The Ballroom on Magnolia Street

by Sharon Owens

  ‘Mum,’ he whispered, spying his softly snoring father. ‘Can we go into the kitchen? I have to tell you something. Sorry I’m a bit late getting home. Were you waiting up for me?’

  ‘Not at all, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Come on.’ She got up and placed the fire screen in front of the flames. They tiptoed past Eddy and went into the kitchen with their arms round each other.

  ‘I was just going to make some hot chocolate, actually,’ said Marion. ‘I hate going to sleep at all at Christmas time, it seems such a waste! Now, what is it?’

  ‘Mum, I know you’re going to be very disappointed with me,’ he began, running his fingers through his hair in a way that reminded her of Johnny.

  ‘Declan, I won’t be. Honestly.’

  ‘I’ve been a bit careless, you see.’ He looked very embarrassed.

  ‘Just tell me, son, whatever it is,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll understand.’ She held his hands and waited, praying he wouldn’t tell her he was hooked on drugs.

  ‘Shirley is… We’re having a baby, Mum. Shirley’s pregnant.’

  ‘Is that all, pet?’ She laughed with relief. ‘I thought you were going to give me bad news. A baby? Why, that’s just wonderful. Wonderful!’

  ‘Really? You’re not angry with me?’ Declan was amazed.

  ‘Not one bit. I don’t expect it was planned, my darling. But these things happen when you’re young, and in love. How is Shirley coping?’

  ‘She’s a bit shaken, of course. A bit worried.’

  ‘She’s keeping the baby, isn’t she? I presume she is, if you’re telling me about it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, we’re keeping the baby, surely; and we’re going to get married right away.’

  ‘A wedding! Oh, Declan! This is fabulous altogether. I’m so proud of you for proposing. Naturally, I’ll help you both in any way I can.’

  ‘I love Shirley, Mum. We’re not just getting married because of the baby. I really love her. She’s special. She’s smart, and she likes the same things as me, and we never get bored with each other. We’re like you and Dad.’

  ‘I know, son. I’ve noticed how happy the two of you are together. I’m not blind, you know.’

  ‘And you don’t think we’re too young to get married?’

  ‘There’s no ideal age to be married, pet. Some people wait until they are much older than you are, and then they are too set in their ways to share their life with another person. If Shirley is the one for you, why wait?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re taking it so well, Mum.’

  ‘I’m delighted, really I am. I adore children. It will be heavenly to have another little one to coo over again. I’ll be a doting grandmother, just you wait and see. It will be poor Shirley who will have the morning sickness and the labour pains to deal with.’

  ‘We might have to move in together quite soon. She won’t get much support from her own family. They’re a bit old-fashioned.’

  ‘Give me a hug,’ Marion said. ‘I’ll miss you so much, pet, when you go. But you must, of course. You must get a place of your own and take good care of Shirley. You will be good to her, won’t you, Declan? No matter what the women’s libbers say, it’s impossible to bring up a child without lots of help and support.’

  ‘I will, Mum. I promise.’

  ‘Good boy. And in the meantime, Shirley is very welcome to stay with us. It’s so important not to be upset when you’re expecting a baby. How far on is she?’

  ‘Just a few weeks.’

  Marion thought of her own first pregnancy. No one sympathetic to tell, and no comfort in her parents’ cold little house on the edge of the city cemetery. No one at all to help her, until Eddy came to the rescue. She took a deep breath and composed herself.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Get some cups and saucers on a tray. And some chocolate biscuits and Christmas cake as well. We’ll tell your father right away. And the girls, too. They’ll be raging if we keep this wonderful news to ourselves for any length of time.’

  ‘Tonight? You’re going to wake them all up, tonight?’

  ‘Indeed I am. We’ll have a little party to celebrate!’

