Keepsake (11 page)

‘Jimmy-Joe seems to have a fascination with your shoes, Etta,’ observed Redmond in his soft brogue, between taking puffs of a pipe.

Responding to his kind attempts to make conversation, she agreed and smiled down at the toddler, who played with the tassel on one of her kid shoes – but fondness swiftly turned to dismay when, with one crafty sleight of hand, the tassel was ripped from its moorings and was spirited away as Jimmy-Joe made his gleeful escape on all fours.

‘Catch that wee divil!’ Redmond signalled to Maggie, who grabbed the toddler before he managed to scramble between her stick-thin legs, upturning him and retrieving the tassel, which was apologetically handed back to its owner.

Marty saw Etta’s crestfallen face at the disfigurement of her only pair of shoes, and said hastily, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll stick it on when we get home. Have you any glue I can borrow, Da?’

Redmond gritted his teeth to smile contritely at Etta. ‘Why, to be sure.’

‘Will I fetch it?’ offered Uncle Mal, rising. ‘I want to go for a –’

‘Thanks, Uncle.’ Marty pre-empted any rude utterance.

‘– drink of water, anyway,’ finished the old man before tottering off.

The washing-up done, Aggie was forced to return and to undergo dialogue with Etta, perching herself uncomfortably on a dining chair. Informed of the vandalism and seeing an unrepentant Jimmy-Joe bound for Etta’s other shoe, she snatched his dress and hauled him back, advising the rest of her youngsters, ‘Take him out to play for a while afore bed.’

Excited by their brother’s choice of bride, the children were loath to miss any crumb of information and had to
be forced outside, twelve-year-old Elizabeth tutting sulkily, ‘Just call your slave in when you want any more washing-up done!’ Then quick as a sprite she ducked outside to escape retribution. However, nothing of much import was to follow, the topics ranging from the hot weather to Etta’s outfit, which Aggie deigned to compliment. Her daughter-in-law was indeed a very pretty girl, she could see how Marty would have fallen for her, and she went so far as to say this, Etta’s response being equally gracious.

Uncle Mal re-entered then, carrying the glue-pot, which he placed on the table for Marty to collect when he left.

Whilst the old man lowered himself into his chair, Aggie resumed the chit-chat, but the polite conversation was halted by an agonised yelp.

‘Sat on me nuts,’ explained a pain-faced Uncle Mal.

Redmond cleared his throat noisily, signalling for his wife to say something. Marty wanted to die and dared not lift his eyes from his shoes. Etta fought laughter and pretended she had not heard, saying, ‘It’s remarkably light still, isn’t it? The children must appreciate these summer nights.’

‘Indeed, indeed,’ nodded Redmond, puffing embarrassedly at his pipe and brushing at his trouser leg to remove imaginary specks.

‘Right, enough of this codology,’ said Aggie from her seat at the table, her tone quiet but determined, her eyes on the newly married couple. ‘I want to know where we stand.’ She dismissed her husband’s look of quiet recrimination. ‘We’ve a right to know if the girl’s father’s going to come around and knock us flat.’

‘He won’t come here,’ said Etta, beating Marty to this disclosure. ‘He’s washed his hands of me.’

Holding her daughter-in-law’s eyes, Aggie saw the flicker of pain in them and allowed slight compassion into her voice. ‘Well, I’m sorry about that, but I can’t say I’m not
relieved that my son isn’t to get another beating on your account.’

Etta felt immediately challenged, a sense of rivalry forcing her to declare, ‘And so am I. It wasn’t my intention that he should receive the first.’ She looked at Marty’s father to include him in her answer, but to her dismay he seemed so uninterested as to be nodding his way towards sleep, and so she addressed herself solely to the matriarch. ‘Your son is very dear to me, Mrs Lanegan.’ It sounded idiotic saying that when she was Mrs Lanegan too, but at that moment she could never contemplate addressing this woman as Mother; nor, she felt, would the other countenance it.

