Keepsake (18 page)

Shocked by the exchange, trapped between one and the other, Marty gave an anguished look at his mother.

Even before he dealt her that helpless shrug, Aggie knew what lay ahead. ‘Right, if that’s the thanks I get for all
I’ve –’ Too furious to say more, tears of rage in her eyes, she spun on her heel. ‘Ah, to hell with ye!’

‘Ma-a!’ Marty called after her, but, suddenly realising this was providing a show for his neighbours, he uttered a feeble gasp and hurried inside to his wife.

How on earth had this happened, Marty asked himself a week later? One minute they had been sailing along fine, the next, a few ill-chosen words and a moment’s irritation had escalated into a family feud.

Remaining furious over his mother’s denigration of her, Etta refused to have anything to do with Aggie. Well, that was understandable, Marty supposed. He was angry with his mother too and had not felt like speaking to her either for a couple of days after the altercation. But his hope that this would eventually blow over was to be dashed when Etta discovered that he intended to go round to his parents on his way home from work that night.

‘As if nothing has happened?’ she demanded of him, looking hurt. ‘I thought you were on my side?’

‘I am! But you want to get this fixed, don’t you?’

‘No! I told you I don’t wish to speak to your mother again and I meant it – you said you agreed with me.’

He gave an awkward laugh. ‘But now things have cooled down…’

‘I meant it!’

‘Etta, she’s done a lot for us.’

‘And I’ve thanked her, but what she said to me was unforgivable.’ Around the jet-like pupils, the whites of Etta’s eyes were tinted an angry red.

He frowned. ‘Are you asking me not to go and see my own mother?’

‘And are you saying that what she said to me was just and fair?’ volleyed his wife.

‘No, but surely –’

‘Of course, it’s up to you to decide whom to support.’
Etta folded her arms and shrugged, but left him in no doubt as to what she expected.

He scratched his neck, for the moment saying nothing, his troubled eyes on a woodlouse making its laborious way across the brick floor. ‘What if Ma and Da should turn up here, would you expect me to ignore them?’

Again she shrugged uncaringly.

Marty ballooned his cheeks. She was making this terribly difficult for him. He made no decision one way or the other, just took her in his arms and promised that everything would turn out all right.

But it didn’t. The incident had disturbed Etta more than she chose to admit – made her physically ill, in fact – although she did not have to confess it because Marty could see that for himself. Each evening when he came home he now found her lying on the bed, not with that mischievous promise in her eye but instead wearing a look of nausea. Mercifully this was to wear off after an hour in his company; he made sure that it did by cosseting her with little treats, pandering to her unusual craving for porridge at the oddest hours. But still the nausea returned on a regular basis to cause them both unrest.

‘Maybe we should have you to the doctor,’ he said as he cuddled her through yet another bout.

‘No need,’ sighed Etta, nestling against him on the sofa. ‘We both know what’s upset me.’

Aware of how sensitive she was, he nodded, but then added, ‘As long as that’s all it is.’

‘
All?
’ Her indignant face jerked round to confront him.

‘Oh, I didn’t mean to sound dismissive!’ He lured her back with a pacifying hug. ‘I know how deeply she insulted you. What I meant was, what if this is actually a serious illness?’ His cousin had suffered from regular bouts of sickness that had terminated in a fatal haemorrhage. Loath to mention this to Etta, he cuddled her and thought for a while. ‘Is there any other symptom apart from feeling sick?’

Etta pondered, then shook her head. ‘No.’

Marty looked relieved – then at her tiny exclamation he turned to see her expression change and demanded, ‘Love, you must tell me!’

Etta had turned pink, her eyes suddenly alert. There
was
something else, though it had always been classed as too indelicate to mention between ladies of her former acquaintance and certainly not to menfolk. But then she was not such a shrinking violet as some. ‘It’s nothing really. Just that I haven’t been…
unwell
, for, oh, I can’t recall how long.’ At her husband’s frown, she attempted to clarify. ‘The curse that visits women every month.’

Stunned by her candidness, Marty made a little noise of embarrassment and averted his gaze.

