Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
Maura
It’s strange to get off the ferry and drive straight to Christy’s house and not my parents’. But I remind myself that Rathmines is where I live now. My new home is mid-terrace, with a redbrick front and lacy net curtains hanging in all the windows.
Grace has already given me tips on how to keep them white.
“Bicarbonate of soda, love,” she said, taking me aside just before the speeches at the wedding. “Bicarbonate of soda and some soapy water, that’s what you want.”
I promised to do my best. But the responsibility of keeping something white didn’t hit until just now. Christy parks on the side of the road, in a spot clearly left for number 11. Our house. Each house from number 1 to 29 is identical to the one next to it, like concrete soldiers in smart red jackets and black top hats, standing to attention as they guard the cobblestone street outside. I imagine on sunny summer days the neighbors sit in their pristine front gardens and supervise their children playing hopscotch.
Da has been moving my stuff piecemeal over the past couple of weeks or so, and when Christy opens the front door, we are greeted by three milk crates. One full of my clothes, another of shoes, and the last one containing pots and pans and kitchen utensils that Ma must have gathered up for me.
I bend down, ready to rummage through my things, but Christy takes my hand, looks me in the eye, and leads me upstairs to the bedroom. I’ve been in Christy’s house before. Once at Christmas for a singsong with his family, and once more recently, when he had a fever and I brought him some chicken soup. But I’ve never been up the stairs before. Walking into his bedroom for the first time takes my breath away. The walls are painted royal blue and the carpet is bottle green with a swirly lime pattern. There’s a queen bed with a stripey blue and green duvet and matching pillows. The curtains are brown, no doubt expensive, and at odds with everything else.
Christy gives me a moment to survey the room and then he says, “Are you tired?”
“No,” I say, instantly wishing I could change my answer as soon as I see the longing look in his eyes.
I’m in no mood, but Christy kisses my neck and helps me onto the bed.
“Welcome home,” he says.
“Let’s unpack,” I suggest, remaining upright.
He shakes his head. “Tomorrow.”
I inhale, defeated, and lie back. We make love for almost an hour and afterward Christy falls asleep. He’s snoring loudly when I creep downstairs and sort through the crates. I fold clothes away in the empty drawers in the bedroom. I shove my shoes under the bed, taking care not to disturb him when I lift the edges of the blankets, and I find space in the already amply stocked kitchen for Ma’s bits and pieces. With my possessions stowed away and feeling somewhat more settled in the house, I climb into bed next to my husband and try to sleep.