Maison Majella chapter 6: "I'm bidding on a Smeg kettle on eBay!"

It could be curtains for Majella's dream windows

“I know, Eamon, but once the windows are in it’ll be a closed system, we’re nearly there.” 

I’ve been repeating variations of this sentence for what seems like months now. I can’t make it from one end of Main Street to the other without some nosey hole quizzing me about how the build is going. Already this afternoon I’ve had Tessie Daly being passive aggressive about the septic tank and Cyclops saying he heard from Baby Chief Gittons that we’re not going to be in by Christmas. Over my dead body, I told him. Or Daddy’s, more likely.

Eamon Filan caught me while I was buying nappies in the shop. I’d usually go to the New Aldi because he puts a four hundred percent markup on the Huggies, but Baby Aisling is still teething and her arse is in rag order. It was a genuine emergency for both nappies and Pinot Greej.

“Well Majella, I can do you a little stuffed chicken on pre-order for the Christmas, just in case, I know you only have a small oven in the mobile,” he said.

“I won’t be having chicken for my Christmas dinner, Eamon, I’ll be having Neven’s roast turkey with streaky bacon out of my new full-size, pyrolytic oven with self-cleaning function,” I replied. “The windows are arriving any minute.” Then I told him to throw in a Quick Pick because a little Euromillions win would come in very handy this week between having to pay for the windows and ordering the remote control blinds to cover them. I haven’t said it to Pablo about the blinds yet but he’ll understand. He was the one who insisted on all the glass on account of the SAD he battles every winter since moving to Ireland.

I’ll definitely feel more relaxed once the house is officially weathertight. The site is in absolute shite after all the rain we’ve been having. One of the lads lost a boot to it yesterday and said he was going to invoice me. We’re still a few weeks behind but Daddy has promised me we’ll be sleeping there on Christmas Eve. It’s non-negotiable. We’re simply not having Baby Aisling’s first Christmas in the mobile. I know I can tell her that Santy can just come in the window if we’ve no chimney but the idea of an old man creeping in through the curtains is just very chilling compared to a jolly old soul coming down into the fireplace covered in soot. 

It’s Mammy’s day to mind the babs and when I finally get home from work after my nappy detour she’s standing at the door of the mobile waiting for me. Baby Aisling is glued to Miss Rachel. Shite. I forgot she has her aqua aerobics dinner this evening. Five of them meet every month to give out stink about two other women in the class who “think they own the place”. According to Mammy, they claim the best lockers every week “even though Kevin says there are no assigned lockers”. They also insist on being up the front and for the past three weeks now Mammy has been stuck with a dud pool noodle while these two make sure they have the best bits and lick Kevin’s hole. She told me all of this this morning while I was trying to get out the door and Baby Aisling was screaming bloody murder because she saw me putting on my coat. 

“Sorry, Mammy, I forgot about your dinner. Did she go down for her nap earlier?”

“Just about. I couldn’t get her to tear her eyes away from the Christmas tree. I turned the lights off and everything.” 

I struggle not to beam with pride. She’s a Christmas girl, just like her Mammy. The tree is only a tiny fake one I have on top of the miniature chest freezer but I’ve put in my order with Mad Tom’s Coillte contact for a nine foot Noble Fir for my foyer and a six foot one for the open plan living room. I just feel like as soon as Halloween is over it’s okay to start doing your bits. I sent Pablo a selfie of me and Baby Ais with the little tree in the background and he said he had to pull the car over. His mother thought he was having a heart attack. He’s really struggling with missing us, the poor dote. Juana is responding well to the chemo overall but she couldn’t manage without him doing her shopping and driving her to appointments. I could really use a conjugal visit. His tan is looking unreal and I’m reading an ancient Jilly Cooper book Mammy left in the mobile. 

“Tell your father I said goodbye.” Mammy takes a dodie out of each of her pockets and puts on her coat. “Go over and look at your windows, they’re just unwrapping them now. And put a hat on that baby.”

It takes all my willpower to ignore the hat comment – she means well, I know she means well, but Jesus she knows my daughter would rather eat a bee than keep a hat on. I throw Baby Ais up onto my hip and grab my phone. I’m trying to document as much of the build as I can for Pablo and he definitely can’t miss this. Outside, we trudge through the muck to where Daddy is standing talking to the window delivery man. But as we get closer, I can see he’s not one bit happy. He’s red in the face and his arms are flailing. I haven’t seen him this het up since the time Shane had to get his stomach pumped after a night in the Vortex.

“What’s going on Daddy?” I roar through the wind as I pick my way over to him.

His face falls when he sees me coming and he jumps between me and the delivery lorry. It’s like he’s trying to block it. “Don’t look, Majella. Don’t let the baby see!”

I’m really starting to get worried now. “What? What is it?” The delivery man is talking frantically into his phone.

“It’s your windows, pet.”

“What about them?”

“They’re all broken. Every last one of them.” He rips a piece of green plastic wrapping off a sliding door and sure enough, the pane of glass is smashed to smithereens. Then he does another and another. They all the same. “I’m so sorry, love. It’s the rain. The lorry hit that new dip on the way onto the site.” Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m going to throw up. Did I accidentally drink some of Rocky’s mushroom tea? This can’t be happening. The windows cost us twenty grand. Now that the roof is on, they were the last big thing standing between me and my perfect Christmas. And then the money thing hits me. We can’t be down another twenty grand. I’m bidding on a Smeg kettle on eBay!

The window delivery man clears his throat and if I wasn’t holding the baby I’d throttle him. As someone who only recently got rid of the N plates it’s only common sense to go easy driving into a mudbath. “Can I interrupt?” he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“It better be good news,” Daddy growls. “I told you last week we’re on a tight deadline here.”

“I just spoke to my boss’s boss,” he says, “and she’s willing to replace the windows, free of charge, with her apologies.”

Daddy’s face immediately splits into a smile and he whacks the man on the back. “Now, that’s more like it. Good man yourself, Des.”

“There’s also bad news,” Des sort of mumbles. “The lead time on them is four weeks.”

There’s a roaring in my ears and for a second I feel like I’m going to pass out. Four weeks will bring us up to the middle of December. If the windows are only going in then I can kiss Baby Aisling’s perfect first Christmas and my Noble Fir and my Neven turkey goodbye. It’ll be sitting knee-to-knee at the dinette with Pablo and that’s if he’s even home. Who knows at this stage. This can’t be fucking happening, I think, screwing my eyes shut and fighting the urge to hop off Des. Then I think of Baby Aisling and catch a hold of myself. I’m all she has. I can’t let negativity into my mindset. I learned that at Colette Greene’s wellness retreat in Monart last summer. Think positive and you attract positive things. It says it on the €30 tote bag I bought at her merch stand.  

Daddy stands there shaking his head. “I’m sorry, love. But that’s it for being in by Christmas. I won’t be able to do it. It just can’t be done.”

“Well,” I sniff. “At least I’m up twenty grand.”

Daddy looks confused. “You’re not though, love. You already paid for the windows. Remember? You locked yourself in the Portaloo for ten minutes when you got the bill.”

I point at the broken ones in the lorry. “Yeah but they’re giving us new ones.”

“We’re just replacing them though,” Des says. “To be clear, we’re not also giving you a refund. Maybe I should write all this out, just so there’s no confusion.” 

Baby Aisling blows a raspberry at him and she’s dead right. They just don’t get it. “Have you never heard of girl maths?”

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Coming next week: Majella loses her marbles over marble