final straw. ‘Mammy, tell her!’ Aisling shouted over to the kitchen where Maureen O’Mara was now helping herself to the crisps.

‘Sure, you’re as bad as each other.’

‘I wasn’t doing anything, it was her who came in accusing me.’ Aisling was wounded.

‘I don’t care who started it, I’m ending it. D’you hear me?’

***

Five hours and forty-five minutes until midnight...

CAROL’S NAME MEANT song of joy or song of happiness and she liked to think her dear old mammy and daddy had picked her name well. She hoped she had spread happiness and much joy throughout her many years and tonight, on the eve of not just a new century but her eightieth birthday, she planned to sprinkle a little more. She just hoped Sarah took her performance in her stride. She put down the lipstick she’d been applying to inspect her carefully applied stage make-up. Her eyes were her best feature, they’d always given people cause to comment. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for the good job she’d made with the false eyelashes; a must if eyes were to have oomph under the bright lights and no easy task to apply when one normally relied on glasses. Thank goodness for her steady hand. Fluttering her lashes for effect and to check they were firmly in place she blew a kiss at her reflection before retrieving the blonde Monroe wig, securing it over-top of her own sparse white hair.

She wore her hair short these days partly because it was the more flattering option and partly because it had simply stopped growing. A most peculiar thing hair. It refused to grow where you wanted it to and grew like weeds where you didn’t. There was one last thing needed to complete her toilette. She reached for the bottle, taking out the stopper and dabbing her signature Femme Rochas behind her ears. The rich dark plum and sandalwood notes burst forth making her feel like the femme fatale figure the fragrance had been designed for. Her first experience of the French perfume had been a gift from an admirer over sixty years ago who’d told her the shape of the bottle had been designed to resemble a woman’s curves. She’d fancied he was spouting what the girl on the perfume counter at Brown Thomas had told him but she hadn’t cared. She was flattered. It was the first of many gifts she was to receive during her time as the star act at Coco’s.

Carol’s eyes fluttered over to the wardrobe where the dry-cleaning bag containing her costume was hanging from the handle. She’d been counting down the hours until she could put it on, not that she hadn’t had a lovely day in Dublin’s fair city. The sounds and scents as she’d ventured down familiar pavements, her arm linked companionably through Sarah’s, had transported her back to her younger years. She’d felt the glow of youth settle over her and had been startled to look up at Sarah and see a woman of fifty with lines of disapproval etched into her face. How had the time passed so quickly that she had a daughter who was half a century?

The atmosphere on the fairy-light strewn streets was festive, and the sense of anticipation for the big night ahead was palpable. On Grafton Street, buskers had strummed guitars or crooned songs and, unable to resist the aroma of chestnuts roasting over a street vendor’s brazier, she’d even treated herself to a bag of the delicious nuts to share with Sarah. They were the taste of winter she’d told her daughter, enjoying the warmth of the paper bag she held in her hands and hoping they didn’t give her indigestion. So many things did these days.

Sarah had organised the trip and she’d picked their accommodation. She’d done well on both counts. O’Mara’s, the Guesthouse on the Green, was directly opposite St Stephen’s Green where she could recall feeding the ducks on long ago, lazy Sunday afternoons. It was also located a mere ten-minute walk, not that she’d be walking of course, from Coco’s Cabaret Club where she was due on stage later tonight. O’Mara’s was a definite step up from the flea infested pit she’d stayed in the last time she’d performed at Coco’s. This time around she’d told Sarah she wouldn’t be sharing a room either because at her age she was entitled to her own space. The days when hardship and discomfort were of no consequence so long as she got to do what she loved were long gone. Although Carol still loved to perform. She’d been basking in applause since she was eighteen and her talent for song and dance and well, other things, had been her ticket to a new and glamorous life in America. She’d started at the bottom of the ladder and worked her way up, rung by rung, until finally Broadway had beckoned and she’d never looked back until now.

Getting up from the dressing table, Carol retrieved her costume and pulled the protective plastic sleeve off it. It was a little early to be getting changed but she knew from past experience there wouldn’t be space to swing a cat in the box-sized dressing room out the back of Coco’s. No, it was better she got ready here and put her coat on over the top of her costume to wear to the club. Besides she’d promised to give Maureen a sneak preview before she left. She’d thoroughly enjoyed their chat. There were some people in life one just gelled with and she’d felt like that with Maureen. The poor woman was in an awful quandary as to how to tell her children she’d struck up a friendship that might be more than just a friendship with a man she’d met at a yacht club dinner before Christmas.

Carol’s advice had been simple and straight to the point. ‘Bite the bullet and be done with it just as I’m going to tonight. You don’t need your children’s approval in life, Maureen. If they choose not to give it so be it. You’ve your own life to be living and you need to grab it as hard as you can right by the balls, my dear!’

