Apartment 3B

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘That’s them. They have this traditional recipe that’s been passed down from father to son, I think,’ Matt said, as they drove along the Grand Canal, the yellow melon-slice moon reflected in its gently undulating surface.

  Liz sighed, always moved by the beauty of nature. ‘Isn’t that a lovely sight? Look at the light. I wish I could capture that on canvas.’

  Matt smiled across at her. ‘I must bring you over to the West with me some time, that’s where you’ll get your light and your sunsets and moonrises.’

  ‘I spent a couple of weeks in the West, one summer while I was at college. It wasn’t half long enough, though.’

  ‘Well, play your cards right and we’ll see what we can do!’ her chauffeur said as they turned off the canal and headed towards Burdock’s. There was a queue halfway down the street, but it was worth it for the melt-in-the-mouth cod and chips that she and Matt consumed sitting together on a canalside seat.

  ‘Oh Matt, that was absolutely scrumptious,’ Liz said, licking her fingers with pleasure.

  ‘Better than the Mirabeau?’ he teased.

  ‘Oh much!’ she said, pinching one of his chips. They sat contentedly in the warm night breeze talking easily to one another and it seemed to Liz that she had known him all her life.

  ‘Would you like to come for a walk beside the sea,’ Matt asked her, ‘or do you have to be in at a certain time?’

  Liz smiled. ‘My parents don’t put any restrictions on me. They trust me and I respect them, so I don’t have to be in. Besides, you know, I’m a big girl now. I’m twenty-one.’

  ‘My God, a geriatric artist!’ he said in mock dismay.

  ‘What age are you, smarty?’

  ‘Now she’s asking me my age! How unladylike.’

  ‘Thirty!’ she guessed.

  ‘I am not!’ he retorted indignantly, ‘I’m only twenty-eight just gone.’

  ‘Practically middle-aged,’ she said triumphantly as they walked back to the car and drove out to Dollymount. They walked for miles, hand in hand, inhaling the fresh salt tang of the breeze, laughing and teasing and telling each other about their lives and their families. Matt had a widowed mother and a sister and brother living in Spiddal and another brother in the States. He was close to his family, another plus, decided Liz, who was very family-oriented herself. She liked men who looked after their mothers. They watched the sun rise over Howth, enjoying the magnificent spectacle as the sky turned pale pink and orange, the reflection dappling the shimmering surface of the sea.

  ‘Will I see you again?’ Matt asked a little later as he escorted her up the path to her front door.

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ Liz answered truthfully. A broad smile creased his face and then he bent his head and very lightly kissed her on the lips.

  ‘See you tomorrow then?’

  Liz laughed. ‘You’re a fast mover, Matt Lacey.’

  ‘I’d want to be to catch you! I’ll collect you at seven.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting,’ she assured him. Instinctively, she knew that this man was going to be very important in her life.

  ‘Did you have a good time?’ Christine enquired groggily from her bed as Liz removed her clothes and slid gratefully under her welcoming covers.

  ‘I sure did, Christine,’ she told her sleepy sister. ‘I think I’m in love!’

  ‘Oh my sainted aunt, go to sleep and you’ll be all right in the morning,’ Christine said reassuringly, giving an enormous yawn. But Liz was already fast asleep, a smile curving the corners of her lips.

  Monday 21 May 1979

  ‘Congratulations, Mrs Lacey,’ the doctor smiled at her. ‘You’re approximately seven weeks pregnant.’ Liz sat like an idiot, beaming from ear to ear as the news sank in. She was going to have a baby, she was going to be a mother, and Matt, gorgeous kind sexy Matt, was going to be a daddy. Floating on cloud nine, Liz left the surgery and started to walk home. She couldn’t wait to tell her husband. How she would last until he came off shift tonight she did not know. She’d have to tell him first, and then her parents and Christine and Don and Eve. A December baby, due just before Christmas. Matt would have to play Santa Claus!

  It was a lovely warm early-summer’s day and when she reached Harold’s Cross Bridge, she decided to sit by the canal for a little while to recover herself. Liz liked living in Harold’s Cross. It was a friendly area, not far from Kevin Street Garda Station where Matt worked, and she loved the canal, the site of their first meal together. Liz grinned as she remembered that first night with Matt, when they ate the fish and chips from Burdock’s. They’d had many a single from the chipper since. Her thumb caressed the three-banded Russian wedding ring that she wore on her left hand. Imagine she was married for over three months! Where had the time gone?