‘Dearer than your parents, obviously.’ Aggie remained cool.

Marty showed slight annoyance at the hurt inflicted on his loved one. ‘Ah well, what’s done is done.’

‘Doesn’t mean it can’t be undone,’ retorted Aggie. ‘You’re both under age.’

He looked aghast. ‘You’re not saying – Ma, surely you wouldn’t have the marriage revoked?’

Aggie rapped the table, jolting her husband awake, and projected her full ire at them.

‘God almighty, is that all you’re bothered about? Don’t you know you could be sent to prison for this, the both of yese?’

The newlyweds were flabbergasted.

‘For making false declaration! You’ve both presumably told the registrar that you had your parents’ consent when that’s a patent lie.’ Aggie watched the horror spread over their young faces, letting them stew for a while.

Etta was on the verge of tears at the thought of being parted from her beloved. ‘Oh, I beg you not to be so cruel!’

‘Cruel?’ Aggie’s temper was rising. ‘You turn a son against his parents, make him lie like a serpent to them, and you tell me I’m the cruel one!’

Marty fought to save the situation. ‘Etta didn’t mean it
like that, Ma! Aw, you wouldn’t really ruin our happiness? Not after all Etta’s been through. I’ve told her how great you and Dad are, how you’d understand why we had to do this, that you’d take her to your hearts!’

‘Aggie, stop torturing them, they’ve learned their lesson.’ Redmond’s quiet intervention put a stop to this, leaving Etta surprised that he had been listening after all, and also grateful when he told the pair, ‘We won’t give you away, there’d be little point, the damage is done. Oh, but you’ve hurt us, Marty, by doing it this way.’ He shook his head, his voice bitterly accusing. ‘You surely have.’

Marty dropped his eyes to the multi-hued clipping rug at his feet. Etta too showed repentance, but both were utterly relieved.

Studying her daughter-in-law’s face, Aggie tried to read if her motive was genuine or whether this was all just a big adventure. Only time would tell. After an awkward period, she enquired with a sigh, ‘So, are you thinking we’ll put the pair of you up?’

Again it was Etta who delivered hasty reassurance. ‘Oh no, Mrs Lanegan, we have a place of our own.’

‘Thought of everything, haven’t ye?’ Aggie looked piercingly at her son.

Marty was beginning to tire of the interrogation, saying to Etta, ‘Maybe we’d better go now – thanks for the tea, Ma.’

‘Our pleasure.’ The reply was ironic, Aggie rising with the couple, as did Redmond and Mal. ‘Are we permitted to know where you live?’

‘Long Close Lane,’ Marty told them. ‘The Square and Compass.’

Withholding their opinions, his parents merely nodded, but it was obvious what they were thinking.

Etta and Marty took their leave of Uncle Mal, the old man wishing them, ‘Good luck now to the pair o’ ye. Aye, good luck.’

Accompanying them to the door, Aggie cast her eyes at the neighbours who had dragged chairs onto the pavement to enjoy the evening sunlight, gauging their inquisitive reaction to her elegant guest. What would they say when they found out Marty had married Etta?

‘Come to dinner on Sunday,’ Redmond suddenly invited.

Marty glanced at his mother, who nodded her permission. But when she had closed the door on them Aggie crowed at her husband, ‘Sure and what did you tell ’em that for?’

‘Ach, they’re a pair of blasted eejits but I feel sorry for them,’ admitted Redmond, going back to his chair and his pipe. ‘The poor girl, it must have been a terrible shock to find out where Marty was taking her.’ He stalled Aggie’s objection. ‘I don’t mean here, you goose! I mean the room above that filthy pub. What a comedown for her.’ He cocked his head with a thoughtful air. ‘I like the lass, she seems genuine – a real looker, too.’

‘A lively and good-looking animal indeed,’ agreed Uncle Mal and chuckled wryly. ‘My, who would’ve thought the likes of us’d be marrying into quality.’

‘Aye, though how long it’ll last now that she’s heard your uninhibited talk – sat on your nuts indeed! What a thing to say in front of a lady.’

