Keepsake (23 page)

‘But what can one
do
?’ Focused on her own problem, Etta interrupted with a helpless sigh.

Victoria took another sip of tea and glanced around again before leaning over to whisper a confidence. ‘How do you suppose I’m not yet enceinte?’ This was not a subject
normally aired between ladies, but her friend’s desperation called for radical measures, and besides, it pleased Victoria to be so avante-garde. ‘There are items one can buy to prevent it, you know.’

Etta did not delay matters by asking how her friend had found this out but showed immediate interest. When Victoria divulged further information, Etta blushed, not through delicacy but because of her shameful financial position. ‘I couldn’t afford such luxuries even if I knew where to purchase them.’

Victoria was a kind person and did not hesitate before asking, ‘Then would you permit me to send you a couple of dozen?’ Seeing Etta about to shake her head she raised a firm palm. ‘Before you refuse you must put aside any notion of charity or pity or anything else. I’m doing this as one friend to another – even though it might seem an odd sort of gift.’ She gave an impish smile.

Etta was too desperate to risk another refusal. ‘But your husband –’

‘Would never notice, we go through so many!’ Victoria butted in eagerly, then snorted behind a hand. ‘Oh goodness, that sounds depraved – but what I mean to say is that it will be perhaps less of a problem for us to obtain them than it would be for you.’ Her voice lowered again to a whisper. ‘Gerald buys them in bulk, he’s somewhat the optimist.’ She tittered; so did Etta.

Victoria was in full flow now, the content of her information most unsuitable for such a genteel venue but causing hilarity between the two friends, even more so when this drew disapproving looks from others. ‘You can use each of them four or five times – depending on how rough you are,’ divulged Victoria, blue eyes a-twinkle.

Exhausted by trying to restrain her laughter, as their meeting gradually drew to a close Etta mopped her eyes and gushed sincerely, ‘Oh, I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed seeing you again, Vicky! It must have been fate
that led me to see your name in the press, for I truly believe you’ve helped to save my own marriage. I’m so sorry for not writing earlier to say where I was, it must have seemed as if I’d abandoned you.’

‘Oh stuff and nonsense.’ Putting on her gloves, Victoria gripped her friend’s arm warmly. ‘I fully understand what it is to be so in love that one can think of no one else. I hardly see any of the people with whom I used to socialise either. I’d love to meet you again –’

‘Oh, so would I!’ Etta leapt in.

‘– but unfortunately Gerald and I will be moving to London shortly.’ Victoria’s face mirrored Etta’s, which was now swathed in disappointment. ‘I
know
.’ A look of empathy creased her powdered complexion. ‘It seems so unjust after fate has brought us together again. But perhaps we can meet once in a while when I come to visit my people.’ Etta nodded half-heartedly, noting that Victoria had not sought to invite her and Martin to visit.

Victoria paid the bill, gathered her belongings and dealt her friend a final peck on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, my dear, it’s been so lovely to see you again – and I promise I shan’t forget the what-d’you-call-its!’

Reliving every minute of that wonderful afternoon again and again, Etta went home in a spirit of hope.

Noting her bright eyes, Aggie remarked as she handed over the children, ‘You look as if you’ve enjoyed yourself. Managed to get himself something nice, did you?’

Only then did Etta remember that the object of her outing had been to buy a gift for Marty. But her intended groan quickly became a smile. ‘Yes, I’m having it delivered later,’ she informed her mother-in-law.

‘Oh, too large to carry, was it?’ Aggie looked impressed.

‘Mm, not large, no,’ said Etta with a sparkle, ‘but I think it’s something he’ll appreciate.’

‘Ah, I know that look.’ Aggie winked. ‘Something you can enjoy as well, is it? Something nice for tea?’

Etta laughed at Aggie’s unwitting response. ‘You know me so well, don’t you?’ Gathering her children, gaily she took them home.

‘Yes, I know you,’ murmured Aggie to herself whilst smiling and waving at her grandchildren. ‘Whatever it is, you can be sure she’ll have it burnt to a cinder by the time Marty comes home.’

