Maison Majella Chapter 10: "Welcome to Let's Get Plastered"

Maj is on her last nerve – then she's added to another WhatsApp group

We’re pleased to announce the next story from the BGB universe, Welcome to Ballywood, will kick off on December 26th aka Stephenses Day. Told by Aisling, it features the usual gang, as well as a whole new crew (literally) who arrive in BGB and cause chaos.

A yearly subscription would make the perfect gift for the Aisling fan in your life. You can schedule it to arrive in their inboxes on Christmas morning, or whenever suits – E & S

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By the way, even if you haven’t been following along with a paid subscription we’ve written each chapter so they can be enjoyed as stand alone reads. We hope you love this week’s instalment from Maj and co.

“Majella, what did I just hear you say?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, slipping the phone back into my arse pocket. I should have kept my voice down.

Daddy looks unimpressed. “It wasn’t nothing.”

“I was just inviting Rocky and Mad Tom here for Christmas dinner,” I admit.

We’re standing in my open-plan kitchen watching Quality Windows fit the last sliding door. I can’t believe how warm the place feels now that it’s basically weathertight and more or less dried out. Me and Aisling did the rounds the other day collecting every dehumidifier in Ballybobbard and the surrounding areas. I put a call out on the You Know You’re From BGB When … Facebook page and people were very generous, although I did have to turn down two humidifiers. There’s a big difference, like. Hopefully they weren’t trying to sabotage me and it was just a case of mistaken appliance identity.

I wish Pablo was here to see it coming together, but he couldn’t FaceTime this afternoon. He’s waiting with Juana to go in for her surgery and already got in trouble with Padre Iago for responding to my thumbs up from the pantry while he was supposed to be saying a decade of the rosary. Apparently the priest keeps dropping hints about this baptism his mother wants but I’m putting my foot down. I can’t turn a blind eye to the atrocities committed by the Catholic Church, even if Baby Aisling would look edible in my old christening gown.

“Love, were you not listening to me when I told you not to get your hopes up about being in for Christmas? Sometimes I think yourself and your mother have come up with a way to actually tune me out.”

I step out of the way of one of the fitters from Kennedy’s Kitchens who are here to install the island. I look at the oak slab leaning up against the wall and think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’ll never give marble a second of my time ever again.

“But look Daddy,” I point at the hole where my oven is going to go and the hole where my sink will be. “We’re nearly there. And Christmas isn’t for another two weeks yet.”

He shakes his head. “There’s still plenty to do, love. There’s no electricity til the final fix is done, or water. You can’t be inviting people for Christmas dinner when you might not have a kitchen or flushing toilets.”

“Details, details,” I say lighting my new Colette Greene Serenity in Winter candle. “We have to stay positive. Rocky’s cancelled her cabbage order now anyway.”

Daddy can’t hide his disgust. “They were going to have cabbage for Christmas dinner? What is the world coming to.”

“I know. Some Ottolenghi recipe with almonds. Rocky is an animal rights activist.”

“Animal rights? I’ve seen Mad Tom drink a pint of frogspawn for a dare.”

“Opposites attract, Daddy, I’m always saying it. He’s going to be having turkey this year anyway, if I have anything to do with it. Why do you keep looking out the front window? You’re not waiting for the postman again, are you? Jesus Christ, the baby has enough presents.”

His nervous energy is starting to make me feel uneasy. He looks at his phone for the twentieth time. “The lads are an hour late now.”

“Which lads?”

“My labourers. And the sparks. The lads who were working on the school beyond in Knock.”

As if I needed reminding that I still haven’t heard from the new Educate Together principal about the job. I think of it every day I’m stuck in traffic for an hour on the Tinnadaly Road, and when I see Brigid Moloney’s sister Liz behind the counter in Filan’s. If Brigid got the job over me I’m going to riot. I can’t face the thought of spending five hours in the car every day driving to Santry and missing Baby Aisling’s childhood.

The sound of Daddy’s ringtone nearly lifts me out of it. Why he has to have it set to such ear-splitting levels I’ll never understand. It’s never far from his hand. He’s not like me, leaving my phone in pub toilets and shop counters and other people’s cars, although to be fair I’m not as bad as I used to be.

“Ivar, you don’t sound good, lad.” Daddy’s tone is suddenly grave. “Christ, that sounds terrible. Really? All of you? Every toilet? Right. No, that’s enough details. I understand. Well that’s the thing with chicken, isn’t it? Dangerous. Talk to you next week so.”