‘She can take us as she finds us,’ scoffed Mal. ‘She’ll hear worse.’

‘That’s for sure.’ Redmond noticed his wife was quiet. ‘And what did you make of her, Ag?’

Mrs Lanegan remained grim. ‘She strides too proud for my liking.’

‘Heavens, what a relief to be out of there!’ exclaimed Marty, gripping his wife’s hand as they made their way home.

Etta agreed, but smilingly. ‘Still, the ordeal is over now.’

‘That wasn’t a true indication of my mother’s nature,’ he hastened to say.

‘I fear she didn’t like me very much.’

‘It was just the shock. Once you get to know each other…’

‘It didn’t help that I was unsure how to address her.’

Understanding why Etta might not feel much warmth towards his mother after that display, Marty just shrugged.

But Etta was more interested in his other parent. ‘Your father –’

‘Ah, yes,’ his expression changed. ‘You must want to know…’

Etta thought she already did in part. ‘He appears to have suffered ill-health for a long time. His bearing is very stooped, as if –’

‘That just stems from years of being hunched over driving a caravan back and forth across the Pennines.’ Marty went on to divulge his father’s true affliction. ‘He has this illness that makes him fall asleep all the time. He can be anywhere, at home, talking to you quite normal like, or even walking down the street, when he’ll just drop off.’

‘Goodness! How debilitating.’ Etta’s face was grave.

‘The worst thing is, people think he’s a drunkard.’ Marty saw her cheeks flush upon recalling that this was the term she herself had used for his father. He smiled and patted her hand. ‘Ach, it’s a reasonable assumption. In fact, he’s abstemious – those beer bottles ye saw were Uncle Mal’s. No, Da has very few vices at all, and you’ll rarely hear him say a bad word about anybody else – apart from me.’ He grinned.

Along the way he provided her with more information. Redmond was unable to keep a post for long once an employer discovered his habit of falling asleep on the job, so relied on casual labour, agricultural or otherwise. He also indulged in a spot of hawking. ‘So don’t think because you find him home in the middle of the day he’s a slacker –’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t!’

‘– when the work’s available he drives himself like an ox, and he’s a grand man even if he is my father.’

‘I thought so too,’ smiled Etta.

‘Just a bit of a dreamer whose dreams come to nothing – unlike those of his son, whose all come true.’ He grinned again and squeezed her acquisitively.

But even having equipped her with this knowledge, Marty was aware how disconcerting it could be when Father slipped into a narcoleptic state. ‘You’ll still find it strange when he nods off during a conversation with you, but try not to worry, it’s not because he isn’t interested. Ye’ll get used to it, as we all have.’ His face altered as he envisaged the depleted sherry bottle. ‘Well, Ma sometimes gets worked up about it, says she’s sure he could prevent it if he had a mind – ’cause often days’ll go by when it doesn’t affect him at all. If she seems bad-tempered towards ye it’s only ’cause he’s been keeping her awake all night with his funny goings-on, nightmares and things. Must’ve been terrible for her all these years. Anyhow…’ his voice faded into the night.

Etta was left to utter the last word on the topic as they reached the pub overlooked by the medieval city wall. ‘Well, it was very kind of them both to invite us to dinner on Sunday. I shall look forward to it.’

Marty was unconvinced, but nodded and led her up the creaky staircase to their room. ‘Ah dear, work tomorrow – how I’m going to miss ye.’

‘Better make the most of it then.’ Etta shoved him playfully then pelted upstairs. With him hot on her tracks, they slammed the door on the world and went early to bed.

What torment it was to leave her the next morning. Mother had always been the first to rise at home, having breakfast ready for when he came down and making sandwiches for his pack-up, but Etta was as yet unused to the household programme so, out of love, Marty rose at five and, besides looking after himself, took a slice of dry bread and a cup of water over to her bed. But at least being his own boss gave him the privilege of deciding what time to start work and he could sneak back into bed and devote half an hour or so to the more vital husbandly duties before finally dragging himself away from her to earn a living.