Ironically, the what-d’you-call-its were to arrive bang on their wedding anniversary – at least Etta surmised that this was what was in the package which Marty had just unwrapped, judging by his puzzled expression. Being Sunday, he was not at work and was therefore free to answer the postman’s knock. She had tried to intercept the parcel which, despite it bearing her name, he had begun to open, but she was too late, his eager fingers had wrenched off the string and torn the brown paper.

Wondering what on earth his wife had spent their money on now, Marty unravelled one of the unfamiliar items and held it up for a second before the shape of it caused suspicion and, finally guessing what it was, he gasped and rewrapped it quickly. ‘Etta, are you out of your mind sending for these?’

‘I didn’t buy them!’ She was anxious to assure him.

‘The children might have seen them!’

A scornful laugh. ‘They won’t know what they are.’

‘Maybe, but what if somebody else had been here? You could have warned me!’ Was this what had made her behave so strangely during the past few days?

‘Sorry I didn’t realise they’d be here quite so soon. A friend of mine suggested they might be useful.’

He gasped again, this time with condemnation. ‘You’ve been discussing our private life?’

‘No! No, not really.’ Her bosom heaved as she confessed, ‘I bumped into an old friend, Victoria, and when she learned that we have three children after only four years of marriage she was horrified and said she could help!’

‘What is she, some kind of prostitute?’

Anxiety turned to outrage. ‘No! How
dare
you malign my good friends – and now who’s being irresponsible in front of the children!’

Still aghast, Marty looked down at the package and shook his head, whilst little Celia looked anxiously from one to another.

Etta went on in clipped tones, ‘Victoria is a respectable married woman who wishes to delay starting a family of her own, and envisaging me in another ten years with another ten children she thought to provide a serv—’

‘Does she think I’m so stupid and low that I can’t take care of my own affairs?’ demanded Marty.

‘She was merely trying to be kind!’ Etta’s fury amplified. ‘Wanted her friend to have a similar kind of happiness that she has with her husband, but I’m beginning to wonder why I married you at all!’

He retaliated. ‘You said you wanted to be part of my life!’

‘But I didn’t know there’d be so many others in it!’ She went on hotly, ‘There’s always somebody else here, your mother, your father, your Aunt Fanny – I never get to be with you alone. What’s the matter, don’t you want things to be like they were? Are you deliberately trying to drive me away?’

He looked stunned. ‘Well, yes – no! I mean, of course I want things to be like they were, Etta, of
course
I do. But this is…sinful.’

‘Who says?’ she grilled him.

‘The Church.’

‘You hypocrite, you never go to church!’

A loud wail interrupted the argument.

‘See what you’ve done now!’ Etta grabbed her little son and tried to comfort him, which was difficult as the other two had also become infected by the upset. ‘There, there, Father didn’t mean to frighten you, have this.’ In a few deft
movements she had set Edward down, scooped a spoon into the jam pot and inserted it into each little mouth. Succeeding in pacifying them, she stood glaring at her husband.

Having put aside his anger and embarrassment in order to help soothe the infants, Marty became contemplative. Delving into the package again, he held up one of the sheaths – though used his body to shield it from tender eyes. Perhaps this was not such a depravity after all if it meant he could still have access to the one he so desired.

For a moment he beheld his wife’s angry stance, then, regretting that he had upset her needlessly, he dealt her a bashful smirk. ‘Hell, Ett, what have you told her about me? This’d fit a bloody stallion.’

Her angry mask immediately collapsed and she came to him slyly. ‘Well, that’s what you are.’

He laughed aloud and curled his free arm around her to kiss her, this also serving to remove the children’s apprehension.

‘I thought they might be a suitable anniversary gift. Would you care to put one to the test?’

‘God, you’re shameless! Oh, go on then.’ He feigned a look of duty but beat her to the staircase.

‘Celie, make sure Edward doesn’t touch the fireguard,’ Etta instructed her daughter, whom she trusted to be sensible. ‘Mother and Father need to do something. We’ll be down shortly.’ Happiness restored, she pelted after Marty.

Whilst not wholly satisfactory, the first of the what-d’you-call-its did succeed in bringing the couple back to intimacy, and more importantly resurrected their shared sense of humour. There was some small inconvenience for Etta in that it required washing after use, but this in itself was to provide amusement from an unanticipated source.