My heart is in my mouth when he eventually hangs up.

“That was the lads,” he says. “Well, one lad.”

“And? Are they on the way? Are they bringing chicken or something? Baggsy a leg.”

“The project manager from the school threw them a party in Dick’s in Knock last night, for finishing early. There must have been a bad batch of chicken sandwiches or something because they’re all puking. And the doctor has given them certs for the week. It’s over, Majella. I’m so sorry, love.”

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Everyone wants a subscription to The Ballygobbard Project this Christmas!

Welcome to Ballywood, begins on Thursday, December 26th.

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“I’m cursed. That’s the only thing to explain it. I’m 100% cursed.”

Aisling leans over the handle of the buggy to make a silly face at Baby Ais and when she straightens up she makes the same silly face at me. We’re doing a speed walk out to Garbally House and back. We used to call this stretch of road Fat Arse Boulevard because you’d always see mammies in their gilets out swinging their arms on their walks but now I’m the mammy in the gilet and it’s actually very body positive to have a fat arse.

“Curses aren’t real, Majella. And besides, you didn’t wrong anyone for them to put a curse on you.”

“Remember the time I said the Hail Mary three times in the bathroom in second year and then turned around and spat on the floor? Maybe it’s finally come to haunt me.”

“I thought that haunting came at the next Scout’s Den disco when your tights fell down?”

She’s right. I only had two pairs of American Tan shiny tights and they both had a ladder in one leg so I cut the good leg off each and masking taped them to my thighs like DIY suspenders. Obviously it was one million degrees in the Scout’s Den so when I started slow dancing with Titch Maguire to She Will Be Loved one leg slid down, followed by the other one.

“That truly was a curse.”

“What did you get in your advent calendar today?” she asks, clearly trying to cheer me up.

I screw up my nose. “Ear plugs”

“Oh”

“A set of three though.”

“Oh. That’s … better then.”

I gave in and bought the advent calendar from Moriarty’s chemist in Knock. They do one every year and every year one of them has €500 hidden in it. They claim there’s €150 worth of products in them and the calendars only cost €49 so it feels like a deal. I needed a little pick me up. Daddy bought Baby Aisling a chocolate Peppa Pig advent calendar, the big gom. How does he not know that babies can’t have chocolate? I asked him had he been giving her Kit Kats when she’s in his house and he couldn’t look at me straight. It doesn’t really matter anyway because she got at the advent calendar when my back was turned and she ate seven of the little chocolates, foil and all. I’ve been watching her nappies all week.

The Moriartys advent calendar has been hit and miss. I did get some nice talc which will do Mammy for Christmas and I got a lovely manicure set and a Rituals shower gel. But then there was also the corn plasters, the reading spectacles and the 500ml bottle of Dulcolax. I suppose it’ll come in handy if all the foil doesn’t reappear. Of course I’ve already opened most of the windows. I’ve no patience. Which is why this new setback with the house is almost unbearable. I’ve already lost the run and invited seven extra people for Christmas dinner. Rocky and Mad Tom said they’re coming. Sharon and Cyclops are coming. Carol Boland nearly took the hand off me when I asked her. And then when I met Constance Swinford in the charity shop yesterday – she was donating some hats and I was looking for a clothes horse – she was asking how the house is coming along and I told her the whole saga and next thing I was telling her we had loads of room and to bring some cheese.

“Oh I forgot to tell you, Ais. Constance Swinford asked me could she bring someone to Christmas dinner.”

“The dark horse! She didn’t tell you who?”

“She didn’t say straight out so I didn’t want to be nosy. I wonder will it be someone even posher than her?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

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Later that evening I’m out in the new house with Daddy, helping him do the bits of plastering we can get on with while we’re waiting for other jobs to be completed once he has a full complement of lads back on the site. Mammy is in the mobile with the baby, watching the Bake Off. Baby Ais is obsessed with Paul Hollywood, the little rip. Daddy started out as a plasterer so he’s expert at it. I’ve always found it so soothing to watch him skimming and smoothing the trowel across the wall.

“We won’t know the place with the lighting and the paint and everything, will we Daddy?”

I can see it all in my mind’s eye, even if at the moment it's grey and a little dank in the harsh fluorescent light from a bulb hanging from the top of a ladder. The dehumidifiers are humming away in various rooms and the generator chugging outside makes me feel guilty about the planet. We have so many solar panels on the roof though so surely it will all even out eventually.

“It will, pet. Even with your mad colours.”

