The Keepsake

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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.

5 (#ulink_28a3d540-cda7-5cef-94b3-8593ba37ea3d)

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…