Carol was about to undo her robe when a sudden clattering beneath her window startled her. Surely, she was too old to be a target for a peeping Tom? She retrieved her glasses from the bedside table feeling her false lashes tickling the lenses as she put them on and, checking her robe was securely tied, she moved across to the window of the ground floor room. The element of surprise was key and she wrenched the drapes open, although if it had been a peeping Tom skulking about, he’d have disappeared in the time it took for her eyes to adjust to the dark.

She peered out into the courtyard and spotted the culprit. A bushy tailed creature was trotting stealthily away from the rubbish bin, the lid of which was still spinning on the ground. A fox! She hadn’t seen one in years and she watched fascinated as he reached the brick wall, unaware she was holding her breath as she wondered what he’d do. He turned, bold as brass, his pointy ears twitching and looked straight at her. She could see he had something in his mouth. Was it half a sausage? Yes, she decided, it was, and quite possibly the remnants of her own breakfast. She’d ordered the full Irish and had been unable to finish it all. The cook, Mrs Flaherty had bristled at the sight of a half-eaten meal although her feathers had been smoothed when Carol had gushed as to how delicious it was but that the plate had been almost as big as she was! No wonder the little red fox looked so pleased with himself. She fancied he’d stopped to look back in order to thank her and she watched as, with a flick of his tail, he disappeared underneath the brick wall and into the gardens she knew lay beyond.

She drew the curtains once more and donned her costume. Slipping into the shoes that reminded her a little of the ruby slippers Judy Garland had worn when she played Dorothy, made her think of Maureen once more and she picked up the phone to tell her she was ready.

She had time for one final appraisal while she waited for her new friend and she positioned herself in front of the mirror staring at her reflection as objectively as she could. All things considered she was in fine fettle for a woman approaching such a big birthday. Dancing had kept her trim and her limbs supple while her peers had gotten older and not so much wiser but definitely wider. Creaking doors the lot of them. The light caught the sequins on her red dress and as they shimmered and sparkled, nervous excitement surged. The sight of sequins had always elicited this response in her. The only thing missing was tassels but the time for tassels was gone.

Sixty-two years had passed since she’d debuted at Coco’s which was why it was fitting her swansong should be performed back where it had all started on the very night the curtain was to be called on the century and she’d find herself venturing into the uncharted waters of an octogenarian.

She performed a twirl, struck a pose, and hearing the knock at the door crossed the floor to open it.

***

Five and a half hours until midnight...

‘WOULD YOU ALL BE QUIET! Westlife’s about to come on,’ Roisin shouted. ‘And no, Moira I did not touch your fecking lipstick.’

‘Mummy,’ Noah said looking up at her. ‘Daddy says that just because you’re Irish doesn’t mean you’re allowed to swear.’

Roisin apologised and sent a mental feck off to her soon-to-be ex-husband back in London.

‘Well someone helped themselves.’ Moira was not letting Chanelgate go. She glanced over at Cindy. She wouldn’t have sneaked into her room. They weren’t on those, sort of terms yet and if Rosi and Ash weren’t the culprits that only left one person. ‘Mammy!’

All heads swivelled in the direction of the kitchen where Maureen O’Mara, with extra swishy hair and very red lips, stared back at them defiantly. She had the bowl of crisps clutched in front of her as if for protection.

‘Mammy, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times to leave my things alone.’ Moira stomped her foot.

‘And did you listen to me when I told you not to wear my polka dot mini dress with the white sailor collar?’ Maureen turned to her other two daughters. ‘She got tomato sauce down the front of it and I couldn’t get it out. That one suffers from a double dose of the original sin, so she does. She was always after helping herself to my things when she was a teenager.’

‘Those are my Balenciagas!’ Aisling screeched, pointing to the shoes on Moira’s feet.

Moira began to back away from her sister slowly, her attention on her mammy. ‘It was retro, Mammy. I wanted to look cool for the school disco and I was only fourteen. You hadn’t worn, it in years. Sure, nobody can hold a grudge like you can.’

‘Remember what George Best said.’ Patrick stopped throwing the peanuts to join in the discussion.

‘What?’ they all chimed, Cindy included, although she had no clue who George Best was.

‘He said Irish Alzheimer’s is when you forget everything except your grudges.’

‘That’s terrible, Patrick, don’t be repeating that,’ Mammy admonished.

‘Moira, you can take those shoes off right now and I want an apology,’ Aisling demanded.

Moira was sidling alongside Patrick now.

‘For fecks sake, all of you, I can’t hear a thing and they’re singing my favourite song,’ Roisin wailed.

‘Oh.’ Maureen jiggled up and down in her red silk dress. She’d had it made specially on holiday in Vietnam. The sisters were on the fence about the dress which they said gave their mammy the look of your prostitute one from China Beach. Right then and there though, she looked like she was about to have an accident as she sent a few of the potato crisps flying in the process.

‘Mammy, watch the crisps, the salt ‘n’ vinegar’s my favourite,’ Aisling moaned.

