Читать книгу The Keepsake - Sheelagh Kelly - Страница 9

The next thing he knew it was tomorrow, light streaming through the thin curtains, his body drenched in sweat and his garments plastered to him. Coming round, he stretched uncomfortably, then, feeling the stack of hot coals beside him, rolled his head to view his sleeping partner through a misty veil and smiled when he saw she was not asleep at all but was grinning back at him, her eyes more alert than his.

His first words were unromantic. ‘God, isn’t it clammy?’

Propped on one elbow, Etta agreed. ‘That’s what woke me – that and the birds. I’ve been watching you for ages.’ She trailed tender fingers down his sweating face, then dabbed her lips to it.

Smothered by her long hair, he chuckled and fought a gentle way out. Few sounds came from outside. ‘It must only be about five.’ He kicked off the covers, the erotic musk of her body wafting up to arouse him into kissing her, she meeting him willingly. But the room was like an oven, forcing him to break away abruptly with a grunt of discomfort.

‘Sorry, darlin’, I’ll just have to open the window.’ He clambered over the bed and reached through the curtains to open the sash, though this was to provide little relief and he groaned as he slumped back beside her and tried to flap some air inside his shirt.

‘I don’t mind if you take your clothes off.’ Etta dipped her mouth into the socket of his eye then licked the salt from her lips.

His lazy grin exuded sensuality and he ran his hands through his hair to relieve his perspiring scalp. ‘I can’t vouch for what would happen then.’

‘I think it already has happened to some extent.’ She rolled a coquettish eye at his groin.

He gasped – ‘You’re shameless!’ – but immediately leapt atop her, eager to find out the extent of her invitation, and was ecstatic upon finding that she did not push his hands away this time, no matter how intimately they pried.

The heat of the day was forgotten as an inner heat took over, overwhelming Etta to such a pitch that in her thrashing she almost rolled off the bed. Between frantic laughing kisses she urged him to stop only so that she might take off her underwear. All self-consciousness gone, both rapidly divested themselves of this last barrier, then hurled their fevered bodies back together, rocking and chuckling and moaning, and, amidst passion, pain and apology, forged their blissful union.

Sweat trickled off Marty’s body as, finally, he rolled away from her and lay there panting and victorious, whilst Etta shifted onto her side and continued to kiss him, quiet, loving little kisses on his shoulder, nestling and nuzzling, both of them thoughtful, marvelling at what had occurred. Inevitably, though, much as each loved the other they were forced to move to the outer edges of the mattress, spreading their naked limbs to try and catch what little draught came through the window, yet maintaining contact with each other by the tips of their fingers. The air was pungent with their odour.

‘I’ve no hat.’

Marty chuckled at the inappropriate comment. ‘And do you always wear a hat for this kinda thing?’

‘For our wedding! I must have one.’ On the point of going to luncheon when he had come to rescue her, she had not been wearing outdoor clothing. It had only just begun to register now what dire straits she would be in when the climate changed. And, ‘Oh, look, my dress is on the floor!’ She beheld the crumpled garment with dismay.

He threw off his languor and leapt out of bed, giving the dress a shake and hanging it on a peg. ‘The creases’ll drop out by afternoon. I shall have to sponge me suit an’ all, it’s carrying half o’ your father’s garden.’

‘You’re so capable.’ She ran admiring eyes over his naked muscles.

‘There’s no limit to my talents, but holding my water isn’t one of them – could I ask ye to turn your back for a minute?’ His bladder swollen to the size of a football, he was finally compelled to employ the chamber pot. ‘Stop your giggling! I can’t go if I know anyone’s listening to me.’

Successfully relieving himself, he enjoyed a lengthy scratch of his torso, raked his hands through his hair that was all stuck up from bed, then went to pour a drink from the jug, sharing the glass with her. Thirst quenched, he lay back beside her nude form, desire already beginning to rekindle.

But before responding to it he felt obliged to murmur amends. ‘Sorry.’

She rolled her head to search his eyes. ‘Goodness, what on earth for?’

Face thoughtful, his fingers gently strummed her belly. ‘Hurting you. I did, didn’t I?’

Etta wrinkled her nose and shook her head to reassure him. ‘Well, perhaps just a little – but it was glorious too.’ She threw herself onto her side to issue fervent kisses.

Encouraged, he grinned and snuggled up to her, to begin the whole sequence all over again. There was still no interruption from the outside world other than the grind of the iron-rimmed wheels of the milk cart.

