Keepsake (31 page)

Despite all efforts not to appear weak, tears bulged over her lower lids. Her audience beheld her awkwardly as she dashed them away, Mr Vant clearing his throat and, with the hand that was not holding a cigarette, offering her something from his pocket. ‘Here, have a Minto, love.’

She shook her head vigorously at the tobacco-tainted offering but passed a damply grateful smile at him before sighing, ‘I suppose he’s gone straight to Dandy, hasn’t he?’

The others pulled faces to show that they shared this view, and in fact all were correct. The moment she returned to her office after lunch Mr Burdock demanded she explain herself. ‘I am informed you acquired your employment by false pretences,
Mrs
Lanegan.’

Etta sighed heavily. ‘I don’t need to ask who told you.’

‘Don’t try to blame anyone else!’ Mr Burdock glanced to see whether the customers had heard, then lowered his voice to a stern hiss. ‘It’s you who are in the dock.’

Only as a last resort had she used her femininity to curry favour, but now in danger of losing precious income and knowing how susceptible the manager was, she unloosed a waterfall to drench him, affecting to weep – not having to try very hard – and telling Burdock of the manner of her husband’s leaving. ‘He deserted his family without a word! Please accept my apology for the deception, but with four children to feed I was in such dire need of work that I was compelled to say I was unwed, otherwise you wouldn’t have employed me.’

Burdock still frowned, yet was sympathetic as he lifted a hand to smooth distractedly at his little horns of hair. ‘Well, I agree that is understandable. No wonder you asked for a rise in pay. My, my…’

He ruminated for a while, leaving her to hang desperately on his every nuance. Only once did she tear her eyes
away to accuse Tupman, who lurked on the far side of the shop, gloating at her misfortune.

Then the old-fashioned character said abruptly, ‘Very well, I’ve reached my decision.’

She cocked her head expectantly. ‘You mean about the rise?’

‘You ungrateful litt – the very nerve!’ Burdock’s face almost bulged out of his starched, winged collar. ‘You can put that right out of your head. I told you not to mention it to anyone but you had to go and let the cat out of the bag, didn’t you? I
meant
my decision on whether to keep you on or not.’ He viewed her sternly. ‘I don’t think you realise how seriously I regard being lied to, Miss Lan– Mrs – oh, just be quiet and let me finish!’

Dutifully, Etta waited to hear her fate. Across the shop Mr Tupman waited too, trying to gauge what was transpiring.

Composing himself, Burdock proceeded. ‘Only the harshest critic would dismiss someone with Christmas almost upon us…’

Christmas? What difference does that make to a woman in my position, raged Etta, yet she clung optimistically to his sentence and waited for the rest of it.

‘Therefore you may stay – but this is positively your last chance. Should you cause any more insurrection you shall be dismissed.’

She heaved with relief. ‘Oh, Mr Burdock, thank you!’

‘I trust you know how lucky you are, my girl?’

‘Indeed, I do!’ Etta managed to sound duly castigated, whilst keeping her true thoughts to herself: oh yes, so lucky to work in an office infested with rodents and be treated in such a condescending fashion by my superior.

Too crass to see past her teary ingratiating smile, Burdock nodded his satisfaction, then made way for her to be seated behind the desk. ‘Very well, you may get back to your ledgers now.’ Then he lowered his voice and spoke confidentially
in her ear. ‘Oh, and by the by, you shall continue to be referred to as Miss Lanegan. It wouldn’t do if head office got to hear of my lenience.’

With an inward sigh, Etta nodded meek acceptance.

‘And don’t make too much of my merciful gesture to the others,’ he advised, glancing at Mr Tupman who immediately busied himself in polishing stock. ‘They might get the wrong idea.’

Naturally, there were those who did get the wrong idea. Whilst some congratulated Etta for managing to escape with a reprimand, and a few days later on Christmas Eve wished her all the best as the shop closed down for a two-day festival, Tupman remained waspish, acting as if they had never been friends.

