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
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.
‘Are you a fairy?’ enquired four-year-old Tom, who had been dying for confirmation since the young woman’s last visit.
Etta chuckled delightedly and said, ‘A mere mortal, I’m afraid.’
Tom gave a disappointed nod. ‘I thought you were too big to fit in the clock.’
Seeing his daughter-in-law perplexed, Redmond explained as he reached for a pipe. ‘We have the little people living in our clock, don’t we, Uncle Mal?’
‘We surely do, Red,’ grunted old Malachy, sharing a pouch of tobacco with him.
Etta caught the barely perceptible wink. ‘How wonderful! And what are their names?’ she asked Tom.
The little boy listed them. ‘I’ve never seen them, but Daddy has, haven’t you, Daddy?’
Redmond nodded and, glowing pipe in mouth, dragged Tom onto his bony knee. ‘And very good-looking they are – that’s why the lad thought you must be related.’
Etta thanked him, both fascinated and envious at the ease with which father and child related. Never had she sat upon her father’s knee, not even as an infant.
Aggie came back in then.
‘We were just telling Etta about our little people,’ divulged Redmond.
‘Were you indeed?’ Aggie wondered how he could find conversation so easy with the girl. She herself was struggling.
‘Sometimes they leave me money when one of my teeth falls out,’ said Tom, then gave a theatrical sigh of disappointment and surveyed Etta from beneath long eyelashes.
Interpreting the hint, and remembering how she herself had received monetary gifts from visiting aunts and uncles, a smiling Etta delved in her pocket. ‘Well, it’s a curious thing but last night a fairy came to visit me,’ she saw the little boy’s face light up as she proffered a coin, ‘and she asked that, should I happen to see a boy named Tom, I pass this on to him.’
The Keepsake Page 12