across my skin. Granddad, in the swell of summer, bringing in the first batch of honey; the drama and fear of seeing my first swarm; how he called my grandmother “honey girl” and kissed the wrinkled tissue of her aged hand. A vision of marriage that you don’t know you’ve absorbed until you are married yourself, and looking for answers to questions you are not supposed to ask.
“I know the difference,” I said.
Uncle Patrick was delighted.
“Eileen doesn’t care for it. She says she’d prefer honey from the shop. She knows where it’s from.”
I said nothing about that, but we both knew the other was horrified.
“How much have you got?”
“Six jars.”
“I’ll buy them all.”
Patrick laughed.
“Tell you what, lady. Have these ones on the house and next time I’m over, then we’ll talk.”
“You’ve been here before?”
He looked at me quizzically and said, “I come maybe once or twice a year.”
Great. Not only is my husband manipulative, but he’s a liar, too. Manipulative liar. Nice. A lifetime of joy and happiness right there. In a funny way, I approved.
*
The night was drawing in, and I thought we would never get out of there. One of the kids had turned on the stereo and there was some terrible CD of disco hits banging away in the background. I had this horrible feeling that the party was just beginning while I’d already had enough.
Dan was talking animatedly to some cousin or other. I walked across and took his hand and he continued talking, interlocking my fingers with his to let me know he knew I was there. Then this seventies love song came on and, without explanation or introduction, Dan grabbed me and started to dance.
I would take the stars out of the sky for you
Stop the rain from falling if you asked me to
I was really embarrassed, but Dan held me tight in his amateur sway as if we were the only ones there.
I’d do anything for you
Your wish is my command
I could move a mountain
If your hand was in my hand
“Thanks for coming today, baby.”
He whispered it with the solemnity of a wedding vow, like it really had made all the difference to him.
And then I got it. Dan didn’t need me to bake cakes, or entertain his uncle, or dress up, or field his mother’s expectations, or make his sisters feel important, or chit-chat nicely to his relations. He just needed me to be there. Because when I was with him, it made it easier for him to be with his family. To be able to point across a room and say, “She’s with me,” to his Uncle Patrick, his mother, his cousins, but most important, to himself.
My being in his life—sitting, walking, breathing, talking in the background of his day—made it better. Made him look and feel like he was a better man.
Dan had lied to get me there that day because he believed that was what he needed to do to secure my presence. Only I knew that all he had to do was ask me straight, and I would have said yes.
It felt good, and in that moment I knew I had taken one step closer to being Dan’s wife.
Children’s Fairy Cakes
The recipe makes just over a dozen.
Cream 4oz margarine with 4oz sugar then add 2 eggs. If you beat them gently first, it lessens the risk of curdling. Mix in 8 heaped tablespoons flour (about l0oz) and a half teaspoon baking soda. (This is your basic recipe, but it’s fun to let children mix in things at this stage for themselves. Your mother loved raisins, but I seem to remember one ten-year-old girl who made me mash in a banana! Imagine my surprise when it worked!)
Grease your bun tin generously, and cook in a medium/hot oven for up to 45 minutes. Leave to cool in the tin before turning out and leaving to cool on a rack. (Although if the little ones are around, they won’t last that long!)
16
No change ever happened in me more absolutely or more immediately than that of motherhood.
I was crotchety and complaining all through the pregnancy. I dreaded the birth, the hardship and humiliation of it, with
“I know the difference,” I said.
Uncle Patrick was delighted.
“Eileen doesn’t care for it. She says she’d prefer honey from the shop. She knows where it’s from.”
I said nothing about that, but we both knew the other was horrified.
“How much have you got?”
“Six jars.”
“I’ll buy them all.”
Patrick laughed.
“Tell you what, lady. Have these ones on the house and next time I’m over, then we’ll talk.”
“You’ve been here before?”
He looked at me quizzically and said, “I come maybe once or twice a year.”
Great. Not only is my husband manipulative, but he’s a liar, too. Manipulative liar. Nice. A lifetime of joy and happiness right there. In a funny way, I approved.
*
The night was drawing in, and I thought we would never get out of there. One of the kids had turned on the stereo and there was some terrible CD of disco hits banging away in the background. I had this horrible feeling that the party was just beginning while I’d already had enough.
Dan was talking animatedly to some cousin or other. I walked across and took his hand and he continued talking, interlocking my fingers with his to let me know he knew I was there. Then this seventies love song came on and, without explanation or introduction, Dan grabbed me and started to dance.
I would take the stars out of the sky for you
Stop the rain from falling if you asked me to
I was really embarrassed, but Dan held me tight in his amateur sway as if we were the only ones there.
I’d do anything for you
Your wish is my command
I could move a mountain
If your hand was in my hand
“Thanks for coming today, baby.”
He whispered it with the solemnity of a wedding vow, like it really had made all the difference to him.
And then I got it. Dan didn’t need me to bake cakes, or entertain his uncle, or dress up, or field his mother’s expectations, or make his sisters feel important, or chit-chat nicely to his relations. He just needed me to be there. Because when I was with him, it made it easier for him to be with his family. To be able to point across a room and say, “She’s with me,” to his Uncle Patrick, his mother, his cousins, but most important, to himself.
My being in his life—sitting, walking, breathing, talking in the background of his day—made it better. Made him look and feel like he was a better man.
Dan had lied to get me there that day because he believed that was what he needed to do to secure my presence. Only I knew that all he had to do was ask me straight, and I would have said yes.
It felt good, and in that moment I knew I had taken one step closer to being Dan’s wife.
Children’s Fairy Cakes
The recipe makes just over a dozen.
Cream 4oz margarine with 4oz sugar then add 2 eggs. If you beat them gently first, it lessens the risk of curdling. Mix in 8 heaped tablespoons flour (about l0oz) and a half teaspoon baking soda. (This is your basic recipe, but it’s fun to let children mix in things at this stage for themselves. Your mother loved raisins, but I seem to remember one ten-year-old girl who made me mash in a banana! Imagine my surprise when it worked!)
Grease your bun tin generously, and cook in a medium/hot oven for up to 45 minutes. Leave to cool in the tin before turning out and leaving to cool on a rack. (Although if the little ones are around, they won’t last that long!)
16
No change ever happened in me more absolutely or more immediately than that of motherhood.
I was crotchety and complaining all through the pregnancy. I dreaded the birth, the hardship and humiliation of it, with
Similar Books
