Keepsake

by Kelly, Sheelagh

  ‘Did I hear right? Did he say wife?’ Redmond gawped blankly from one family member to the other, then promptly swooned again.

  ‘We were married today.’ Etta stared at the father in perplexed concern, yet, noting that none of the others seemed remotely worried and were more intent on her, she formed a tentative smile and extended her hand to her mother-in-law, for a second thinking that it might be refused. The other Mrs Lanegan was prematurely grey, and with her high cheekbones must once have been attractive but was now quite wizened. Clad in a faded dress, her chest was exceedingly narrow, giving the impression of frailness, but this was misleading for her lips were sanguine and her eyes lively and strong with that special blueness only encountered in a glacier as they fixed themselves on this intruder. Here was a woman who liked folk to keep their place, and heaven help Etta, who had come and upset all that.

  But the handshake was accepted with a formal nod. Though devastated that her son had defied her to marry in secret and to one of such different class, Aggie was unable to express her wrath in front of so illustrious a stranger, and, summoning politeness, invited Etta to take a seat at the table that was set for tea, brushing deferentially at the chair to make sure it was clean. ‘Won’t you join us, Mi – I mean, Etta?’

  Etta glanced apprehensively at Mr Lanegan who was once again conscious. ‘If my presence would not be too much of an imposition?’ Told that it wouldn’t, she thanked her hostess and sat down, aware that her every movement was under studious examination from several pairs of eyes.

  ‘Is she a fairy?’ whispered little Tom, entranced.

  ‘Sure, and she’d give the little people a run for their money, Tom.’

  Etta turned her beguiling smile on the white-haired speaker, Uncle Mal, who had the weathered air of one who had lived all his life in the open and was poorly attired with a neckerchief in place of a collar, and trousers that were bagged at the knees, but otherwise had a pleasant manner and at this moment was directing the full force of it at her.

  ‘Put those eggs on!’ Aggie growled at one of her daughters, indicating the pan of water on the range, whilst she herself disappeared into the scullery with another child following, the youngest two staying behind to stare at Etta, in whom they seemed rapt.

  Despite the childish scrutiny Etta felt a little easier with her mother-in-law gone, for of the pair Mrs Lanegan seemed the formidable one. Studying Marty’s father now she saw a delicate countenance framed in bushy brown hair, calm if watery eyes with a kind look about them, which Marty had obviously inherited. There was not a whiff of alcohol. Believing Marty when he had said things were not how they seemed, she could see that this man was no drunkard, yet was puzzled as to what might have caused the initial collapse plus the subsequent fleeting departures into unconsciousness she had witnessed in the few moments she had been there, deducing that his frail physique must be responsible. Whilst his wife only appeared to be fragile there was stronger evidence of it here in the pronounced slope of Mr Lanegan’s shoulders, his posture deplorable as he shambled out to the backyard, excusing himself to Etta as he went. That she smiled at him seemed to pacify Martin, who had been agitated since they entered. But she was not to be provided with an explanation just yet.

  Murmuring reassurance to his bride and hoping Uncle Mal would not yield to his uninhibited penchant for describing bowel movements, the groom slipped away to the scullery where he disturbed Aggie in the act of trying to calm herself.

  ‘Mammy, I’m –’

  ‘Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!’ Nearly choking herself in trying to dispose of the sherry, which had come by dishonest means, she slammed the empty glass down and stabbed a finger at him, hissing the words through clenched teeth. ‘You treacherous spalpeen, you’re not sorry at all!’

  ‘I’m not sorry for marrying Etta, but I’m sorry you made me have to lie in doing it!’

  ‘Oh, so it’s my fault! God damn you – here, give me that bloody glass before your father gets back – that’s if he hasn’t collapsed again out there from the outrage!’ And she tipped another tot of the illicit sherry down her throat before hiding the bottle behind bags of flour and dried peas and reaching for the bread knife, which was first levelled threateningly at Marty before being used to more legitimate purpose.

  Reappearing from the privy, Redmond found his wife carving a loaf, his son standing by shamefaced.

  Shaking his head in disgust, he told the latter tersely, ‘We’ll have this out later. Back to the table with you, you’re neglecting your wife.’

  In between discussing the hot weather with Uncle Mal, Etta had been examining her surroundings, a small but tidy room displaying religious pictures, many china ornaments of surprisingly high quality, gleaming brass oil-lamps with elaborate cowls, and lace antimacassars all pristine, but as her husband re-entered she turned to feast her attention on him as if he had been gone years. Marty sat beside her.

  Competing for her attention, Uncle Mal leaned towards her mouthing boastfully, ‘I’m seventy-eight, ye know.’

  Etta tore her eyes from Marty. ‘That’s a remarkable age.’

  Then, a plate of bread and butter was delivered to the table and tea began. The pampered Etta might have no idea as to how meals were produced, but she could not fail to notice that there were insufficient boiled eggs to go round. Presented with one herself, she thanked her mother-in-law but said, ‘I do hope by our impromptu appearance we haven’t deprived anyone?’

  ‘No one in this family is deprived,’ replied Aggie firmly.

  ‘Of course, I didn’t mean to imply…’ Etta’s hands remained in her lap as she watched her mother-in-law deftly slice the top off one diner’s egg and give it to another, performing this thrice more until everyone had a share.

  ‘Nobody will go hungry. Please be at liberty to begin.’ Obviously unhappy, but, out of courtesy, not going so far as to voice this, Aggie passed around the bread and butter.

  Etta removed the top of her egg and began to eat, her every mouthful under surveillance from those children who had already scooped up their meagre ration and were now reliant on bread.

  Beside her, despite being one of the lucky few with a whole egg, Marty festered. Was his mother deliberately trying to make him feel guilty?

  Both he and Etta were glad when the meal was over, yet it would be impolite for them to rush off after being fed and they were obliged to sit a while longer. Voicing more thanks, Etta moved aside to allow Martin’s sisters to clear her plate and others. They were several years younger than herself, their skinny, shapeless trunks belonging more to monkeys than women, yet Elizabeth and Maggie emitted an air of competence as they moved around the table, stacking the crockery and taking it away. Her eyes moved back to the ornaments on the sideboard upon which she commented to no one in particular.

  ‘I must say, you have some very handsome china.’

  Before thanks could be issued, Uncle Mal raised white eyebrows and emitted cheerfully, ‘Those? Pff! They’re just Aggie’s gimcracks.’ He inflated his chest and hoiked up the waistband of his trousers. ‘You want fine china, ye should’ve seen the collection I used to have, shouldn’t she, Red? ’Twould have graced a palace –’

  ‘Probably did before you got your hands on it, Unc,’ joked Marty from the side of his mouth, then shrank at the glare from his mother.

  Mal was oblivious. ‘– but that was before my dear Bridget passed away and her sisters grabbed the lot and I was forced to come and live here. Never left me so much as a spoon to stir my tea, so they didn’t…’

  ‘You’ve talent enough for stirring without spoons,’ accused Red, but Mal just heaved an emotional sigh and pulled out a handkerchief to mop at his glistening eyes. ‘God love her, she had real style, my Biddy. I’m not saying Aggie doesn’t try her best of course…’

  Grossly insulted and too furious to sit still, with face a-thunder Aggie marched off to the scullery where, against habit, she aided her girls with the washing up.

  Meantime,
a child was ousted so that Etta could get to one of the more comfortable seats, the youngest planting himself at her feet.

  ‘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 c
omedown 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.