That same afternoon Marty’s parents called in on their
way home from a country walk with the children and Uncle Mal. With no time to hide the sheath that had been put to dry on the hoist above the fireplace, Marty tried to keep his gaze from straying there, babbling like an idiot whilst at the same time exchanging a look of panic with his wife.

Not to offer her guests tea would have seemed rude, and so, with no way of avoiding it, this is what Etta did – though she was acutely conscious that by picking up the kettle she was also drawing attention to the fireplace, and that which hung above it. Seeing Aggie quizzically eyeing the object that dangled from the rail, she bit her lip and cast a sideways look at Marty but dared not move it for fear of inviting a question and, instead, removed herself.

‘I hope we’re not depriving Marty of his anniversary gift?’ said Aggie.

Etta, now carving slices from a piece of boiled bacon, almost choked. ‘I beg your pardo—oh, I see what you mean! No, this isn’t the gift I bought him. I’m afraid we ate that as soon as it arrived, didn’t we, Martin?’

‘We did, aye!’ Flummoxed, Marty sought to follow his wife’s lead.

‘Well, and you both seem in very good spirits the pair of you,’ offered Redmond in his gentle brogue, noting their shining eyes and lips that twitched with suppressed laughter.

‘Oh, we are that, Da!’ Marty nodded vigorously, wishing Etta would put away that mischievous look that made him want to erupt. ‘And what have you been doing with yourselves, boys? My, that’s a big bag you’ve got!’ He nodded encouragingly as his brothers displayed the items they had collected from the hedgerows, showing much more interest than was due, hoping to hold everyone’s attention.

‘’Tis my opinion you’ve been feeding the lad too many oats,’ Aggie announced smilingly to Etta. ‘Sure and he’s never shut up since we got here.’

At the mention of oats, Marty dared not meet Etta’s eye.
‘Oh well, that’s a nice how-do-ye-do, sorry for boring you, Ma!’

Aggie chuckled and was about to say more, but then Etta came forward with plates and a pot of tea and the conversation turned to other things.

It appeared that Etta and Marty might well have escaped embarrassment, for the object that dangled from the rail seemed to have been forgotten by the time Aggie and the others made to leave.

Relieved to have got away with it, the couple allowed themselves to relax a little – but right at the point of exit Aggie turned and frowned. ‘You know, I’ve been racking my brain trying to make out what that there thing is, but I can’t for the life of me –’

‘It’s a piping bag,’ said Etta, quick as a flash. ‘I’ve been learning how to ice a cake.’

Marty could not help a snort and quickly bent down, pretending to tie his shoe as he felt his ears turn red, barely able to contain his laughter.

‘Oh…’ Aggie looked as if to show interest.

Pre-empting a request to see the said cake, Etta added quickly, ‘I’m afraid my first effort wasn’t good enough so I scraped it off. No one shall see it until I’ve perfected the art.’

Aggie looked most impressed, calling over her shoulder as she left, ‘We’ll know where to come when one o’ the girls needs a wedding cake then.’

‘Icing cakes indeed!’ blurted Marty when it was safe to do so, he and Etta falling into each other’s arms laughing uproariously that she had unintentionally created a euphemism for intercourse. ‘She really believed you! You’ll get your comeuppance when you’re called upon to produce the evidence.’

Etta laughed so hysterically that she could not speak for some moments, the children looking up in bewilderment. ‘Oh stop, don’t set me off any more, it hurts! Oh, dear!’
She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

‘When you’ve finished laughing I’ve got one question for you,’ said Marty, straight-faced now.

‘What?’

‘Do you fancy icing another cake?’

There were to be many cakes iced during the following weeks, Etta and Marty greedily retrieving the joy of union after famine. However, both were quick to see that the source would not last indefinitely and, sense overruling passion, chose to eke out the remainder of Victoria’s gift so as to enjoy it as long as possible before fate would inevitably step in. In consequence, though Marty still laboured from dawn to dark, somehow he managed to reserve sufficient energy for loving liaisons with his wife, and the rest of the year was happy, as were the first few months of the next.