Perspiring and happy, desire pitted against fragile flesh and overwhelming all, Etta and Marty were working their way towards another bittersweet union when there came movement from across the landing as the landlord and his wife prepared for the day ahead. Marty put a finger to his lips, but this only made Etta titter even more and he had to stifle her with his palm, whispering, ‘You’ll get us chucked out!’ Making sure she was over her laughter, he withdrew his hand from her mouth and rolled out of bed – but she nipped his bottom causing him to wheel round with a hiss of accusation, albeit amused. ‘Behave! Or there’ll be no breakfast for you.’

He had intended to save the cold beef for as long as he could, but, ravenous now, he went to fetch the paper bag from his pocket, he and Etta devouring its contents as if at a feast, ignoring the fact that the slices were slightly grey and curling up at the edges.

Afterwards, Etta urged him to perform the same courtesy as she had shown him whilst she used the chamber pot. Whilst doing so she heard muffled amusement. ‘What are you laughing at now?’

‘Sorry – I just didn’t know posh folk passed wind!’

She came at him in a giggling rush to unite yet again.

The hour to their wedding crept nearer. Feeling distinctly grubby, the bride-to-be coaxed the groom into procuring a bath from the landlord. When he replied that this would be deemed a most unusual request, she wheedled, ‘Oh, please, I can’t go to my most important day in such a state, can I?’

‘Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind sharing the water,’ he admitted. Concerned that the victualler might have overheard their bawdy antics, Marty nevertheless wanted to do all in his power to please her, and so, after donning his shirt and trousers, he went down to make his request which, as he had feared, was met by a laughing gasp of astonishment.

‘What does he think we are?’ the landlord demanded of his wife, then to the petitioner, ‘Get yourself down to the slipper baths!’

‘Normally I would.’ Marty could not give the true reason for wanting to look spruce. ‘It’s just that I’ve an important appointment and I don’t have that much time.’ Fishing into his pocket he took out the change from the sovereign that had paid for last night’s meal. ‘I’ll gladly pay you.’

‘Go on then,’ said the landlord grudgingly with an outstretched hand, and said he’d send the tweeny up. ‘But don’t make a habit of this.’

‘Thank you, we won’t bother you again,’ promised Marty. But as he turned to go the landlord’s addition made him blush.

‘And don’t make a habit of all that giggling racket at the crack o’ dawn, neither!’

Ducking in embarrassment, but stifling laughter too, Marty rushed back upstairs to inform Etta that, hereon, they must bridle their unrestrained lovemaking. Far from this affecting them, though, it only inspired another bout of gleeful kissing whilst they waited for the bath to arrive, and only when the maid and the landlord’s wife brought it in did they hastily separate, Etta whipping her left hand behind her back to hide the lack of a ring.

That plain and simple water could provide such ecstasy – Etta had never realised it before today. She sank into the lukewarm tub, luxuriating for so long that a sweating Marty had to beg for his turn. Whilst he watched from the bath, she took her time in dressing, eschewing the corset as too cumbersome.

‘And unnecessary,’ Marty added, observing her perfect form.

Unselfconscious in her nakedness, she bent to examine her legs and frowned at the red blotches that had sprung up overnight. ‘There must be a midge in here, I’m bitten to death.’

Marty chose not to correct her, merely nodded and scratched at his own flea bites, then finally emerged from the water and began to dry himself.

Stepping into the crumpled underwear she had worn in bed, Etta said she would have to purchase more. There were also other indispensable items she was missing, such as a hairbrush. ‘It’s fortunate I was wearing this yesterday.’ She held up the gold locket and chain that lay on the table. ‘I should be able to acquire several items in exchange for it.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t have you sell that!’ Anxious not to detract from his bride’s aristocratic appearance, Marty tied the towel around himself and went to fasten the chain around her neck.

Etta acquiesced with a smile and continued her toilet whilst he went to dress. Still unable to take his eyes off her, he studied the way she was sitting now in her rumpled bodice and drawers, hair about shoulders, a golden locket around her neck, one leg spread, the other raised on the edge of the bed whilst she picked at a jagged toenail, more like a scene from a bordello – not that he had ever been in one – and he thought how marvellous she was to remain genteel whilst being so sexually alluring and down to earth at the same time.

She turned to her hair, for now using his comb, but seeing how badly this coped with her severely tangled locks and pitying her, Marty said he would go to the shop to get those items necessary to her wellbeing.

‘Apart from the drawers,’ he said cheekily as he breathed on the brass buttons of his uniform and gave them a rub with his cuff. ‘I wouldn’t know what size and I’m not asking for those even for you.’ He donned the coat. ‘There, am I good enough for a wedding?’

