Mandy’s email is on my mind as I drive to work on Monday morning. She said so much in so few words. How does she know I’ve been agonising away? I swear she can read minds or auras or whatever. Nothing would surprise me with the amount of lasers and steams and needles and wraps she subjects her body to.
It’s quiet in the office without Aubrey. According to her Instagram, she and Jeremy are having a wonderful time on the Wild Atlantic Way, even if the weather has been extremely mixed. I really hope it’s nice on Saturday for Majella’s baby shower. It’s a real sign of how much I love Majella that I’ve agreed to take her to Dundrum on Thursday evening to find her a suitably sexy outfit. None of the stuff she’s ordered online is working, and although her frame is as small and wiry as ever, her bump is absolutely enormous now and so is her bust, which is new and exciting for Maj. She’s been a slave to the chicken fillets and clever use of bronzer all her life, so she’s dying to make the most of the new curves. I had to stop her when she started talking about how much Pablo is enjoying them. The accompanying actions were too much. I’m about to crack into a new spreadsheet for Suzanne Simmons’s eyelash glue launch when Hannah gasps from her desk opposite me.
‘What? Don’t tell me the Hairy Mollies have vetoed another balloon arch?’
‘Aubrey’s engaged!’
I gasp too and grab my phone, opening Instagram. There at the very top of my feed is Aubrey, clutching onto a beaming Jeremy at the Cliffs of Moher and displaying the tell-tale Hanging Hand beside her cheek. I personally love those freshly engaged photoshoots where the hand and the ring are manipulated to be the centre of every picture. It’s Sadhbh who christened it the Hanging Hand and ever since then it’s all I see, but I still love the joy of the moment.
‘OMG, OMG, so thrilled for you!’ I comment underneath, adding at least seven heart emojis. It was only a few years ago that I was looking at Hanging Hands on Instagram and wishing I was one of them, waiting and hoping for John to propose. It’s like looking back on two babies now. Only telling each other half of what we were feeling and thinking. ‘We’ll have to get a cake for when she’s back on Thursday.’
Hannah rolls her eyes but spares me a monologue about the patriarchy. She even smiles a bit. I think she’s happy for Aubrey too.
****
‘Is the ring nice up close?’
Majella is struggling to get the seat belt around the bump and sweating a little after our trawl around Dundrum. Unfortunately, most of the things she tried were either indecently booby or not quite booby enough. We eventually found a black tuxedo dress in the Mama section of H&M that she decided will do the job once her mam takes it up a couple of inches. I must admit, looking at the maternity clothes stung a little bit. I’d be right there with her, the size of a house, if things had turned out differently. She also bought two pairs of leggings that go right up to her bra and a silky nightdress.
‘It’s gorgeous. Oval diamond on a gold band.’
‘Lovely. Very classic. I haven’t been able to wear mine for months. If it wasn’t for the big boobs, I’d be absolutely fuming.’ She finally clicks the seat belt and leans back with a sigh. ‘How many times has John proposed to you this week?’
I smile and bite my lip. ‘Just the once.’ Last night as we lay side by side in bed, our bodies covered in a sheen of sweat, our chests heaving in unison. The surge of oxytocin nearly made me say yes.
‘Why don’t you bloody say yes? What’s stopping you?’
‘We’re only after moving in together. We’re only back together, like, nine months. I’ll know when the time is right. As long as nothing goes wrong. Nothing else.’
‘You don’t need to be worrying any more. You’re safe with John. And if not, I’ll simply murder him and his body will never be found. All the Blood and Bordeaux will come in handy.’
We’ve just hit the N7 when I circle back to the conversation about John, but really as an excuse to bring up the farm. I’d told Majella straight away about Mammy’s revelation, hoping she would have an answer for me somehow. All she could offer was surprise and consolation, though. Maybe if I try again.
‘Maj, can you imagine John living on the farm?’
‘Eh, I can, I suppose. What does he say?’
‘He says he’d be grand with it but can’t see himself as a full-time farmer.’
‘And you’re still thinking of becoming a full-time farmer yourself?’
‘Well, yeah. Can you imagine any other family living there? What if they changed the whole place? Or levelled it to the ground? Or put in the conservatory Mammy always wanted?’
‘Well, what were ye planning to do with it when your mother passed away?’
She’s got me there. It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the past four days. Truth is, we hadn’t had that conversation yet, me and Mammy and Paul. I just assumed we’d sort something out and keep it in the family, no matter what.
‘I don’t know. I just didn’t see selling up in the equation.’
****
After dropping Majella back into Pablo’s literally open arms – he was in the car park outside their apartment waiting for her, I don’t know how long he’d been there – I tip into Mammy’s to give her some shortbread I’d picked up in Marks and Sparks. She developed a fondness for it when I had to make shortbread biscuits for my Junior Cert home economics mock practical. I only got a B2 in the end because I forgot to sprinkle a tablespoon of sugar over them before they went in the oven, not that I’m still thinking about it or anything.
When I swing the Micra around, she’s standing at the back door, a cardigan slung over her shoulders. ‘Aisling! The very woman,’ she calls as I get out of the car with the biscuits.