Leaving the shop to trudge through dark, wet streets, teeth chattering as the damp chill pierced her threadbare coat, Etta told herself what did it matter? In receipt of a quarterly bonus and with two whole days’ leisure ahead, why should she care about petty arguments? But, even at the thought of being with her children, there was little anticipation of Christmas jollity: the carol singers, the brass bands, the scent of pine, the bright shop windows with their festive displays, the merry last-minute shoppers staggering under mounds of parcels all leaving her uninspired. The only thing for which she was truly thankful was that someone else would be shouldering the work, for, traditionally, the entire Lanegan clan always gathered at Aggie’s for Christmas dinner.

Stopping only to exchange a florin for four sixpenny books for the children and a few more necessary provisions, she had almost reached home when she caught sight of a neighbour she had not seen for some time rushing towards her with a look of self-importance on her face. Feeling too weary to submit herself to gossip, she was unable to avoid her.

‘Hello, Mrs Lanegan! I’ve been hoping to catch you. Did
you hear our John had joined up the other week?’

Etta wanted to demand tiredly
What’s so bloody important about that?
But she managed to be polite whilst still maintaining her approach to her own door. ‘I didn’t know that, no. I hope he’s enjoying being a soldier?’

‘Aye, thank you,’ Mrs Reilly flicked a hand, ‘but that’s not what I want to tell you. I just had a letter from him and guess who he’s seen? Your husband!’

Etta was stunned and fought to recover whilst the woman babbled on.

‘They’re in the same regiment – would you believe it? John saw him on the parade ground but hasn’t had time to speak to him yet. Eh, what a small world!’

‘Isn’t it?’ She smiled tightly, and, though her heart was beating furiously, managed to sound casual. ‘Well, I’d better stir the fire into life before the children come clamouring for my attention.’

‘I thought I’d best let you know!’ said the other to her retreating back. ‘I know how difficult it’s been for you…’

‘Thank you, Mrs Reilly, that’s most kind.’ Etta inserted her key, furious that it took a stranger to provide the whereabouts of her delinquent husband. Oh and wouldn’t people round here have a field day when Mrs Reilly broadcast it to all and sundry.

‘Will you pass the news on to your mother-in-law or shall I?’

‘I’ll tell her,’ said Etta quickly. ‘Thank you.’ She fought bad-temperedly with the unresponsive key as she struggled to escape.
Turn
, damn you!

‘I thought you might like to write to him, so here’s the name of his battalion!’ Mrs Reilly had followed her and held out a scrap of paper.

‘I’m very grateful to you for taking the trouble.’ Etta put it straight into her pocket and donated a last tight smile before closing the door on the neighbour’s, ‘Merry Christma—!’

In truth she could have wept. After groping her way
through the dark, she grabbed the poker and rammed it into the almost dead fire, inducing a pathetic flame. In six months not a word – not a sign even!

Well she didn’t need him, the turncoat. Retrieving the slip of paper from her pocket, she took quick, disdainful note of the words thereon, then crumpled it disparagingly and threw it on the coals.

She mentioned none of this to Aggie when she went to fetch the children. Didn’t mention it for fear she might weep. Only upon going to bed did she finally give rein to her desolation, bundling a corner of the pillow into her face so that she might shed her bitter tears in silence. She did need Marty – oh, how she missed and needed him. But obviously he did not need her.

The Lanegan house was packed on Christmas Day, bursting at the seams with married couples: Aggie and Red, Lou and Dan, Bridget and Mick, Mary and Ed, Annie and Joe…their arrangement at the table making it patently obvious that Etta was the only woman lacking a husband. Being decent folk they tried to make up for this discrepancy, of course – as if holding themselves responsible for Marty’s leaving her – but in doing so they merely appeared to over-compensate, rendering all the gaiety somewhat false and so making Etta feel ten times worse. In addition there was the guilt of keeping his whereabouts to herself, for she knew that if she told them they would demand to know why she did not rush there now and drag him back. It was awful.
Awful.

Moreover, her children were the only ones without a father. How heartrending it was for her, watching them trying to find a substitute in various male relatives – not that they seemed particularly sad themselves. Nor were their appetites spoiled for all that was on the table, tucking into mounds of roast pork and showing even more delight upon coming across a silver threepence each in their bowl of
Christmas pudding – though this was rather marred when their grandmother stood at the door collecting the coins back off each child as they departed, saying she would put them to sensible use for the recipients – ‘You’ll only go frittering it on sweets.’

