How utterly devastating that he must leave them again so soon.
‘Your final day, Marty,’ said his greatuncle during a lull in the conversation towards the end of his Friday afternoon visit.
‘Thanks for stating the obvious, Uncle Mal.’ Marty chuckled but his heart was weighed down, for apart from having to face this wrench, there was more terrible news to divulge. ‘And this is the last you’re going to see of me for quite a while, I’m afraid.’ Wearing a smile of apology, he looked at his mother and father, then at his children. ‘The reason they were so generous with the leave is they’re sending us to the emerald isle.’
The mood of the room plunged dramatically, his father falling instantly asleep. Whilst little William was too young to understand, the elder ones felt the impending loss keenly, Celia mouthing their objection.
‘But you’ve only just come back to us!’
‘I know.’ He sighed, though tried to sound cheerful as he wound his arm around her. ‘I hate it too, but I have to go where I’m sent. I’ll be back as soon as I can, though.’ Glancing vaguely towards the corner where his father slept, he was the only one who noticed a surreptitious hand grope around from behind the chair, grab the pipe that had fallen onto his chest and spirit it away out of sight, a few rapid puffs of smoke arising before the pipe was returned to the slumberer’s chest. He smiled to himself, remembering a time when he had played this trick, and did not give Jimmy-Joe away.
Red awoke with a startled harrumph and picked up his pipe as if nothing had occurred.
‘What would happen if you didn’t do as you were told?’ ventured Edward.
‘I’d be locked up, no question.’
Alex joined the coercion. ‘You could always wear a disguise.’
‘I could.’ Marty squatted to address her, taking a handful of her long dark hair and arranging it round his chin. ‘What do I look like with a beard?’ Succeeding in making his children laugh, he patted Alex and rose. ‘Ah no, ’tis away I must go and no argument.’
A hoarse old voice invaded the moment of poignancy. ‘Why, you’d think he was being sent to the North Pole the way you’re carrying on.’ Uncle Mal might be shrunken to a bundle of twigs, but his boastful nature was not. ‘Compared to the places I’ve been ’tis a stone’s throw. Jamaica, New Zealand –’
‘My God, don’t get him started,’ Aggie begged the children, then to her son, ‘Ah, sure we’ll be sad not to see ye, darlin’, specially the way things are for you.’ To cover her own upset she sprang up to flit about the room. ‘But sure, I might as well make use of your trip by giving you a few things to take with yese. Now let me see…’ She began to gather various items, instructing her son on their purpose. ‘This here is for your Uncle Mick, and that’s for Patty Doran who lives in Tullamore, he lent me it years ago and I never –’
‘Ma!’ Marty laughed, ‘I’m not going on holiday! I’ll be stationed in Belfast, I can’t go leppin about all over Ireland.’
Aggie nodded and put a curb on her enthusiastic gathering. ‘Indeed – but now ye must go and see all the ould folk when ye get the chance.’
‘I will,’ he promised, then turned his attention back to Celia and the others to try and make the most of the time he had left.
But as the moment drew nearer for him to depart he became increasingly less chatty, unable to concentrate on anything other than the coming separation from his children. Feeling wretched, he rose and went out to the lavatory. When he came back his mother was in the scullery, waiting to pose the question she had been itching all week to ask.
‘Tell me, son, are ye still seeing the other one?’
Knowing she meant Amelia and fearing a tongue-lashing, he shook his head. ‘That was put paid to straightaway.’
‘Ah that’s a great relief,’ was all she said as she quietly patted his arm.
‘Is it?’ he tendered dully. ‘I don’t know that it’ll do me any good.’
Aggie cocked her wizened face and gave shrewd reply. ‘You never know. I shall tell Etta anyway, that it’s all over and done with.’
‘And so is my leave, I’m afraid.’ He heaved a great sigh and bent to kiss her cheek, then went back into the living room to say goodbye to everyone there, shaking hands with his father and Uncle Mal and his brothers.
