Keepsake (20 page)

‘You needn’t think I’m giving the money back!’

‘Is that right?’ countered Aggie. ‘Well, I suppose you’ll be needing every penny of it, considering you’re facing a five pound fine!’

‘What?’ shrieked Mrs Dowd.

‘That’s what the penalty is for an unregistered – I
was
going to say midwife but I’m damned if I’ll flatter you with the title!’ Gladdened by the look of fear she had inflicted, Aggie added in a more reasonable tone, ‘Then again, if you hand back the cash you undoubtedly cheated out of this trusting young couple, I might just see my way to not involving the law!’

‘Oh, take your blasted money!’ In a fit of temper, Mrs Dowd hurled the coins on the floor, and huffed her way downstairs, throwing an insult at Marty on her way out.

His frantic face appeared in the bedroom. ‘Ma, what’s going on?’

‘Have you lost your mind?’ Aggie demanded of her son. ‘Allowing that great moose of a midwife near your wife!’

He made a gesture of helplessness. ‘I wasn’t to know!’

‘You would have done if you hadn’t cut me out of your life,’ scolded Aggie.

‘I’m sorry, I –!’

‘That’s good enough! Get round to Mrs Cahill in our street and tell her to come at once – everything’s going to be all right now, Etta!’ She hurried over to reassure the groaning mother-to-be. ‘I’ll take care of you.’

Gripped by the most excruciating waves of agony, feeling as if her body were being turned inside out, Etta’s only response was to bawl long and loud.

‘Won’t be two shakes!’ Shoving her son before her, Aggie hurried downstairs.

Racked by conscience, Marty sped from the house, issuing a swift greeting as he rushed past his father who still sat in the alleyway. A dazed Red barely had the chance to answer before his wife accosted him.

‘Do you think you can manage an errand?’

‘I’ll try.’ With her help he hauled his slight frame up.

‘Nip to Falconer’s and get me some antiseptic.’ Aggie gave him some money then dashed back inside, took a bowl of warm water upstairs and proceeded to sluice Etta down where the dirty old fingers had invaded her, crooning, ‘Soon be over with, pet, soon be over.’

Time and again this phrase was to be uttered, repeated by the more competent midwife who arrived to take over from Aggie and had been met with much ungrateful abuse from the one in turmoil, until finally the prophesy was realised in an abrupt flesh-splitting scream of release, and a hot, wet slither of new life.

Downstairs, every muscle knotted from having to share his wife’s prolonged agony, Marty was jolted by the sudden momentous hush. His eyes flew to those of his father in an instant of shared panic – then came a newborn’s cry, and an astonished smile began to spread across his face as his relieved father reached out to grip his hand.

‘Will I go up?’ After a few vigorous shakes he broke away and made straight for the stairs, but was gently restrained by Redmond, who said kindly:

‘Best not just yet. There’ll be things for the women to see to.’

And indeed there were. Yearning to see his wife and child, Marty was compelled to wait another full hour until the doctor had been fetched to insert stitches in torn flesh – which drew forth even more piercing screams, much to his horror for he had thought it all over – then for the women to clear up after their grisly business and for Etta to be washed and made comfortable before finally it was his turn.

Excitement in his heart but caution in his step, he felt almost like a thief as he crept up the stairs, especially upon infiltrating the serene oasis. Etta’s eyes had only ever been for him, yet now they seemed totally unaware of his presence, her face, radiant but exhausted, concentrated intensely on the bundle that lay alongside her. For a second he endured a terrible sense of exclusion, all the fears of those winter months cascading back to rob him of any joy. Then her eyes lifted and, seeing him, flooded with all the affection that he had come to claim as rightfully his, and though her limbs might be weak her smile was strong as she beckoned him, eager for the kiss he rushed to bestow, responding as if she had not seen him for years.

Then, ‘Look what we’ve done, Marty,’ she murmured adoringly, her eyes and voice brimming with emotion.

Greatly moved, unprepared for the tears that sprang to his eyes as they took a first glimpse of his baby daughter, and flooded with an allencompassing urge to protect her from the world, Marty blurted an emotional laugh and explored the tiny pink face with a wondrous finger. Unable to speak, he could only stare and sigh in awe.

