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‘I know what you’re going to say and it wasn’t me,’ Maureen shouted at her daughter. ‘And don’t interrupt me, I’m watching Entrapment. That Catherine Zeta Jones is very bendy, so she is. Sure you wouldn’t believe the limbo dance she can do to get under those laser beam thing-a-me-bobs.’ Maureen might have added that Moira had a look of Catherine about her but she didn’t feel like giving her daughter a compliment. She still hadn’t forgiven her for her little Daniel Day Lewis trick. It wasn’t nice to get a woman all het up like that over nothing.
She turned her attention back to the screen in time to catch Sean Connery attempting some bending of his own. It didn’t impress her; she’d never been a fan of his. Roger Moore was the Bond for her ever since she’d seen him in The Man with the Golden Gun. It was that film that had set this whole adventure in motion. The scene with Roger on the romantic old boat with its venetian blind-like sails had cemented a desire in her to one day sail on a junk. Preferably with Roger but Moira would have to do.
It had happened that one day she’d been out shopping for good quality walking shoes with her friend Rosemary—they belonged to the same rambling group—when she’d seen a poster of Ha Long Bay. She’d stood outside the Grafton Street Thomas Cook, mesmerised by the glossy photograph of limestone islands soaring out of emerald waters. That alone was breathtaking but it was the red-sailed junk that had captured her imagination and seen her drag Rosemary inside the travel agency.
Moira lifted the headphone away from Mammy’s ear. ‘Stop shouting,’ she hissed. ‘And it was so you. I told you not to eat the cheese.’
‘It’s not my fault. I think I may have a little intolerance problem.’ She definitely wasn’t going to say kind things to her daughter if she kept that up. Maureen folded her arms and tried to ignore her.
‘Then why did you eat it? And such a great big wedge too.’
‘Sure, what else was I supposed to have with the crackers?’
‘You could have left them; nobody twisted your arm to eat them.’
‘Moira, it was complimentary and the O’Mara family does not turn their nose up at complimentary.’
‘Well I’m turning my nose up now, aren’t I?’ Moira let the headphone ping back against Mammy’s ear and glanced past her to where the gentleman who’d told them he was in the importing and exporting business was asleep. He looked to be around his mid-fifties with a big head of badly dyed hair and the kind of girth that would make long haul flights uncomfortable. His importing and exporting, whatever that entailed, couldn’t be doing that well, she thought, not if he couldn’t stretch to a business class ticket.
He was late boarding and Moira was sure she’d caught a strong whiff of whisky coming off him as he’d squeezed into his seat muttering an apology. Once he’d managed to adjust his seatbelt he turned and offered up a brief greeting before, to Mammy’s disappointment, putting his headphones on and closing his eyes. He hadn’t so much as stirred since, not even when dinner was doing the rounds. Mammy was most concerned about him missing out on the beef noodle stir fry but Moira had managed to convince her that he wouldn’t thank her for waking him.
She felt a stab of envy watching his chest heave with a contented snore. Oh, to be sound asleep like that. He must have taken something because while she was knackered, completely banjaxed in fact with her poor old body clock telling her it was way past her bedtime, she felt wired. There was too much going on around her and she shouldn’t have had so many coffees. Lucky so and so she thought, screwing her nose up as she turned away, and not just because he had the aisle seat.
She normally loved the window seat but next to Mammy she felt trapped, squished in, and she twisted for the umpteenth time in her seat. She couldn’t get comfortable and crossing then uncrossing her legs she mused that the lack of leg room was punishment for being economy passengers. Sure, it was torture the way you had to walk through business class when you boarded. Trying not to stare at them all spread out like they were on their sofas at home, blankets already tucked in around their laps. She’d been about to nod off an hour or so back when she’d been startled awake by a kick in the shin thanks to an unapologetic Mammy doing her ankle rotations. Now, she let out a huffy sigh and glanced at her watch. Jaysus, five more hours of this! It seemed an interminable amount of time and leaning her head back against the seat rest she closed her eyes and let her mind drift off.