‘Good enough to eat!’ Etta provided the money but showed reluctance to let him go, dragging him back to kiss him more than once, both of them groaning at the separation.

In his absence, Etta was to rack her brain as to how she could acquire a hat without actually paying for it. Only able to afford the common or garden variety, she rebelled against sullying her head with one of those. By the time Marty returned she had her plan. Under her direction, whilst she held the curls in place, he helped to insert her pins so that with such splendidly combined effort her hairstyle was not so unrecognisable from the one normally completed by her maid. Finally, checking both their appearances, she took Marty’s arm, voicing her intention to purchase the hat on their way to the register office and announcing gaily, ‘Let us be wed!’

A clock in town informed them that they had emerged far too prematurely, but with Etta intent on dragging him to every milliner in York this was just as well. Trying to be diplomatic, Etta said that he would be much too bored watching her try on hats and should wait outside if he preferred, in truth knowing that his bruised and lowly appearance would hinder her deception. Glad that she did not want him to accompany her inside, Marty sought out a patch of shade provided by a church spire. This was to be re-enacted at various other shops, waiting and wilting, his heart sinking every time she emerged empty-handed, worrying that a member of his family might spot him, until Etta eventually tried on a hat she approved.

‘Hallelujah!’ he declared, half laughing, half exasperated.

‘You could say you like it.’ She was rather hurt and cross, having taken so much trouble.

‘It’s grand,’ he was quick to say of the veiled and flowered creation. It worried him that she saw fit to squander what little they had on such frippery, but he would not have hurt her for the world. ‘Looks expensive.’

‘Only the best for my wedding day.’ She tilted the brim coquettishly to display silk roses and violets. ‘Doesn’t it go well with this dress? Thank goodness I was wearing one of my better ones when you rescued me.’ She laughed at his obvious dismay. ‘Don’t panic, I didn’t pay a sou. Aren’t I clever?’

His jaw dropped – surely she had not stolen it?

Etta spoke conspiratorially, her glittering eyes lauding her own acumen. ‘I explained my predicament to the milliner, told her how a wretched bird had defiled my own hat whilst I was on my way to a most important engagement – my maid found it simply impossible to remove that dreadful stain! I equipped them with my identity and told them to send the bill to Swanford Hall –’

‘Etta!’

‘– and to send a number of other hats on approval as they were all so delightful that I could not decide which to choose!’ She laughed softly. ‘Oh, I know it was mean of me but the woman was such a snob – besides, you never know, Mother might like them and coax Father into footing the bill. Serve him right, the miserable swine.’ Her face laughed but her eyes betrayed the pain he had caused her.

‘I always knew you’d be a handful,’ Marty chastised her, but warmly.

It then occurred to him that he had yet to acquire a much more necessary item than the hat and, hence, they went to visit the nearest jeweller.

By the time they had lunched, the occasion for which they yearned was almost arrived. Soliciting two strangers along the way to bear witness, Marty led his beloved to the register office.

In the slippery heat of the afternoon, reclining close beside him in their rumpled bed, after their finest, most passionate, most spiritual coupling to date, Etta leaned on her elbow, gazed into her beloved husband’s green eyes and said, tenderly profuse, ‘I’ve never in my entire life felt such happiness.’

Marty wholeheartedly agreed. He was a happy sort of person anyway, but for him too this elation was something special. Cupping the back of her hot skull he caught her lower lip between his, drawing it in and caressing it with his tongue.

Breaking free to recoup her breath, Etta threw herself back, stretching and purring. ‘Oh, how wonderful to be free of that tyrant! To do as I please, to know he can never dominate me again.’ Then she hurled herself back at Marty.

In the knowledge that he would have to go out and earn a living tomorrow, they lay entwined in love for the rest of that afternoon, undisturbed until a dray wagon came to deliver, whereupon the loud rumble of barrels being transferred from pavement to cellar caused them to rise and dress and Etta to tidy her hair. Pulling two wooden chairs to the window, they sat side by side to watch for a while, then, after the drayman had gone, just to lift their eyes beyond the roofs of the slum dwellings to the glorious sunlit day, and to smile contentedly at each other.

Had the position of the sun not informed him that it was almost time for tea, Marty’s grumbling stomach would have done. Still, he sat for a while longer, smiling at his bride and waiting.

Eventually she rubbed the knees beneath her silken gown. ‘Well…shall we dine?’

He brightened. ‘I was beginning to think my new wife lived on air!’

She laughed lightly, but made no move to rise.

After another short period of waiting, Marty prompted her. ‘So, are you going to get it then?’