Overwhelmed by the birth and the responsibility of having this tiny human being to care for, it was not until a whole day had gone by that Etta experienced a twinge of remorse over other participants. After being so snubbed, Martin’s mother could have abandoned her daughter-in-law to her fate, yet here was Aggie, despite all her own commitments, running around after the new mother, treating her only with kindness and showing her how to look after the baby, whilst taking care of the house and Martin too. Unable to find sufficient words to express her gratitude other than a simple thank you, Etta could only convey it in her demeanour, hoping this was enough to make up for her part in the rift.

And indeed it seemed to be, for, even after a fortnight when Etta was up and about, Aggie continued to arrive every day to see if there was anything she could do for the mother and child whilst Marty was at work, all bad feeling completely behind them. As endorsement of this, younger family members also felt able to come and visit the newest Lanegan. Louisa, Bridget, Mary and Ann all arrived in turn with their gifts, to coo over the sweet little thing and to instruct Etta, quite genuinely, to call on them if ever she needed help; and, understanding their previous aversion, she welcomed each and every one, determined not to rebuff their friendship a second time, glad that the feud was over.

Other visitors were not quite so welcome. ‘I’m so sorry
I haven’t been earlier but
nobody
bothered to come and let us know!’ Scurrying in on her dainty feet, Aunt Joan delivered a belated gift for the new baby into Etta’s hands whilst eyeing her sister-in-law reproachfully. ‘If I hadn’t bumped into Agnes in town I don’t suppose I’d have ever learned of your addition.’

Saying nothing, Aggie turned to put the kettle on whilst her accuser bent over the apple crate that had been padded with blankets to serve as a crib, uttering genuine compliments over the black-haired babe.

Then, coming back to earth, Joan properly took in the newcomer’s living conditions, and tried but failed to hide how appalling she found them. Somehow, though, she managed to overcome her aversion to the greasy old sofa and perched on the very edge of it beside Etta, mouthing tentaively under her breath, ‘I heard relations have been restored…’

‘Yes, everything’s fine now,’ Etta murmured with a smile, nothing and no one able to ruin that glow of maternity.

Joan gave a pleased nod, whispering, ‘She can be very difficult can Aggie.’

Seeing her mother-in-law’s lips tighten and not wanting to jeopardise their new rapport, Etta said brightly, ‘Would you care to see the lovely things Grandmamma has made for Celia?’ One by one she displayed a selection of stitched and knitted garments on her lap.

Joan raised a mousy eyebrow. ‘How lovely! If you hadn’t told me Agnes had made them I’d never have guessed.’ She fingered the tiny items with a patronising smile whilst Aggie scowled witheringly behind her back. Adopting a confidential, sisterly air, Joan then leaned towards Etta and divulged, ‘She never did believe in quality over quantity.’

How could Aggie fail to overhear in a small room such as this? With the slandered one remaining quiet, Etta felt she must again spring to her defence. ‘I think they’re splendid and was very grateful for them indeed.’

‘Why, naturally, dear! And I suppose you can use those
cottony ones for everyday wear and keep the things I’ve brought for Sunday best. Aren’t they beautiful?’ Joan sighed over her own bestowal, a lace dress and bonnet. ‘I’d dearly love to be buying them for my own grandchildren, but then we were never blessed.’

At the poignant air, Etta felt rather sorry for Martin’s aunt now. ‘Well, you’ll be most welcome to come and visit your greatniece whenever you wish.’

Still presenting a wistful smile, Joan accepted a cup of tea and examined her surroundings again. ‘Thank you, dear, but best you continue to come to us. I wouldn’t like to deprive you of a pleasant venue once in a while.’

It was a measure of their new relationship that Etta and Agnes could laugh about this once Joan was gone, Etta marvelling at the other’s restraint. ‘How do you manage to keep your hands off her?’

Folding napkins, Aggie gave a careless shrug. ‘She’s married to Red’s brother, and him such a nice, inoffensive fellow. How can I upset him by sniping at the woman he loves? And sure, she’s a decent enough person at heart. We might not like every member of our family but we must overlook their faults.’

Etta felt chastened over the way she had cut Martin off from his kin.