‘Won’t you stay with us, Father?’ Edward made a last-ditch entreaty.
‘I can’t, son, I’ve told you I’d be in big trouble.’
Edward started to cry. Immediately twelve-year-old Tom stepped in. ‘Away now, come and tell the fairies about that loose tooth of yours.’ He lifted the little boy up to the mantel clock wherein lived the fairies.
Fighting emotion, trying to jolly everyone, Marty reached out and ruffled Edward’s hair. ‘I promise I’ll come to see you all again as soon as I get back from Ireland.’ So saying, he kissed each one, sweeping the youngest up into the crook of his arm.
‘May we walk with you to the end of the street?’ asked Celia.
Though it would make the parting a thousand times harder he said they could, and, lowering baby William back to the carpet, he took hold of his daughter’s hand. There was an immediate fight as to who would hold the other, Alex refusing to give sway. In the end, Edward was placated by being allowed to wear the soldier’s cap. Then it was finally time to go.
They had sworn to be good and go straight back down the street when it was time for their father to part, but once arrived at the junction they tried to cajole him. ‘Come to the shop with us and see Mother.’
‘Ah no,’ he said softly, ‘I’ve still to pick up my bag from Aunty Lou’s, if I go anywhere else I’ll miss my train – give us a kiss now and run home to Granny.’
They complied with the first part, but Celia had a last question. ‘Will you ever live with us and Mother again?’
Stabbed through the heart, he could only reply, ‘I don’t know, honey. I’d love to, but your mammy…Look, I really have to go! Off you run home now.’ And after an authoritative gesture which set them on the correct route, he turned and strode away.
Hard at work in the provisions shop on Walmgate, Etta was weighing out bags of sugar when she caught sight of her husband passing the window and her heart leapt to the skies. Nothing had changed, nothing and everything, for in spite of his betrayal the overwhelming desire she held for Marty was as strong as ever. As if by some sixth sense he felt her watching him and turned towards the window. Panicking, she immediately wheeled away to busy herself. When she looked out again he had gone.
Her heart had still not reverted to its normal rhythm when Aggie came into the shop some half an hour later to say in confidential whisper, ‘I thought to let ye know the lad’s gone, so you’re safe to come home whenever ye like.’
Etta nodded and continued scooping sugar onto the scales, then into pound bags, not mentioning that she had seen him.
Aggie turned to go, then thought to inform her daughter-in-law, ‘He told me he isn’t seeing that other one any more, hasn’t been for a long time.’
Etta shrugged as if she did not care, at which point her mother-in-law left the shop. Only then did Etta allow her façade to drop, and she stared out into the street, envisioning Marty walking straight past her again and again.
16
Notwithstanding the money orders, Etta was to hear nothing more from her husband until Christmas, when, out of the blue, a very elaborate card arrived from Ireland, along with a one-page letter and some small gifts for the children. She was far from elated. Just when it felt that her heart had begun to heal, that she could face the day without the yawning bleakness he had left in his wake, he had to go and stir it all up again.
She did not reply.
This seemed not to deter Marty, for he sent another letter at Easter, again to no acknowledgement from Etta, and another in summer. This latest one, however, demanded a response.
Dear Etta, she read with pursed lips, I won’t bore you with all the things that are going on over here as I don’t suppose yo
u are that bothered. This is just to tell you once again that I truly regret all the hurt I have caused you. There is nothing I would like more than for us to be man and wife again, and if I thought there was a chance I would keep on trying, but as I have heard nothing from you I don’t know where I stand. Can you please let me know whether I am wasting my time and I will stop pestering you. If I don’t hear I will take it to mean that our marriage is finally over and I will not write again…
There was no room for complacency now. She had finally been made to face the question: Did she want him back or not? If anything, Etta felt even angrier with him for forcing her into this decision. She did reply, but her nib was tipped with vitriol, asking how dare he put her in this position? I have done nothing wrong, you’re the one who deserted me and found someone else. You’re deliberately putting me on the spot so you can say to the children that their mother was the one who wrecked this marriage, that you tried your best to reconcile but Mother wouldn’t have it – well, I won’t be browbeaten…
And a furious husband dashed back a reply in similar vein: How can you say you’ve done nothing wrong? I’ve a scar on my head to prove it.