However, his assumption that possessed of a barrow he would automatically have money in his pocket was to be quickly disproved, as hour after hour the licence-holders took precedence. In fact, by midday he was beginning to feel rather grim, having watched an endless procession of locomotives arrive without him earning so much as a farthing. Previously able to filch dinner from the hotel kitchen, now he had only a paltry wedge of bread to see him through the afternoon. Time and again hope soared as another train disgorged those passengers who were unable to afford a cab and hailed the barrow boys instead, at which point a mad rush for custom would ensue with Marty hovering on the periphery, only to feel like the runt of the litter as the permit-holders grabbed the spoils.

By four o’clock in the afternoon he had collected just a measly sixpence and a spattering of lime from one of the dirty pigeons that perched on the overhead iron supports. Only the thought of Etta kept him going. Hardly a minute had gone by without him thinking about her; not merely lusting – though it was difficult to concentrate on anything else – but also wondering if she was coping with her unfamiliar role as badly as he was. Last night they had drawn up a list of household commodities, which his wife intended to purchase today. He wondered if she had done so yet, and pondered whereabouts she was now…

Etta was in fact in the city centre, enjoying afternoon tea at a café and feeling rather smug. With no coachman to drive her she had come here by omnibus: yet another new experience. She was certain her mother had never shopped for food supplies, only for garments of fashion, but with no one to instruct her she had been forced to cope and had done so remarkably well. Aside from the necessary victuals, which she had bought this morning and had stacked away in the cupboard, she had made other purchases: new sheets and pillows for their bed, the ones included in the furnished room being rather fusty and bearing the smell and imprint of previous lodgers’ heads; a dress for everyday wear, a pair of summer gloves, two aprons and some underwear. These were being delivered later, along with several yards of material to make new curtains, which was very daring as she had not made anything like this before. Achieving all of these at a bargain price enabled her to buy an artist’s pad and a small box of watercolours without feeling extravagant – oh, and a bottle of rosewater – and she was feeling very proud of herself as she perched here sipping tea. Further purchases of some canvas and skeins of embroidery silk were enclosed in the brown paper parcel on the chair beside her. What luck that, being a skilled needlewoman, she could soon make their home much more congenial – and still have
money left! With a surge of happiness she consumed the last crumb of cake, the final sip of tea, and made for home, imagining how equally proud her husband would be at her thrift.

Ashamed of how little he had earned, Marty now leapt at any opportunity of enterprise – tuppence for giving directions to a lady, sixpence for looking after a gentleman’s horse – but was still left wondering what to say to his wife as he finally trundled his barrow home that evening.

As it transpired he was to be rendered totally speechless, first by Etta’s mouth as she ran to greet him with a devouring kiss, then by the pristine linen that graced the bed, its whiteness leaping out from the drab background – then by the new dress she wore. Oh Lord, how much had she spent?

But she was so excited that he did not have the heart to scold her for such extravagance, nor for the fact that no meal awaited him as it had always done at home. Besides, Etta rattled off an explanation for this.

‘I’ve arranged for the landlady, Mrs Dalton, to cook that meat you instructed me to buy – did you realise it would have to be cooked? I got it home, then thought, How on earth shall I roast it with no fire?’ Displaying all the innocence of a newly hatched chick, she indicated the empty grate with its pile of grey ashes.

‘There is a kitchen downstairs for our use,’ Marty told her, smiling.

‘I’m aware of that now! There’s also a sitting room, but it’s far too smoky for my liking – besides, we prefer our own company. Anyway, Mrs Dalton was very nice, asked if we wanted anything to go with it, so I told her some potatoes and beans would be very acceptable. I hadn’t bought any of those so she said we could have some of hers – naturally I expected to pay for it.’

‘Naturally.’ Marty smiled at her childlike air and embraced her. In fact they spent a good while after this
hugging and kissing, until Mrs Dalton finally disturbed them with the prepared meal.