‘Doesn’t stop you moaning once they’ve gone, though,’ said Aggie with a wicked grin.

Relieved, Etta’s eyes glowed with the warmth of a peat fire as she grinned back, then looked down with fondness upon the little occupant of the apple crate who had been responsible for mending the split.

The observer tendered a grudging compliment. ‘I’ll say this for you, Etta, you never feel sorry for yourself.’

Her daughter-in-law looked up in amazement. ‘What earthly reason do I have? I’ve never been happier. You can’t imagine how wonderful it is to have the freedom to live my own life.’

Aggie conceded this, but took the opportunity to offer a suggestion. ‘Ah well, so long as you appreciate that freedom brings its own responsibilities.’

Etta gave an apprehensive sigh. ‘This little mite for a start.’

Aggie had not merely intended to implicate Celia, but said now, ‘Sure, I’m here if you need help on that score. But I was also thinking of Marty, ye mustn’t forget him in all this.’

Alas, Etta did not recognise this as a hint to adopt a more housewifely approach, merely smiled lovingly and asked, ‘How could anyone forget Marty?’

‘Indeed,’ said Aggie, and smiled with her.

Relations might well be repaired, but once Etta had overcome the initial awkwardness of caring for this tiny scrap, she quickly reverted to her natural bent and became even more blasé in matters domestic – and so continued to infuriate Aggie with her ineptitude. Still, the two women decided they must tolerate each other for Marty’s sake; Aggie biting her tongue upon finding Etta blithely embroidering whilst the windows needed cleaning; Etta overlooking Aggie’s interference in Celia’s baptism, and even going so far as to sanction a Roman Catholic ceremony in an effort to keep her mother-in-law happy.

‘And all of it thanks to you!’ Marty whispered into his baby’s ear whilst doting upon her, as he did every evening on coming home from work.

Etta pretended jealousy, demanding, ‘Put that woman down and attend to your wife!’

With a dutiful laugh he obeyed, though the kisses he bestowed upon her were certainly not from duty, but out of gladness and relief that his wife’s indisposition to physical love seemed to be on the wane at last. For the way she was looking at him now held a promise that the time was nigh to resume their intimacy.

And, when that time eventually came, their passion for each other was as robust as ever – better even, with the added joy of sharing this exquisite creation.

Besides reuniting mother and son, little Celia also helped to forge a link with the neighbours, who now stopped to pass the time of day with Etta and admire the new arrival, some even bestowing gifts. Which was all very welcome after such a frosty start, Marty agreed with his wife, but would not be much use as they would be starting all over again in a matter of weeks. When Etta asked what he meant he revealed his surprise.

‘I’ve found us a better house!’

She squealed. ‘Where?’

He braced himself to stave off any objection. ‘Hope Street – but at the opposite end to Ma’s so we’re not really that much closer than we are here.’ Miraculously, Etta did not appear to mind, or rather he did not give her the chance as he rushed on to inform her that, ‘It’s got two bedrooms, so Celie can have her own and we can do what we like without fear of waking her!’ He picked her up and swirled her round the kitchen.

Recognising the nervousness that lay beneath the gaiety and feeling sorry that she had caused it by her attitude towards his mother, Etta withheld any misgivings on the dwelling’s proximity. Besides, Hope Street had a curve to it, which meant that the folk at the top end were not under constant observance from the folk at the bottom end and vice versa. She declared her eagerness to investigate. In fact, she could hardly contain herself until the previous occupants had moved out, at which point she was to discover that the house had even more benefits.

‘Ooh, we have a sink!’ She clapped her hands in childlike glee. ‘No more having to trail into the yard in all weathers.’

Charmed that one so previously accustomed to luxury could express such joy over simple things, Marty put down
the chair he was carrying, sat on it and dragged her onto his lap, where they kissed and cuddled for some minutes, making the most of their baby being cared for by her grandmother, until Etta tore herself away, saying they had better start to unload the furniture.

He gasped in mock outrage that she could regard this as paramount to her husband, then nevertheless went outside with her to transfer their belongings from the cart to the house. Afterwards he lighted a fire, for despite being early summer it was very cool. Once it was going, Etta put the kettle on and rubbed her hands whilst she waited for it to boil. ‘Eh by gum, it’s fair nitherin’ in ’ere, in’t it?’

