Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
Maura
She pushes her pram right into me and I drop the heavy bag of meat. There’s a broken spoke on one of the wheels and it nicks my ankles. I feel a little drop of blood stick to my nylons.
“Oh Jaysus, I’m sorry,” she says.
I suck air in through clenched teeth and bend in the middle to rub my throbbing ankle.
“Did I hurt you with this damn thing?” She kicks the broken spoke back into place as best she can. “I can be a right klutz sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine.”
“Here, let me help you,” she says, letting go of the pram to pick up my bag.
I stop her from taking the weight of it when I notice she’s heavily pregnant. I pick up the bag of meat and spot a rectangular, brownish-black book on the ground.
“Oh, that’ll be mine,” she says. “It must have tumbled out when I hit you.”
I pass her the floppy, leather-bound book. The spine is cracking and I wonder if it could use a stitch or two to keep it going. She opens the book and flicks through. It’s chock-a-block with children’s drawings, shopping lists, and other pages I can’t quite make out. Obviously satisfied it’s in one piece, she wipes the front and back of it across her skirt before tossing it into the tray under the pram.
I notice her face for the first time. She’s my age, give or take a year or two, I’d guess. She’s petite, barely up to my shoulder. Her brown hair falls in curls around her face and shoulders as if she lets it grow any way it pleases, and I wonder if she’s taken the time to brush it at all today. There’s a baby in the pram. A little girl. She’s sitting up and sucking on the edge of a blanket. And two girls not much older than each other stand on either side of the pram. They’re pretty, with dark plaited hair and green eyes like their mother.
“Another baby,” I say, and I want to shovel the words back into my mouth instantly. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”
“We’re blessed,” she says. And then she adds, “A little too blessed, to be honest.”
I smile, and I’m not quite sure what to say. But when she laughs, I decide it’s okay to laugh too.
I pick up my bag of meat and say, “Well, it was nice to meet you.”
“Where you goin’ with that?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, where you going? That looks heavy. I can carry it for you if we’re heading in the same direction.”
She points to the metal tray under the pram and then she points down the street toward Switzers.
“Thank you, but I’m going this way.” I tilt my head and point my thumb over my shoulder.
I’m lying and I can sense she knows it.
“You buy that in McCarthy’s?” she asks, glancing into the bag that’s starting to pull painfully on my shoulder.
“Yes, McCarthy’s butcher’s. It was a gift, actually.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen and I can sense she disapproves.
“Ma, can we get a lollipop now?” the tallest of the young girls says.
The woman looks at her daughter and places her finger on her lips. “Shh, Marie. I’m speaking to the nice lady who looks just like Doris Day.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard the comparison in a while, but she isn’t complimenting me. Her clipped tone and cocked head make that much obvious. The little girl nods and doesn’t say another word.
“A gift, you were saying…”
I regret speaking as much as the little girl does. “Um.”
“McCarthy’s are giving away free meat now, are they?” She stands with a hand on one hip and the other hip jutting out. “Can’t afford a coat for my little ’un and he’s in there giving out free chops. I’ll bleedin’ kill him, I will.”
I’m not sure what I’ve said that has upset her so much. My ankle is throbbing and the bag is growing heavier by the second.
“Maaaaa,” the smaller little girl calls out, losing patience.
“Hush,” the woman says, crosser now. “I said I’m talkin’. I’m asking this lovely lady why your da is giving her free chops when we barely have enough on our own table.”
“Oh, you’re Dan’s wife,” I say, finally understanding. “Nice to meet you.”
I extend my hand but she doesn’t shake it. Her eyes narrow. I still haven’t eased her concern.
“I’m Maura. Maura Davenport. I’m Dr. Davenport’s wife. Dan says my husband is your doctor.”
Her cheeks pinken and her stiff shoulders round. She takes my hand and nearly shakes it clean off my wrist.
“Oh,” she says. “Oh.”
I take my hand back and wait, but she can’t seem to find any more words. I think I’ve made her as uncomfortable as she’s made me.
“Well, as I said, it was nice meeting you, Mrs. McCarthy. I best be off.”
“Bernie,” she says, at last. “I’m Bernie. And this is Marie, Elizabeth, and Alice.”
She places her hand on her daughters’ heads in turn as if she is counting steps of stairs.
“Your coat is very loverly,” Elizabeth says with a slight lisp.
“Thank you. Yours is lovely too.”
I can’t help but notice how snug her coat is and Bernie seems embarrassed when she catches my eye.
“Elizabeth is right. Your coat is very nice,” Bernie says, pointing at me. “Is it from Switzers?”
“It is.”
“Did your husband buy it?”
“No. It’s an old coat. I bought it when I used to work there.”
Her eyes widen. “You worked in Switzers? Wow.” She seems as impressed as if I’d told her I was an astronaut or a celebrity.
“Yes. Up until June when I got married.”
“And you had to give up your job to mind the kids,” she finishes speaking for me.
“Well, no children yet,” I say. “But we’re hopeful.”
I cross my fingers and hold up my hand.
“He’s a doctor,” she says, with longing. “I bet he knows all the tricks for having ’em. And for not having ’em.”
“I don’t think there’s tricks for either, unfortunately. It’s all in the hands of God.”
Bernie rolls her eyes. “God’s hands didn’t have much to do with this.” Her fingertips seem to instinctively touch her round belly.
I’ve never met anyone quite like Bernie before, and I wonder if she always says the thoughts in her head out loud.
“Right,” she says, taking the bag from me and shoving it under her pram before my mind has time to catch up. “Jaysus, what does Dan have in here? Rocks.”
“I… I… I…”
“I’m taking this before my husband is to blame for your arm falling off. No arguments. I’ll go where you’re going. Besides, the girls and I could do with stretching our legs and catching some fresh air.”
“Doesn’t get much fresher,” I say, as sporadic flakes of snow begin to fall.
“Maaaaa,” Elizabeth says again.
“I haven’t forgotten your lollipops,” Bernie tells her girls. “We just have to help Mrs. Davenport out first.”
“Maura. Please?”
Bernie smiles. “Right, Maura. Where are we off to?”
“Rathmines,” I say.
“Jaysus.” Bernie’s voice raises an octave. “You’re even posher than I thought. C’mon, girls. Let’s see how the other half live.”
Bernie winks and knocks her shoulder against mine and I think I might like her. I might even want to be like her.