Authors: Marita Conlon-McKenna
Dermot, Matt’s dad, came in the back door a few minutes later and as he gave her a welcome hug she got the whiff of whiskey off him.
‘Maureen phoned me to say dinner was ready,’ he said, as he hung up his tweed jacket.
‘She’s gone upstairs,’ Kerrie explained. ‘She’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Did the woman not offer you a drink?’
‘Oh, it’s OK, I’ll wait and have something when we’re eating.’
‘You’re a guest in our home. You’ll have a drink now,’ he insisted. ‘What will it be?’
‘A gin and tonic, if you have it, would be nice before dinner.’
‘Gin and tonic it is!’ he said, opening one of the kitchen cabinets to reveal a huge selection of alcohol. He poured her a large, almost double, measure and rifled the fridge for the chilled tonic water. ‘Ice?’
‘Yes, please.’
They found some lemons and she added a slice to it. Matt arrived down to the kitchen as she felt the reviving shot of alcohol relax her.
‘Hey, I’ll have one of those, too, Dad.’
They were on their second G & Ts by the time Maureen appeared. She checked the oven and announced that the dinner was ready.
‘Where are we eating?’ asked Dermot.
‘Let’s just eat here!’ suggested Matt.
‘I’ve already set the table in the dining room.’
‘I’ll set here instead,’ said Matt. ‘It’ll be more relaxing when it’s just the four of us.’
‘Very well,’ said Maureen, ‘but do it quickly.’
Kerrie was relieved that at least dinner wouldn’t be too formal, and helped to put the butter dish and some glasses and napkins on the kitchen table.
‘That was wonderful, Maureen.’ Kerrie had to give Matt’s mother her due. She had probably just eaten the best fish pie she had ever tasted in her life. Perfect fish – salmon, cod, some prawns – in a rich creamy sauce with a topping of warm buttery mash and a selection of garden vegetables. She laughed, watching Matt and his dad bickering over who would finish off the rest of the dish.
‘Leave some room for pudding, you two!’ Maureen warned. ‘It will be ready in another fifteen minutes or so. And while we’re waiting, Dermot and I want to hear all the news on your wedding plans, and find out exactly how many people we are let to invite to the celebrations.’
Kerrie cast a warning glance at Matt, who was too busy practically licking his plate to react. ‘Maureen, we’re having
quite a small wedding,’ she reminded her. ‘That’s why we’re going to the South of France.’
‘France? Are you still set on that?’
‘That is where we want to get married,’ Kerrie said calmly. ‘Matt and I don’t want a huge fuss and palaver, just close family and a few friends. We’ve talked about it.’
‘Your sister had a wonderful wedding in Ashford Castle. Surely something like that would be more suitable for you and Kerrie?’
‘That was Georgina’s wedding, Mum – we want something different.’
‘But Matt, think of all your cousins and relations … they aren’t going to see you get married! And then there’re some of our dearest friends … we’ve been to all their children’s weddings. What are Dermot and I to say to them about this hole-and-corner-style wedding?’
‘Mum, we are getting married in a very exclusive place. The South of France. It’s absolutely beautiful there, and there is a lot to be said to not having miserable Uncle Clem and awful Aunt Irene, or a load of cousins that I barely see from one end of the year to the other at my wedding. Kerrie and I don’t want the big hotel and the big wedding like everyone else!’
‘We want our wedding to be special,’ insisted Kerrie. ‘It’s our wedding.’
‘What about your parents?’
Kerrie blushed. She knew her mam and dad had been gutted when she had told them about the small wedding in France. They couldn’t understand why she wasn’t going to have a big traditional wedding like her sister Martina and her brother Mike had had.
‘They’re totally OK about it,’ she fibbed. ‘I think they are
both actually looking forward to having something a bit quieter and smaller without all the fuss they had for my sister and my brothers’ weddings.’
‘It’s the young people’s prerogative to have the type of wedding they want, Maureen. I’m sure Matt and Kerrie are well able to decide what they need,’ said Dermot, as he got up to fetch another bottle of wine for the table. ‘And that’s the end of it.’
Maureen threw a despairing glance at her husband.
‘Now, where’s that pudding you promised us?’
Dermot gave Kerrie a wink, and she felt like hugging him. She hoped that there’d be no more discussion about their wedding for the weekend.
‘That pudding is amazing.’ Kerrie was not really a dessert person, but the bread and butter pudding layered with sultanas and brown sugar was absolutely yummy.