‘You wouldn’t want to get salt or vinegar in that growth of yours,’ Moira said.

‘Maureen, I’ll take those for you.’ Cindy shot out of her seat and took the bowl from her. She sniffed at it like there was no tomorrow.

‘Would you not just have one and be done with your Ciccone Scent diet, Cindy?’ Aisling pleaded, wanting her to get her nose out of the bowl. It was almost enough to put a girl off the potato crisp entirely. Almost!

‘Oh no, Aisling, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips. You should try it.’

Aisling was sorely tempted to snatch the bowl from her and shove a handful in her pouty, pink gob.

‘Is it that song, you know the one about swearing? It’s very catchy so it is,’ Maureen said, doing a little dance.

‘Don’t do that, Mammy, it’s cringy,’ Moira said.

‘Swear it Again, Mammy, it’s been number one.’ Roisin rolled her eyes. ‘And yes, it would be catchy if I could hear the fecking thing.’

‘Don’t be using that language in front of you know who.’ Maureen made her way from the kitchen over to the sofa, giving Moira a wide berth. She swiped the bowl of crisps off a startled Cindy and set them down on the coffee table. ‘Room for a little one?’ she asked, before plonking herself between Roisin and Noah.

‘Nothing little about it.’ Moira sat down next to her brother and scooped up a handful of peanuts.

‘I heard that and don’t be eating too many of them or you’ll be complaining of the constipation. They bind you up something terrible do peanuts.’

‘Nana, you’re squashing us,’ Noah grumbled.

Maureen responded by hefting her grandson onto her knee and squeezing him tight. ‘Now I’m squashing you.’

He wriggled free and took himself off to see Mr Nibbles.

‘Rosi, aren’t they a fine-looking bunch of lads?’ She pointed at the screen and began to hum in a way that signalled she might just burst into song.

Roisin side-eyed her. ‘Mammy, don’t you dare sing. I want to hear Shane Fillan, he’s a lovely voice so he has.’

‘And wonderful facial expressions, he makes me want to pinch his cheeks,’ Maureen said. ‘Just look at him all sensitive like.’

‘He looks like he needs the toilet,’ Moira called out through her mouthful of peanuts.

‘Moira! He does not.’ Roisin was cross on Shane’s behalf.

‘You’re always after lowering the tone, Moira. Sure, they’re the sort of lads I wish you girls had brought home when you were younger.’

‘Lads didn’t look like that when I was young, Mammy,’ Roisin lamented. ‘It was the early eighties. They all wore eyeliner and spent longer doing their hair than I did.’

‘Chance would’ve been a fine thing,’ Aisling said. ‘Although, my Quinn could be mistaken for your man Nicky there.’

‘Which one’s he, then?’ Mammy asked.

‘That’s him spinning around and clapping his hands.’

‘Oh yes, I can see a likeness.’

‘I think I had the look of the one on the end there when I was his age,’ Patrick piped up.

‘That’s Mark,’ Roisin supplied. ‘And you didn’t.’

‘Oh, honey, I think you look more like the hottie there on the left. Now he’s cute. What’s his name, Roisin?’ Cindy reached over and stroked Patrick’s arm giving him an eyeful. He preened. It was sickening.

‘Kian, and he doesn’t,’ Roisin tossed over. She was not happy with her brother, not after the conversation she’d overheard at Christmastime. Mammy was not in the money lending business the last time she’d checked, but it hadn’t stopped the entrepreneurial Pat from tapping her for a loan for his latest scheme. She hadn’t said anything to him or Mammy, nor had she mentioned it to her sisters. Aisling for one would go mad. She’d decided to wait until the New Year was over before broaching it with her brother, knowing he’d probably tell her to mind her own business anyway.

‘You’ve a memory like an elephant when it comes to some things, Mammy, and it’s like a sieve when it comes to others.’ Moira shook her head. ‘Do you not remember, Tait? He was the spit of yer man Brian there in the middle. You thought he was lovely.’

‘I do remember, now you mention it. But you chewed him up and spat him out like you did most of your boyfriends, poor love. He was heartbroken so he was.’

‘Mammy, he was not! It was him that broke up with me on account of his being gay.’

‘I can’t hear Shane,’ Roisin wailed.

‘What I want to know is does Shay know you have a thing for Shane Fillan?’ Moira asked.

‘I do not have a thing for Shane Fillan, sure I’m old enough to be his mammy.’

‘You’d have been a teen mom,’ Cindy volunteered, frowning as she tried to do the math. She reverted to using her fingers to count.

‘But you’re my mummy not his.’ Noah was huffy at the thought of sharing.

‘I know that, son, it’s just a figure of speech.’

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

‘Shush,’ Aisling said. ‘This is the best bit when Mark Feehilly does his solo bit.’

