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.
In truth, the search for her errant husband was proving to be more difficult than she had anticipated. Her written enquiry to the regiment in which she believed him to be had as yet received no answer. Frustrated over the fact that she had sent it weeks ago, unable to do anything more practical through having to earn a living, Etta was thus compelled to sit there day after day in her cramped booth, flicking mouse droppings from her ledger, adding up columns, counting out currency, having to endure fat little Dandy whose hot breath continually abused her ear telling her how fortunate she was to be there, and Tupman, who habitually tormented her with cruel innuendo, whilst her emotions varied erratically between desperately wanting Marty back and damning him to hell for being responsible for her plight.
Three months passed with no answer. Three months of trying to pacify her elder children with the lame excuse that she was doing all she could. Then, one evening she arrived home to find an official-looking envelope on the doormat. Without hesitation she tore it open.
‘Madam,’ she read quickly, ‘with reference to your husband Martin Lanegan, we regret to inform you that there is no person of that name serving with this battalion…’
Etta’s heart plummeted. Through a blur of disappointment, her eyes took in the remainder of the letter. It offered no solace. Allowing her hand to fall to her side and the letter to drop to the floor, she asked herself dully what was she to do now? Could she have made an error, misread the neighbour’s scrawl before throwing the scrap of paper on the fire? No, it was branded on her mind. Perhaps Mrs Reilly was the one to make the mistake. She would go and ask.
But just a moment, she had overlooked something: had her neighbour mentioned this to Aggie? She had known Etta wanted to relay the news but that might not have stopped her nor anyone else from also divulging it in passing.
No, Aggie was sure to have confronted Etta if she had been told.
After mopping away all trace of tears she went along the street to collect her brood. But the moment she laid eyes on her children the thought of their disappointment pricked her eyes again.
Aggie caught the gleam. ‘Hard day, was it, love?’
Etta fought the urge to cry and instead blamed the paperthin soles of her footwear, saying bad-temperedly, ‘My feet are crippling me.’
From his chair by the hearth, surrounded by a heap of scrap metal through which he had been prospecting for gold or silver, Red craned his neck. ‘You’d think that working in a shoe shop would have its benefits. Take them off and I’ll put them on the last.’
‘And have yourself a cup of tea while you’re waiting,’ offered Mal, though he made no move to get it.
Etta threw both a smile of appreciation and passed over her shoes, and whilst Red worked on cutting pieces of leather from an old pair of boots to patch the soles of these, she drowned her upset in a cup of hot tea. ‘A pity you can’t fix Edward’s so easily.’ Her son had outgrown his and was now sporting his elder sister’s cast-offs. ‘His toes are to the end of those already.’
‘Here.’ Without quibble, Aggie dipped into a tin and proffered a handful of silver. ‘Bring him some home tomorrow.’
Etta stared at her. However generous of spirit in feeding and tending her grandchildren, the other rarely parted with hard cash, but this was the third time in recent weeks that Aggie had made such a gesture. However, she wasn’t about to refu
se. ‘Why thank you! I shall.’
Aggie gave a curt nod, but then changed the subject completely. ‘Tell your mother what you’ve learned at school today, Eddie.’
Ready for bed, his green eyes heavy with sleep, the five-year-old came away from watching his grandfather tap-tap-tap at the shoe on the last and leaned against his mother’s knee. ‘We learned how to put a splint on an arm.’
His mother cheered up, smiling along with the other adults. ‘Really? How informative.’
‘Isn’t it indeed?’ said Aggie.
‘I volunteered to fall down and break mine on purpose,’ joked Uncle Mal, ‘just so’s he could practise his skills, but Aggie wouldn’t let me, thought it was taking things too far.’
His niece gave a dismissive smirk. ‘Wouldn’t let ye? I’d gladly break your neck.’
Etta chuckled, feeling somewhat better. Then she glanced down at her little son, who, with his eyelids drooping in tiredness, appeared more like his father than ever, and she felt the disappointment rushing back. As soon as Red finished hammering tacks into the repaired soles, she slipped her shoes on, gathered her children and left.
‘Mind on other things,’ Red responded to his wife’s objection that Etta had gone without reaffirming her thanks for the donation.
In fact, Etta was to forget about almost everything other than her vanished husband and how to find him, only just remembering to purchase the shoes for her son before going home the next night. The thoughts that resounded within began to drive her to distraction. Whilst absent-mindedness had always been a trait, her own desires preceding any household chore, now this was compounded by having so many more important issues over which to mull, to the detriment of her book-keeping.
Unable to balance the daily sheet with the contents of the till one evening, her reckoning out by five pounds, Etta racked her brain as to where a mistake could have been made. To see a ten-pound note was extremely rare, and there had been none tendered that day, so it was impossible that she could have given the wrong change. She was therefore compelled to go through her entries again and again, sighing heavily and trying to spot the inconsistency, but to no avail.
In the end, when almost everyone else had gone and the hour was close to eight, Mr Burdock said testily, ‘Leave it now, Miss Lanegan, and try again in the morning when you’re a little more alert.’
But the morning brought no solution. Time after time, Etta went through every receipt, completely removed the drawer that served as a till and peered into the cavity in case a note had somehow become jammed behind, lifted every ledger from the shelf and riffled its pages, moved every obstacle beneath which a note could have slipped, but the evidence was clear: five pounds had vanished.
Where could it be? If she had no idea the manager certainly did.
‘This is very difficult for me to say, Miss Lanegan.’ He hooked his thumbs into the lapels of his frockcoat. ‘But as you have made it plain that you are in desperate need of cash…’
Etta gaped at the bovine face, her skin pricked by shock. ‘Are you –’ She broke off and lowered her voice as others were watching. ‘Are you accusing me of taking it?’