But, regrettably, as the last of the French letters disintegrated, so too did the laughter, and when Aggie sought to enquire in all innocence, ‘How’s the cakeicing progressing?’ Etta took no amusement in her answer that she had given it up as useless.

To her shame she had considered writing to her friend Victoria, even though it was obvious from the lack of correspondence from the other that there was no longer any common ground between them. But, pitted against carnal desire, her selfrespect had finally won and she tore up the humiliating petition and instead looked to Marty for action.

‘I got them the last time,’ she told him firmly, ‘now it’s your turn.’

Contemplating the embarrassing act of having to walk
into a shop and ask for prophylactics, Marty reached the conclusion that such a moment’s awfulness would be worth it, and asked her, ‘Did your friend say how much they cost?’

‘I think those were quite expensive,’ Etta pondered, her face hopeful, ‘but I recall Victoria saying there are cheaper varieties. They begin at two shillings per dozen…’

‘Oh, well, that’s it then!’ he snapped in bitter disappointment.

‘Don’t dismiss it yet!’ she urged. ‘We could do without something else.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, I don’t know!’ Even by dint of cutting down on small luxuries such as her rosewater their income was stretched to the limit. ‘You think of something, you’re the man!’

‘Well thank you for reminding me of that!’ He was furious.

‘I didn’t mea—’

‘I know what you meant!’ replied Marty before striding off to work.

What else could he do? Who could he ask? The men of his acquaintance were as unequipped to deal with their fertility as he. Nothing. He could do absolutely nothing.

Forced apart once more through fear of pregnancy, the only spark of passion now displayed itself in arguments as frustration lured petty niggles to the fore. Marty supposed he should be grateful that the mother of his children had learned to ensure they were clean and welldressed and wellcared for; instead he displayed resentment over his own feelings of neglect; began to complain more forcefully about the lax manner in which she ran the household; took great pains to point out that what Etta eschewed as trivia were in fact essential chores. ‘You’ll see what consequence it is when your children fall ill!’

Still, she refused to be worried by it, saying calmly in that maddening manner of hers, ‘I fail to see how my reluctance
to waste time in cleaning the windows or scrubbing the step every day could result in a case of measles.’

Robbed of answer, Marty could only fume as she added:

‘I’d much rather expend my energy on the children.’

And there lay half the problem. But what kind of man was jealous of his own children? Ashamed of himself, he could only respond with anger. ‘Sometimes you drive me bloody mad, woman!’

And then it was his wife’s turn to take umbrage, and Etta in a tantrum was not a pretty creature, throwing at him whatever it was she held in her hand, along with a stream of oaths.

Unwitting of the fact that this was the only way she knew how to respond at having her emotions so ravaged, that she saw these painful criticisms as a retraction of his love, there were times when he genuinely wanted to walk away from her.

Nobody else would have known, at least not his workmates, from the way he managed to maintain his comical banter outside the house.

‘By, I hate to say it but you really make it a pleasure to come to work, lad!’ old Arthur wheezed with hilarity and mopped his eyes, as did the rest of the group of barrow boys whom Marty kept entertained with impressions of the station hierarchy whilst they waited for another train to come in. ‘It’s like being at the bloomin’ music hall!’

Inspired by their laughter, Marty had not finished yet. ‘Eh, look!’ Pouncing on a pair of yellow gloves which someone had left behind on a bench, he held one to either side of his head and waggled them at his audience. ‘Custard Lugs!’

The barrow boys burst into renewed noisy laughter that ricocheted off the station walls, drawing disapproving eyes, including those of the impersonated one.

‘Jesus, I didn’t mean to cause a seizure.’ Grinning, Marty put a supportive arm round Arthur’s shoulders as, on the
point of hysteria, the old man fought for breath, the others almost paralysed with amusement too.

‘Ooh-hoo!’ Arthur struggled to compose himself, puffing and wheezing, tears streaking his leathery cheeks. ‘You could even make my missus laugh and that’s saying something – eh, Marty, you don’t fancy coming home with me and keeping her happy while I sneak out for a pint?’

‘Now you all witnessed that!’ declared the entertainer to his audience. ‘There’s an invitation if ever I heard one!’