‘Jesus wept, would you look at the dimples on him! I bet his mammy’s sitting at home there in Sligo crying buckets watching him on the television. Aisling, you had a lovely voice, why didn’t you and your girlfriends get together and do something like this. Sure, I could have been sitting here watching you now.’

‘The Spice Girls beat them to it, Mammy,’ Moira said. ‘One Ginger Spice in the world is more than enough.’

‘Don’t be speaking with your mouthful, Moira. God above, you’ve the manners of a heathen.’

‘I might have done if they’d let me be in the choir at St Theresa’s,’ Aisling pointed out.

‘Not even my porter cake held any sway with the choir mistress. You can’t say I didn’t try, Aisling, and the woman was tone deaf in my opinion.’

‘Mammy, you tried bribing half of Dublin with your porter cake. Remember when Patrick didn’t make the hurling team and Moira wanted to be head girl because she thought she’d be able to do what she liked at school?’ Roisin said.

‘And don’t forget you, you heffalump, when you failed your ballet exam,’ Patrick shot across the room.

A grand debate ensued as to whether or not Maureen O’Mara had attempted to bribe Dublin officialdom in order to advance her children. Meanwhile the song drew to a close with none of the O’Mara family having heard a word of it. The boy band was bowing by the time Mammy looked back at the television and insisted everybody clap.

‘Ow! Ooh, it stings, it burns.’

‘Aisling, I nearly spilled my drink. What are you carrying on about?’ Roisin asked.

‘I got salt in my cold sore.’

Mammy stood up then. She went into the kitchen and retrieved a teaspoon which she used to tap the side of her wine glass. Once they’d all quieted down, she went red in the face and blurted, ‘I want you all to know I have a man friend.’

Aisling forgot all about the stinging of her cold sore and Maureen was grateful when the phone rang. It was Carol inviting her to come and see her all dressed up in her finery. She hung up grateful to make a get-away before they all came to their senses and started firing questions at her like she was a teenager going on her first date.

***

Five Hours Until Midnight...

‘TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH, Carol, I was glad to escape. You should have seen their faces. They looked just like they did when I told them Father Christmas had been on the telephone to say that he’d not be calling on the O’Mara children come Christmas Day unless they started listening to their mammy and doing as they were told.’ Maureen perched on the edge of the bed. She was over her shock at the sight of all those sequins and had been very impressed with Carol’s false eyelashes.

‘They’ll get over it, Maureen. That’s the hard part done now.’

‘No, I don’t think it is, Carol. If I’m honest I almost wanted them to be outraged so as I’d have a reason not to see him again. Brian’s all around me you see and I can’t help but feel happy one minute and terribly guilty the next. My mood’s swinging worse than when I had the menopause.’ It felt good to unburden herself to someone completely without bias.

‘Maureen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my eighty years on this planet it’s this. The biggest obstacle in our way when it comes to being happy is usually ourselves. Now I didn’t know your Brian obviously but I’m guessing from the way you speak about him he wasn’t a selfish man.’

‘He was a lovely man, God rest his soul.’

‘Well then, with that being the case, I feel confident in saying I don’t think he’d have wanted you to be lonely or to feel guilty about not wanting to be lonely.’

Maureen pondered what Carol had said, deciding she was a very wise woman indeed.

‘Now then, wish me luck and help me into my coat, would you?’

‘Break a leg,’ Maureen said, holding Carol’s coat open for her to slide her arms into.

‘I’m hoping I don’t break my hip! Thank you,’ she said, belting her coat and, catching sight of herself in the mirror, she cackled. ‘I look like the flasher I encountered many moons ago in Central Park.’

‘A flasher!’ Maureen was aghast. ‘You mean like a dirty old man in a mac sort-a thing? I’d chop it off, so I would.’ She made a chopping motion with her hand.

‘Yes, not a good look with his shoes and socks and nothing else on especially given it was a cold day. I don’t mind telling you the sight of his shrivelled thing-a-me-bob sent me off in fits of giggles. He looked most put out.’

Maureen found herself laughing at Carol’s story then, remembering she wasn’t the only one who had things to be gotten off her chest tonight she added, ‘I hope it goes well with your daughter.’

Carol took hold of her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’ve enjoyed meeting you Maureen O’Mara.’

‘And, I you.’ The two women smiled at each other.

***

Four hours until midnight

CAROL, STILL WEARING her coat, peeped around the red velvet drapes and scanned the candlelit tables crowding the floor of the club. It was a full house and she was tempted to call out and wave as she recognised different family members and other faces that were blasts from the past. She refrained because they might guess what she was planning and it would ruin the surprise. She could see Sarah sitting by the area in front of the stage that was kept clear for dancing, of which she hoped there’d be plenty later on. Oh, she hoped Sarah took what she was about to do in her stride. She’d had enough of pretending where her daughter was concerned. She loved her dearly but tonight was her night and she intended to revel in it no matter what Sarah thought of this, her original act—almost.