Shocked but delighted by the size of the joint of beef – the butcher had certainly seen this ingénue coming – Marty wondered whether he would find anything in the drawer with which to carve it, making do with a small but sharp knife he unearthed from the odd assortment of cutlery. He had not realised just how many items one took for granted.

The meal was delicious. Moreover, the joint being so large, it would see them right through to Saturday night. Etta looked delighted when he mopped the last of the juices from his plate, patted his stomach and told her how clever she had been.

‘And just how clever you have yet to hear!’ She sprang up, cut the string on a brown paper parcel and ripped the latter open to display the fabric therein. ‘I intend to make curtains and tablecloths – you won’t know this room by next week!’

Marty congratulated her, but tendered uneasily, ‘Better not get too many things for this place though, we’ll be moving as soon as I have the means.’ He rose and wandered over to cast an eye into the cupboard to see what else she had bought. After spending over a guinea on the wedding ring he needed to keep a check. Thankfully there seemed only items of necessity here, bread, butter, cheese and a few other things. ‘How much did you have to part with?’ He tried to sound casual.

‘I can’t recall how much the groceries were – but I managed to acquire everything here for less than five pounds.’ Unaware of how shocked Marty was, she quickly totted up the coins in her purse. ‘Two pounds, two shillings and threepence left!’ Her satisfied smile turned to guilt. ‘Oh, here’s me forgetting to ask! Did you have as successful a day?’

It was Marty’s turn to feel guilty then. ‘Well, not really – but I’ll set off earlier tomorrow so as to beat the competition.’
My God, he would have to do much better than today if that was the way she was accustomed to spending. He was diverted by something else, frowning as he looked about. ‘You know, there’s a queer pong around here.’

‘I know!’ Etta wrinkled her nose too. Not even the smell of roast beef could mask it. ‘I shut the window to keep it out but it became so terribly hot and the wretched smell seeped through regardless…’

‘I think it’s something in here.’ Following his nostrils that were flared with distaste, Marty discovered the source of the offending stench. ‘Oh…the potty hasn’t been emptied.’ Stooping by the bed, he levelled a finger at the chamber pot, almost full to the brim.

‘Ah!’ Etta gave a nod of disgust. ‘Who should we send for?’

He was about to laugh, but felt that she might take offence, and, as kindly as he could, attempted to inform her of her housewifely duties. ‘Well, ’twas always a woman’s job at home.’

Etta had never given the slightest thought as to who was responsible for this task in her previous household, but now, as she contemplated the revolting vessel, the fact that she had no servant was reinforced, and from the way that Martin was looking at her it slowly dawned that he was implying the job fell to her.

Seeing the look of revulsion spread over his wife’s patrician features, Marty took pity on her. ‘Oh, I’ll do it this time, it’s a bit heavy for you.’ Trying not to disturb its layer of scum and so create a worse reek, he dragged the pot from under the bed and, treading gingerly to avoid slopping its contents over the rim, bore it downstairs and out the back to the water closet.

‘We’ll try to use it as little as possible,’ he told her upon his return with a clean receptable. ‘Then there won’t be so much to empty.’

‘I shan’t use it at all,’ vowed Etta, shuddering.

‘Well, you women can hold your bladders better than we fellas can,’ grinned Marty, shoving the pot under the bed. ‘But a little bit of tiddle during the night shouldn’t be too much of an imposition.’

That being the summit of their conversation about such mundane subjects, they were soon falling into bed to initiate the new sheets.

As reluctant to leave her the next day as he had been the one before, somehow he managed to tear himself away and off to work, only the thought of being with her again helping to drag him through each hour as he strove to earn a decent day’s wage. But by evening, with just another shilling in his pocket, it seemed as if this was going to require drastic action.

He arrived home to find the table once again divest of food, his wife intent on her embroidery, though this didn’t matter for the cold meat would quickly be served and Etta jumped up to greet him in her usual passionate manner and to declare how much she had missed him.

