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‘Jaysus what is she wearing?’ Moira muttered as she came around the front of the red Ford Focus Mammy had replaced the Beemer with not long after Daddy passed. Aisling joined her sister giving their mammy the once over.
‘They’re fisherman pants, you know the sort people wear in Thailand on their hols. You don’t normally team them with a black polo neck and boots though,’ Aisling informed her sister. She’d not be holding her hand up to having once worn baggy elephant pants on a Bangkok stopover. ‘All she needs now is one of those conical leaf hats and a scooter.’
Moira shook her head. The wide-legged pants might look the part in a tropical climate but on a freezing day beside the South Lough in the Powerscourt Estate’s car park, they looked bizarre. ‘I’d got only just gotten used to the nautical look.’ Since she’d moved to the seaside village of Howth, Mammy had taken to wearing nautical striped tops, white pants, and boat shoes. Moira had never thought she’d say it but they’d at least looked the part.
‘I can hear you,’ Mammy said as the car bleeped and, satisfied it was locked, she stuffed the keys in her bag before joining her daughters.
The sisters were unabashed. ‘Where did you get those pants, Mammy?’ Aisling asked. ‘They’re very ethnic looking, so they are.’ She eyed the green and gold swirls on the fabric dubiously.
‘Shirley from golf gave them to me when she heard Rosemary and I had booked to fly to Vietnam. She got them on her holidays in Thailand last year.’
Aisling shot Moira an I told you so look, before saying, ‘Do you not think you might have been better saving them for your trip to Vietnam?’
Mammy suddenly lunged, left leg forward. Moira was reminded of the Warrior pose she’d once done in a yoga class Andrea had dragged her along to. Her favourite pose had been Corpse. It had been great, lying there like she was dead, listening to swishing tides and seagull cries, very relaxing, her kind of exercise. Andrea hadn’t wanted to go back though, she said yoga wasn’t for her, she was after more of a cardio workout.
‘What are you doing?’ Aisling asked as they made their way toward the palatial entrance of the hotel.
‘I’m showing you why I’m wearing them.’
‘Right.’ Aisling was bewildered but Moira just shook her head once more—and Mammy had the nerve to say she took things too far!
‘See, I can do all sorts in them.’ She squatted to prove her point.
‘Mammy!’ Moira hissed, fearful she might demonstrate the Downward Dog next, here in the regal grounds of the Powerscourt Estate. She cast around for CCTV cameras but couldn’t spot any.
Mammy was not chastened, although she contented herself with taking giant strides instead of striking any more unusual poses. ‘They’re the comfiest pants I’ve ever owned, girls. Although I did manage to get myself into a bit of a tangle trying to do them back up after I’d been for a visit.’
‘Jaysus, Mammy, that kind of visual could put a girl off her cakes.’
‘Moira, I’d be quiet and quit while I was ahead if I were you or you won't be getting any cakes. You’re still in my bad books.’
Moira did as she was told. She kept her mouth zipped all the way to the Sugar Loaf Lounge. The Georgian-styled lounge bar was busy. It was a popular destination with locals and tourists alike, and she was surprised Mammy had managed to secure them a table over by the windows. She relaxed into the mustard upholstered chairs and couldn’t help but admire the glorious, albeit overcast view of the rolling Wicklow countryside. ‘This is a lovely treat, Mammy, thanks.’
Maureen O’Mara looked appeased. ‘So we’ll not be having any more of you carrying on over me booking myself a nice holiday? Because I had a phone call from Roisin asking what I thought I was up to. She told me you put her up to it.’
Moira chewed her lip; her sisters were both tell-tale tits and she still had plenty to say about Mammy’s trip but the fight had gone out of her today. She felt like a vacuum-packed bag that had had all the air sucked out of it. ‘I shan’t say another word.’ Today at least she thought watching the staff scurrying back and forth with the three-tiered serving trays piled high with edible works of art. Mammy was chattering on about the plans she and Rosemary had been making for their trip with Aisling commenting in all the right places. She let their voices wash over her as her mind strayed to Michael. She wished she could get that intimate moment she’d seen him and his wife share in the entrance to The Saddleroom out of her head.
The arrival of their afternoon tea was a timely distraction from replaying the scene yet again. It seemed to get worse each time she ran through it. They’d be having a fecking grope in the entrance at this rate she thought, helping herself to a scone. It was deliciously light and fluffy and the dollop of strawberry jam along with the Chantilly and lemon curd that had had her taste buds in an anticipatory tizz earlier was divine. Except, today it wasn’t. Today, it tasted dry, like cardboard, and the cream seemed to have a tang as though off. It wasn’t the food, it was her because Mammy and Aisling were tucking in, pigs at a trough, making annoying little mmm noises, and is yours good? because mine’s lovely remarks. She put the half-eaten scone back on the plate. It seemed Michael had broken her heart and killed her taste buds.
‘What’s up with you, Moira? It’s not like you to let your sister get the rainbow coloured tiramisu cake.'
She looked over at Aisling who gave her a triumphant smirk. The said cake was on her plate and her fork was raised ready to do its worst. Mammy was right, it wasn’t like her. Once she’d even rapped her sister hard over the knuckles with her teaspoon to prevent her from getting it. There was only ever one slice amongst the other delectable bites and if she didn’t get it, things could get ugly. It was her favourite, and as such, she wasn’t prepared to consider going halves.
‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.’
Mammy put her fork down and swivelled in her chair to face her youngest daughter before pushing Moira’s hair away from her face.
‘What’re you doing, Mammy, you’ve Chantilly cream all over your hands, you’ll get it in my hair.’
Mammy stared hard at her through narrowed eyes. ‘You’ve not been out doing the binge drinking again have you?’
‘Jaysus, Mammy.’
‘What? You drink too much, in my opinion, Moira. Every time I see you, you’re green around the gills, so you are.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are. I remember telling you the last time we went for lunch you looked like your Shrek woman, the Princess Fiona.’
Granted, that had been a particularly big night.
‘I think it’s man troubles, Mammy,’ Aisling piped up, and at the word man, Maureen O’Mara’s eyes lit up and she put down the shortbread she’d decided to nibble on next.
Moira glared at her sister and decided she’d pin the poster of Bono she’d had hidden on the shelf at the top of her wardrobe, waiting for the right moment, to Aisling’s bedroom door when she got home. Her sister couldn’t stand the Irish rocker, and a dose of Bono is what she’d get for landing her in it. It was a close-up shot of him too she thought, with a modicum of short-lived satisfaction, because Mammy was like a dog with a bone when it came to the man subject.
‘Have you a man then, Moira?’ The hope on her face made it shine and she looked almost angelic. Almost.
‘No.’
‘She does, or she did. His name’s Michael.’
‘Shut up, Ash.’ Moira got her foot ready because if Aisling mentioned Michael’s age, she was going to get a kick under the table.
Mammy looked at Moira questioningly.
‘We had a fight,’ she said limply. ‘It’s over.’
‘A-ha! I knew it. He wasn’t sick at all. You left your posh engagement party early because you’d had a barney.’
‘Engagement?’
Moira almost laughed. Aisling had done it now. She’d said the ‘e’ word. Served her right. Her sister sat back in her chair sensing the error of her ways.
‘Shirley from golf who gave me these pants, her daughter, she’s younger than the both of you, by the way, is after getting engaged to a lovely young man. Shirley never stops talking about the wedding.’ Mammy directed her attention to Aisling. ‘How are things progressing with you and Quinn?’
‘We’re grand,’ Aisling replied, feigning great interest in her cake.