Heathrow had been a nightmare; the busy hub was heaving due to a swirling fog that had plonked itself squarely over the London airport causing delays. She and Mammy had fought their way through the swarms of disgruntled travellers to collect their bags and had checked in with Thai Airways without drama. They’d been left with enough time for another cup of coffee, and to have a wander in order to stretch their legs before boarding their plane.
Moira was grateful for small mercies, like Mammy refraining from dousing herself in Arpège at the duty free this time round. She was sure she’d only gone without a free top up because of the little boy who’d had the misfortune to sit in front of them on their short British Airways hop. He’d announced in that loud and proud way of the under-fives that he reckoned Nana must be hiding on the plane because he could smell her stinky flower smell. Moira had elbowed Mammy but she’d pretended she hadn’t heard.
Thanks to the fog, it was well over an hour before the plane that would take them on the last leg of their journey to Ho Chi Minh had been cleared for take-off. It was just long enough for her and Mammy to get edgy with one another. There they were trapped in their seats thinking about those feckers in business class as they sniped at one another—beholden to Mother Nature waving her wand and banishing the pea-souper. By gosh, at that moment in time, Moira would have loved a drink. Her mouth had watered at the thought of an icy cold glass of crisp, white wine.
She’d imagined the dry fruitiness smoothing out her ragged edges. Instead of imbibing she doused herself in Evian and as the pilot’s voice finally crackled over the tannoy system, he’d come as a welcome distraction. The sound system was dodgy but she’d managed to string together enough of what he was announcing to know they were expecting to be airborne in the next half an hour or so. She’d sat digging her nails into her palms thinking unkind thoughts about the woman who’d birthed her sitting next to her.
Moira blinked, coming back to her present situation. Her eyes were dry from the air-conditioning; the Evian wouldn’t do anything for that and she was beginning to feel a little cold. She retrieved the blanket from under the seat in front of her and ripped the plastic off before draping it over herself. Mammy she saw was still engrossed in her film. They’d stopped niggling at one another once dinner was served. All those foil sealed containers had broken the boredom as they’d peeled the lids back excited to see what was inside. Mammy had been most impressed with her meal as she said the last time she’d flown, a budget airline to Tenerife with Daddy, the meal had been so small ‘it t’wuldn’t fill the holes in yer teeth.’ Moira jammed her pillow up against the window and leaned her head on it feeling the vibrating motion of the plane as she thought back on her going away dinner with Andrea.
They’d met at Zaytoon in Temple Bar for a chicken shish, too skint to stretch to anything fancier but both agreeing the Mediterranean food was to die for. Andrea had been trying to keep a straight face over her glass of Coke, the restaurant wasn’t licensed which suited Moira just fine, at the thought of her friend backpacking around strange and exotic Far Eastern shores with her mammy.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘Sure, you’d be falling about the place if the shoe were on the other foot.’
It was true she would have been. ‘No I wouldn’t, friends are supposed to support and sympathise with one another.’
Andrea had snorted. ‘Ah well, on the bright side it’s a good thing you’re off for a bit because Friday night drinks are rolling around at the end of the week and someone is sure to shag someone they shouldn’t. You and Michael will be old news by the time you get back.’
‘But I didn’t shag him.’ Moira had defended herself.
‘I know that but you can hardly make a public announcement to say that while you seriously entertained the idea of finding out what lay beneath that suit of his and taking him for a few laps around the race track you didn’t actually pass the start line. And if he is after having extra marital affairs it’s not with you.’
‘He wasn’t like that.’
‘He was exactly like that Moira.’
Moira refused to believe her Michael, no scratch that he wasn’t hers, never had been, made a habit of sleeping around on his wife. Andrea however had him pegged as a middle-aged cliché and would not be swayed from her way of thinking. It had been time to deflect the conversation away from herself. ‘I wish you’d hurry up and give yer man one. That would give the Property girls something else to talk about. They’re the worst so they are.’
‘Conveyancing will do that to you, it’s boring as shite. As for me and Connor, there’s no chance. He’s still dating the Amazonian Accountant.’ Andrea had gotten that daft dreamy look at the thought of Connor Reid. It was the same expression she wore when she tucked into her bag of hot chips after a night on the lash.