Well, I’m certainly not going to get a reply to that, thought Marty. But if this was the end then he might as well purge himself of all other resentments, and this he proceeded to do, scribbling down as many as he could recount before ramming them into an envelope that was much thicker than usual and sealing the flap with an angry bash from the edge of his fist.
For a couple of desolate weeks it appeared that his candid epistle had indeed set the final seal on a dying marriage, and, with nothing else to live for save the hope that he might one day see his children again, Marty devoted himself to the rigorous regime of the army. Then, one morning, a response arrived. Less than excited, for it would be nothing good for sure, he opened it with trepid fingers, wondering how stingingly inventive she had been this time with her attempt to have the last word. But, to his great surprise, the tone of the letter was conciliatory, sheepish even. Yes, Etta accepted much of what he said: she was a deficient housewife, perhaps she could have done more – she had failed to appreciate how hard he had worked to provide food and shelter…yes, of course he must keep in touch for the children’s sake…she would try to be more civil to him in future…No words of love, but at last a shred of hope. Marty’s grim expression was transformed into one of astonished pleasure.
‘On a promise, are we?’
He glanced up from the letter to find himself under amused observation from fellow soldiers.
‘He’s looking very pleased with himself.’ Private Burns’s eye held a knowing gleam as it winked at his comrades. ‘In my experience there’s only one thing produces a grin like that.’
‘Ah no, I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s a promise.’ Fingering the letter, Marty stared into the distance for a while before turning to his wife’s words again. ‘But we live in hope, my friend, we live in hope.’
Throughout the rest of 1913 the correspondence between Marty and Etta was to become more civilised – warm even, which was perhaps understandable when the topics under discussion were their children, whom both adored. Not once, though, apart from being a fraction less hostile, did Etta give Marty any cause to believe that she had forgiven him or might some day take him back; nor dared he risk their current fragile rapport by posing the question outright. He must for the present be satisfied with the concession she was prepared to make.
However, this was considerable when measured against the state of affairs between them a year ago, and when Marty received a card from her on his second Christmas in Ireland and an invitation to commune with his entire family upon his return, one would have thought she had given him the world. Being forced to wait three more months before this came to fruition was absolute torture.
Eventually, though, the order was received for he and his pals to embark for home, whereupon they were granted passes to visit family and friends whom they had not seen for over eighteen months. Marty was first out of barracks, nervous as a child on its first day at school as he boarded the morning train to York.
Perhaps he should have written first. The look on Etta’s face when she heard someone enter and turned to see the identity of the visitor could have sent lesser men dashing for cover.
‘Sorry if I made you jump!’ he said quickly, hoping to convey with his apologetic smile and his shining eyes just how glad he was to see her again.
‘Yes, you did!’ Face bright red as she turned from the mirror, she didn’t seem at all pleased to see him.
‘It’s just that you said for me to visit when I came home…’
‘It might have been an idea to send prior warning!’ Shocked that his impromptu appearance should have such a heart-tugging effect on her, angry that he seemed to think just because she had been civil in her letters he could waltz in here unannounced with that smile of his – and just as angry with herself for being moved by it – she donned her white overall and, along with it, her composure, adding aloofly, ‘Everyone’s out, I’m afraid – and I’m just about to leave too. I’m due at work in five minutes.’ She grabbed two black patent-leather armlets, used to protect the sleeves of her overall, and shoved one over each wrist.
Though his heart sank, Marty accepted the rebuke without question and turned to leave. ‘Right, I’ll go round to Lou’s then and call again when it’s more convenient.’