  18. For Unto Us a Child is Born

  The great formal dinner was under way. The good dining table had been pulled out from the wall and extended until there was barely room to walk round it. It was covered first with two protective blankets and then a new crimson tablecloth, and then a gold runner. There were quilted placemats, green wine glasses, blue water glasses; and salt and pepper shakers in the form of ceramic Santas. There were china dishes of assorted nuts and sugarcoated jellies and fancy almond biscuits and home-made cranberry sauce. There were crackers criss-crossed up and down the table and tea lights in red-glass holders. It was really very cosy when it was finished and the overhead lights were switched off. The turkey was cooked to perfection and was resting on the draining board before being carved. Shirley was in charge of minding the vegetables while Kate was slicing up fresh fruit and mashing raspberries and icing sugar for the starters. Mrs Winters was stirring the gravy, made to her own secret recipe: four spoonfuls of Bisto gravy powder, with a dash of red wine and a sprinkling of black pepper thrown in. The women fussed happily in the kitchen and Mr Winters left them to it and went to put his feet up, in front of a hearty fire in the lounge. There were few things sweeter in life, he decided, than dozing in front of a good fire while the women clattered pots and pans in the kitchen. The aroma of the golden-brown turkey took him right back to his happy childhood, spent on an isolated poultry farm in deepest Armagh.

  Shirley had bought the number-one single, ‘Fairytale of New York’, and had set the record player to spin it over and over again, until her mother lost her temper and threatened to throw the whole contraption in the fire. Kate said Shirley was mad to buy the record, number one or not, because it was sung by an ugly man with most of his teeth missing. Shirley said Kate wouldn’t know art if it jumped up and bit her on the nose.

  ‘Just keep an eye on the sprouts, Shirley,’ scolded Kate. ‘You don’t want them going soggy.’

  The doorbell rang at one o’clock precisely. Mr Winters leaned out of his chair to see who it was. He always did that, even when he knew already who was coming.

  ‘Well, I owe your mother a tenner,’ he called out to his daughters. ‘They’ve actually turned up, by God. They’re braver than they look, then, the pair of them. I suppose I’d better let them in.’ He heaved himself up out of the armchair, yawned and stretched himself. The heat of the fire had made him quite drowsy.

  Declan and Kevin had arrived on time. They stood nervously on the doorstep, clutching bottles of wine, and pulling at their shirt collars. The two sisters preened themselves in the dining-room mirror while their father dragged himself to the front door and let the boys in with a scowl on his face. Despite his wish to see his daughters married off and settled down with families of their own, he was a little bit unsettled by the arrival of two new males into his private territory. They were ushered inside, greetings were exchanged, coats were hung up on the already overflowing coat rack and the festive table was praised, and praised again. Kate kissed Kevin on the cheek, to the amusement of the rest of her family; and everyone sat down, taking great care not to pull the gold runner out of place. Kate went into the kitchen and came gliding out, Delia Smith-style, with a tray full of pretty-looking starters.

  ‘Kate made the cool-iss herself, Kevin,’ said Mrs Winters, proudly.

  ‘Cool-ee, Mum. Honestly! Don’t show me up!’

  ‘Let’s say Grace first,’ declared Mr Winters and the boys froze, terrified that half an hour of solemn prayer was about to ensue. A bead of sweat appeared on Declan’s forehead. Any mention of religion made him worry about how news of the baby would be received. Kevin was also uncomfortable with group prayer. He lived alone and didn’t pray very often. He wasn’t sure he could remember the words to the rosary if things got out of hand and he was called upon to lead. But, it was only Mr Winters enjoying his favourit
e joke. They all bowed their heads for ten long seconds, waiting for someone to speak.

  The silence was broken by the girls.

  ‘Grace first!’ shouted Shirley and Kate, and they all burst out laughing.

  The party mood was in full flow after that, and the fresh-fruit platters disappeared within two minutes. Kevin opened the wine and filled up every single glass on the table to the brim. Including the water glasses. Declan drank his in one go, but only Shirley noticed. They exchanged looks. It’s going to be okay. Shirley took a sip of her wine, then remembered about the baby and put it down again.

  Mrs Winters was wearing a pink cardigan trimmed with a feather boa, and the feathers kept going in her mouth when she was eating.

  ‘Oh my word, do pardon me, I do beg your pardon,’ she kept saying to Declan, who was sitting beside her. Which made them all laugh every time.

