Chapter 55
CHAPTER 55
October 1970
Bernie
It’s no surprise that Maura’s appearance on The Late Late Show is the talk of the country. Dan says the women coming into the butcher’s shop are in a tizzy over it all.
“?‘Did you hear the nonsense on the telly on Saturday night?’?” Dan mimics Mrs. Dunne. “?‘I’ll have two pork chops, please? I hope Father Walsh was in bed and didn’t see it. That kind of thing could give the poor old man a heart attack.’?” Dan’s impression of the priest’s pious housekeeper has me bent in the middle with laughter. “Does she think if she goes to confession twice a week it’ll guarantee her an express pass into heaven?”
Another woman, a new customer whose name Dan doesn’t yet know, asked him what he thought about it all and he gave her free liver just to avoid answering. One of his longest-standing customers, Mrs. Burton Shaw, an elderly lady with seventeen grown children—all girls—said, “It’s about time something changed.” Dan said he gave her free liver, too.
With so much chatter in the shop today it’s no surprise that Dan is late upstairs for dinner. The girls have already eaten and are content occupying themselves with the Halloween coloring books that Maura bought them.
Dan washes up, and I plate us up some shepherd’s pie. I wait until Dan is almost finished eating before I pull a piece of paper from under my bottom and pass it to him. He reads the handwriting on the front, inhales sharply, and places the paper on the table.
“Oh, Bernie, this doesn’t seem…” Dan sets his fork down on the edge of his plate so he can adjust the collar of his shirt, which suddenly looks as if it’s uncomfortably tight. “This doesn’t seem awful appropriate. Getting the girls involved. I mean, they’re just children.”
“They’re just children now. But they will be women someday and I’ll be dammed if I’m going to stand back and let an opportunity to better their future pass me by. Life is bloody hard, Dan. I want better for my girls.”
Dan picks up his fork again. He doesn’t know what to say, I can tell. He wants better for our daughters, too.
I exhale, tired. “Our girls don’t understand now. They’re too little. It’s all going over their heads. But someday they’ll look back and see how far the country has come. I really believe that. I have to believe that.”
Dan drags a hand around his face. “But what if people find out you’re involved?”
“No one will ever know.” I place my hand over his and help it back down by his side. “I’m behind the scenes. A faceless flyer maker, that’s all. I’ll go along to the meetings, stack a few chairs, tidy up after, but I’ll keep my mouth shut. I’ll stay out of sight.”
His eyes glass over. “I’m sorry, Bernie. I know you’d like to do more. I know you’d love nothing more than to speak your piece. But if people recognized you, they’d stop coming to the shop. And what with that new butcher up the way, the one with the fancy fridges, we can barely compete anymore as it is.”
“You have my word, Dan. I will put our family first. No matter what. You and the girls come first.”
Dan smiles. It’s wobbly and nervous. I feel his concerns. I share them. I will be beyond careful. I have to be.
“So, tell me,” he says, picking up the flyer again to run his finger over the words. “How many of these did you make?”
The girls and I have spent the entire day making flyers. Each piece of paper is cut neatly into a rectangle about the size of a birthday card. The writing on the front says, Rights for Women. Contraception meeting at the Mansion House, 14 November at 10:30 a.m.
The writing on some is more legible than others. Poor Marie complained that her hand hurt after writing for a couple of hours straight and there is certainly the odd spelling mistake in the mix. But none of that matters. The point is made.
“The whole country is invited,” I say. “Men too.”
Dan almost chokes on a mouthful of mince.
“What? It takes two to make a baby, Daniel McCarthy. Men can come along, too, if they’d like to know more.”
“Oh Jesus, Bernie. That’s some can of worms you’re opening.” He sighs. “Has Maura heard anything from Dr. Davenport?”
“No.”
“Do you think he’ll come back? She made a show of him on the telly.”
“He deserved it.”
Dan raises his hands above his head as if my words are bullets. “He did. He did. But he can’t be too happy about it.”
“Maura’s happy. At last. That’s all that matters.”
Dan spoons the last of his dinner into his mouth.