Etta, assuming this to be the cause of her offsprings’ sullen mood as they trundled their way home through the dark, was unprepared for her eldest child’s remark.

‘I hate you for sending Father away,’ denounced Celia out of the blue as she walked beside the pram, looking straight ahead but injecting her voice with venom.

Etta stopped dead, the cold night rushing in at her. Deeply shocked, she stared down at her six-year-old daughter, at all her children. Struggling for words, she answered lamely, ‘I didn’t mean to, Celie…I miss him as much as you do.’

‘Then fetch him back,’ begged Edward, the reflection of a gaslamp flickering in his earnest green eyes.

‘I can’t, darling.’ One hand rocking the grumbling babe inside the pram, she stooped to tend her son, trying not to cry. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

Under their pitiful, sullen stares, she damned herself as a liar, a hypocrite. What kind of mother would put her own pride before her children’s happiness? And, as she studied them, she saw in their features both herself and Marty combined, the love that had conceived them, and the deep desire for him came flooding back.

‘We’ll help you to look,’ offered Celia, Edward and Alex, nodding enthusiastically.

Etta smiled sadly, then, one hand holding Edward’s, the other steering the pram, she shepherded her children onwards, still fighting her emotions. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

Yes, you do, liar
, she accused herself. And it would be such a simple task. How can you rob them of a father’s love, knowing what it is to be so deprived yourself?

But what if Marty rejects me? Her spirit recoiled. I
couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t. Tears came just at the very thought.

Then, after a painful hiatus came momentous decision. She squeezed the little hand that held hers and promised, ‘But I’ll try.’

The infants were immediately transformed, beaming as they set off at a hop, skip and jump between the puddles of light on the dark, wet pavement towards home. Using two hands now to steer the pram, their mother smiled after them, fond yet still sad. How easy it had been to make their lives happier.

She could only hope it would be so easy to broach the subject with Aggie. God in heaven, what an ordeal the holiday had been, it would almost be a relief to have it over.

Aggie seemed to think so too, giving a less than enthusiastic welcome when Etta appeared the following day with the children.

‘Don’t worry, we shan’t stop.’ Etta summoned a weak smile.

‘Thank God,’ said her mother-in-law, only half-joking as she fell back into her chair to display near exhaustion. ‘Boxing Day already and I’ve not so much as sucked a tangerine.’

Etta thanked her once again for putting on such a wonderful spread. ‘We’re off for a walk to Heslington to blow away the cobwebs and just wondered if any of you would care to join us.’

‘Oh, I haven’t the energy, darlin’.’ Aggie echoed the others’ thoughts.

‘But you must come, Granny,’ urged little Alex. ‘We’re going to look for Father.’

Finding herself under sharp surveillance from Aggie, Red and Mal, Etta gave a sad chuckle to make a joke of it and said to them, ‘Actually, we’re going to look for squirrels,
but I can see that you need your rest so we’ll leave you in peace until tomorrow.’ And she dragged the children from the house before any more secrets could be divulged.

In fact, she had come here with the full intention of admitting that she knew where Marty was, and to inform her in-laws that she had decided to take him back. But after all she had said about their son, every curse, every insult – not to mention that she had injured him with a teapot – it would be a most disagreeable task, and so fearful was she of being embarrassed over her climb-down that it had only taken some childish prattle to dissuade her.

‘You said we were going to look for Father.’ From within the huge pleated brim of her winter bonnet, Celia’s face accused her.

‘And we are! But not today.’

‘When?’ demanded Alex, ringlets bouncing as she skipped alongside.

As soon as I can pluck up the courage to admit to his mother that I was at fault for his leaving, thought Etta. Heaven only knows when that will be. But to her children, she said, ‘Soon, I promise. But you mustn’t say anything about it to Granny.’

‘Why?’ asked Alex.

‘Because I want it to be a lovely surprise when we do find him,’ said Etta, knowing that this was the only way to make them keep quiet. ‘For now it’s to be our secret.’

Naturally one could not expect a four-year-old to know what a secret was, let alone to preserve it, but Etta was able to explain away Alexandra’s words to Aggie as a childish fantasy.

For a time, too, she was able to pacify her children with the reply that, yes, she had begun the search for their father, was trying desperately hard to find him, and that she would meet with success very, very soon, she could vouch for that.