‘—equally hormonal?—’
‘—equally hormonal, yes! Exactly!’ I say. ‘The Fabulous Forties Club… or something less cheesy. I don’t know. But wouldn’t it be good?’
‘I think you might be on to something there,’ Laura says, as she takes another drink from her coffee before turning her face towards the sky and closing her eyes.
‘It’s nice here, isn’t it? Even with the cold. It’s nice to sit and feel the hint of sun on your face and the cold nipping at your ears. Mum would’ve loved this.’
There’s a moment or two of silence. There is no doubt that Kitty O’Hagan – a woman determined to enjoy her life no matter what it threw at her – would’ve enjoyed this very, very much.
32
UBER FOR MRS BISHOP!
Daniel the Spaniel is in the biggest huff known to dog-dom. He has refused to so much as wag his tail or jump up on me since I arrived back. Instead he has been lying on his favourite spot in front of the fire giving me the mega side-eye roughly every five minutes.
‘Do you think he might be sick?’ I ask Adam, worried to see the usually enthusiastically affectionate dog so glum.
‘There’s not one thing wrong with that dog other than him being raging at you for going away for two nights. He’s been having the time of his life. Jodie fed him cooked chicken breast and rice for his dinner on Friday. Conal took him out to the beach yesterday where, by all accounts, he tired himself out with a bout of the mega zoomies and?—’
‘Wait! Conal took him out yesterday?’ My heart flip-flops.
‘Yeah, he called in yesterday morning. He was taking Lazlo for a run down at Lisfannon and thought Daniel would love it too. He said he would’ve messaged you but, obviously, you’d handed your phone in. It was really cute, actually. Dan the Man here was so excited to see Lazlo. He was wagging his tail so hard it’s a wonder he didn’t take off helicopter style.’
I can’t help but smile and vow to message Conal, or maybe even phone him, at the first opportunity I get. I have to start laying the foundations for my iceberg, after all.
‘…And then Granny called in and she brought some treats,’ Adam continues.
‘Your granny called in here? With treats. For the dog?’ I ask – nothing about that whole scenario making sense to my ears. First of all, my mother does not just call in here. She rarely visits here at all, and when she does it is only when I beg her to do so and offer to drive her here and back.
Second of all, my mother does not ever get treats for Daniel – who she still insists on calling ‘that dog’, even though he is ten years old and I love him as much as if I birthed him from my own body. That she would willingly call here, without my bringing her, and bring treats… I’m starting to wonder if there has been some sort of alien abduction and replacement situation.
‘Are you sure you’re not on drugs, son, and you didn’t hallucinate that?’
He laughs. ‘I’m pretty sure. I have proof, actually!’ He reaches down the side of the sofa and lifts up a bag containing two exceptionally beautiful and intricate crocheted cardigans in a soft cream yarn. Tears immediately prick at my eyes.
‘She wanted to leave over these cardigans that she knitted?—’
‘Adam – it’s crochet. I’ve warned you to get it right or you’ll end up written out of Granny’s will.’
He rolls his eye. ‘Sorry, Mum. These cardigans she crocheted, then. Jodie absolutely loves them.’
I take one of the cardigans in my hands and feel the soft, warm wool. I admire each and every stitch, knowing how painstaking this work is, especially given the developing arthritis in my mother’s hands. I am struck by such a huge wave of love for her that I almost forget that Daniel is still giving me the evil eye from the rug.
‘How did she get here?’ I ask.
‘She got an Uber,’ he says. ‘Mrs Bishop downloaded the app and they are absolutely thrilled with the whole thing. Mrs Bishop came with her, by the way. Did you know she used to sing in nightclubs around town? Caused quite a stir with her short skirts and big hair apparently.’
I think of tiny Mrs Bishop, short in stature, skinny as a twig and who looks as if a good breeze would send her flying and try to think of her mini-skirted, with bouffant hair and causing a scene in the dance hall. Yes, I’m shocked, but I’m also exceptionally impressed. Just as I am that she can get my mother out and about in an Uber, and to be nice to Daniel.
‘That’s mad,’ I say, the tiny cardigan still in my hand. ‘Brilliant, but mad. Go Mrs Bishop! Who’d have thought she had that in her!’
‘She seems like great craic,’ Adam says. ‘She has some stories to tell.’
I can’t help but feel a little ashamed that I have never given her the chance to tell me her stories. Yes, I’ve run a few errands for her, and made tea for her and my mother, but I’ve never really sat down to listen. Maybe it’s because I’ve been too busy, or stressed or just didn’t think to do it, but I still feel bad about it.
‘I must get chatting to her the next time I’m over in your granny’s,’ I say, and hand my big son back the tiny cardigan, trying not to think about the tiny cardigans he once wore himself or the fact that in seven and a half months there will be a little person in their lives small enough to fit in it. The exhaustion after a week well spent is definitely making me more emotional than usual.
He folds it carefully and places it back in the bag. ‘I’m going to get a storage box for my room so I can start collecting things for the baby. I want to make sure I have everything he or she will need. I definitely want to take extra good care of Granny’s gifts.’