‘I?’ Etta looked astonished.

‘Well it won’t appear on its own, will it?’ he said, amused.

She looked nonplussed – yes, it usually did.

He watched the incomprehension spread across her face, indeed, shared it.

After some indecision, she lamented, ‘I wish I could have brought Blanche, she’d know what to do.’ Then, before he could broach the distinct possibility that Etta might have to look after herself, she announced brightly, ‘No matter! We’ll eat at a restaurant until we can hire someone.’

Marty had no time to comment on the ridiculousness of this statement, nor opine that the sovereigns she had brought would not last long if she were intent on lavishing them on restaurants. She looked so excited and lovely that he could not bear to spoil things. He must let her down gently. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t fritter the money we have. Let’s go round to Ma and Da’s. They’ll feed us.’

‘But won’t they be furious?’ Etta knew how he had been dreading the event.

‘Highly likely, but I’ll have to make the confession some time. Best get it over with – and I doubt they’ll make a scene with you there.’ He raised a grin. ‘Then tonight we’ll make a list of things we need and you can go and buy them while I’m at work tomorrow.’

Looking bemused at this last statement, Etta nevertheless expressed a desire to meet her in-laws. ‘I do hope they like me.’

‘How could they not?’ He curled an arm round her and squeezed as they went to the stairs.

His parents’ home was only in the next street, but, avoiding the more insalubrious shortcuts that he himself would have taken if alone, Marty led Etta in a roundabout fashion down and then up grimy rows of terraced buildings. However, there was no evading the fact that several occupants of this impoverished area were acquainted with Etta’s husband, for they called out to him along the way.

And, self-consciously, he answered, ‘Hello, Mr Bechetti. Good evening, Mrs Cahill.’

Breaking away from his peers, a small Yorkshire lad came to trot alongside his hero. ‘I like your new sweetheart, Marty. Better than t’old one.’

‘Such cheek! I’ll tell your mother, Albert Gledhill.’ Marty tried to sound scolding but the youngster only laughed and ran away, chanting, ‘Sweetheart, sweetheart!’

Feeling Etta’s inquisitive gaze he laughed off the impudent remark, but there was no way round what was to follow: the thing he had dreaded most.

Etta exclaimed, ‘Oh my goodness, there’s a drunkard fallen in the gutter!’ The man had been staggering some way ahead of them when suddenly he capsized.

Marty’s spirits sank. Bidding Etta to stay where she was, he rushed to attend the collapsed figure. However, after brief hesitation she disobeyed and wandered up to find the man unconscious and her husband anxiously patting his cheek.

But others were here to assist, one of them providing a wheelbarrow and treating this in somewhat cavalier fashion, she thought, as he announced with a bow, ‘Your carriage awaits, Mr Lanegan.’

Suffering deep embarrassment, Marty steadied the barrow whilst others loaded the body aboard. Then, with grim face, he thanked his helpers and wheeled the perpetrator away.

Much bemused that her husband assumed such responsibility, Etta padded alongside, querying apprehensively, ‘Where will you take him?’

‘Home.’ He struggled to keep the three-wheeled barrow level under the dead weight of its load.

‘You know where he lives then?’

‘I should do – he’s my father.’

Whilst a shocked Etta halted in her tracks, Marty carried on, though went only a little further before yelling through an open front door, ‘Ma! Can you give us a hand?’

Etta watched as Mrs Lanegan sauntered out and, with resignation as if this were a frequent occurrence, helped to transport the recumbent occupant of the barrow into the house.

She wandered in quietly after them and stood unnoticed as mother and son tended the drunkard, her eyes flitting briefly over the other residents who eyed her back curiously, before travelling to a row of empty beer bottles in the scullery.

His father deposited in the armchair, Marty clicked his tongue as Redmond slowly emerged from his trance. ‘Now he comes round!’ He turned an exasperated face on his mother, but at that point followed his wife’s gaze to the beer bottles and hastily sought to explain. ‘Sorry, Etta, it’s not the way it looks.’

Aggie turned a quizzical expression which quickly changed to one of astonishment at the vision in lilac silk and cream lace. There was no need to ask who this was. Her eyes hardened and flew to Marty as if demanding to know how he could have brought the Ibbetson girl here. She was unprepared for an even bigger shock.

‘Mother, I’d like you to meet my wife, Etta.’

Too deafened by the thudding of her own angry pulse, Aggie did not hear the collective intake of breath from her children and Uncle Mal, and also her husband, who was fully conscious though still a little dazed.

‘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 comedown 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.

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.