There was a hiatus, during which each of them ruminated on the cause, minds beginning to tick. Marty recalled how, prior to his younger sisters and brothers being born his mother had always been incommoded by sickness. He remembered this so well because of the inconvenience it had caused him. But that had been a morning occurrence; Etta suffered hers on a night. Even so…Glancing at his wife, he wondered if the same suspicion had crossed her mind.

Until this moment, Etta’s thoughts had only been ones of gratitude that the monthly visitation had not chosen to ruin her idyll. Faced with the combined evidence, even now other young ladies might not have put two and two together. But an earthy interest in the sexual whys and wherefores of life had always led this one to seek answers, and the thought that suddenly exploded in her brain was horrific. Looking back at Marty she wondered how to voice it, but as he had watched the expression in her eyes quickly turn from incomprehension to terror, she did not have to.

He put his hand over his mouth, his shocked voice emerging through his fingers. ‘You’re having a nipper!’

Etta was too stunned to speak. What an innocent, what
a dolt to think she could prevent pregnancy simply by wishing it!

‘God…well, I suppose it was bound to happen, but…Holy Mother…’ Marty performed a deep breath, then an exhalation of laughter. Now that the truth had registered, he was overcome with happiness over the idea of becoming a father. ‘Oh Jazers, oh bloody hell, I’m lost for words!’ He seized her in a hug.

Even snuggled within his embrace, Etta could not feel the same elation – she knew only fear. Something, some
one
, had invaded her body; it would live there like a parasite for months, swelling her to the size of a house before bursting its way out – and then what? There was no one to tell her, no one to show her, no one on whom to lean. Never had she needed a mother more than now. Even Blanche would have done, dear Blanche, more like a friend than a servant. But she had no one. In her hour of travail she would be alone.

Bursting with his good news, Marty jumped up and declared that he must go round and convey this to his parents.

‘Don’t leave me!’

‘You can come too!’ Smiling, he held out an encouraging hand.

Etta grimaced up at him in disbelief. ‘Didn’t you hear anything I said before?’

He sank again to the sofa, grabbing her hand to exhort her. ‘Oh, but Ett, think about this! We don’t know anything about bab—’

‘I’ll learn! Martin, I don’t want to tell anyone else about this at present, it’s too much of a shock.’ Shock was too mild a word. She fought to contain the nausea that had come rushing back with a vengeance

‘But they’ll be so pleased! Ma will bend over backwards to hel—’

‘I don’t want her help!’ shrieked Etta. ‘Martin, please, I
know she’s your mother but she isn’t mine and I’d rather you didn’t tell her for now.’

After an anguished snort, he abandoned the pressure. It was childish and petty of his wife, but he adored Etta, thought her lovelier than ever with their child growing within her, and though it cut him deeply he acquiesced to her demand.

Folding her in his arms again he vouched it would be their secret for now. But privately he did not know how long he could stop himself from leaking this wonderful news.

In fact, it took less than twenty-four hours. Bumping into his mother and father in the street the next evening on his way home, first he apologised for not seeing them for a while. ‘It’s been a bit awkward, Etta hasn’t felt too well.’

Though tired and grimy from his day’s toil in the fields, Redmond was as kind as ever. ‘Ah, sure, we’re sorry to hear that.’

Aggie merely nodded and, without referring to Etta, asked, ‘How are you, son?’

Itching to shout out his news, he replied that he was, ‘In the pink.’

‘Good, good…’ She nodded again.

It was evident to Marty that he was in her bad books. Well, what did she expect him to say? Was he meant to tell her it was all right that she had said those awful things to his wife? That she was forgiven? Well, he wasn’t going to, for her words had stung him too. Nevertheless, bursting with joy, he wanted to share his news. ‘As a matter of fact…oh, look, I’m not supposed to tell yese but I’m going to be a daddy!’

Redmond’s delicate face creased into a smile. ‘Why, isn’t that great!’ Then immediately his jaw went slack, as due to his condition it was wont to do in times of emotion, and he sat down on the kerb in anticipation that his knees might follow suit.

Ignoring her husband, Aggie trained her ice-blue eyes on Marty, her tone guarded. ‘What do you mean, aren’t supposed to tell us?’

