THE CABINET(Perry McDaid) The moment she vowed off chocolate for Lent, I knew it probably wasn’t going to end well. In fact, forget the “probably”; an equally brown substance was definitely going to hit the fan at some stage. I’d seriously witnessed PMS nicotine-addicts with migraines being more tolerant and reasonable. The episode of her favourite soap opera was coming to its inevitable end. A Stage 1! Battle stations!

Cathal slowly eased forward from his reclining position on the sofa. Good lad! Bridget and Fonda (who’d never relented about my drunken choice at her Christening since the day and hour she’d caught on) tensed, ready to spring. They’d seen it: the involuntary pucker, the lip-lick and sly glance at the cabinet where ill-conceived Mothers’ Day gifts had been stashed. She always had that look right before it happened.

Our oldest, and allegedly favourite, daughter had brought flowers, glowing kisses, a swollen midriff, and 'Ferrero Roche', for crying out loud. I’d wait for the baby to drop and then hunt her down at her new apartment and kill her. I could even keep the baby and offer it at the altar of a rampaging wife.

Maeve moved before the credits rolled: an unexpected ploy. Cathal was up for it. He flipped himself from his perch and sprawled in front of the hideaway door as the younger daughters hurled themselves at a manic mother, wrestling her to the soft imprisonment of the sofa, where he’d been sitting.

Helplessly slapping my leg-cast (for some unknown – probably psychological –reason) I voiced over-eager words of encouragement I just knew I’d pay for at some later date. There were muffled imprecations and breathless giggles from the girls as Maeve struggled for a while and finally gave in to the mirth.

They relinquished their holds. Cathal, a tad cannier, remained where he was. Maeve, helped to a sitting position, gave him a mock glare.
‘No one will stop me next time,’ she declared in a dramatic voice and followed up with a ‘Muahahahahahah!’

We all laughed to varying degrees. Heh!

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