Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Maura
I love Doris Day. I love her films. But I’m not paying attention to a single scene from With Six You Get Eggroll . Instead, I’m thinking about the moonlight shining on Christy’s hair as he waited below Clerys’ big old clock on O’Connell Street. I’m drinking in the sound of his laughter as he thoroughly enjoys the antics on-screen. I’m lost in his smell, like a walk in the forest mixed with warm spices. Without exaggerating, I am basking in the bliss of the most enjoyable evening of my life. All too soon the film is over. We file out of the cinema among other couples, some with their arms around each other, some holding hands. Some stopping for a kiss. I long to feel Christy’s lips on mine, but of course I know he wouldn’t dare. It’s much too soon for that. Instead, we take a walk around the sleeping city streets. The wind is sharp, but I’m grateful for the icy air that cools my warm, excited blood. We talk and talk and it feels as if I’ve known him forever. I tell him about my job in Switzers and my love for fashion and cosmetics. He tries hard to show interest and I try even harder to suppress a giggle. He tells me about his job as a junior doctor and I don’t have to fake my fascination. His career sounds exciting and rewarding.
“It must be wonderful to help people every day,” I say. “You’re amazing.”
Christy’s cheeks flush. It might be the cold night air, but I like to think he’s blushing. We talk more and I lose all sense of time. I’m not sure why I’m compelled to glance at my watch, but my eyes almost fall out of my head when I do.
“What’s the matter?” Christy asks, immediately attentive and concerned.
“It’s almost eleven p.m. I’ve never dared stay out this late before.”
“Say no more.”
Christy insists on dropping me home and I don’t protest. My father is waiting by the open front door. I don’t want to think about how long he might have been standing there. Long enough to work up a face so sour it could turn milk.
I thank Christy for a wonderful evening, and I’m in such a hurry to get inside that Christy has to shout after me.
“I’ll see you again tomorrow, won’t I? Under the clock?”
I look back and nod. I can’t think of anything I would like more.
“Maura,” Da says in a commanding tone that stops me in my tracks as I walk up the garden path. “Where were you until this hour?”
“The pictures, Da,” I say nervously. “Doris Day has a new film. It’s very good. I think you and Ma would like it.”
“The pictures with a chap?” He glances over my shoulder and his eyes narrow as he takes in the line of Christy’s car.
I nod.
“Who is he? Do your mother and I know him?” Da begins squinting, trying to get a better look. “He’s not one of the Lynches from the other side of town, is he? You know your mother doesn’t get along with Mrs. Lynch.”
“His name is Christopher Davenport.”
My father makes a face as if he’s searching his brain for a long-lost neighbor or acquaintance.
“Davenport. Davenport.” He shakes his head. “No. Can’t say I know them.”
“He’s a doctor, Da,” I say.
A huge smile bursts across Da’s face and he raises his arm and waves as if he’s seeing royalty in the flesh.
He continues to wave until Christy’s car rounds the corner at the end of our road. With Christy out of sight Da lowers his arm, shakes his head, and tuts, “A doctor, and you didn’t ask him in. Oh, Maura, where are your manners?”
Inside, Ma plates up fresh apple tart and custard and Da sits at the table waiting.
“A spoon, love,” he says, when Ma sets the heaped plate down in front of him. “And a cup of tea would go down nicely too.”
“I’m just waiting for the kettle to boil.” She smiles, already on the task.
“Did you hear our Maura is stepping out with a chap?” Da says.
Ma turns toward me, wide-eyed and unsure.
“A doctor, if you don’t mind,” he adds.
Ma’s face lights up. “A doctor,” she says, with a single clap of her hands. Then she tucks her clasped hands under her chin and rocks her head from side to side. “Oh, Maura, how wonderful. You’ve caught yourself a good one, haven’t you?”
I see Christy almost every night after that. The only nights I don’t see him are those in which something crops up at the hospital and he has to work late. He always apologizes with flowers or chocolates, no matter how often I tell him there’s no need. When we’re together, I feel happier and more content than I ever have before. There are walks in the Phoenix Park after work. Lazy Sunday drives in the Wicklow mountains. Dinners in fancy restaurants and talk of our perfect future. Sometimes, when I imagine our life filled with a beautiful home and a handful of children who look just like their father, I’m so full of happiness I think I might burst.