Marty’s flush of excitement was further coloured by guilt. ‘I didn’t mean just you! I meant anybod—’

‘No, I think you did mean just us,’ said Aggie, grossly offended, ‘and we all know who gave the instruction.’

‘Ag…’ From his crouched position, Red tried to mediate.

But Marty interrupted. ‘Etta just wanted to keep it between us for a while, Ma. We’re not even sure yet whether she is in a certain condition.’

‘But whatever way, we’ll be the last to hear of it,’ snapped Aggie with assurance.

‘Ma, don’t be like this,’ wailed Marty. ‘You did upset her.’

‘And what of the way she spoke to me?’ demanded his mother.

‘Aye, now, be fair, son.’ Redmond tried to sound firm, though being down in the gutter lent him no gravitas. ‘Your mother was awful hurt by Etta’s –’

‘“I shan’t be having any!”’ Aggie mimicked her daughter-in-law’s retort. ‘Not so clever now, is she? I should’ve thought she’d be glad of any help – even mine.’

Had Marty been dithering over which side to choose, the sheer mean-spiritedness of this comment helped him make up his mind. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Ma, but Etta hasn’t forgiven you. I’ve tried to talk her round, persuade her that you didn’t mean what you sai—’

‘Oh I meant it all right!’

‘And you really hurt her! So, yes, if ye must know she’s asked that you don’t come round.’

‘Does the man of the house have no say?’ A glacial eye looked him up and down.

‘Well, judging by your attitude now,’ rejoined Marty, ‘I tend to agree with her that it’s best if the two of yese stay apart.’

‘I can see the sense in that.’ Tired of being ignored, concentrating hard to try and maintain consciousness, Redmond grabbed a handful of his wife’s skirt and hauled himself to his feet. ‘But you’ll keep in contact, won’t you, son?’

‘It’s difficult, Da. I’d love to come round sometimes but I have to support my wife…’ Marty’s voice trailed away.

‘I suppose you do,’ said Aggie, deeply injured. ‘In that case, son, we’ll wish ye good luck and maybe see you again when you’ve come to your senses.’ Taking a firm grip of her husband’s arm, she led him home.

Anxious not to be denied access to his grandchild, Redmond craned his neck and called over his frail shoulder, ‘You’ll let us know when the baby’s born?’ But Marty was already on his way.

‘He will, of course he will.’ Redmond spoke as if to reassure his wife.

Her jaw clamped, Aggie remained mute.

Uncle Mal could not believe it when they informed him, echoing Redmond’s sentiments that the birth of the child would change Marty’s view.

Close to tears, Aggie disagreed. ‘If you were in his place would you choose your mother over your wife?’ She shook her head. ‘And wasn’t he always a law unto himself.’ In despair she began folding things that did not need folding. ‘Ah well, I suppose I’m partly to blame. I made him what he is.’

Redmond tried to comfort her. ‘How can that be? People are what they are.’

She corrected herself. ‘Not what he
is
but rather what he does, what he’s allowed to get away with. All this business about him always wanting what he can’t have and to go where he wasn’t allowed; perhaps if I’d not been so accommodating…’

‘Ah well, maybe once he’s thought about it a while he’ll
make Etta listen to reason,’ said her husband softly, mopping his watery eyes and fighting to stay awake.

Old Malachy nodded. ‘She’s going to need ye.’

‘I won’t go where I’m not wanted,’ rejoined Aggie. ‘Sure, I’m willing to help, but it’s got to come from her. If she wants me she knows where I am. They both do.’

‘Aye, they’re only a couple of streets away,’ nodded her elderly uncle comfortingly.

Streets away, thought Aggie, but from the coldness that emanated from her erstwhile loving son, it could have been miles.