Daddy never met a wall that magnolia didn’t like so my sages and lavenders are bonkers to him. John and Aisling are very kindly storing most of the paint I’ve bought in their new little shed. If I could only get it out of the shed and onto the walls I’d be happy. And the rest of the floors down, and the appliances fitted, and the ensuite plumbed, and Baby Ais’s nursery mural done, and the Christmas trees up and the presents wrapped under it.

“Will you watch that love, you’re dripping it everywhere. Maybe you’d help me by making me a cup of tea and a Kit Kat? Good girl.”

My phone goes as I’m making my way back to the mobile and I snatch it out of my pocket eagerly. Every email could be the email from Ms Foley from Knock Educate Together. It’s a WhatsApp notification though. I’ve been added to a new group. Oh for fuck’s sake. I knew I shouldn’t have given two of those dehumidifier ladies my number. Now I’m going to be roped into some kind of community effort. It took Maeve Hennessey three goes to get free of the Ballygobbard Bridge Beautification cult. Sometimes bridges are just functional and can’t be dressed up, no matter how many tiered planters you introduce to the situation. But no, it’s Aisling who’s added me to this group. Surely not another hen. I thought we had a bit of breathing room from hens. I’m still recovering from own, truth be told.

I click in to see who else is in the group. Deirdre, Denise, Maeve, Sharon, the usual suspects. But there’s also Sadhbh and Elaine and Ruby, plus John and Don. I still have to pinch myself sometimes at the fact that I have Don Shields' number in my phone. I had to write Do Not Call beside his name because sometimes after three or four wines I do find my finger hovering over his name in my contacts. Sadhbh is still so blasé about being basically married to an actual rock star. I’d be throwing tellies out of hotel windows.

“Welcome,” Aisling types, “to Let’s Get Plastered.” Hammer emoji, paintbrush emoji.

“What’s this for?” I quickly type back, and watch as she adds a picture of Fawlty Towers as the profile pic.

“We’re not actually doing any plastering, are we?” Sadhbh asks.

“No plastering. Just painting and cleaning, as discussed. And plumbing if anyone is able.”

Sadhbh gives Aisling a thumbs up. What the hell is this about? As if I don’t have enough on. I reach the mobile and take a few deep breaths of the freezing December air before I go in. I can hear Baby Ais shrieking with delight. Paul Hollwood must be shaking someone’s hand. She’ll be shrieking out of the other side of her face shortly when it’s bedtime though. I check my phone again, hoping for an update in the new group. There’s a longer message from Aisling.

“Dearest Majella, we, your friends, have organised a finishing touches party for you. We heard that your dad’s labourers are all sick so we’ll be descending on the new house next week with our brushes and cloths and mops, ready to whip that place into shape in time for Christmas. Carol will be providing the catering and John and I will work with you to delegate tasks and help with the babs.”

“I’m good with ceilings,” Don Shields has replied, “I did two summers in San Fran up the ladders.” Don Shields, up a ladder, maybe in Snickers trousers. I come over a bit weak. My eyes smart with tears as I type.

“Oh my GOD, girls. I can’t believe this. How did I get so lucky? I appreciate it so much and I know Pablo will too.” Heart emoji, heart emoji, crying emoji.

“We’ll get you into that house for Christmas if it kills us, hun.” That’s Sharon. “You know us, we like a challenge. Anything lads can do we can do better.”

“Some of us are actually lads, Sharon,” John adds. “But we know what you mean. Leave it to us, Maj”.

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I feel lighter when I reach the mobile. Mammy and Baby Aisling are reading The Gruffalo and Baby Ais is screaming every time her Granny does the Gruffalo’s voice. On the draining board are the remnants of another one of my advent calendar boxes and some nit lotion and a comb.

“Oh sorry love, she got at it before I could stop her,” Mammy says. “It’ll probably come in handy though.” I have brought my fair share of nits home from St Anthony’s.

“Sure I’ve opened most of them anyway,” I admit, sitting beside her on my tiny couch. “Come on. Let’s do one more each.”

I take a medium sized box out of of the frame and give it to Mammy and take a small one for myself. She unwraps hers to find some Lily of the Valley eau du toilette, which is right up her street. I unwrap mine and inside the box is one of those plastic containers camera film used to come in. Strange. I pop the top off and inside are rolls of blue paper.

“No way!” I exclaim, tipping the contents out into my hand. “I got the €500!!”

I take it all back. Between this and my friends, I’m not one bit cursed at all.

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Coming next month: Let’s Get Plastered is go while Aisling sneaks off to a secret meeting