‘No, not Connor, you need to move on from that eejit. You do not want a man who fancies himself more than he fancies you, Andrea. Sure, you’d spend the rest of your days fighting for mirror space. I told you I caught him gazing at his reflection in the lift doors the other day. I’m talking about Jeremy from IT. He’s cute in a computer man sort of a way.’
‘I don’t know why you seem so sure he fancies me.’
‘Because of his exorbitant interest in your box that’s why. He’s forever after tinkering with it.’
Andrea’s Coke had gone down the wrong way and as she coughed and spluttered, she sent tiny pieces of chopped lettuce flying off her plate. A couple glanced over alarmed, watching Moira get up to give her friend a few whacks on the back before fetching her a glass of water.
‘Are you alright now?’
Andrea had nodded.
‘I was talking about your computer by the way. You need to get your mind out of the gutter.’
The memory of that conversation made her smile but the smile faltered as an unpleasant smell wafted her way again. Mammy was shifting tellingly in her seat but had her eyes glued to the screen. Moira scowled at her even though she was oblivious. She felt bullied into this trip. It wasn’t on her bucket list. She didn’t have a bucket list for fecks sake, she was only in her twenties and as such never in a million trillion years had she thought she’d wind up where she was right now.
Ah she knew well enough it wasn’t Mammy’s fault she was here, not really. She’d gotten herself into a mess and Mammy was just trying to get her away from the pig’s ear she’d made of her life for a while. That and fill Rosemary of the recent hip replacement’s place. Why, oh, why couldn’t Mammy have booked herself a lovely long holiday in Sydney where there were lots and lots of shops and beaches or, or, she cast around, Hawaii, she’d always fancied Hawaii. But no apparently, Mammy had a dream—a dream to sail on a fecking junk, and had decided that since you never knew what was waiting for you around the corner, the time had come to fulfil that dream.
Thinking about it, if anyone was to blame for her present predicament it was Mammy’s so-called friend, Rosemary Farrell. It was her who’d left Mammy in the lurch. She’d decided she couldn’t possibly go to Vietnam for a month with Maureen, not when Bold Breda was making eyes at the new fella in their rambling group. This was despite already having booked. She didn’t want those bionic hips of hers going to waste. She hadn’t actually said that last bit and Moira pushed the thought of Rosemary getting up to shenanigans aside only to find the space instantly filled by Michael Daniel’s handsome face. She felt the familiar pang as she conjured up those beautiful eyes of his. Eyes she’d lost herself in. What there’d been between them had ended before it really began which was a blessing because she was not the sort of girl to have a fling with a married man. Although, she’d come close, too close for comfort.
In that respect it would be good to put some distance between herself and Michael because it was hard seeing him at work. There was part of her that longed for a glimpse of him, while the other half found it crushingly painful when she did catch sight of him. She’d never been the sort of girl to get red in the face and flustered when it came to men either but each time she set eyes on him she turned into a gibbering, scarlet faced imbecile. It wasn’t professional and people had noticed. She didn’t much like being the subject of office gossip and felt guilty for the times she’d gleefully listened to a juicy morsel being whispered over the top of the reception desk before repeating it to Andrea over lunch.
As for Michael he was seemingly unaffected by her presence and unfailingly polite when he spoke to her, which was only when strictly necessary. The consummate professional with his head held high around the law offices where he was a partner in the Aviation and Asset Finance department. The tattle about him and Moira was circulating like a virus travelling through the air conditioning ducts but it didn’t seem to touch him. Whereas her face ignited every time she walked into the tea room and the conversation came to a halt. Her sudden sabbatical would only add fuel to the fire but it would soon sputter away to nothing when she wasn’t sitting at her reception-desk post serving as a reminder to those with nothing better to talk about.
She thumped the pillow. Perhaps if she put some classical music on it might clear her racing thoughts and soothe her off to sleep. She dug out the headphones and plugged them in before fiddling with the remote until she found something suitable.