The Guesthouse on the Green Series Box Set 2

past, a welcome distraction, and Noah pushed ahead to peer around the legs of a man in a suit trying to see if there was any sign of Mr Nibbles.
‘Do you think he’ll be alright, Mummy?’ he tossed back over his shoulder.
‘Yes, bound to be.’ Roisin had prayed the entire flight that he would be.
‘He’s coming, Mummy!’ Noah jiggled up and down on the spot, knocking suit man who gave him the kind of look that was alright for a mammy and daddy to give their child but not for a stranger and Roisin resisted the urge to trolley ram once more. Self-important eejit she muttered to herself as she too spied the handle of the cage just visible above the rucksack currently doing the rounds. She eyed her son, recognising the jiggle. She’d been caught out on many occasions by it, usually when they were miles from any sort of a convenience. ‘Do you need a wee-wee before we leave the airport? Because now’s the time to say if you do, Noah, not when we’re halfway to your nana’s and there’s nowhere to go.’
‘No, I don’t, I just want Mr Nibbles.’ He pushed forward again receiving another look and she took action yanking him back. ‘It’s rude to push in. Let me get him off and then you can be in charge of him.’
The cage trundled closer and she readied herself sending up a quick prayer that the gerbil be alive and well before sidling in alongside the suit man, giving him an accidental shove on purpose before hoisting the cage off. She handed it to her son who took it from her reverently. ‘I can see our case, wait a sec, once I’ve got it, we’ll move out the way and you can check on Mr Nibbles,’ she instructed.
How was it the case felt heavier heaving it off the conveyer than it had when she’d heaved it on the weighing scale at Heathrow? One of life’s mysteries, Roisin decided, moving away from the throng still waiting to retrieve their luggage. She came to a standstill. ‘Alright, Noah, let’s see how he’s doing.’ She watched, breath held, as he set the cage down before carefully removing the cover. She exhaled as a pair of unblinking eyes stared up at them, a piece of lettuce clutched between two teeny front paws. She’d half expected to find the gerbil flat on his back, tiny legs rigid in the air and the relief of it all made her want to track down the Aer Lingus pilot and thank him for being such a good pilot and giving them a smooth flight.
Noah was inspecting the cage. ‘He’s done lots of poo, Mummy.’
‘Ah well now, he’s regular that’s all. It’s down to all those greens you’ve been feeding him. Plenty of roughage, like I’m always after telling you.’
‘But I don’t want to poo all the time. That’s why I don’t eat my broccoli.’
Ah the way a five-year-old’s brain worked was a wonderous thing indeed, Roisin thought, debating whether to spiel off her broccoli is a superfood speech but then she remembered where she was and who would be doing a jiggle dance akin to Noah’s if they didn’t get a move on. ‘C’mon with you, Nana will be waiting.’ He picked up the cage once more and they trundled over to join the end of the snaking line filing through customs. It was moving swiftly which meant everybody was behaving themselves today, apart from the family of four who were now at the front of the queue. The mammy and the daddy were arguing over the organisation of their cases on the trolley which were tottering like a Jenga stack as they moved forward. They stood out, thanks to their tomato glow, and Roisin knew if Mammy were with her, she’d rush on up and tell them to get themselves a tube of the E45 cream. She wouldn’t be able to help herself because just as the Bible was to the Christian, the E45 cream was to Mammy when it came to the first sign of anyone’s skin erupting in anything red. She’d slathered them in the stuff if they’d caught too much sun or had any sort of a rash threating to make an appearance when they were small.
‘Mummy, why’s that man getting shouted at by that lady got mouse ears on? He looks silly.’
‘I think they’ve been to Disneyland, Noah. You know where Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck live.’ She didn’t add and where eejits like yer man there who are old enough to know better come home with chronic sunburn and a pair of fecking mouse ears perched on his head. Impatience was making her snarky and she practised her breathing until at last the Mouseketeer family were waved through and the line began to shorten once more. Finally, it was their turn.
‘Mummy, should we have got Mr Nibbles a passport?’ Noah asked as they approached the booth.
‘No, son, he’s grand.’ She smiled at the customs man expecting him to smile back indulgently at her boy’s sweet concern for his pet. He didn’t. He was all business as he took the burgundy booklets from her while Noah held the cage up proudly to show him. He was too busy scrutinising Roisin’s dodgy passport photo to notice Noah jiggling away desperate to get a look in. A frown Roisin fancied as one of suspicion was embedded between a pair of brows that for some reason made her think of Brooke Shields back in the day and thinking of Brooke Shields made her think of Mammy, not that there was any resemblance whatsoever but because as a teenager she’d been desperate to see The Blue Lagoon. Mammy had forbidden her from going even though she’d been fifteen nearly sixteen at the time. ‘It’s for your own good, Roisin, you’d only have to tell Father Fitzpatrick that you’re after going to see a pornographic film in the confession. Kate Finnegan says there’s boobies and