The happiest day of all comes on Sunday, 18 May 1969—six months after our first date. Christy joins my parents and me for a roast beef dinner. Da doesn’t change out of his suit after mass. Ma keeps her Sunday best on too, and I wear my favorite red dress. It has a tulip collar and it sits just above my knee. Ma says it’s a little short for her liking and when she turns her back, I roll my eyes.
My mother always keeps a pristine home, but today she outdoes herself. She shoves a cloth and some polish my way and tells me to shine the door handles as she sets to work washing the kitchen floor. Neither of my older brothers were given chores when they brought a lady friend home for the first time. Instead, Ma fussed over them like a clucking hen. My darling boys , she called them. We don’t see them all that much since they got married and I can tell she misses them something terrible. I promise myself that when I get married, I will still see my parents all the time.
The smell of beef roasting in the oven wafts around the house. Da sits in the front room with his feet on the coffee table and the newspaper in his hands. Ma brings him a cup of tea.
“To keep the hunger out until dinner,” she says.
Da kisses her cheek and says, “Thank you, my darling Maureen,” and he watches her with adoration as she leaves the room.
I shine the door handles to perfection as I observe them both. I hope someday, after years and years of love, Christy will still look at me the way my father looks at my mother.
Christy arrives promptly at one minute before two o’clock.
“He’s early,” Ma says, instantly in a tizzy when the doorbell chimes. “Well, don’t just stand there, Maura, open the door, for heaven’s sake.”
I do as I’m told. I find Christy looking more handsome than ever in a new navy suit and a sky blue tie that complements his blue-gray eyes.
Christy passes me a tin of Jacob’s biscuits and winks. “For your folks,” he says.
“Oh lovely, my favorites,” I hear Ma’s voice behind me. I try not to smirk. Ma never eats Jacob’s biscuits. She says they’re far too expensive. I turn around to pass her the large tin and find she’s taken off her apron and applied some lipstick.
“Hello. Hello. Welcome, young man,” Da says, joining us in the hallway.
Suddenly the space feels far too small for four people.
“Dinner won’t be long,” Ma says. “You’ll have a drink, won’t you, Dr. Davenport? Sherry? A whiskey, perhaps?”
“Just water would be lovely. And it’s Christy, please. Only my patients call me ‘Doctor.’?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Ma blushes.
Dinner is splendid. The table is set with my late grandmother’s finest china—the china normally reserved for Christmas and Easter. The meat is tender and there is not a lump to be found in the mashed potatoes or gravy.
“Maura peeled the spuds,” Ma announces, as if I should be proud.
Da rubs his belly, looks Christy in the eye, and adds, “The Flynn women can cook, I’ll tell you that.”
“There’s nothing to it, really,” I say.
Da’s eyes narrow, reminding me that he hates to be interrupted.
“It really was a lovely meal, thank you,” Christy says, and he seems unsure where to look. He settles on me and gives me a bright smile. “You’re a lucky man with grub like this in your house, Mr. Flynn.”
“The spuds are my grandmother’s recipe,” I jump in, chuffed with Ma’s and my efforts.
“Maura!” Da says my name in a familiar clipped tone that insists I hush up. He reinforces his command with a furrowed brow and pinched lips. “Christopher was speaking.” He turns toward Christy and shakes his head as if he’s terribly disappointed in me.
After dinner Da and Christy retire to the front room and I overhear them discussing a headline from today’s paper. Ma and I clear the table and set about the tidy-up. I wash while she dries.
Ma hums the chorus of an Elvis Presley song on repeat, stopping every so often to say, “Oh, he’s a lovely boy. A lovely, lovely boy. Well done, Maura. Well done.”
I know what my mother really means is, he’s a lovely doctor.
She goes back to humming, but it’s not long before she sets her tea towel down and reaches for my sudsy hands. She’s rather serious looking, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes.
“He’s asking your father for your hand, Maura. You know that, don’t you?”
I gasp. It takes me a moment to catch my breath. “Really? Do you really think he is?”
“I’d put money on it,” she says, squeezing my wet hands.
Bubbles of excitement pop inside my belly.
“You’ll say yes,” she says, and I know it’s not a question.
But it doesn’t matter, because obeying her direct order is the one thing I want most in the world.
“Mrs. Davenport,” I whisper. “Oh my goodness, Mrs. Maura Davenport.”
I try the name on as if it’s an expensive coat or a fine hat, and it makes me feel pretty and sophisticated.
Finally, I look up at my mother. “Oh, Ma.”
Ma throws her arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “That’s my girl.”