  She’d known practically from the beginning that Matt was the man for her, and he had confessed himself that once he started dating her he was a goner. He had asked her to marry him on Christmas Eve, five months after they had started dating. It had been so romantic. A warm glow spread through her at the memory. They had been standing right beside MacDowell’s Jewellers on O’Connell Street, looking at the glittering Christmas trees, and listening to the carol singers who were singing the Adeste, and it seemed to Liz that she had never felt so happy in her entire life as she did that Christmas Eve with Matt’s arms around her. She just wanted that moment to go on for ever.

  ‘I’ll be back in a second. I just want to get a paper,’ Matt murmured. ‘Just stay there, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ agreed Liz, it was no hardship. She loved listening to the carol singers; they really put her in the festive mood. Five minutes later he was back, edging his way through the throng, a broad grin on his handsome face. Liz grinned back, she just loved this guy so much. ‘I want you to close your eyes and come with me,’ he instructed. ‘I’ll lead you!’

  ‘What are you up to now?’ she said suspiciously. That Matt, he was always up to something!

  ‘Just trust me, I want to give you a little surprise. Now close your eyes . . . please, Liz!’

  ‘Nut!’ she exclaimed, kissing him full on the mouth.

  ‘Mmmm,’ he murmured, kissing her back. They stood, arms entwined, oblivious of the milling crowds. ‘Come on before we’re had up for indecent behaviour,’ Matt said huskily, his eyes warm with desire.

  ‘Oh Matt!’ sighed Liz, her knees feeling deliciously shaky. Matt was the most fantastic kisser! He never failed to turn her on.

  ‘Close your eyes, you minx,’ Matt commanded and she obeyed happily. If Matt had told her he was taking her to the moon, she would have gone, she was so crazy about him. She felt him leading her through what seemed like a door, for the noise and singing faded and there was a quietness about the place. ‘No peeping!’ he warned. ‘Now sit on this chair and keep your eyes closed.’ He eased her down on to a chair. She was agog with curiosity. Where in the name of God was she? Were people looking at her? She heard a sound, another person whispering to Matt, and then he was telling her to open her eyes, and she gasped at the sight that met her eyes. She sat in a jeweller’s surrounded by trays of the most beautiful diamond engagement rings. Her eyes met Matt’s.

  ‘Will you marry me, Liz?’ he said, and she burst into tears. Through the downpour, she could see the look of consternation on his face and the young assistant’s.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Matt was mystified.

  ‘I . . . I’m so happy,’ she blubbered.

  Relief suffused her boyfriend’s face. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake! I thought you were going to refuse me. But what are you crying for?’

  ‘I always cry when I’m happy,’ sobbed Liz, ‘and I’ve never been so happy in my life.’

  The young assistant, beaming again, said delightedly, ‘Oohh, this is so romantic I could cry myself.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ said Matt, laughing.

  Managing to compose herself, Liz looked at the sparkling array in front of her. The rings were all so beautiful.

  ‘Pic
k whichever one you like,’ Matt urged, putting his arm around her. She tried on this one and that one, and this one again and finally decided on a lovely classical solitaire set in a band of gold. ‘I’ll put it on your finger tonight,’ he told her as the assistant parcelled up the precious package and handed it to him.

  Liz had never been so happy as she was that Christmas. They made love for the first time in his cold, gloomy bedroom, with its lumpy flatland single bed but Liz hadn’t been cold. Matt had kept her warm, covering every inch of her with his strong lean body as they snuggled together under mounds of quilts and blankets. It had been the most exquisite time of giving and taking and sharing pleasure, and Matt, her quiet good-humoured Matt, had surprised her with the depth of his passion for her, making her gasp with pleasure, arousing her to a frenzy with his lovemaking. His hands so gentle and strong traced paths of fire along her body until she had felt as though all her insides were turning to molten liquid. Matt was her first, and when he came inside her, Liz cried aloud with pleasure. Hers had been a wonderful first time. So many of her friends had confided in her that they had been disappointed, but Liz had always known that with Matt it would be perfect.