‘Nay, you wouldn’t say that if you saw her,’ chuckled Arthur, shoving away his handkerchief and making ready with his barrow as a train pulled in and the group broke apart. ‘Miserable bugger, only thing she’s good for is deterring burglars.’

Marty issued a final laugh as the train came to a hissing standstill. ‘It’s cheaper than buying a dog licence.’

Arthur agreed, then mellowed a little. ‘Oh, I’m being a bit mean, she looks after me well.’

‘That’s something to be grateful for.’ Rudely reminded of Etta’s shortcomings, Marty relapsed into a grim mood, wondering what would be in store for him when he went home tonight, but was soon to don his cheery mask again, for a grumpy mug did not attract the customers. If only he could have put up a similarly convincing show of happiness at home.

Both he and Etta hoped to conceal this state of affairs from the rest of the family, putting on a brave smile whenever they were invited round. But unlike Marty’s workmates his parents knew him well enough to guess something was wrong.

‘Take the lad aside and talk to him,’ Aggie urged her husband as he passed her in the scullery during one of Marty’s visits. ‘There’s been some kind of argumentation. See if you can find out what’s amiss – as if I didn’t already know who’s to blame. You try to tell them but they won’t listen – this is what comes of marrying out of your kind.’

Though anxious to help, Red pulled awkwardly at his
earlobe. ‘Well now, talking’s more in your league.’

‘Not when it concerns her ladyship and it surely will. I always put my foot in it. You have a go.’ And she gave him a push.

Though unnerved, Red fought his inclination to fall asleep by concentrating hard on the matter in hand as he re-entered the parlour to ask, ‘Will you be for looking at my new rabbits, Marty?’

The latter, who had been immersed in brooding melancholy, now looked up sharply.

‘May we see them, Grandad?’ Edward leapt to his feet.

‘Sure, and you’ve seen them already,’ Red dissuaded the little boy in the sailor suit with a kind pat. ‘I’d just like your father’s opinion on them, then you can come out.’

Faced with this odd request, Marty had the feeling that the rabbits were only an excuse to get him out there for private discussion. Casting a glance at Etta, who had been equally subdued, he reluctantly trailed after his father.

But outside, though Red was desperate to raise his son’s spirits he did not know how to begin. Hence, the talk hedged around the real subject and moved in desultory fashion from the price of rabbit feed to other such mundane things, before Red inevitably succumbed to his narcolepsy and, upon waking, forgot what he had come out there to do.

Consequently, when the pair came back indoors Aggie was to be no wiser.

Annoyed at her husband’s failure, she ran a hand over her mouth and decided, ‘’Tis left to me as usual to take the divil by the horns, dammit!’ And she shoved a bemused-looking Red back towards the parlour before steering Marty outside again.

This time he knew he was for it.

‘What’s ailing ye, son?’ she wheedled. ‘Don’t bother with the codology, your father and me can tell you’re unhappy.’

How could a man voice such things to his mother? He sighed. ‘Oh, it’s nothing…’

‘Sure, it must be something, there’s never a word passed between the pair o’ yese in the last hour and her with a face dripping icicles.’

Marty heaved another sigh. ‘It’s just…me and Ett are having a few disagreements at the moment, that’s all, Ma. It’s best we don’t speak.’

‘You won’t leave her, will ye?’

Though shocked by this forthright question, only a fool would not grab the opportunity to share his troubles. ‘I feel like it,’ he replied bluntly, shaking his head at the thought of Etta’s recent intransigence. ‘By God I do.’

‘But you wouldn’t?’ There was a note of panic in her voice. ‘This isn’t the same as pestering for a cooking apple then not eating it, this is a marriage.’

‘Well, I know that, Ma!’ He looked scathing.

‘Of course you do, of course,’ she soothed. ‘I’m just worried about you. Ah, God love ye, I know Etta can be difficult, but tell me ye won’t leave her, son?’ She had been dreading this all along, knew he would eventually tire of the wretched girl.

Is that what you really think of me, an offended Marty wanted to ask as he stared at her.

