The Keepsake

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Slamming the dustbin lid over the mouse with a noisy clang, she hurried indoors and tried to forget.

  Which was impossible, for later it was discovered that before its demise the rodent had multiplied. In fact, the outside yard where they stacked the flattened cardboard boxes was suddenly alive with them.

  ‘I’ve just seen another!’ announced an excited Mary-Ann. ‘A right big un – oh, look, it’s there again!’ From the window of the staff room she pointed down into the yard.

  ‘That’s no mouse, it’s a bloody rat!’ exclaimed Mr Vant in a fit of apoplectic coughing over his cigarette.

  His colleagues agreed, but the tight-fisted Burdock refused to believe it and, insisting it was only a few mice, instructed Etta to take some money from the petty-cash tin and go and buy a couple of traps.

  Huffing at this sudden demotion to lackey, Etta nevertheless welcomed the opportunity to wander through town and to spend the penny change on three stale buns for her children, a treat her own wage would never allow. Above anything else – mice, rats, or condescending managers – it was this that gave her most cause for anger. For, having access to all the confidential records she was now acquainted with the amount each member of staff received in comparison to her own pittance. Whilst she was indeed now better off than the other female assistants, despite the supposed importance of her position the men still received higher wages – why, even the schoolboy earned more than she did just because he was male! Though infuriated by the injustice of this, Etta was to think twice before doing anything about it.

  Not until she had accrued several more weeks’ experience in the post and was therefore not so easy to replace did she confront her superior. Still, it was no easy fight.

  ‘A rise?’ stuttered Burdock’s fat mouth in response to her tremulous enquiry. ‘But you’ve already had one in being promoted to the cashier’s job, Miss Lanegan.’

  She toyed with a corner of her ledger that had been nibbled by rodents. ‘I understand that and I’m very grateful to you, Mr Burdock. I wouldn’t even consider asking unless my need was very great…’

  He gave a curt laugh. ‘So is mine, Miss Lanegan, but I doubt my superior would take kindly to my application for more. He would ask, “What makes you think you are worth it?” And I ask that of you.’

  Knowing that any form of arrogance spelt financial death, Etta lowered her gaze and tried to look humble. ‘I’m sure I’m most unworthy, Mr Burdock. Please forget I said anything.’ Quickly dipping her pen into the inkwell she made as if to resume her book-keeping.

  ‘No, no!’ Burdock responded to her piteous stance. ‘I’m not a man to dismiss such a request out of hand.’

  She lifted her eyes from the ledger, allowing her winsome expression to plead on her behalf, feeling Burdock’s gaze upon her and despising him.

  ‘Well…’ he said eventually, his brown eyes beginning to soften and to dart a look into the shop to see if others were in earshot. ‘I’m bound to say you’re doing a magnificent job, and I must say you’ve taken no time at all to pick it up. Most impressive.’ He bent nearer to whisper. ‘But if I did agree to recommend you to head office I shouldn’t like any of the others to know; they’d surely see it as favouritism.’

  Etta formed her lips to issue thanks, but her bright expectation was instantly quashed.

  ‘I haven’t made my mind up yet –’ came his stern addition.

  ‘Of course.’ She hung her head again, playing the game that he demanded of her.

  ‘– but I’ll certainly consider putting in a good word for you.’ Realising that Tupman was taking an interest the manager smoothed his tufts of hair, gave her a barely perceptible wink then raised his voice again. ‘And let us hear no more about it, Miss Lanegan!’

  In the staff room Tupman teased her as he had always been wont to do, but now there was a malevolent edge to it. ‘Lover-boy fallen out with you, has he?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Etta sighed impatiently as her ink-stained fingers unwrapped the slice of bread-andmargarine that served as lunch.

  ‘Heard you trying to wheedle a pay rise out of Dandy, but he didn’t seem too receptive. You must be losing your grip.’

  Knowing he was goading her into a response that might earn her the sack, Etta tried to keep her temper. ‘Yes, well, some might consider it unfair to have all that responsibility and not be adequately compensated.’

  Tupman scoffed. ‘What, for sitting on your derriere all day pushing a pen? There’s no responsibility in that.’

  ‘And you’d be a firm proponent of responsibility,’ retorted Etta.

  Tupman brushed this aside with a cunning laugh. ‘We all know the reason you got that job, and it isn’t your brains.’

  Stung, she revealed unwisely, ‘Apparently Mr Burdock does not agree. He has said he will consider my request.’

  Tupman frowned. ‘If his fancy-piece is getting a rise I’ll want one an’ all.’ The other listeners echoed this feeling.

  ‘And do you intend to phrase your request like that?’ enquired Etta lightly, hoping it would conceal her anger. ‘I shouldn’t think Mr Burdock would take kindly to it.’ And with that she set upon her lunch.

  ‘Got him nicely under control, haven’t you?’ sniped Tupman. ‘I wonder how he’ll respond when he hears you’ve been moonlighting.’

  ‘What nonsense, you silly man.’ Etta remained unmoved, until he sprang his trump card.

  ‘Me and the missus saw you in Coney Street on Wednesday with a pram and three kids in tow. Doing a bit of nannying on the quiet, aren’t you?’ Though almost bursting with his discovery for the last couple of days, he had been biding his time in order to make the utmost impact and had obviously succeeded. Drained of colour, watched closely by her colleagues, his adversary fought for a reply.

  ‘What difference does it make to you if she is?’ Mary-Ann sprang to her aid. ‘We’d all like a bit of extra cash.’

  ‘Aye, but most of us have families to support. She hasn’t, she’s just raking it in so that she can buy that blasted sewing machine and open her shop and lord it over us.’

  ‘Etta isn’t like that,’ sneered Mary-Ann. ‘You’re just maungy because she spurned your advances – and quite right she was too.’

  Tupman flicked a dismissive hand at her. ‘You don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘I do.’ Mary-Ann looked crafty. ‘She told me you tried it on with her.’

  Etta groaned inwardly for this betrayal of confidence.

  He snorted. ‘And you believe her? She’s just got too high an opinion of herself. Stuck up madam, looking down on us, talking with a plum in her mouth.’

  ‘Just because she talks nice doesn’t make her stuck up. If I spoke like that I wouldn’t want to work here neither.’

  ‘Why are you fighting her corner? She’s not bothered about you, just how much she can cram into her own pocket.’

  ‘When you’ve quite finished!’ Etta had finally had enough of being discussed as if she were not there. ‘Mr Tupman, you were mistaken when you said I was moonlighting. In fact, those were my own children you saw me escorting.’ Giving him only time to gasp, she went on, ‘And before you spring to any more of your scurrilous conclusions, no, they are not illegitimate. I am married to their father, who abandoned me – that is the only reason for my enduring the last six months of lewd innuendo and physical assault upon my person, so that my children might keep a roof above their heads and not starve!’

  No one spoke, their mouths slack with amazement.

  ‘Now! May one eat one’s lunch in peace?’ Etta made brave play of biting into her sandwich.

  Tupman stared at her for a moment, then without a word turned and left.

  Etta felt the others staring at her and tried to appear unaffected, chewing quite casually.

  Mary-Ann seemed amazed, not just by the revelation but by Etta’s cool reaction. ‘Don’t you ever wonder where your husband is?’ she asked eventually.

  Etta swung to face
her, her immediate reaction to shout, Of course I do, you idiot, I think about him every bloody night! But the enquiry was made with such genuine sympathy that she merely responded, ‘Sometimes…but it’s best not to. Mary-Ann, I’m sorry for lying to you, to all of you,’ she looked around beseechingly, ‘but no one would employ me and I was so desperate…’

  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.