‘It’s been Matt’s favourite ever since he was a little boy. The others would want a big chocolate cake for their birthday, and all Matt would want was “my pudding”.’
‘It’s still my favourite.’ Matt laughed.
‘What kind of puddings do you make?’ Maureen asked inquisitively.
‘I’m not much of a pudding person, to be honest,’ Kerrie admitted, flustered, thinking of the desserts her local delicatessen, Polly’s Pantry, offered or the Marks & Spencer range. ‘It’s more just a cake or a tart when we have friends in, with some ice cream or something.’
‘No bread and butter pudding?’
‘No, sorry … I guess I’ll have to start making it for you, Matt.’
‘Maureen’s a great cook,’ beamed Dermot. ‘Trained in London, you know!’
‘I did a cordon bleu course there when I was about twenty. My mother sent my older sister Jane and me over to do a cookery course there for six months.’
Shit! Matt’s mother would have to be a cordon bleu cook. Now Kerrie felt even more inadequate. ‘That must have been fun,’ she said.
‘It was a lot of hard work, but I have to admit it has stood me in good stead!’
Kerrie stared at her plate. Why had Matt never mentioned to her that his mother was a trained cook? The only food he ever talked about was the awful swill he was served at boarding school. He’d told her that ever since, he hadn’t been able even to look at a boiled egg, let alone eat one!
‘Let’s take our coffee and cheese in the drawing room,’ Maureen suggested. ‘The fire is lit and it will be nice and cosy just to sit and chat there.’
It was warm in the drawing room, and Kerrie curled herself up on the couch beside Matt. The fire was flickering, casting shadows on the polished mahogany and sparkling glass of the sideboard. She felt kind of relaxed and drowsy after all the wine. Matt and his dad were talking about having a game of golf in the morning.
‘There’s the MacRory Cup Dinner on in the golf club tomorrow, if you fancy it?’ suggested Dermot. ‘The Mullens and the Finlays are going, and I’m sure most of the neighbours. Are you and Kerrie interested in coming along? Your mother and I have a table booked already.’
‘Sounds fun!’ Matt laughed. ‘Thanks, Dad. It’ll be nice to
meet up with some of the old gang and introduce them to my beautiful fiancée. Count us in.’
Kerrie had hoped that maybe Matt and she could slope off on their own to one or two of the nice local pubs and grab a bit of food there.
‘And I’ve organized for everyone to come here for Sunday lunch,’ added Maureen. ‘Georgina and Charley say they’ll come down from Dublin, too.’
Kerrie tried to hide her dismay at such a big Hennessy gathering over the weekend, with no time at all for Matt and herself to be alone!
‘What about a glass of port to go with that lovely Gubbeen cheese?’ urged Dermot, as he poured Kerrie a glass of the ruby red port.
The dogs were sitting at the fire. Jet, the Labrador, was panting spreadeagled on the mat. Bobby moved over to Dermot’s feet, while Lady ambled over to Kerrie and jumped up on the couch beside her, resting her head on Kerrie’s lap. Absentmindedly, Kerrie petted the little terrier’s ears, trying to stifle her fear of dogs and pretend that it was OK to have one panting and breathing kind of funny on top of your dress.
The port was lovely, giving her a warm glow all over, and she was so relaxed that she almost managed to forget the terrier was there until it began to make a strange kind of choking noise. Ugh, what was wrong with it? Suddenly Lady began to gag, and regurgitated a pile of steaming hot brown disgusting dog vomit that somehow resembled what Kerrie had fed it earlier. Looking at the smelly pile of yuck deposited on her red dress, it was as much as she could do not to hurl herself in front of the Hennessys!
‘Matt, open the French doors and let Lady out immediately!’ ordered Maureen. The little dog leapt off Kerrie’s lap and beat a hasty retreat towards the open door.
‘I’m sorry, Kerrie! But the poor dog must have eaten too much earlier on,’ murmured Maureen. ‘You didn’t by any chance give her any extra dog food when you were feeding her?’
‘No, of course not,’ Kerrie fibbed, her cheeks blazing.
Matt disappeared to the kitchen and reappeared with a cloth and a bucket, and began to help clean the offending mess of vomit off her good dress. Yuk, the dress was destroyed. She would never be able to wear it again without feeling nauseous.
Finally able to stand up, she escaped upstairs and stripped off, throwing the ruined dress into a plastic bag. She was so upset she felt like climbing into bed and pulling the duvet over her and staying there. What a disaster of a night!