She watched the waiting staff, all neatly turned out in black and white with dicky bows, passing around the hors d’ouvres. The bubbles too, were flowing freely. On stage the jazz band was ensuring that the audience’s toes were tapping and the air was hazy with cigarette smoke. Everything was exactly as she’d hoped it would be. Everything was just as it had been.

So much planning had gone into this evening, into getting it just right. To give credit where it was due, Sarah had been a marvel the way she’d managed the practical arrangements. In another life she’d have made a wonderful theatrical agent instead of opting for the career in accountancy she’d recently retired from. Carol fancied Sarah had thoroughly enjoyed herself organising it all. She wasn’t doing retirement well and really, if she wasn’t careful, she’d turn into the most awful neighbourhood busybody, and her grandchildren had informed her she was driving them around the twist with her helpfulness.

It had given Sarah purpose orchestrating her mother’s party. So many transatlantic phone calls had been made in order to pull it all together. It had been her, however, who’d organised the cake and who’d sat down to write each and every invitation by hand. A labour of love and, as she’d written out the different names, she’d tripped down memory lane with each of them. There were friends and family in the crowd who’d gathered to celebrate with her whom she hadn’t seen since she left for New York and there were people who’d travelled all the way from New York to be with her tonight.

The music began to wind down and Carol discarded her coat, feeling her familiar friend, adrenaline, begin to spike as, with an agility that belied her years, she climbed into the pop-out cake. It was really very clever with its cardboard interior and real icing exterior.

‘Alright, love?’ Mickey the stagehand grinned; he’d not seen an act like this before in all his thirty years backstage.

‘Never better, dear.’

Mickey gave her the thumbs up and closed the lid. It was hot inside and Carol thought nobody could say she hadn’t suffered for her art over the years. She felt the cake shudder and then begin to glide across the floor.

***

Two hours until midnight...

‘SLÀINTE!’ THE O’MARA family clinked glasses across the table they were all squeezed around, having made room for the four extras who’d just joined them. Quinn, Aisling’s fiancé and the owner of Quinn’s Bistro where they’d just enjoyed some delectable traditional Irish fare, was in his chef’s whites and the aroma of frying onions and garlic clung to him. It was a scent Aisling adored. He’d ventured out from the busy kitchen to join in the toast at her insistence. Tom, Moira’s trainee doctor boyfriend, who supplemented his income by waiting tables here at the bistro but who could have a fine career as a bottom model, if there were such a thing, had also abandoned his duties. Roisin’s new flame Shay, who played the fiddle in the band about to take to the stage and liven the place up now the dinner service was done, was about to drink to their health and, lastly but by no means least, Alasdair the maître d’ had joined them at Maureen’s insistence. He was presently insisting that she was in fact Maureen O’Hara not O’Mara. “Think The Quiet Man,” he’d said, professing he’d been John Wayne in a past life—it was Alasdair’s thing.

Noah had yet another glass of lemonade plonked in front of him and was managing the late hour well, even if he did look like his eyes were being held open by matchsticks. Cindy for once had opted for a white wine spritzer which, given she’d sniffed her way through her meal, was making her giggly. The sight of her jiggling assets was causing several male patrons to receive swift retribution under the table from their female dining companions.

‘Now then, before you disappear, what are your resolutions, lads?’ Maureen raised her voice above the din of excited chatter all around them. To her relief when she’d gone back upstairs after waving Carol off nobody had said a word about anything. They’d obviously had a big powwow and decided the best course of action was to say nothing. Well, that was fine by her. She knew her children inside and out and they’d put it aside for tonight but they would not be able to leave it alone for long. In the meantime, she retrieved the page she’d ripped out of a magazine. ‘Because I brought this along.’ She opened it up and smoothed it on the table, ‘It’s an article on the ten most popular New Year’s Resolutions,’ she explained. ‘I’m going to write everybody’s resolutions down and add any from the magazine article I think would do you good.’ This time she was all business as she produced a notebook and pen. ‘And then, in three months, I’m going to quiz you all to see how you’re getting on with sticking to them.’

‘Jaysus, give me strength.’ Moira rolled her eyes.

‘Quinn, you can go first.’ Aisling volunteered him.

Her other half looked pensive, while Aisling looked expectant. Quinn knew it was one of those defining moments whereby if he said the right thing, he might get to see the new year in with a bang but get it wrong and, he mentally shook his head, it didn’t bear thinking about. He chewed his bottom lip, stalling, and then decided to go all out in what his soon-to-be wife called the fecky brown-noser stakes. ‘My resolution is to enjoy every second of my wedding because I want to remember it for the rest of my days.’ Score! he thought, seeing Aisling’s eyes shine but then checking out her lip he wondered if he might catch whatever it was. Best he get back to work, he decided, taking his leave.

