function room was a mass of fairy lights. There were ten round tables, each set with white linen, sparkling glasses, and gleaming cutlery. Irish music played quietly in the background, overlaid with conversations from the seventy guests, a mixture of older couples, teenagers, middle-aged women, several elderly men, and even a baby in a carry-cot. There were candles and the vases of fresh flowers on the long side tables, with several bottles of wine already opened on each. Young waitresses in white shirts and black skirts were circulating with trays, collecting empty champagne glasses. Everything was in the room except the guest of honor herself.
At the door, Carrie glanced at her watch, then across the room at her oldest sister. She had stiffly asked for her help that afternoon, and just as stiffly Anna had agreed. “Are you ready?” she mouthed.
“Ready,” Anna mouthed back.
Carrie signaled over to her other sister in the far corner by the speaker system. It had been just as hard asking Bett for help, but she’d had no choice. Lola’s complicated running order for the early stages had made it impossible for Carrie to manage on her own. At Bett’s nod, Carrie turned the room lights on and off and on again to get everyone’s attention, then turned them off once more, leaving a spotlight over the main door. The room went quiet. Anna turned on the microphone and in her best public speaking voice—one she’d used to great effect in the children’s cartoon Hatty and the Headmistress —made her speech: “Please will you stand and welcome the belle of tonight’s ball, the reason we’re all here, the woman who is celebrating her eightieth birthday this very day—Lola Quinlan!”
Lola swept in to the sound of The Kinks’ “Lola.” She stood in the doorway for full dramatic effect, then gazed around the function room with pride and glee. The girls had done themselves and her proud. Waving majestically, she inclined her head as her friends and family started clapping, many of them laughing at her choice of music.
“You do realize it’s a song about a transvestite?” Carrie had asked Lola the previous week.
“Is it?” Lola had said blithely, peering at Carrie over her glasses. “Never mind. People will think I’m being ironic about my makeup.”
Bett watched now as Lola moved from table to table, greeting every guest in person, having a word here or a word there. She also watched people’s reactions after Lola had moved on—a mixture of amazement, amusement, and, sometimes, outright laughter. It seemed Lola had the same effect on everyone who knew her, not just her granddaughters. It was an oddly comforting thought.
Across the room, Carrie glanced down at the running sheet in front of her. So far so good. Guests to be greeted in person at front door. Tick. Champagne to be circulated by waiting staff. Tick. In the past two days Lola had gone into a kind of white heat. “What do you think about playing ‘I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside’ as the waitresses bring out the prawn cocktails?” “Wouldn’t one great big long table look better than ten round ones?” “Do you think it’s too late to ask everyone to come in costume, as pirates or gypsies or something dramatic like that?”
Carrie had finally put a stop to it. “Lola, it’s an old lady’s birthday party, not a Broadway production.”
“Do you think it’s like a Broadway production? Really? Which parts?”
It wasn’t supposed to be a compliment, Carrie stopped herself from saying. “I just think it might be best if you don’t get too carried away. From what you’ve deigned to tell me, you already seem to have a lot of different activities throughout the night. People will want to talk to each other and eat their meals, remember. You need to let a bit of it happen of its own accord.”
To her surprise, Lola had agreed, taking the pen and swiping it through several items on the rundown. Probably just as well, Carrie
At the door, Carrie glanced at her watch, then across the room at her oldest sister. She had stiffly asked for her help that afternoon, and just as stiffly Anna had agreed. “Are you ready?” she mouthed.
“Ready,” Anna mouthed back.
Carrie signaled over to her other sister in the far corner by the speaker system. It had been just as hard asking Bett for help, but she’d had no choice. Lola’s complicated running order for the early stages had made it impossible for Carrie to manage on her own. At Bett’s nod, Carrie turned the room lights on and off and on again to get everyone’s attention, then turned them off once more, leaving a spotlight over the main door. The room went quiet. Anna turned on the microphone and in her best public speaking voice—one she’d used to great effect in the children’s cartoon Hatty and the Headmistress —made her speech: “Please will you stand and welcome the belle of tonight’s ball, the reason we’re all here, the woman who is celebrating her eightieth birthday this very day—Lola Quinlan!”
Lola swept in to the sound of The Kinks’ “Lola.” She stood in the doorway for full dramatic effect, then gazed around the function room with pride and glee. The girls had done themselves and her proud. Waving majestically, she inclined her head as her friends and family started clapping, many of them laughing at her choice of music.
“You do realize it’s a song about a transvestite?” Carrie had asked Lola the previous week.
“Is it?” Lola had said blithely, peering at Carrie over her glasses. “Never mind. People will think I’m being ironic about my makeup.”
Bett watched now as Lola moved from table to table, greeting every guest in person, having a word here or a word there. She also watched people’s reactions after Lola had moved on—a mixture of amazement, amusement, and, sometimes, outright laughter. It seemed Lola had the same effect on everyone who knew her, not just her granddaughters. It was an oddly comforting thought.
Across the room, Carrie glanced down at the running sheet in front of her. So far so good. Guests to be greeted in person at front door. Tick. Champagne to be circulated by waiting staff. Tick. In the past two days Lola had gone into a kind of white heat. “What do you think about playing ‘I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside’ as the waitresses bring out the prawn cocktails?” “Wouldn’t one great big long table look better than ten round ones?” “Do you think it’s too late to ask everyone to come in costume, as pirates or gypsies or something dramatic like that?”
Carrie had finally put a stop to it. “Lola, it’s an old lady’s birthday party, not a Broadway production.”
“Do you think it’s like a Broadway production? Really? Which parts?”
It wasn’t supposed to be a compliment, Carrie stopped herself from saying. “I just think it might be best if you don’t get too carried away. From what you’ve deigned to tell me, you already seem to have a lot of different activities throughout the night. People will want to talk to each other and eat their meals, remember. You need to let a bit of it happen of its own accord.”
To her surprise, Lola had agreed, taking the pen and swiping it through several items on the rundown. Probably just as well, Carrie
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