Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
Christmas Day, 1969
Maura
I wake to the smell of stale whiskey and cigars. I slide out of bed and the cold of the floor drives up through the soles of my bare feet as I make my way toward the bedroom window and open it wide. I take a deep breath of December air and it steadies me.
My face only hurts when I yawn or sneeze and so I’m careful not to. I freshen up in the bathroom, brush my teeth, and apply a thick layer of makeup before Christy wakes. I left two dresses out last night. A long black one and Christy’s favorite red one. I’ll ask him which one I should wear today.
When I return to the bedroom Christy is up and the curtains are open. He’s kneeling at the side of the bed saying his morning prayers. I don’t dare interrupt him. The room is filled with bright morning light and it stings my swollen eyes. I take a moment to adjust to the light and as I do, I notice my dresses are missing from the bedside chair. I wait until Christy stands up to ask about them.
“I thought I might wear the red dress today,” I say. “I know how much you like it and red feels festive.”
Christy doesn’t speak.
“I’ll make us some breakfast and then I’ll get the turkey in the oven. It’s a big bird, so it’ll take most of the day to cook. But not to worry, that gives me plenty of time to concentrate on the trifle. I do hope your ma likes it. She told me trifle is her favorite, so…”
“Maura, stop.” Christy raises his hand and I freeze. “No one is coming.”
I wait until he lowers his hand before I speak. “I don’t understand. You said… and I bought the delft your ma likes… and a huge turkey from McCarthy’s and—”
“Maura, stop,” he says again, but his hand remains by his side this time and he seems disappointed. Or sad. “Look at you.” He points. “You’re a mess.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll fix my hair. And with a nice dress…”
He shakes his head. “I’ve told my family you’re poorly. They understand.”
“But I feel fine, honestly. I—”
“Maura!”
I close my mouth.
“Where are the presents?” he says.
“Under the tree. There’s one for everyone. Yours is there too.”
“Thank you. Now. Get yourself back into bed and rest. I’ll be back this evening.”
“You’re leaving?”
Christy chuckles. “Of course. I’m going to be with my family.”
“But it’s Christmas.”
“Exactly. Family time.”
I think about my own parents and how much I would love to see them today. For a moment, I think about going to them once Christy leaves. But I know I can’t. I can’t bring my problems to their door. They can’t help me. No one can.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give your apologies to my mother. And to Agatha, of course. She’ll be disappointed not to see you.” He takes brown pin-striped trousers, a blue shirt, and a navy jumper from the wardrobe and begins to get dressed. “What did you get for Agatha, by the way?”
“A necklace.”
“Gold?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Good. She’ll like that.”
Christy slips on his highly polished black shoes and opens the drawer on his bedside table. He pulls out a small box wrapped in green paper and tied up with a gold bow. He offers it to me and kisses my cheek. His lips feel warm and moist and I want to pull away. I don’t. I stand still and force my fingers to curl around the small gift.
“Happy Christmas, darling,” he says with a wide smile. “Well, go on. Open it.”
I tug at the edges of the bow and slide my nail under the paper. A small silver box appears. It opens with a click and inside are the most beautiful emerald earrings I have ever seen. They sparkle in the morning sunlight.
“Thank you,” I say, and I promise myself I will never wear them.
He walks toward the door, turning back just before he opens it.
“Into bed, darling,” he says, as if he’s spilling over with concern. “You heard what the doctor at the hospital said.”
Memories of the hospital flood back. The smell. The bright corridors. Cold hands. Indignity. No one said a word to me. But a male doctor, about the same age as my father, spoke at length to Christy when I was finally allowed to put my clothes back on.
“Six weeks. You’ll be ready to try again in six weeks and I need you in tip-top shape,” Christy says, as if he’s already counting down the days. “Imagine next Christmas, when we have a little one of our own.”
I climb into bed as he watches. I lie down and he closes the door. I listen as his footsteps descend the stairs. I listen as he rummages under the tree, picking up the presents I shopped for and lovingly wrapped. I listen as his car starts. And finally, I listen as he drives away.
I almost start to cry, but I decide on a better way to spend my time. I get out of bed and rummage in the tall chest of drawers under the window for my going-away outfit. I pull out blouses and headscarves until finally I spot the trousers I haven’t seen since that day. I slip them on. They’re a little snugger now. Too much apple tart , I think.
I find the matching jumper and wear that too. Then I kneel down and pull silver parcels out from under the bed. Downstairs, I remove the tags and replace them with new ones, which I sign with my name and a single kiss. I place the parcels in a plastic bag and get ready to leave the house. I stare at the warm fur coat Christy bought me, but I don’t put it on. Instead, I find an older, lighter one. It won’t keep me much warm but at least it’s a coat I bought for myself before I was married.