The feud was to intensify. People took sides, boundaries were set. Once so popular, now judged on his ruthless behaviour towards the matriarch, Marty found himself barred from places he had always been welcome before, including the home of his sister Lou, who had informed him in a rancorous letter what she thought of him, though Dan still said hello if they passed each other in town. Obviously, the embargo was not upheld by Aunt Joan who, upon hearing of the row, could not restrain her glee at playing Lady Bountiful to Aggie’s wicked witch, though her zeal was to be sapped by the eventual dawning that Etta had nought in her favour save a beautiful façade, and could never be, as hoped, Joan’s visa to a higher social position. Henceforth, the invitations were performed in the manner of a benefactress to those unfortunate souls at the workhouse gates, any attempt from them to return the favour being turned down with the kind words that it would be much nicer for Martin’s wife to dine in these pleasanter surroundings, ‘As a replacement for all that Etta sacrificed for you.’

After such an insult Marty swore that even if Aunt Joan was the only one speaking to him, he would never visit her and Uncle John again. In fact, with Joan obviously writing Etta off as a dead loss they were not to hear from these particular relatives in months, which gave him no
discomfort at all, his sadness being reserved for closer kin. Such alienation was to cause much despair, not simply because he was a loving son and missed his family, but for practical reasons too. Having a wide circle of male friends was all very well when one needed a plumber, but a different matter entirely when another human life was involved. In a few months his child would enter the world, and neither he nor his wife had the slightest idea how to care for it.

An avid reader, Etta set aside her romantic novels in search of more vital content, managing to lay her hands on a volume concerning childbirth. What she read terrified her even more. She tried to convince herself that others got over it, that it could not be so bad if they went on to do it time and time again – could it?

Marty reassured her that it couldn’t and truly believed this, for his mother had borne a dozen without difficulty. However, he was also aware that one needed the aid of a midwife; and neither he nor Etta knew of any. Still, there were months to go yet. He would ask around and when her time grew closer he would have one. He urged her not to worry.

In the beginning, Etta did worry about the coming ordeal. Using lack of funds as an excuse not to visit a doctor, in reality it was that she dreaded his confirmation. Until then she could put it to the back of her mind and pretend all was well. However, the time arrived when medical verification was no longer required, for it came in the slightest, strangest fluttering within, and Etta knew with a jolt that her life would never be the same again. Never had she known such abject terror. But gradually as the new life swelled inside her it seemed to bring with it courage, and one morning she awoke to find the horror fading into acceptance, and thenceforth turned her energy to the more positive act of creating a layette.

Clothes were required for the mother-to-be too as her girth expanded. It was Marty’s turn to worry then over the
amount of money she was spending, for Etta’s idea of making do consisted only of buying cheaper material, not less of it, and the funds she had brought to the marriage were expired. Still, he hadn’t the heart to condemn her. She looked so exquisite in her floaty creation of ribbons and lace, and, after all, one could not go without clothes, especially now that the mornings held a definite chill. The moment it became unpleasant to get out of bed he encouraged his wife to buy a thick shawl, though he himself continued to hold out. Rarely idle for a second, he could soon get warm.

For a while Etta managed to cope with all that needed to be done about the house, but the grind of having all these chores day after day, week after week, eventually began to annoy. Under the excuse of her delicate condition, she elected to do only the absolute necessities, leaving the rest in favour of her sewing. It helped that Martin did not seem to mind, in fact he was of great assistance.

Others thought differently. ‘That poor young man, I feel real sorry for him,’ murmured one of the neighbours, Mrs Kelly, spying on Marty through the open door as he swept around Etta’s feet whilst his wife sat embroidering. ‘Sure and he deserves more decent respect than she shows him. What man wants to do for himself after a hard day’s labour? She’ll lose him if she’s not careful.’

‘I’d swap him for mine in a flash,’ said her companion, eyeing Marty’s attractive proportions as he came out to beat a rug.

The other agreed, both blind to the small gestures of love that passed between man and wife, attuned only to what they saw as exploitation.

Marty did not see it as such. Still in the throes of adoration he was quite happy to take the load off Etta until her confinement was over, and, even with her shape distorted, he was proud to be seen with such a gorgeous companion. He preened under the looks of admiration from other men, in the knowledge that she was his and his alone.

The weather grew steadily colder, the air racked with bronchitic coughs. That the house and courtyard had always been in shadow had not mattered much before, when one knew there was sunshine on the far side of the wall. Now, though, as winter set in, Marty and his wife were beset by other defects. A heavy rainfall revealed that the privy roof let in water. Etta returned from her visit squeaking with indignation and thoroughly drenched.