‘I can reach no other conclusion. No one else is permitted in the office except you and I. Needless to say, it is not my habit to borrow the takings, but if that is the situation, if you merely sought to borrow –’
‘I most certainly did not!’ Her chest ballooned with outrage, though it did her no good.
He fixed her with a baleful eye. ‘It has been brought to my notice that you harbour a desire for a sewing machine…’
‘How would I afford one on my wage?’ snapped Etta, wondering who had told him.
‘My thoughts exactly. The rearing of offspring robs us of many a personal desire.’ He tapped his lips thoughtfully. ‘I recollect that you recently purchased some shoes for your son…’
‘With cash I was given!’ Her cheeks were pink at being confronted like this in the presence of her peers.
‘Given, by whom?’
‘My –’ Etta bit her tongue and looked aloof. It really was none of his business, nor any of the others, who pretended to go about their affairs but were obviously listening. ‘The five-pound note has just gone missing, I bought the shoes days ago, how could –’
‘It is interesting that you refer to the missing cash as a five-pound note.’ Burdock’s eyes immediately lit up.
‘It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that!’ rallied Etta. ‘It would hardly have walked off in separate denominations!’
‘I’ll thank you not to adopt that tone with me!’ snapped the manager.
Exasperated, Etta tugged at the pockets of her overall, turning them inside out to show they were empty. ‘See – and you may search my coat if you wish!’
‘There’d be little point in that, the thief would hardly be still in possession.’ He laced his plump fingers across his abdomen, a hint of finality to his tone. ‘Now, remember I told you before Christmas that I was giving you one last chance –’
‘But I’ve done nothing!’ cried Etta, so that all eavesdroppers were suitably informed of this vile slander.
Burdock was not to be shifted from the belief that she had taken it. ‘In extenuating circumstances I could be persuaded to stretch that chance; if you were in dire need I am sure you could be forgiven, but I must have the truth here and now.’
‘I did not take it!’ insisted Etta.
For a moment, Burdock viewed her emphatic stance with obvious disbelief, then sighed regretfully. ‘You understand that if you are dismissed in such circumstances it would take effect immediately and you would be granted no reference?’
‘I’ve been handling hundreds of pounds for months! If I were dishonest do you think I’d be satisfied with a paltry fiver?’ Then she frowned. ‘Wait a minute! I could have sworn I left five pounds amongst the float after cashing up on the previous night – yes, that’s right! A customer tendered it just before closing so it should still have been in the till, but when I came in yesterday morning there were only coins. I remember thinking it odd…’ Her thoughts raced. Someone could have sneaked in before she arrived – it could be Tupman! He was obviously intent on causing trouble since her rebuttal of his advances, he could have orchestrated this. ‘Am I the only person to be interrogated?’ she demanded now, causing those in the background to exchange looks of concern.
But the turned-down mouth indicated that Burdock considered this futile. ‘As I said before, only you and I have access to this office.’
‘Bu—’
‘Further argument is useless, Miss Lanegan. I take a very dim view of having my generosity thrown back in my face – all the little extras I gave you, yet still you greed for more. Now, I will not search your coat but I should like you to put it on and leave the premises.’ When she did not immediately respond but stood there raging helplessly, he added, ‘Consider yourself fortunate that I choose not to involve the police.’
Etta glared ineffectively for a few more seconds, then turned abruptly, rushed upstairs to grab her coat and, with all eyes upon her, finally left the shop.
Only when she reached home did she break down in tears.
She remained there for most of the day, fuming and clenching her fists at the injustice, wondering what on earth to do now. Well, with no reference and little chance of getting another job there was nothing else she could do but go and reclaim her husband. But where to find him? Where? Rubbing her palms briskly over her cheeks, leaving them clamped there for a while as her reddened eyes stared into space, she asked herself did she truly desire to have Marty back, or was it simply that she had been forced into this corner? She did not have to think long before reaching her conclusion: life was not worth living without him.
First, though, there was the disagreeable task of informing her mother-in-law of her intentions, and, even worse, she would have to admit that she had been keeping from Aggie the information that her son was in the army. She glanced at the clock. The ch
ildren would have left school by now, they’d possibly be having tea. She would be forced to make her admittance in front of them. No…she just could not have them witness the terrible rumpus that would arise, not on top of today’s upset. The shame of being labelled a thief! How would she possibly convey this to others?
No, she had made up her mind. She would go and collect the children at the normal hour, then she would put tomorrow’s enforced day of idleness to good use and make a few enquiries at the barracks as to how one went about finding a soldier that did not want to be found. Maybe then she would have some constructive news for Aggie, who hopefully would forgive her for this digression.
Forty-eight hours later Etta was to ask herself, what had been the use of prolonging the agony? She might as well have asked the man in the moon how to find her husband as those at the barracks. Whilst the officer had been sympathetic, suggesting that she visit the Infantry Record Office, he had given her not the slightest cause for optimism. No wiser than two days ago, she would be defenceless against Aggie’s wrath.
She carried her confession and a heavy heart to the house at the far end of the street, steeled herself and went in. Those around the table showed surprise at her premature appearance. Having finished their meal, the children sought immediate permission to get down, then tumbled to greet their mother who hugged them fondly and shared a brief conversation, before explaining her early arrival to Aggie, Red and Uncle Mal.
‘I’ve lost my job.’
The adults groaned. ‘Ah, dear…for what reason?’ asked Aggie, pouring Etta a cup of tea. Reluctant to voice the truth in front of her children, Etta delved in her purse and handed three halfpennies to Celia. ‘Did you eat all your tea? Then take your brother and sister to buy some lollipops.’
This was unheard of since their father had been away! Before a disapproving Granny could veto this, Celia grabbed the coins and scampered from the house, the others chasing her, only baby William left behind to protest.
The Keepsake Page 32