The streets are almost empty. There’s something serene and liberating about being alone with just the birds in the sky above me. Multicolored fairy lights shine brightly in the windows of houses I pass, and I can hear noise and laughter inside some. The joys of family together on Christmas , I think. It begins to rain as I reach the city center, and I enjoy the feeling of cool drops hitting my scarf-free head. Shutters are down and lights are off in all the shop fronts. McCarthy’s butcher’s comes into view. I’ve never seen it closed before. I knew it would be, of course, but nonetheless I feel delighted to see for myself that Dan McCarthy has taken a day off to enjoy time with his family. I imagine the little girls upstairs cuddling with their father or enjoying rides on his shoulders. I almost chicken out of knocking on their door—too ashamed to disturb them. But I look into the plastic bag and decide that little girls shouldn’t be deprived of pretty dolls’ dresses because of grown-up problems.
I knock on the door at the side of the shop. I have to knock louder and a couple of times more before I hear footsteps coming toward me. The door creaks open, and Dan’s face is the picture of concern when he sees me.
“Jesus be blessed,” he says, and clearly the rain has washed some of my makeup away and my battered face is peeking through. “Come in. Come in. It’s wet out there.”
I step inside and he closes the door behind us. In front is a set of concrete stairs.
“Mind your step,” he says as he leads the way up, then calls out, “Bernie. Oh, Bernie, you’ll never believe who’s here.”
I smell stuffing and gravy and my stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten properly since Christy dragged me to the hospital. I’ve prepared dinners as usual, but I couldn’t bring myself to put a bite in my mouth.
Bernie opens the door at the top of the stairs and her hands cup her face when she sees me.
“Oh, Maura. I knew it. I knew it was bad. What did I tell you, Dan? Huh? Huh?”
Bernie elbows her husband’s ribs. He doesn’t say a word. But he agrees. I can see concern etched between the furrows of his brow.
“What happened, dare I ask?” Dan says.
I shake my head and Dan nods his, understanding.
“Right,” he says, with a clap of his hands that startles everyone. “I’ll take the girls for a walk. Give you two some time to talk.”
Marie, Elizabeth, and Alice are playing contently on the sitting room floor. There are some coloring pencils scattered around them and Marie is trying her best to create a house, or possibly a car, on crisp white paper. Elizabeth is wheeling a small pram around in circles and Alice is chewing on some building blocks. It’s a pleasure to observe the children enjoying Christmas.
“No, please, don’t disturb the children. I won’t stay. I just came to drop these off.”
I open the bag and take out the silver paper parcels. The sound of shiny paper against plastic draws Marie’s attention, and she’s on her feet and eyeing me eagerly.
“I have something for you,” I say.
She scurries toward me and wraps her arms around me and her head rests against my hip. My heart flutters. It’s the warmest, most genuine hug I’ve felt since I left my childhood home. I bend and scoop her into my arms. “Happy Christmas.”
I feel a hand on my back and Bernie says, “Oh, Maura, do be careful. You’re not one hundred percent yet. You’ve been through a lot and Marie isn’t light.”
I lower Marie, letting go when I feel her feet touch the ground. I pass her one of the parcels and she tears it open.
“A dress,” she squeals. “A pretty, pretty dress for my dolly.” She hugs me again. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Elizabeth appears at my side. She looks up at me with wide, expectant eyes that inquire whether I have a parcel for her too.
“And yours,” I say, passing over her gift.
She struggles with the paper and Bernie has to help.
“Ellow,” she exclaims, curling her chubby hand around the small yellow dress. “I love ellow.”
I apologize that I don’t have a gift for Alice and I promise to crochet some blankets for the new baby once he or she arrives. I wave goodbye to the girls, who have turned their attention back to their toys, and walk toward the door.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Dan asks.
“Eh…”
“You’ll sit down and have a bite to eat, won’t you?”
“Eh…”
“Is Dr. Davenport waiting for you?” Bernie asks, and I can hear the concern in her tone.
I shake my head. “He’s gone to his mother’s.”
“Jesus,” Bernie says. “Right, well, good, because that bird in the stove is much, much too big. We’ll need all the help we can get to finish it.”
“C’mon, Maura, pull up a chair,” Dan says. “You’ll have a sherry, won’t you?”
“Oh.”
“Go on,” Bernie says. “I’m having one. It’s good for the baby.”
“All right so. Yes. A sherry, please.”
The sherry burns, but I have another. The turkey is delicious and I have seconds, and the conversation and laughter and joy fill me to the brim with happiness. I think I might just be full enough to last all year. Dan sits cross-legged on the floor next to his daughters. He colors with Marie and plays make-believe with Elizabeth and he cradles Alice in his arms as she falls asleep.
My father is a good man. A great man. He loves me, I know. But from the time I was very little—Elizabeth’s age, perhaps—I’ve known that he values my brothers more. Dan McCarthy treasures his daughters as if they are precious rubies. It pains him to pulls his eyes away from them. Bernie doesn’t say a word. She sits in the fireside chair and drifts in and out of relaxed sleep. My eyes seem to naturally fall on her large belly. I think about the child growing inside her. Such a lucky little baby with a wonderful family waiting to love him or her.
When it’s time to go, I hug every member of the McCarthy family as if they are my own and I thank them for the most wonderful day I’ve had in a long time.