I can tell from her expression that something is wrong. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s nothing, really.’ She’s looking past me out into the yard. ‘I just can’t find Tiger, the little rip.’
I can’t remember the last time someone called That Bloody Cat by her first name. It usually means she’s in trouble. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’
She rattles the packet of Dreamies in her hand. ‘Here, puss! Here, puss! Pspspspsps!’
We both freeze and wait to see her tail bobbing out from behind the strawberry beds where she likes to sleep in the shade. Nothing.
‘When was the last time you saw her, Mammy?’
‘Tuesday morning.’
‘You haven’t seen her since Tuesday?’ Now I’m worried. That Bloody Cat has always been very independent and is a regular gift-giver – rats, rabbits, mice, even a hare bigger than herself once. But I can count on one hand the number of times she’s missed a meal. ‘That’s really not like her. Yesterday was Wednesday. Ham and cabbage. She loves a bit of ham fat.’
‘I know,’ Mammy admits. ‘She hasn’t really been herself recently.’ She raises her voice like the cat might be listening. ‘Have you, puss?’
The pair of us turn around to scan the yard but again, nothing.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ah, just a bit mopey. I’m sure she’s fine, wherever she is.’
A feeling I recognise as dread has started to creep over me. ‘Have you looked in the house?’
‘Of course I have.’
‘In the washing machine?’
‘Aisling! Stop that!’
‘Sorry, I had to ask.’
It used to be That Bloody Cat’s favourite place to nap until Mammy went to put on a wash one Christmas Eve and she nearly met her maker.
‘I’m sure she’ll turn up when she’s hungry,’ Mammy says huffily. But she doesn’t sound so sure.
My phone rings. It’s Sadhbh on FaceTime. I hurry into the sitting room and answer. ‘Did you see Aubrey’s Hanging Hand for today? I think she might do a full week of daily po–’
Sadhbh is crying.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Me and Don have broken up.’
My heart drops. ‘Ah no, Sadhbhy. What happened?’
‘We had another row, a big one.’
‘About the baby stuff?’
‘Yeah. He’s just so worried he’ll regret it. And I can’t live with that.’
‘Oh, Sadhbh, I’m so sorry. Maybe he just needs time to think, on his own.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ She bursts into tears again.
I’m truly at a loss for what to say. ‘He’ll realise he can’t live without you. I’m sure of it.’
‘We’ve agreed to just go no-contact. He checked into a hotel. It’s only been an hour and I feel like he’s died.’
I remember reading a quote on Facebook once that said a break-up was nearly worse than a death, because with a break-up someone chooses to leave. With death they usually have no say. ‘You poor dote. Do you want me to come up?’
‘No, no, it’s grand. You have to get ready for the baby shower. I’ll see you on Saturday, sure.’
‘Don’t come if you don’t feel up to it. Majella will understand.’ But will Majella be able to accept that Don Shields is no longer in her life?
‘Okay, bye’
I’ve never heard Sadhbh sound so down. ‘Bye, my love. You’ll be okay.’
****
Back in the kitchen, I can hear Mammy out the back shaking the Dreamies, calling the cat. We’ve had That Bloody Cat since Daddy came home from the mart one Saturday afternoon with a scrawny little kitten in a shoebox. She was destined for the Rices’ cat pond, or so the story goes, until he intervened and said she’d come in handy keeping mice and rats away from the animal feed. It didn’t take long until she’d laid claim to her own chair in the kitchen and was on Daddy’s lap in front of the fire every evening, not that he’d admit she was becoming a house cat, of course. That must have been fifteen years ago now. I definitely remember her weaving around my legs when I was practising my shortbread.
I go outside to Mammy. ‘I’ll have a look in the polytunnels. You stick the kettle on. If she’s not there, I’ll get on to the Morans.’
‘I met Liz this morning when I was doing the Lotto. She hasn’t seen her.’
‘Have you asked Úna Hatton?’
‘Ah, Aisling. It hasn’t come to that yet.’
‘Mammy, she’s your closest neighbour! And you know she always has an eye on the house and garden. How else did she know to text you when your knickers blew off the clothesline?’
Mammy rattles the bag of Dreamies again. ‘Let’s give her one more night. I’m sure she’ll turn up.’
God, I really hope she does. The last time she was gone this long was years and years ago – she’d been hit by a car and it was Daddy who eventually found her at around 5 a.m. one freezing morning. He carried her all the home and spent a fortune at the vet’s to fix her broken leg.
‘Oh, and I’ll be over to collect the baby shower decorations on Saturday so I can give you a lift if you like?’
‘Will you not be having a drink, pet?’
‘I will later on in the evening, but I have loads of decorations to bring and I want to be the hostess with the mostess for a couple of hours at least. I can leave the car there and come back for it on Sunday.’
‘Should we, eh, will we offer Cara and Síomha a lift as well?’
‘Can they not drive themselves?’
‘I said they can stay here or in one of the yurts if they want to have a few drinks at it. Some of Majella’s cousins are booked in, and Matt and Denis will be out with Pablo and John and the lads.’
I take a calming breath in the name of the peace process. ‘Yes, okay, that’s grand then. I’ll text them.’