  Mr Winters kept drawing everyone’s attention to the lavish crackers he had provided, and the high-quality stainless-steel screwdrivers and key rings that had fallen out of them. He managed to mention the high price of crackers several times, as well as many examples of how he could have spent the twenty pounds on something better. Eventually, Kate had to kick him under the table to get him to stop it.

  Everyone clapped when the enormous golden-brown turkey was carried in by Mrs Winters, on a huge plate that had once belonged to her grandmother. She set the plate in front of her husband and withdrew respectfully. He stood up to carve it with a bow of his head and a little flourish of the carving knife. Kate chatted to Kevin about how well the garage was doing while Shirley was left to work her way round the table, doling out steaming vegetables and stuffing-balls. The turkey was delicious, but then again, it was a fresh bird.

  Mrs Winters told Declan she’d ‘never, never, ever’ let a frozen turkey in or near the house, in her entire life. The very thought of doing such a thing gave her the creeps. And he told her they used frozen turkey in the restaurant every year. They had to, in case they ran out of supplies of fresh. Mrs Winters went bright red and ate a few more feathers off her boa. Kevin didn’t say much but he ate two helpings of dinner and three helpings of mince pies and cream. Kate had told him that she did most of the cooking while Shirley was messing about with her precious records, and he wanted to show her that he appreciated her domestic efforts.

  ‘Well, Kate, those pies were truly splendid,’ he gasped. His face was red with overeating. He wanted to unbutton his trousers but, with Kate’s father watching him like a hawk, he wisely decided against it.

  ‘There’s nothing to cooking,’ Kate smugly declared, as they passed the jug of fresh cream round the table. ‘I don’t know what Mum made such a fuss about, all these years.’

  Mrs Winters was quite indignant about that outrageous remark, but she said nothing, for the sake of peace. That cheeky madam, Kate, was as lazy about the house as anyone could imagine. She’d rather live on biscuits and tea, than venture near the cooker. But she was well able to rouse herself to throw a bit of tinfoil over the turkey and jam it into the oven when there was a young man to impress. Yes, indeed! And as for the mince pies! Kate had used frozen pastry and mince from a jar. Huh! Let’s see her put up a different dinner each day, every day, for forty years, she fumed to herself. Let’s see her bake a meat-and-potato pie when she’s trying to stop two young children from playing with the fire in the front room. Still. It was all going so well, it would be a sin to spoil it now with a big row. It was a dream dinner party. She bit her lip, smiled at Declan for the hundredth time, and announced she would clear the plates and bring in some coffee and chocolates. And she pronounced chocolates properly as well, in honour of the occasion. Not in the usual Belfast way: chac-lits.

  But then, near the end of the feast, when they were all so full that they could not force down even one more bite of a wafer-thin mint, Shirley nervously announced that she was pregnant with Declan’s baby, and that his parents had been told about it and that everything was going to be okay. Mr Winters looked terribly confused, as if someone had just asked him to explain the social and historical background to the Reformation. Mrs Winters turned bright cerise pink, as pink as her floaty feathers, and stared at Shirley’s abdomen as if she could see the child within, growing and taking shape. Shirley placed her arm across her baby to protect it, and to stop her mother’s eyes boring into it.

  ‘Say something, Mum,’ said Shirley softly, and she began to weep.

  Declan put his arm round Shirley and kissed her gently on the cheek. He prayed they would not be too hard on her. What they said now would affect his opinion of them for ever.

  ‘We’re getting married right away,’ he said, and he held Shirley’s hand on the tablecloth that was covered with pictures of holly sprigs. ‘We’re buying the ring tomorrow. My parents are very pleased for us. I’m sorry if this has come as a big shock to you all but I love Shirley very much.’

  Kate was so merry on Black Russian cocktails that she thought she was hallucinating when Shirley dropped her baby bombshell. Kevin was taking her out to the disco that evening and she had decided to inform him that they could start telling people they were a couple. And now, Shirley (wee, simple Shirley with her rubbish clothes) had to go and steal Kate’s thunder with this earth-shattering news.