‘It’s an outrage when one needs an umbrella
inside!
’

Immediately the downpour ceased, Marty went off to the gasworks and fetched a bucket of tar with which to fix the roof, clambering up and risking injury to daub the tiles so that his loved one might not receive another dousing whilst he was out at work.

His neighbours voiced appreciation, for the leak had been an annoyance to them too.

‘Why didn’t any of them get their husband to mend it then?’ retorted Etta, upon overhearing the women’s thanks. ‘Instead of leaving it to mine.’

But Marty was more generous, especially when one of the women showed her indebtedness by handing over some freshly baked scones, telling her, ‘It’s no trouble. I couldn’t have my wife getting wet, now, could I? But I’m glad you benefited too.’

‘Well, even if he did do it for Lady Muck,’ the giver told another neighbour, ‘I thought he deserved a reward – I’ve smelt the burnt offerings milady serves him.’

Savouring the treat, Marty was to perform other tasks around the yard in the hope of procuring more home baking, but alas this was not to be forthcoming – certainly not from Etta. It was not that his wife did not care, he told himself, for she showed her love in many other ways.

For example, noticing him shivering and unable to get warm after another day on the cold stone platform of the railway station, she commanded her husband to, ‘Buy an overcoat! It’s December, for heaven’s sake.’

Hunched over the fire, examining his boots that were in need of mending yet again from all the miles they had travelled, he confessed, ‘I’ve already got one, in a manner of speaking. I pawned it in order to get us a place to stay.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ Etta was concerned for his wellbeing. ‘You must retrieve it!’

He tried to remain nonchalant between bouts of shivering. ‘I’ve been holding out till the weather gets bad.’

‘How much worse does it have to get!’ She tightened her shawl about her swollen abdomen and, with some difficulty, knelt to wrap newspaper around the pair of house bricks that had been warming in the oven.

Still he resisted as he took over her task and went to insert the bricks under the bedcover. The amount of patrons needing his service had been drastically reduced lately. He would have to seek other work to make up his income. ‘We haven’t that much to spare, Ett, we’ll need it when the baby’s bor—’

‘And the baby needs a father! You’ll perish before he even draws breath. I order you to get that coat.’ His wife took a half-sovereign from the mantelpiece and thrust it at him.

‘Yes, ma’am!’ Marty jokingly adopted a servile pose, tugging his forelock and cringing before her. ‘Anyt’ing ye say, ma’am.’

But when the teasing and laughter was done he mulled her words over as they prepared for bed. The retrieval period was almost up. If he didn’t get it back now it would be sold and he would have to pay more for a new one.

So, equipped with the pawn ticket, the next day he went to recover his coat and was thankful for the warmth it provided. It came in handy during the night too, as an extra cover for the bed.

If only the chill were skin deep. Christmas was an especially bad time to be estranged from one’s kin. His little brothers and sisters, uninformed of the dispute, called out
to him and Etta gaily upon seeing them in the street – ‘Marty, we haven’t see you for ages! Will you be round for Christmas dinner?’

What could he tell them? Etta seemed content enough with only her man for company, with his help cooking them a reasonable dinner, enjoying silly games afterwards and singing carols in front of a roaring fire – indeed she was to make much of the fact that they were similarly placed now in that both had been abandoned by their families, and was not that a reason to feel even closer to each other? Whilst taking delight in her too, for she could teach him many things and was a great conversationalist and much fun as a companion, a small part of him longed to go round to his parents, who would have a full house. But he had sworn his loyalty to Etta and would not leave her for any reason…though he could not resist a wistful fantasy over what the other Lanegans would be having to eat.

The feelings of abandonment were to increase. In summertime, with sunrise at half past four, it had not been such hardship to be first out of bed, to light the fire and attend to other chores that should rightly have been done by his wife. Now, in the pitch-black, teeth-chattering chill of those long winter months as he stumbled off to work through fog and rain, snow and ice, returning to a stack of things that Etta had left undone, he could not avoid feeling slightly vexed at times. It was not that he resented helping his wife – he still adored her – but the marked lack of contribution from Etta proved very wearing.