All eyes moved to Tom. He’d gotten up from his seat having spotted a table in need of clearing. Moira’s hand had taken the opportunity to grope his backside ‘Um, to study more.’ Moira’s hand dropped. Uh-oh, he thought, scrabbling for the correct answer. ‘Can I have two?’

‘You can.’ Maureen looked up from her scribbling to nod graciously as though she were a judge presiding over her court.

‘Well, my second resolution is to spend more time with my gorgeous girlfriend here.’ The hand went back to the buttock and he got a squeeze of approval.

‘Isn’t that a little hypocritical?’ Aisling asked. ‘How are you going to study more if you’re spending more time with Moira?’

Tom didn’t stick around to answer her.

‘Now then, Shay, you’re on.’ Maureen pointed her pen at him.

‘Ah, that’s easy. To spend as much time with my grandad as I can.’

Roisin raised her glass to him. She knew how much his grandad, with whom he’d only recently reconnected and who was terminally ill, meant to him and, as much as she’d have liked to, there would be no hands on the bottom with her new paramour, not while her son was in their vicinity.

Shay winked at Roisin and said he had to go and warm up his fiddle.

Roisin grinned at him like an idiot and he grinned back at her, also looking like a lovelorn idiot, but Moira broke the spell.

‘Christ on a bike, Rosie, warm up my fiddle? Talk about inuendo. Your man’s all class so he is,’ she said, watching him take his leave and begin to weave his way around the tables to the stage.

‘What’s inuendo?’ Noah asked as Roisin glared at her sister. ‘And what’s Shay’s fiddle like, Mummy? I haven’t seen one before. Is it a big instrument?’

Moira went puce trying not to laugh and Roisin’s wine went down the wrong way.

‘What do you do with a fiddle anyway?’

That was the end of Moira and Aisling had to slap Roisin on the back and pass her a glass of water. While she was trying to compose herself, Maureen intervened, glaring at both of them before ruffling her grandson’s hair. ‘Sure, Noah, don’t mind those two eejits. You go on up to the stage, and ask if you can have a look at his fiddle. Shay won’t mind.’

It was all the excuse Noah needed to get out of his seat and have a wander about.

‘Alasdair? Your turn.’

‘I’m going to learn how to speak French.’

Maureen clapped her hands delightedly. ‘I do like a French accent.’

‘Mon amour,’ he cooed, getting up from his seat and blowing her a kiss goodbye.

‘Bonjour,’ Maureen simpered back in her Irish accent.

‘It’s au revoir, Mammy,’ Roisin supplied, having sorted herself out.

Maureen ignored her. ‘Now then, Patrick, what have you to say for yourself?’

He told them he’d like to eat at home more and Cindy resolved to learn how to cook.

‘What about spending more time with your family? It’s number four on my list here,’ Maureen stabbed at the magazine page.

‘I’m here now, Mammy,’ Patrick replied.

‘I’m still putting it on my list.’ Maureen made a show of writing it down.

‘I’m going next, Mammy,’ Moira said. ‘I resolve to stay off the sauce for another year.’

‘Good for you,’ her sisters chorused.

‘Very good, Moira, but I think we’ll add that you need to save more and spend less, too’ Mammy said, putting pen to paper once more.

Moira scowled.

‘I resolve to qualify as a yoga teacher and find a successful work life balance,’ Roisin offered.

‘All well and good, Rosi,’ Maureen looked up from her note taking, ‘but, number six here suggests being organised. I’ll jot it down, shall I?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘That will help you along your way with your balancing and your yoga, so it will.’

She was still writing when Aisling spoke.

‘Hold your horses, Aisling, I’m not done yet.’

Aisling busied herself arranging her napkin over her empty dessert bowl as though that would render it invisible.

‘Now you can speak.’

‘I’m going to lose weight in time for my wedding.’

‘I’m telling you, Aisling, the Ciccone Scent diet works miracles,’ Cindy chirruped.

Aisling gave her a wan smile and wished she was her sister so she could kick her under the table like she frequently did Rosi and Moira.

‘Hmm.’ Maureen tapped the pen to her lip. ‘Learn to delegate is on the list. Now, that sounds like you, Aisling. I’m going to add that. You need to stop trying to do everything yourself and getting your knickers all knotted. You won’t lose weight until you do that because you know you’re a stress nibbler.’

‘Thanks for that, Mammy.’ Aisling eyed Roisin’s half eaten profiterole it would be a shame to waste it. ‘And what about you, Mammy?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ the others chimed, waiting expectantly.

‘Ah, well now, I’ve already written mine down. I’d like to travel more, learn something new, and enjoy life to the fullest.’ She looked from one to the other daring them to say a word.

Moira snatched the notebook and pen and scrawled something in it.

‘What’s that you’re after putting down?’

‘I resolve to stop stealing my daughters’ belongings, especially Moira’s.’

***

One and a half hours until midnight...