Already regretting her cool welcome, Etta called hastily, ‘The children will be in around four!’ When he turned back she added in what she hoped was a reasonable tone, ‘Everyone else has gone to a funeral.’
Marty frowned. ‘Who –?’
‘Oh, it’s only Mrs Doyle.’ Swiftly she placated the look of concern. ‘The old girl at twenty-four.’
That was a relief at least. He gave a quick nod. ‘Right, I’ll be back this afternoon then.’ And without another word he left, feeling vastly disappointed both with the reception and the lack of invitation to dinner, his stomach feeling as raw as his emotions.
Etta sagged. If only he could see into her heart, seen how it had leapt for joy at the sight of those shining green-grey eyes in the tanned face, how much she wanted to rush to him, hold him, press her cheek against his own, once so beloved…but after all the hurtful exchanges she was too afraid of rejection. Besides, had he not betrayed her?
Heart still pounding, limbs weak from shock, she scribbled a brief note to let Aggie and Red know of their son’s whereabouts then left for work.
Arriving home from the funeral, Aggie was instantly uplifted to hear of her son’s homecoming and set off across town to her eldest daughter’s abode, therein spending much of the afternoon catching up with Marty’s news.
Around three thirty, though, she was forced to rise. ‘Well, I’d better be getting back for the kiddiwinkles or Uncle Mal will be teaching them bad habits. You’ll be coming with me, son?’
‘Ah, no.’ His face reluctant, he brushed vaguely at his trousers. ‘I fully intended to, but the reception I got this morning from me wife, well, I think I’d best give her time to calm down.’
His mother was dismissive, Louisa chipping in with strenuous agreement. ‘Pay no heed to that one! You’ve a right to see your children.’
‘All the same, Ma, I’ll leave it till tomorrow – it being Saturday like, I can enjoy a whole day with them – and you and Da,’ he added hastily.
With an understanding nod, Aggie went to the door. ‘You’ve seen plenty enough of me for the moment, and your father will wait. We’ll go pay your Aunty Carmel a visit. I’ll make sure we’re all out by half past nine so you can have a few hours in peace with your family before dinner.’
‘Sure, I don’t know about peace,’ said Marty, but his smile was appreciative.
Uncle Mal was none too appreciative at being told he must be out of the house so early, and in a starched collar and suit too. ‘’Tis only Marty who’s coming, not the Queen of Sheba. Why must my routine be buggered up?’
‘God in heaven, one would think ye had the country to run!’ scolded Aggie. ‘You can sit in Carmel’s closet all morning, if ye so choose.’
Still his wrinkled old face protested. ‘I can’t go in a strange lavatory.’
‘Sure, isn’t one blessed lavatory the same as any other!’
‘Tell that to my haemorrhoids,’ grumbled Mal. ‘Once my routine’s mucked up they’ll be swinging like a bunch of grapes for wee—’
‘Thank you!’ Palm upraised, eyes disdainful, Aggie spoke over him. ‘Haven’t we been educated enough on your habits for one morning. Now get your coat on – are you three ready yet?’ This to Red and the boys.
‘There’s really no need for you all to be put out like this,’ said Etta, watching the exodus.
‘How can the pair of you sort things out with this old relict so keen to regale us with his plumbing?’ Aggie jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the old man.
‘There’ll be little discussed with the children here,’ pointed out Etta.
‘That’s true enough.’ Aggie was thoughtful as she buttoned her brown coat. ‘Well, maybe I could take them out for a while this afternoon, give you and Marty time to patch up your differences.’
‘It will take a lot longer than an afternoon.’ Etta felt as if she were being corralled into a reconciliation. ‘Besides, I’ll be at work.’
Aggie tutted. ‘Ach, I forgot – well, how about tomorrow then?’ She put on a brown felt hat.
The Keepsake Page 36