From her words and behaviour he was confident she loved him equally, but, oh, if only she would pay as much attention to the food as to the furnishings, would try to ensure that, under their fancy little cosies, the boiled eggs were not as hard as rocks, would bake him a competent pie from time to time, it would make everything so much easier to bear. Marty had always loved pies – apple pies, mince pies, but particularly rabbit. In times of strife a
well-made pie could be such a comfort. His mother had always provided them regularly. Now there was only the memory.

Perhaps it was his imagination but this winter seemed to be an exceptionally long one, January, February and March crawling by, the pall of smoke from iron foundries and thousands of household chimneys obliterating what little sunlight there was.

But at last the bleakness gradually began to lift, and it seemed as if Marty’s situation might improve too with the bursting of spring when a friend was to share the benefits of a poaching excursion. Alas, his hints to Etta that she might like to make a pie with the rabbit did not go down as hoped, in fact she balked just watching him skin and gut it. When she refused even to touch the wretched thing he was compelled to have a bash at a rabbit stew himself, but this only extended to dropping the puny carcass into a pan with some water and vegetables, and the result what not exactly what he had hoped for.

Whilst his spirits slowly deflated, his wife swelled riper by the day, signalling that the time was nigh to find a midwife.

‘You said you’d do it,’ an anxious Etta reminded him.

Marooned in foreign territory, Marty suggested tentatively, ‘Couldn’t you ask one of the neighbours?’

‘They’ll have nothing to do with me,’ stated his wife, who, even after several months of living there, had not formed any kind of intimacy with the other women and only greeted them in passing. She shrugged. ‘I’ve tried to be friendly, but…’

Marty nodded, acknowledging that this was more their fault than Etta’s, for they mistakenly surmised that because of her well-bred mannerisms she was a snob too – and if only they bothered to get to know her they would see that this was not so, she was quite a commoner at heart. But, as ever, it was left to him to remedy matters. ‘Don’t worry,’
he reassured her. ‘I’ll find someone to help you.’ Though he was still unsure how.

Confiding his woes to a chum that same day, he was finally provided with the name of one who might help, and, thus equipped, went to visit the elderly woman on his way home from work. She seemed nice enough, if a little untidy, her robust proportions emanating selfassurance which lent Marty confidence in her aptitude too, though her request for five shillings met with dismay. It seemed an awful lot of money.

Catching the look of doubt upon his face, Nancy Dowd said quickly, ‘I’m not asking that you give it me now, my dear. I never charge till the babby’s born, and from what you say you’ll have a week or so to save it up.’

Searching her softly wrinkled features for signs of duplicity, Marty saw none, but even if he had there would have been no choice for one so desperate, and he agreed to hire her services. At least that was one thing out of the way.

If only his desperation was restricted to fiscal concerns. With Etta so large it had been impossible to make love to her for weeks and, this being the very foundation of their rapport, Marty had lately begun to feel that the withdrawal of it would drive him mad. Any excitement over the imminent arrival of his son or daughter was tempered by a greater apprehension. Would things ever be the same again?

Thoughts of pleasures lost were to consume him as he made his way home from work along a back lane that Monday noon. It was unusual for him to be home at this time of day – even though everyone else might be enjoying an Easter holiday it was a busy time for those at the railway station – but as the birth loomed he had taken to checking on the mother-to-be at dinnertime. Not that there would be anything much on offer for him, he thought miserably. Passing an open gateway he glanced in and was about to walk on, but what he saw there drew him back
immediately to look and to lust after. Every scruple demolished, he gazed longingly inside, almost drooling as the voluptuous woman went about her business. Making himself less obtrusive he peeped around the gatepost and watched her for a moment. It was as if she had known he would be passing at that very minute and extended open invitation. His heart thudded as she made for the privy, that wonderful, beneficent angel…In his mind he went through the moves that would take place behind that door, imagined her occupied in lifting her skirt, drawers round ankles…Now was his chance…in those few seconds he tried to resist, truly he did, but the desire was just too overwhelming. He
must
have it.