THE JAZZ BAND HAD LAUNCHED into a rambunctious version of Happy Birthday and Carol listened out for the tap on the box that would signal it was time. She knew the drill, wait for the tap, count to three, and then burst forth. Ah, there it was—just as well because she was beginning to seize up.

One, two, three! And out she popped of the cake. Her arms were raised as she struck a pose and shouted, ‘Surprise!’ Only this time Carol, or Pandora as she used to be known, was clothed and there wasn’t a tassel in sight! She revelled in the cheers and applause, blowing kisses at her beloved audience. It was a triumphant moment in a long career that had seen her begin as an exotic dancer here at Coco’s. For a split second as she batted her lashes, which satisfyingly stayed in place, Carol was eighteen years old again. Her bosom was not held up by reinforced wire but free and pert as she expertly twirled the tassels attached to her nipples. It had been her signature act. She caught sight of Sarah whose mouth had fallen open and winked at her. Oh, dear the poor girl was in shock, she thought. Perhaps she should have warned her.

Sarah however, surprised her by getting up from her seat and putting both fingers in her mouth to whistle in a most un-accountant like manner before applauding her mother enthusiastically.

Carol took a bow and thought perhaps she’d been too quick to judge her daughter. Maybe she wasn’t the prude she’d had her pegged as after all. Still waters ran deep.

Ten minutes later when a jubilant Carol, champagne flute in hand joined her daughter at her table it was her jaw that dropped when Sarah leaned in and whispered in her ear. ‘Like mother like daughter. How do you think I paid my way through college?’

***

Fifteen minutes past midnight...

THE SCREAMS OF HAPPY New Year were dying down as the fireworks continued to explode sending a cacophony of colour into the night sky. The pavements were full of New Year’s revellers hugging and kissing one another in delight at being part of such a momentous occasion. In amongst the cheering crowds marvelling at the display was Patrick, with Noah perched on his shoulders, the little boy staring in wonder at it all. Cindy was next to them in her Russian Cossack hat and faux fur coat whilst Maureen, prattling on about KY2 bugs, had her arm linked through Roisin’s. Moira and Aisling had opted to stay back at Quinn’s with their menfolk—they were missing out Roisin thought. The mood here was as electric as the Bruce Springsteen concert she’d gone to at Wembley back in ‘85.

She’d have liked to have seen the new year in with Shay but she’d managed to sneak in a more than satisfactory snog with him out the back of Quinn’s when the band was on a break. It would have to suffice. She looked up at her son, wondering how he would take finding out Shay was a ‘special’ friend of mummy’s. She hoped his tummy wouldn’t twist like hers had upon hearing her mammy had a special friend of her own. She’d suspected she might, but to hear her actually say it out loud had been difficult. It had been Patrick who’d put his foot down when Mammy had taken herself off downstairs. He’d told them all to shut up and that as the oldest he was pulling rank. They were all to behave normally and not say a word or he’d give them a dead arm like he used to when they were kids. It hadn’t been easy but they’d managed it.

No, she mused. It wasn’t a conversation she was looking forward to having with Noah, but one that would need to be had if Shay continued to make her heart beat faster and her knees go weak every time, she saw him. Noah was oblivious to the thoughts racing around his mummy’s head as he yawned, his head beginning to droop. It was time they pushed their way back through the hordes and headed home, Roisin decided, knowing there’d be no show of a taxi tonight. Still and all, it wasn’t too far to walk. Nowhere in the city was too far from O’Mara’s.

‘Time to go,’ she mouthed at Pat. He leaned down and tried to find Cindy’s ear under her hat to tell her they were going to head back to the guesthouse.

‘Stick together,’ Maureen bossed, always the camp leader. All she needed was an umbrella to hold straight up in the air and she’d be set, Roisin thought, as she marched forth.

They’d wound their way away from the crowds when Maureen announced she needed to spend a penny, adding, ‘You know what I’m like when I get excited.’

‘Ah, Mammy, can you not wait? We’re nearly home, so we are.’

‘I’ll ask you the same thing after you’ve borne your fourth child, shall I, Roisin?’

Roisin was duly silenced.

Maureen pointed ahead. ‘Look, there’s a pub at the end of that laneway. Sure, they won’t mind me availing myself of their amenities. I’ll duck in there.’

‘Well I could do with putting this fella down for a minute,’ Patrick announced. Noah was sound asleep in his uncle’s arms; a dead weight. We’ll wait for you here, Mammy,’ he said, sitting on the bench seat by a bus stop. Roisin and Cindy followed suit.

Maureen set off the short distance, but as she reached the lane, a car pulled up, effectively blocking her entry. She squinted. It was an awfully big car, one of those stretch limousine things people like your man Bono probably got about in. Well, it might belong to someone rich and famous but it was still illegally parked and she was a woman in need of a toilet. She steamed on up to it and rapped on the tinted window. It slid down slowly and Maureen scrutinised the scene, all set to tell whoever it was that nobody was above the law and that they needed to move their vehicle on. It took her a moment to twig but when she did, for once in her life, she was rendered speechless.