  Kevin was the only one who seemed impressed by the revelation. He looked at Declan with admiration in his eyes. Then he slapped him on the back, shook his hand and cried, ‘Well done, yourself, ye boy ye! And you too, Shirley, of course. Congratulations to you both! For unto us a child is born! Top class altogether!’

  Mr Winters dropped his glass of whiskey onto the good rug, and said a swearword they’d never heard him use before. He left his seat at the head of the table, wandered aimlessly into the lounge, switched off the television, and began cleaning out his ears with a Twiglet.

  ‘Are my ears deceiving me?’ He coughed. Then his voice returned. ‘Martha! Martha! Did you hear what this daughter of yours has just said!’

  Mrs Winters just mouthed the words, ‘Holy Mother of God, help me,’ over and over again, like a positive chant. Shirley was struck with how pagan the ritual of repeating prayers sounded. On the other hand, it seemed to work well. Her mother was very calm.

  ‘Now, Shirley,’ said Kate, slowly, ‘are you sure you’re pregnant? Have you had a proper test? Or is this just some crazy notion of yours?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. And no, to your questions.’

  ‘How could you be pregnant? In this day and age? Did you not use protection?’

  ‘Well, obviously we did.’ Shirley patted down her fringe and Declan adjusted his tie. This was very embarrassing indeed, even though they had prepared themselves for a reaction like this. They looked at each other, as if to say: The worst is over. We’ve told them. The recriminations will be over soon also.

  ‘The pill, was it? Which brand?’

  ‘Arrah! I’ll be in the shed, if there’s going to be this kind of talk in the house at Christmas time,’ said Mr Winters and he hurried out of the house and down the garden path with a yellow paper hat still on his head.

  Kate looked at her sister as if she had just beamed down from another planet. ‘Well, Shirley, how did this happen? We’re waiting.’

  ‘I’d rather not discuss that side of things, Kate, if you don’t mind. It wasn’t planned, suffice to say. I’m sorry, Mum. I really am.’

  ‘Shirley, I… tell me this is just a dream.’ Kate was feeling faint.

  But no, Shirley was indeed ‘with child’. And Declan was holding her hand and smiling at her, and she didn’t look like a little sister any more. She was a young woman, in a relationship, pregnant, and the father was still around. Sometimes, the fathers of unplanned Belfast babies went running to the ferry port without stopping to put on their coats. But Declan seemed okay with the idea. In fact, he had proposed. They were buying a ring; telling people about their baby. Shirley was all grown-up at last. Kate’s heart started to hammer like a chain gang laying railways. Damn it!
She’d thought that awful scourge was all behind her. Her hands were shaking too, so she sat on them. Kevin put his arm round Kate when he noticed that her face had suddenly drained of all colour except for two slashes of bright orange blusher.

  ‘Kate,’ he said. ‘Are you all right? Kate?’

  Kate blinked her heavily made-up eyes wide open, and the faces of her mother and sister swam into focus. She had to say something. They were all looking at her.

  ‘I was going to tell you all today that Kevin and I have been dating, and that we are getting engaged to be married, but of course Shirley had to go and ruin everything,’ she cried. ‘The little drama-queen!’

  ‘Are we en-engaged?’ stammered Kevin. ‘I’m spoken for at last! Woah! Some Christmas this is turning out to be!’ He drummed his fingers on the table to celebrate.

  ‘What the hell is this? How can you be engaged? You’re not even courting.’ Mrs Winters was totally confused now. She wondered how many glasses of wine she’d had. Maybe it was the alcohol making her think she was about to become a grandmother. God knows, she hadn’t had four glasses of wine since last Christmas.

  ‘Yes, we bloody are engaged! We have been courting. I mean, dating. I’ve just told you we’ve been dating, but of course you never listen to me.’ She turned to Shirley with tears in her eyes. ‘You’re not the only girl on the planet with a boyfriend, Shirley. No, you’re not. But that’s not good enough for you. You have to have a bun in the oven as well. And you’re no age. Who the hell do you think you are?’

  ‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ wept Shirley. ‘I thought you’d be happy for me. Just once, I thought that you could take a back seat and be happy for me; but no, you have to get engaged too, just to copy me.’