  Sitting on the canal bank, with the sun warming her face, Liz felt ripples of desire running through her as she remembered that wonderful night. There had been many wonderful nights since then. Nearly every night was a wonderful night, and tonight when he got home from work, it was going to be extra wonderful. ‘Oh Matt, hurry home,’ she murmured, getting a strange look from two little boys who were fishing in the canal.

  Just under the arch of the bridge she could see one of her neighbours, Will, feeding the stray cats. He waved at her, and she waved back. Will was a pet. He owned a house a few doors down from where they had a ground-floor flat, and he had given Matt a push one day when the car wouldn’t start. When it still wouldn’t start, he had run Matt up to work, and invited Liz in to taste his homemade avocado-and-tuna dip. It was delicious, and from then on they were firm friends and Liz was provided with a constant supply of his speciality. He was a great handyman, and seeing Liz and Matt up to their eyes in decoration, had arrived one Saturday unannounced, with his own brushes and paint-stripper, and had proceeded to organize them in no uncertain terms. He kept them at it until the work was finished and before they knew it, their ground-floor flat had been turned into a light airy home. Wait until Will heard her news, he’d be thrilled for her. Liz really got on well with her neighbours. There was a good community spirit on her street and everybody looked out for everybody else. Even though it would be a while before they were able to afford a mortgage for their own house, she was happy where she was. Happier than she had ever known she could be.

  Matt was such a good man. He had spent a fortune on his mother’s house, getting a new roof and an indoor toilet and bathroom built for her and he had also helped put his sister through university. That was the reason he was still living in a flat when she met him, and not in his own house. And such a cold and miserable flat. Liz was so glad they had got the place in Harold’s Cross where they even had a garden. Don and Eve had bought them a patio set as a wedding present, and Liz was looking forward to eating outside. They’d tried it a few times when the weather was really fine and it had been a joy. There was something about eating outside that really gave you an appetite and just a few days ago they’d entertained Don and Eve, Christine and Liam and Will to a scrumptious chicken supreme, with loads of crispy garlic bread and red wine. Then they’d all played Scrabble with much arguing and giving out and laughing. It had been a lovely evening, one of many such that she’d had since she had got married.

  God! It was hard to believe that she’d been married three months. She’d wanted to marry on Valentine’s Day and the event had been a happy, homely affair. Liz had been adamant that she didn’t want a whole load of fuss and faddle. She and Matt weren’t the kind to want to impress neighbours and relations with a big do – they just wanted their loved ones and friends to have a happy day out and not to be worrying about whether they had to wear hats or who they were sitting beside at the meal.

  One of Liz’s friends, Triona, for whom she’d been bridesmaid, had had a fiasco of a wedding a few weeks before Liz. Her mother had insisted on a big affair. ‘I wouldn’t give it to the relations to say we couldn’t afford it,’ she informed her daughter. They had had the whole shebang: red carpet, Rolls Royce, champagne reception. It had cost a fortune, and it was the most boring wedding Liz had ever been at.

  ‘No way!’ said Matt later, as they danced to a deadly dull band that was murdering ‘Love Me Tender’. ‘There’ll be none of this carry-on at our wedding. Triona’s up there almost in tears, the best man is plastered and has insulted her mother and all the aunts are giving out goodo, I’ll be lucky if there isn’t a fight, and I’ll have to do my guardian of the law bit!’

  Liz giggled. It was a shame for her friend, but it really was funny that all that money had been spent, and for what? Despite the fact that it was a so-called top-notch hotel, the meal had been a disaster, served over an hour-and-a-half late. Liz had been really shocked to see that they were served packet soup and that the vegetables were watery and overcooked. The band was a trio of pot-bellied swingers in their forties who couldn’t hold a note, the wedding cake which had cost the earth was as dry as the Sahara, and no-one looked as though they were enjoying themselves. Liz had seen people glancing unobtrusively at their watches as if to say, how much longer? Well Liz was having a quiet wedding with about sixty guests in Clontarf Castle, and if people didn’t like it they could lump it!