Sweet Mother of Divine! She’d know those dimples anywhere. Sure, it was only the band they’d been watching on the television a few hours earlier. The five lads from Westlake. The boys in the back of the limo grinned at her.

She finally found her voice although it came out high and squeaky a bit like a mouse. ‘I bet your mammys are all very proud to have such talented and sensitive sons, so.’ She barely heard the driver as he apologised for blocking her way, explaining he’d had to take an urgent phone call.

‘Ah, it’s not a bother.’ She was starstruck and had forgotten all about nobody being above the law. New Year’s well wishes were exchanged, the window slid up and the limo slipped away into the night as though it were never there. Maureen forgot all about the toilet as she shouted, ‘Rosi, Rosi! You’ll never believe it!’

***

One Hour Past Midnight...

‘I’M TELLING YOU IT was, them. It was Westlake,’ Maureen stated, catching wind of the conversation as she sat back down at the table, they’d all had dinner around earlier.

‘Westlife, Mammy,’ Roisin corrected her for the hundredth time.

Maureen ignored her. She hadn’t expected to be back at Quinn’s but sure, hadn’t she been turned away like Mary and Joseph from the inn when she’d asked at the pub if she could use their facilities.

It had taken her a few minutes to come down from the high of having come face to face with her new favourite boy band but nature had called loudly once more and she’d taken herself off down the lane. A burly man who looked like he’d polished his head was on the door of the pub and much to her chagrin he’d refused her entry. They were closed he’d said and she’d pointed out that she could see people moving about through the frosted glass window pane and hear some eejit murdering a Pogues song inside. He’d folded his arms across his chest then and reiterated his earlier sentiment that they were shut. He’d reminded her of Arnold Schwarzenegger in those films of his and she’d seen red, standing on her tippy-toes in order to prod him in the chest, ‘Well,’ she’d said, trying to eyeball him but still only coming up to his shoulders. ‘I hope some Terminator meets Mr T type doesn’t turn your poor mammy away from the door in her hour of need.’ With that she’d waddled, knock-kneed back to where the others were waiting. It was Patrick who’d suggested they make their way back to Quinn’s as it was their closest port of call.

Now, as Quinn placed a trayful of Baileys down in front of them before squeezing in next to Aisling, she was glad they had come back. Shay who’d finished loading up the band’s gear joined them, giving Roisin’s hand a squeeze under the table. Noah was sound asleep on Patrick’s knee, only the tips of his lashes visible on account of his hat having slipped down over his eyes. His cheeks were flushed rosy pink and he was making contented snuffling noises much like Pooh had been earlier. The tables around them were in need of clearing but Quinn had told Tom to leave them and come and join everyone in a drink. Given he’d been run off his feet for most of the night, Tom was glad of the break. The fire was beginning to die down in the grate but the space was warm from the body heat generated on the dance floor throughout the evening. A man at a table near the stage was beginning to sing Danny Boy, and one of his friends had produced a harmonica.

Maureen picked up her glass. ‘I’d like to make a toast but first I want you all to promise me you’ll blacklist the Fretting Ferret on Conway Lane.’

There were murmurings of ‘we promise’ and ‘isn’t it disgraceful turning a woman who’d birthed four children away from the door.’

Maureen raised her glass and looked around the table, her heart suddenly full as she gazed at her children’s faces. They, were happy, all of them and a mammy couldn’t ask for more than that. New Year was also for remembering those they loved who were no longer with them. ‘To Brian,’ she said a tear in her eye.

‘To Brian.’ ‘To Daddy.’ Came the collective reply but before they could get so much as a taste of the silky liqueur Maureen held her hand up.

‘Hold your horses. I’m not finished. Now then,’ she licked her lips, ‘here we go. Always remember to forget the troubles that pass away. But never forget to remember the blessings that come each day.’

‘Slàinte, Mammy,’

‘Slàinte, Maureen.’

‘Oh, and I’ve one more.’

‘Oh, for fecks sake,’ Moira said. She wasn’t having a Baileys but she was keen to drink her hot chocolate before it got cold.

Maureen ignored her. ‘To, the lovely lads from Westlake and may they have many more songs on the hit parade.’

‘It’s Westlife, Mammy!’

The End

Maureen O’Mara on behalf of herself and her late husband, Brian, requests the pleasure of your company at the marriage of her daughter,

Aisling Elizabeth O’Mara

Quinn Cillin Moran

A Wedding at O’Mara’s – 14 February 2020, Pre-order: https://books2read.com/u/bxvyJJ

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***

MICHELLE’S LATEST STANDALONE novel:

When We Say Goodbye

https://books2read.com/u/47EX5g

heart-warming...When We Say Goodbye is an ideal novel to curl up with as the autumn evenings draw in.' NetGalley Review