She didn’t belong here, didn’t fit in … this whole family set-up was totally out of her league! The Hennessys knew that, and so did she … Matt was the only one who seemed blind to it. Why did that dog have to go and ruin everything?
She couldn’t … no, wouldn’t, let a dog destroy her future, she thought as she ran into the bathroom and washed herself. She covered herself in perfume before pulling her long black knitted John Rocha top over her black leggings and touching up her lip gloss.
‘You OK, Kerrie?’ asked Matt, concerned, when she eventually reappeared.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, sitting down on the couch beside him,
relieved to see there was no sign of the dogs as she cuddled into him.
The fire was blazing and his parents were talking softly.
‘Kerrie, dear, is there anything I can get you?’ offered Dermot, standing up.
‘I’d love another drop of that lovely port please, Dermot.’ She smiled, pulling her long legs up under her.
Kerrie pulled on her warm grey cashmere sweater and slipped her feet into her sturdy black leather walking shoes as she glanced out of the window. Matt was shaving in the bathroom and once he was finished they were going for a walk in the nearby woods. The rain had held off and she was looking forward to a break away from the house before Sunday lunch. She put her stylish grey suede boots back in her bag. Most of her weekend wardrobe had proved utterly useless, and she wished she had given more thought to what a few days in Moyle House would entail before she had packed.
Last night she had felt very overdressed in the golf club in her figure-hugging purple dress. The men’s eyes had been out on stalks, but their wives hadn’t been quite as friendly when they had had pre-dinner drinks in the bar before eating.
Matt and his dad had played golf on Saturday while she had accompanied Maureen to the village to a local farmers’ market which had a huge array of vegetables, food, plants and local products on offer.
‘Buy the best and use the best,’ advised Maureen. She
drove the stallholders crazy with her deliberations over every vegetable and pickle and chutney she bought. Kerrie had followed Maureen’s advice and purchased a few things for their kitchen back home.
The cheese looked great, and there was a nutty brown bread and some pecan slices. There was red onion chutney, a damson jam, some honey, marmalade, a jar of apple sauce, mint jelly, and some delicious homemade fudge … one of Kerrie’s weaknesses.
As they walked around the village Maureen pointed out some of the local landmarks, including Dermot’s favourite watering hole, Delaneys, and the small primary school where her children had gone when they were little.
‘It must have been hard for you when Matt and Ed and Georgina went off to boarding school,’ Kerrie volunteered.
‘Our children had to go boarding … it’s a tradition,’ Maureen said. ‘The boys went to Castle Wood, where Dermot and his brothers were educated, and Georgina went to Annefield College. You know, it wouldn’t have been good for the children to be hanging around the village, like the rest of the locals. I had always known that they would have to go away. I’m sure Matt, when the time comes, will probably do the same.’
‘Matt wasn’t that happy in school,’ Kerrie said softly. ‘I think he must have missed home a lot.’
‘Well, he never said much to us,’ said Maureen. ‘He was always a quiet type of boy … he needed to toughen up like his older brother, Ed.’
Kerrie said nothing. Over her dead body would any of her children be packed off to boarding school. Her childhood might have been chaotic and a lot less financially comfortable
than Matt’s, but she could remember walking in from school and feeling the warmth of the kitchen. Her mam would be in her apron, either cooking or cleaning or washing, but stopping whatever it was she was doing to ask how Kerrie’s school day had gone, and what the teacher had said, and what she had learned. Her parents had been great encouraging them all to study and do well.
After lunch on Saturday Maureen had gone to visit a sick friend in the local retirement home. Kerrie had opted to explore the Hennessys’ fields and gardens, ignoring the pleas of the dogs, who wanted to come with her. As she walked around the grounds of Moyle House she couldn’t help but be impressed by what Maureen and Dermot were doing there: there were compost heaps and organic vegetables, and even some hens scratching in an enclosure. There was an orchard with old apple trees and a pear tree, a run-down tennis court with a bedraggled looking net, an old paddock that was now overgrown, and what looked like stables and a yard in the distance. The lawn up around the house was immaculate, and the main flower beds were well pruned and neat and tidy. She couldn’t help but compare it to the small suburban garden of her parents’ house, with its concrete patio, patchy lawn, scanty shrubs and bushes, and her dad’s attempts to grow scallions and a few heads of lettuce and carrots.