“They’re much better.” Smiling now, Colleen held them up. “Branna’s such a way with things, hasn’t she, making up her lotions and creams and candles and so on. I love shopping in the Dark Witch. I always find some pretty little thing or other. It’s a lovely little shop she has.”
“It is.”
“And she comes by now and then, brings me samples to try out for her.”
“I know.” So Colleen could have her pretty little things, Meara knew as well, without spending too much.
“She’s a lovely girl, is Branna, and always looks so smart.”
“She does,” Meara agreed, and knew Colleen wished her daughter would dress smart instead of cladding herself for the stables.
We’ll have to keep on being disappointed in each other, won’t we, Ma? she thought, but said nothing more.
“The kitchen did clean up well, Meara, and thanks for that. But I haven’t a thing now, or the time really, to make a nice dinner for Donal and his girl. What will Sharon think of me?”
“She’ll think you had a bit of a to-do in the kitchen, so you called round to Ryan’s Hotel and made a booking for the three of you.”
“Oh, but—”
“I’ll arrange it, and they’ll run a tab for me. You’ll have a nice dinner, and you’ll come back here for tea and a bit of dessert—which I’ll go pick up at Monk’s Cafe in a few minutes. You’ll serve it on your good china, and feel fine about it. You’ll all have a nice evening.”
Colleen’s cheeks pinked with pleasure. “That sounds lovely, just lovely.”
“Now, Ma, do you remember the proper way to deal with a kitchen fire?”
“You throw water on a fire. I did.”
“It’s best to smother it. There’s the extinguisher in the closet with the
mop. Remember? Fin provided it, and Donal put the brackets in so it’s always right there, on the wall of the little closet.”
“Oh, but I never thought of it, being that upset. And how would I remember how to use it?”
There was that, Meara thought. “Failing that, you can dump baking soda on it, or better all around, set a pot lid on it, cut off the air. Best of all, you don’t leave the kitchen when you’ve got cooking going. You can set a timer on the oven so you’re not wed to the room when you’re baking or roasting.”
“I meant to.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“I’m sorry for the trouble, Meara, truly.”
“I know, and it’s all fixed now, isn’t it?” She laid a hand lightly over Colleen’s. “Ma, wouldn’t you be happier living closer to your grandchildren?”
Meara spent some time nourishing the seed she’d planted, then went to the cafe, bought a pretty cream cake, some scones and pastries. She dropped by the restaurant, made arrangements with the manager—a friend since her school days, circled back to her mother’s.
Since she had a headache in any case, she went straight home from there and rang up her sister.
“Maureen, it’s time you had a turn with Ma.”
After a full hour of arguing, negotiating, shouting, laughing, commiserating, she dug out headache pills, chugged them down with water at the bathroom sink.
And gave herself a long stare in the mirror. Little sleep left its mark in shadowed eyes. Fatigue on every possible level added strain around them, and a crease between her eyebrows she rubbed in annoyance.
Another day like this, she decided, she’d need all of Branna’s creams and lotions—and a glamour as well—or she’d look a hag.
She needed to set it all aside for one bloody night, she told herself. Connor, Cabhan, her mother, the whole of her family. One quiet night, she decided, in her pajamas—with a thick layer of one of Branna’s creams on her face. Add a beer, some crisps or whatever junky food she had about, and the telly.
She’d wish for no more than that.