‘I wasn’t so clever as I thought yesterday,’ she laughed as, after filling his stomach, her husband asked what she had been doing. ‘I omitted to buy a needle, so I had to go down and ask to borrow one from Mrs Dalton. It took her so long to find it that I felt I must offer her sixpence for her trouble.’

Marty bit his tongue, and instead of saying that Etta could have bought a whole packet of needles for that, he observed her handiwork and said how pretty it looked. ‘I’d no idea you were so talented.’

‘Oh, there are lots of things you don’t know about me,’ she laughed teasingly.

That was certainly true, conceded Marty. Just because he knew her in spirit did not remove the fact that there was much to learn about her good and bad points, but then the same must be going through Etta’s mind. ‘Still,’ he
offered a little judicious advice, ‘maybe we shouldn’t keep bothering Mrs Dalton. Ma should be able to provide anything you need. She’s only round the corner.’

‘So she is,’ replied Etta brightly. ‘I shall make a list and present it to her on Sunday.’

Marty wondered what his mother’s reaction would be when shown the list.

But he was glad when the Sabbath came, in more ways than one. Saturday night at the pub turned out to be rather boisterous and the drunken goings-on were to keep him and Etta awake into the early hours. Just as well that the day afterwards he could legitimately take a day off work and linger in bed with his ravishing wife, and upon becoming too hungry to laze there any longer, could rise and, as his father had always done, shave at his leisure and put on his best clothes, not because he was going anywhere special but simply because it was Sunday.

Getting spruced up and having a gorgeous companion on one’s arm was pleasure enough, but more importantly there was a decent meal to look forward to, for since Mrs Dalton had cooked for them he and Etta had not enjoyed anything more substantial than bread and cold meat and the latter was now gone. Hence, the young couple were to arrive early at the family abode, finding Mrs Lanegan sweating over a hot range. There were no assistants today; all the children were at church.

Etta was concerned that she might be responsible for keeping her husband from similar devotion, but Marty just grinned and exposed the holiness as a sham. ‘Ma only sends them so’s they won’t cop a beating at school on Monday for not going to Mass.’

Invited by her mother-in-law to remove her hat and to sit down, Etta took this at face value, oblivious to the toil around her, and, along with her husband, set to chatting with the quiet, unassuming Mr Lanegan and Uncle Mal, both of whom she found just as affable as on her previous
visit. Though annoyed that the other failed to volunteer, Aggie said nothing, just got on with what needed to be done.

Even later when dinner was served and Etta allowed herself to be waited on hand and foot, the mother-in-law remained polite, though she inwardly damned the girl for her airs and graces.

Ignorant as to how she was perceived, at the end of the meal Etta thanked her hostess for such generous provision. As if to some servant, griped Aggie to herself, but inclined her head graciously as she and her daughters cleared the table and said, ‘Maybe everyone would care to sit in the front parlour now.’

Etta went to sit amongst the males, feeling somewhat conspicuous in the same lilac dress she had worn upon first meeting the Lanegan family, but the one she had bought during the week was far too plain for Sunday wear so she had sprinkled the lilac one with rosewater and made do. Everyone else had on their Sunday best, and though she could not help noticing that Redmond’s waistcoat bore a few holes and scorch marks, he had made an effort to dress up. As had Uncle Mal, with a gleaming white collar instead of the neckerchief and his white hair neatly slicked with oil. This, however, was where the observance to dress code ended. Etta was accustomed to changing several times a day, especially for dinner, which in her own household had taken place in the evening, afternoon tea having been between four and five, but she had found that this did not occur in Marty’s circle, who would have their tea as soon as the breadwinner came in from work and then little else until breakfast. On the one hand she preferred this less restrictive atmosphere, yet on the other it was nice to looks one’s best and she wondered how long it would be before she could acquire more decent apparel. But, compared to a smile from her beloved, this was as nothing. Catching Marty’s gleaming eye, she smiled back at him, each bestowing quiet adoration.