The Keepsake

by Sheelagh Kelly

  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 c
ould 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, Mart
y 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.