But at last, to his mother’s relief, he shook his head. ‘Of course I won’t.’ Then he sighed yet again, and struggled to explain how he felt, but could only grasp at metaphor and she would not understand. It was like when, as a child, he had left a glass of lemonade on the outside windowsill in January and come out next day to find the glass cracked open and the lemonade frozen into a block. At first it was such a novelty, such an obsessive treat to cup it in his hands, to lick and gnaw and suck the fruitiness imprisoned within the ice. But then he had found his mouth totally stuck to it, burning and hurting, and he’d tried to pull away but he could not free himself without tearing the skin from his lips. Well, that was how he felt about Etta.

His lack of words was misinterpreted, Aggie shaking her
head disapprovingly. ‘You’d think she’d be grateful to have a man who slaves as hard as you do.’

‘But that’s half the problem, Ma! She complains that I work too much, that I don’t spend enough time with her.’ He felt disloyal just saying it but he wanted someone to confirm he was right in feeling aggrieved.

‘But she can’t expect to live in a house like that without someone having to work for it, and it sure as hell won’t be her. Stuck with her head in a book half the time…’

Marty scratched his head. His mother wasn’t getting this at all. When he said Etta wanted him to spend more time with her he meant intimate time. He ached for this too – oh God, how he longed for the old days, to let his passion run its course without hindrance – but that could spell only one thing. ‘I don’t know what to do, Ma. We can’t cope with any more children…’

‘Ah…’ Now the issue became much more delicate. ‘I’d offer to have a word with Etta but there’s nothing much I can do to help ye there, son.’ Only her decrepitude had prevented any more babies after Jimmy-Joe. She played with her lower lip, pinching it with slight embarrassment.

Marty was embarrassed too. ‘No, no, that’s all right, I don’t expect you to. I was just getting things off me chest. Don’t say anything, will you?’ Etta would be furious to hear he had been discussing their marriage with his mother. ‘We’ll be fine.’

‘Sure ye will.’ His mother touched him. ‘These rough patches happen to us all.’

But does it ever come right again, he wanted to ask? For if life were to continue like this for much longer, he would rather be dead.

For twelve more miserable months, through lengthy, aching periods of abstention, he and Etta managed to stave off pregnancy. But a marriage born of physical attraction could never hope to stand the strain. If there were no happy
medium to be had, both decided that they would rather take the risk than watch love die. Hence, as a new decade brought the sad announcement that the King had expired, Etta found yet another new life begat within.

Poor William, the Christmas child, totally innocent to the strain his arrival put on his parents’ marriage. Would that this were true of Marty and Etta’s other issue, but for Celia, Edward and Alex, their parents’ encounters, however brief, had become synonymous with angry disruption.

‘You’ve forgotten to empty the pisspot again,’ accused Marty, sniffing the air the moment he came in on this wet and freezing night.

Etta had been standing by to welcome him with a warm broth, but now felt her spirits descend. ‘What kind of a greeting is that?’

‘My sentiments exactly.’ Looking jaundiced, he shrugged his drenched coat into her hands and squelched towards the fire. ‘Not exactly the aroma a man fancies coming home to.’

She stood up to him, giving the coat an angry shake. ‘Why should you expect me to empty it? You’re the one who uses it!’

‘Ma never complained, nor my sisters.’ He went to wash his hands.

Hanging up the coat, Etta grabbed a ladle. ‘I’m not your mother – why should you automatically think it’s my job? You use it, you empty it!’ She served the broth.

Livid, he retaliated. ‘If that’s the way it was meant to be, everyone cleaning up their own mess, then you’d be a damned sight busier than you are, milady! Christ, you don’t know you’re born. I’d like to hear what Da had to say if me mother sat on her arse all –’

‘Oh, and don’t we all know what a paragon of domesticity your mother is!’ chafed Etta. ‘You’re always ranting about how marvellous she is, or your sisters, or anyone else you care to mention except your wife!’

‘Maybe that’s because me wife never does a bloody thing for me!’

‘And what do you call this?’ Etta gestured at the steaming bowl on the table. Hours it had taken her, cutting up vegetables, slicing her fingers into the process when she would much rather have been sewing, but it had all been worthwhile for it tasted delicious – as good as anything Aggie had ever produced, and Etta had been dying for Marty to come in and praise her wonderful achievement.