Irish Mammy is on the case

The story so far: Mammy has stumbled upon a mystery. She’s accepted that Jennifer is marrying Declan. He’s odd but in fairness to him, he did turn up with a Paw Patrol yoke last Christmas 12 months and help Mammy into the good books of her frosty daughter-in-law Stephanie Duignan.

And his people have a bit of money. Money isn’t everything, of course, but it’s a few things – and those things are handy things.

She’s accepted that the wedding will not be the traditional “mass in Kilgobnet and 140 guests with the black-pudding and goat-cheese, beeforsalmon above at the Lodge and neighbours gawking at us” as Jennifer rather cuttingly puts it.

But anyway. She’s accepted grudgingly that the wedding appears to be fierce odd altogether, in some sort of warehouse in the M50 and that the celebrant is called Leon St James. Whatever kind of a name that is.

But what she will NOT accept is someone lying to her daughter, Jennifer. Declan told her his parents were paying for the whole thing, but Mammy has found out from Declan’s mother Desdemona that she knows of no such arrangement.

But now there are about to be further developments …

How was I going to broach the whole thing with Jennifer? If I said anything, she’d know I was ringing Desdemona – and then you wouldn’t know what she’d do. They might elope or something.

She was always strong-minded. Even when she was eight she said she was going to run away because she wasn’t allowed stay up for The X-Files. Now, she only got as far as the end the of the path because it started to rain. But the intent was there.

I had put the whole thing out of my head for a while, but then I got a text from Jennifer saying they were coming down for a visit, and I started to worry about it all over again. Denis was getting into the swing of it.

“We could put a tail on him. Follow him around.”

He’s in the middle of watching The Rockford Files box-set that the lads got him for Christmas, so he’s all about the private investigators nowadays.

“What kind of a daily rate do you think them lads’d be on, I wonder? And then, of course, there’s VAT. I wonder do they have a special rate?”

“Whisht now, Denis, they’re at the door.”

In they came and we had a nice cup of tea and a chat about everything except the wedding. Or at least for a while. But in the end I asked them how the preparations were going. Declan did all the talking, which was a bit of a worry.

“Great,” says Declan. “We’re just finalising the details with some of the other couples.”

“The other couples? Are ye the Moonies or what?” says Denis, joking. But I let it go. I had another plan for now.

“Now Declan, I know ye very much want to make this your own wedding – and that’s fine. But, will you do me one favour? Please let us make some bit of a contribution. Just as a favour to us. I can’t have your parents paying for the whole lot. Please?

“Oh, go on so, you’ve twisted my arm.”

Declan was all smiles.

“Denis, get the chequebook there.”

Denis was gone ages.

“Where’s the bleddy chequebook, Ann? It should be in the drawer under the telly.”

“It hasn’t been there in ages. It’s over underneath the phone table.”

“I can’t see it. Who put it there?”

“Ah, for feck sake Denis, I put it there. I’ll get it myself.”

Denis was ruining my “set-up”. There’s no way he’d be on The Rockford Files anyway, although I’d say he’d look lovely in one of Jim Rockford’s sports coats.

“Who’ll I make the cheque out to, Declan? Is it the two of ye? I suppose ye have a joint account now, do ye?”

“Ah …”

He was going to say something. And then he didn’t. And then he started blushing.

Jennifer was looking at him.

“What’s up, Declan? We’ve the joint account set up, Mam, you can put it into that.”

“No. Leave that bit blank. I’ll have to ask Leon.”

Something is very up here. I’ll have to get Denis that sports coat.