Marty burst out laughing.

‘Well, one has to make an effort to fit in with the neighbours,’ she smiled primly.

‘Don’t you ever dare talk like that for real!’ he warned her, still chuckling.

‘Why, wouldn’t you love me any more?’ She sashayed over to plant herself on his lap again.

He kissed her, scolding softly, ‘You know better than to ask that. I just prefer you the way you are, that’s all. Should we test the bed, d’you think, just to check if I’ve erected it right?’

Etta writhed against him in delight, murmuring a vulgar response but with a reluctant addendum: ‘I should really go and fetch Celia, she’ll need feeding soon.’

Marty groaned in frustration. ‘I love her dearly but I’ll be glad when she’s not so reliant on you.’ He rubbed his face against his wife’s swollen breasts.

Etta crooned her sympathy, this leading to more kisses which were inevitably to lead to bed.

Sighing with happiness afterwards, watching her husband hop about on one foot as he hurried to dress, she uttered sincerely, ‘Thank you for finding us this nice house, Marty dear.’

‘God love you.’ He threw her an adoring smile. ‘I wish
it could have been more – it will be one day.’

‘I don’t need more, I didn’t marry you for your money. I know we’re going to be so happy here, I can feel it.’

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Marty tied his boot laces. ‘I feel it too, and I know you’re not after me for my money, heaven help you if you were, but I want to give my fine wife a place that befits her.’ He fell back on top of her to deliver a last kiss, then levered himself away towards the door. ‘Now get your fat arse up and cook my dinner while I go fetch our daughter.’ He laughed at her roar of protest and ran off before she could throw a pillow at him.

Once he was gone, Etta’s glower melted into a smile and she stretched her arms wide to enjoy a moment of reverie, reliving the act of love in Marty’s arms, before jumping out of bed to start on the enhancement of their new home.

With Celia an undemanding baby who hardly ever cried except to announce hunger, Etta was able to spend many hours on improving her home, making curtains, embroidering cushions and painting pictures for the walls – all of which to welcome her dear husband home from his labours, though often at the price of more mundane chores. A nicer house had certainly brought with it extra work – a range to blacklead, copper pipes and brass taps to polish, and numerous other things – but what was the point in wasting all that elbow grease on things that would soon get dirty again? Others frowned on her for such a view, Etta realised, though it did not worry her in the slightest, for, judging by general comments, her neighbours always had something to grumble about.

Hope Street was certainly wellnamed, many of its residents living in the hope that something better might come along, and even her own husband amongst these. Determined to keep his promise of obtaining the kind of house his wife deserved, Marty strove to enhance his earnings. When business at the station became slack he would
turn his hand to house-painting, or portering at a furniture warehouse, indeed anything that brought in cash, rarely idle for one moment. He could never aspire to buy his dreamed-of residence but he could earn enough to rent one – but this, sadly, meant an increase in the hours he and his wife spent apart. Missing him, Etta repeatedly voiced her own contentment, told him time and again that she was not here for material gain, that all she and Celia desired was him, yet no matter how fervent, her pleas seemed not to register.

‘I know you don’t expect it but I
want
to give you it,’ Marty would reply, his voice just as ardent as hers.

Hence, no words to the contrary able to dissuade him, she was forced to make the most of what little time they had together, snatching every opportunity to foist the baby on others now that Celia was fed from a bottle, and to concentrate her loving attentions on the father…a consequence of which, alas, was another pregnancy.

Initially furious at being caught out before Celia was even half a year old, Etta was soon pragmatic. ‘Oh well, I suppose we do have several months before the onslaught.’

Equally peeved at having his coming-of-age celebration ruined by this announcement, Marty appeared to resign himself too. ‘And this one might be a son.’ Though in truth he remained rather deflated at the news. Just when he felt he was getting somewhere, a new drain on his finances had to come along, and, apart from fiscal hardship, he dreaded a repetition of the last pregnancy when Etta had isolated herself from him for months. The rejection he had felt had been almost unbearable. Moreover, in addition to his own paid work he had had to do the domestic chores with which his wife had grown too large to cope. But then, as she stated, there were several months before that happened – and she might just feel differently this time.