“Fine, every time, I grant you that. Truth of the matter is, when your mother came home to England, she didn’t have anywhere to stay. I was the only person she knew around here. She looked up my name in the telephone directory from a phone box. This was before the internet, mind you, so that was the way we found people back in those days. Donovans were few and far between in Croydon. The only other one in the whole damn phone book was a sixty-eight-year-old woman—never married, no children, for those of you keeping track. Anyway, you can imagine my shock at hearing your mother’s voice on the other end of the line.
“It was the end of autumn, but already cold enough to chill you to the bone. I remember what she said like it was yesterday. ‘Ray, you’d have every reason to hang up on me right here and now, but you’re all I’ve got, and I just don’t know where else to turn.’ What in the world does one do when a woman says, ‘You’re all I’ve got’? I knew at that very moment that destiny had brought us back together, this time for good. I leapt into the Austin—yes, indeed, the very same one parked outside right now, don’t give me that look, it’s still running just fine, thank you very much—and went to pick up your mother. Now, I’ve every reason to believe it was the right choice, seeing as I’m lucky enough to find myself thirty-six years later sharing a hysterical pizza night with my three wonderful children and my not-quite-yet son-in-law.”
Silence. The three of us siblings exchanged looks around the table until Dad cleared his throat and declared, “Maybe it’s time I took Michel home.”
“Wait—why did Mum say you had reason to hang up on her?” I cut in.
“Some other time, sweetheart, if you don’t mind. Stirring up all these old memories takes its toll on me, and I prefer to leave tonight on a happy note, such as our little giggle session, rather than open up a can of worms.”
“So, the first time you got together, when you two were teenagers, she was the one who left you?” I insisted.
“He said another time,” Maggie jumped in before our father could respond.
“Yes, exactly,” Michel chimed in. “But it may be . . . more complicated than it seems,” he added, pointing a finger in the air, as though hoping to snag his thoughts out of thin air before they fluttered away—one of his many peculiar habits. Everyone waited quietly, as always, for Michel to complete his thought.
“While Dad did express a preference to say no more on the subject this evening, ‘some other time’ could imply that he might be willing to reconsider, as long as it’s . . . some other time.”
“Yeah, thanks, we got it, Michel,” Maggie said.
With everything crystal clear, Michel rose from his chair and put on his trench coat. He kissed me on the cheek, gave Fred’s hand a flimsy little squeeze, and then pulled Maggie in for a tight hug. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all. Michel whispered his congratulations into her ear.
“Congratulations for what?” my sister whispered back to him.
“For not being engaged to Fred,” Michel replied.
On the way home in the Austin, not a word was exchanged between father and son until they pulled up to the curb outside Michel’s place. Ray reached to open Michel’s door, then stopped to look his son right in the eye and spoke in a voice as gentle as could be.
“You won’t tell them anything, will you? Understand: it should be me who tells them. One day.”
Michel looked right back at his father.
“You can sleep easy, Dad. No need to open up a can of worms. I’m pretty sure fishermen buy them in bags nowadays, anyway. I’ll verify that tomorrow at the library.”
With that, he hugged his father and slipped out of the Austin. Ray hung around a few moments, waiting until his son had safely entered the building, before starting the engine and driving away.
7
ELEANOR-RIGBY
October 2016, Beckenham
I stood up from the table and left the kitchen, opting to give Fred and Maggie their privacy. After the couple had been holed up in there for a solid ten minutes, I decided it was time to leave. I entered to find Fred drying glasses with a tea towel and Maggie sitting on the counter with her legs crossed, puffing at a cigarette near the window. My sister offered to call a taxi for me, but I politely declined, explaining it would cost a small fortune to get home from Beckenham. I’d be better off taking the train home.
“I thought you were going to Dad’s,” Maggie said with a sneer. “Decided not to stay at his place?”
“I thought he might want to be alone tonight. It forces me to revisit my London life, anyway, which has been long overdue.”
“Well, I think you’ve got the right idea,” Fred offered, with a clap of his hands. “Beckenham, Croydon . . . too far out in the sticks.”
“Whereas Primrose Hill is too far from the sticks, not to mention way too posh,” replied Maggie, flicking her cigarette butt right into the dishwater, where it landed with a hiss.
“I think I’ll leave you two to whisper sweet nothings in peace,” I said with a sigh, slipping on my jacket, but my sister stopped me.
“Fred would be delighted to drop you off at the station, what with his awesome car and all. Or, Fred, why not take her all the way to London? Then you could spend the night in your precious little Primrose Hill.”