  As she strolled back across the bridge towards home, she smiled to herself. It had been a beautiful wedding, hers and Matt’s. She had woken up to find it pouring out of the heavens, despite the statue of the Infant of Prague languishing in the front garden. ‘Don’t worry, it will be fine for the photos. I just know it,’ Christine said firmly, seeing her sister’s crestfallen face. The sisters had a long lazy breakfast before heading off to the hairdresser’s to get their hair and faces done. Liz was damned if she was going to get into a fuss. After all this was her last breakfast at home. Through the clouds, Liz could see the sun trying to shine through.

  She had promised Matt faithfully that she would not be late and so, at ten minutes to two, she was all ready to step into the Rolls that came as part of the package with the hotel. In a white satin creation made for her by Eve, and which hadn’t cost a fortune, Liz looked a million dollars, beaming from ear to ear as she took her father’s arm and walked to the car. She was just so happy she wasn’t a bit nervous. They reached the church and Christine, who was waiting at the steps, arrived over to the car looking a bit harassed. ‘The lads haven’t arrived yet. Go around the block again,’ she instructed the occupants of the Rolls.

  ‘Looks like you’ve been left at the altar,’ her dad chuckled, as the driver put his foot on the accelerator.

  ‘Dad!’ exclaimed Liz, half-amused, half-annoyed.

  ‘I’m only joking! They’re probably stuck in traffic somewhere. And of course you had to be on time. Couldn’t trust you to be traditional.’ Her father smiled, giving her hand a squeeze.

  ‘I hope nothing’s wrong! It’s not like Matt,’ she worried aloud.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. Now sit back in this dream of a car and make the most of it.’

  By the time they had gone around the block three times, Liz was getting frantic. What was wrong with Matt? He’d never stand her up. Matt had more integrity than any man she had ever known. He must have been in an accident. His mother must be frantic inside the church. God, please don’t let anything have happened to Matt, she prayed silently in the back of the Rolls, her hand clutching her father’s. ‘Don’t be getting upset now,’ her dad said reassuringly, although he was beginning to get worried himself. The driver, used to these situations, drove yet again towards the church at two miles an hour. This time, instead of Christine waving them away to complete another circuit of Ballygall, she beckoned
to them with a broad grin. Mightily relieved, Liz whispered a prayer of thanks to the Almighty.

  ‘Puncture,’ murmured Christine as she arranged Liz’s billowing veil. At least it had stopped raining. ‘Matt’s in bits. He’s really upset about being late,’ she told Liz as they prepared to have a photo taken. ‘And Mick had a big streak of grease down his face. Fortunately I got my hands on him before he went into the church. Poor Mrs Lacey was in flitters but all’s well that ends well, so smile for God’s sake!’ she instructed crisply.

  ‘I suppose Mrs Boyce and Mrs McNulty were having a field-day,’ Liz murmured, as the photographer danced around looking for the best shot.

  ‘Nearly having orgasms!’ said the irrepressible Christine. ‘It would have really made their week if you had been stood up. Imagine the mileage they’d have got out of that!’ Mrs Boyce and Mrs McNulty were the two local gossips, and no wedding, funeral or christening escaped them. They practically lived in the church.

  ‘If bloody Patrick Lichfield doesn’t take this photo soon, I’ll scream,’ snapped Liz through clenched teeth.

  ‘That would really thrill Boyce and McNulty. Go on, I dare you!’ Christine grinned.

  Liz laughed, the photographer clicked, and then she was walking up the aisle on her father’s arm as all eyes turned to watch.

  Matt stood at the altar, his blue eyes serious as he waited for her to reach him. ‘Sorry I was late, Liz,’ he whispered as her father gave him his daughter’s hand.

  ‘Were you?’ Liz asked, wide-eyed with pretended innocence. A look of relief washed over the face of her husband-to-be as they turned to face the priest. Mick, the best man, gave Liz a broad wink and she winked back. And then the priest was saying, ‘Dearly beloved brethren, we are gathered here in the eyes of God to join Liz and Matt in Holy Matrimony . . .’

  All the tension eased from Liz and serenity enveloped her as, watched by their loved ones, she became Matt’s wife. Some moments would always remain with Liz: Matt’s intent, serious face as he tried to get the ring on her finger. ‘It’s all right, Matt, you don’t have to break her finger,’ the priest said soothingly as the congregation laughed; Christine and she catching each other’s eyes after the priest had pronounced them man and wife and starting to cry. The hugs from her family and Matt’s at the sign of peace. Matt’s great bear-hug, the best of all.