“Well, I told her we were.” I sound way more certain than I feel. I skip ahead a bit to let Mum know that we’ve arrived. Don’t want to catch her in her curlers or half dressed or something. “That’s strange,” I whisper as I walk back toward her from the front porch.
She stops dragging her luggage for a minute and stage-whispers, “What’s strange?”
I put my finger to my lips and whisper my response. “Shush! The front door is open. I think we’ve been robbed. Or…,” this I don’t even want to imagine, “…maybe they’re still in there.” We cling to one another. “What do we do?” I mouth to Ridlee.
She digs around in her purse and takes out her hot pink pepper spray. It has the word ‘Knockout’ written down the side. She positions it between her index finger and thumb and nods at me. I get in behind her, using her as a human shield. We tiptoe into the house.
There’s a strip of light coming from under the door to the kitchen. I elbow Ridlee who shushes me loudly.
The light goes out. We freeze.
She moves first.
I don’t want to go toward the light. I’m starting to think that we should just go outside and call the police. I’m too scared to leave, though, so I just shuffle forward behind Ridlee. We approach the kitchen through the dining room.
The door opens and a large dark cloud comes silently toward us, slowly but deliberately. My mind tries to make sense of what’s happening but arrives at no logical explanation.
Ridlee switches on the dining room light.
Mum, Dad, Miley, Geraldine, all my cousins, and what looks like half the neighbourhood stand there blinking at us in the sudden brightness.
“Surprise!” my mum stage whispers, just in time to avoid being maced by Ridlee. Everyone is grinning at us.
I’m lost, and quite shaken. My heart is thumping in my chest. Ridlee is frozen, mace still at the ready.
Mum smiles and takes the mace out of her hand, nodding toward my granny, Dad’s mother, who is sitting in the corner propped up in an armchair. “We didn’t want to alarm Granny so we did a quiet surprise.”
“Jesus Christ, Mum!” I almost yell as Ridlee and I expel the breath we have been holding.
“Don’t take the name of The Lord Our God in vain, Erin. Welcome home, girls! We decided to have a little send off for ye.”
She ushers everyone forward and we spend the next five minutes thanking the neighbourhood and his mother for the wonderful surprise. Somehow Ridlee regains her presence of mind enough to do her benevolent, “Go raibh mait agat. Thank you!” as though she has again landed on Mars and is addressing tiny Martians.
“Ah, Mammy, you’re awake!” says Mum going over to my granny. “Will ye have a little porter?”
Granny nods and smiles.
“Jack!” Mum calls to Dad. “Get Mammy a porter.” She turns back to my granny and speaks in a very loud, clear voice. “We’re having a little party for Erin and her friend, Ridlee, Mammy.”
I hover behind my mother, ready to go in and pay my respects to Granny when it’s my turn.
“Who?” croaks Granny, her hand to her ear.
“Erin! Your granddaughter!” says Mum on her knees now and leaning into my grandmother’s good ear.
“For Jesus’s sake, Una, I know my own grandaughter! What did ye say her friend’s name was?”
“It’s Ridlee, Granny,” I say, laughing and leaning down to kiss her.
Mum gets up and busies herself getting drinks and nibbles for everybody.
“Ah, Erin, darlin’, there ye are. Sure, ye get more beautiful every time I see ye. I wouldn’t know ye if I passed ye on the street.” She cups my face in her hands.
“Don’t worry, Granny, ‘cause I’d know you.” I stand up and turn around looking for Ridlee. “Rid, come meet my granny!”
Ridlee is at the other side of the room, drink in hand, talking to Mark Bolan, an old boyfriend of mine. She’s cocked her ear to tune in to whatever it is he’s telling her, so it’s probably a fortuitous time to drag her away.
“Hello! Lovely to meet you, Mrs. O’Neill,” she says taking one of my grandmother’s hands in both of her like Princess Di or Mother Theresa.
“Lovely manners,” says Granny appreciatively. “The Yanks always have lovely manners. Except for Una — she’s gone native, more Irish than the Irish, or so she keeps sayin’ anyway.”
I laugh at my grandmother, still sharp as a tack at ninety-eight.
“So, your name’s Ridlee, is it?”
“That’s right,” says my friend, on her honkers now.
“As in Scott?” asks Granny.
“Same pronunciation, different spelling.”
“I love that film Alien. Wasn’t it him that did that, Jack?” Granny’s addressing my father who has just joined us. “T’was indeed, Mam.”
“It’s all about motherhood, ye know,” she tells Ridlee, in a conspiratorial tone. “No-one ever talks about the dark side of motherhood, Ridlee. I thought it was a very brave film.”
“Another porter, Mam?” asks my father.
“No, no, no. I’d better not, Jack. At my age.”
“What do ye mean at your age, Mam? Sure you’re fit as a fiddle. Just a small one. Go on,” he cajoles her.
“Ah, go on then. You’re a terrible influence.”
My dad nods at Uncle Miley who pours his mother a generous porter and brings it over.
She takes a sip, smacking her lips appreciatively. “Now, Ridlee, tell me all about yerself. Where were ye born?”
I push a nearby footstool toward Ridlee who is embarking on her life story and she places her petite derrière on it without releasing Granny’s hand.
I smile and turn to Dad and Uncle Miley who are both looking at me expectantly. I take a sip of my wine. I’ve decided to take it easy with the booze. In fact, both Ridlee and I had hoped for a quiet night tonight, so we’re both on wine, which we consider to be a fruit drink.
“What?” I ask, worried I’ve done something wrong, or haven’t done something.
“Well?” prompts Miley.
I raise my eyebrows and jut my chin out. “Well, what?”
Dad and Miley exchange a look. “Did ye get that thing sorted out?” asks my dad, being as direct as he can be.
“What thing?” I decide not to play along; they’re doing their Goodfellas act and it’s making me nervous.
“The thing, with the bar,” says Miley. “‘Cause we’ve found someone who can get yer man to sign whatever papers or contract ye want him te, if ye know what I mean…” He nudges my dad for effect.
“God, no! Jesus, stop the pair of ye! It’s fine. Papers signed. Deal done.” I take what I consider to be a more refined sip of my wine this time.
They both look at me confused.
“Ridlee sorted it.” I tip my glass in my friend’s direction.
Both men raise their pint glasses and toast loudly, “To Ridlee!”
Everyone stops talking at once. Only Ridlee’s voice can be heard as she tells Granny, “Well, cheerleading can be very physically demanding.” She looks up and around the room wondering what the reason for the sudden silence is.
“To Ridlee!” cheers everyone in unison.
My friend smiles uncertainly.
“And all who sail in her!” says a lone voice from the back of the room.
“Jaysus, but there’s always one gobshite,” mutters my dad to Miley and me.
“Oh, Erin, I forgot to mention,” Uncle Miley says, “your mum asked me to look into flights for you girls and I did. I know a fella who works at the airport and I was able to upgrade your two tickets, business class to Boston, flying out tomorrow.”
“Fantastic, Uncle Miley! Did ye get a good deal?” I’m excited about the upgrade. This is my thank you to Ridlee for coming with me and for getting the bar business sorted.
“Indeed and I did! There is one small thing, though,” he says oh so casually, which causes a tightening in my gut.
“What’s that, Uncle Miley?” I ask, cautiously.