Keepsake

by Kelly, Sheelagh

  ‘I’ve had it.’

  ‘A proper breakfast!’ She reached for the frying pan and, along with a lump of dripping, slapped three rashers of bacon into it.

  Uncle Mal objected. ‘How come his “proper breakfast” is bacon and I had to make do with bread and scrape?’

  Aggie beheld him witheringly. ‘He’s not taking your breakfast…this was for your tea.’ She winked at her son.

  Marty laughed but said, ‘I don’t want to go taking anybody’s tea.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’re not,’ said Aggie. ‘I’m expecting another delivery of bacon this morning. In fact,’ she glanced at the clock, ‘it should be falling off the back of the cart right now.’

  Marty dealt a grin of surrender. ‘Well, seeing as how you’ve put it on I won’t waste it.’

  ‘Oh, ’twon’t go to waste.’ Old Mal began to reach out. ‘Sure, I can always manage –’

  ‘Leave off you old bugger!’

  There was no offence over the irreverent reply, only chesty laughter.

  Almost drooling at the aroma, Marty hovered whilst the bacon sputtered and spat. ‘Once I get us a house with a proper range I’m sure things’ll look up.’

  Aggie dropped a slice of bread into the sizzling fat. ‘I’m sure they will, but until then I’ll teach the lass what she needs to know. ’Tis more than likely she’ll be round at dinnertime, I’ll get her involved then.’

  ‘Thanks, Ma.’ Marty watched the bread turn golden brown, ready to snatch this and the bacon the minute it was done and wasting no time in devouring it. ‘It’ll only be for a week or so. I want to be out of the pub by the end of the month.’

  ‘Ah well, till then you must have your dinner here on Sundays. At least it’ll give you one decent meal a week.’

  True to expectations, Etta did turn up at midday, and, whilst surprised to be included in the preparation of dinner, made no objection but happily joined in, telling Marty when he arrived home from work, ‘Your mother seemed grateful for the help.’

  This was contrary to what Aggie had told him when he had called in on his way home. Indeed, to listen to his mother it sounded as if Etta’s contribution had been particularly inept, but of course he would never reveal this to his wife and he felt Ma’s comment was unjust, for Etta really was trying. This was exemplified by the neat stack of clean clothes that awaited him, all sweetly laundered and ironed as he had requested. No matter that she had not done them herself, she had succeeded in organising it and he was proud of her. Etta meant far more to him than any drudge, and to illustrate this, he took her in his arms and spent most of the evening making love to her.

  Happily, under Agnes’s tuition, Etta’s culinary skills immediately improved. Marty supposed anything was an improvement on sandwiches after a hard day’s graft, even if it was not yet up to his mother’s standards. He had professed a love of stew and now he got it, but served alongside was an apology that it had stuck to the bottom of the pan and was therefore a little tainted.

  ‘Your mother advised to keep stirring it.’ Etta looked slightly disparaging. ‘But how could one stand there all afternoon with more pressing things to be done…Do you like my egg cosies, by the way?’ She reached for the creations, each comprising a little satin and lace skirt topped by the china torso of a miniature lady. Inserting her forefingers under the skirts she waggled them about as if making the ladies dance.

  Marty imbibed another mouthful of burnt stew, smiling gamely and praising her creativity and her cooking. But privately he continued to look forward to Sunday dinner from his mother’s hand.

  Aggie Lanegan was a godsend in other ways too. Knowing her son had little time in which to look for another dwelling himself, she had been keeping her ears open, and that Saturday waylaid him in the street to say she had found one vacant in a nearby courtyard.

  ‘It’s not furnished,’ he relayed the information to an excited Etta when he got home, ‘we’ll have everything to buy, but Ma’s promised to dig some things out for us and she’s already got the promise of a sofa from one of my aunties and a bed from a neighbour.’

  ‘Our own home!’ Ignorant as to the amount of work that lay ahead, Etta was thrilled and asked, ‘When may we move in?’

  ‘Well, we’ve paid the rent on this place until the end o’ next week, so maybe Friday.’ His wife never bothered to enquire how much things cost, but money was all important to Marty, who told her, ‘It’s half a crown a week, only sixpence more than here so I should easily be able to manage that. Hopefully Mr Dalton’ll be all right about us not staying longer. I did warn him.’

  Etta clasped her hands to her bosom. ‘That being so, do you think your parents would mind if we postpone our invitation to tea on Sunday? It would be wonderful if we could welcome them into our new house!’

  He felt irresponsible for whipping her into this overenthusiastic mood. ‘Don’t expect too much, you know, it’s only round the corner.’

  ‘But it’s ours – without someone else being across the hallway! It won’t matter how much noise we make!’ And she hugged him, rubbing her soft body against him erotically.

  Easily seduced, he responded by picking her up and carrying her, giggling, to the bed.

  On Sunday, Etta first thanked her mother-in-law for finding them the accommodation, then apologised for having to postpone their arrangement for afternoon tea. ‘I’m so sorry for the short notice. I just want it to be perfect. You’ll be our very first guests! Will you mind awfully – because you can still come this afternoon if you prefer?’

  Aggie said it was no imposition at all.

  ‘In that case you must at least allow me to prepare tea here!’ Etta seemed oblivious to the amused smiles, and that she was in effect inviting herself to tea.

  Aggie shook her head, as much in despair as amusement. God help poor Marty if he thought his wife would improve with a change of house. But true to her promise she went through her cupboards, unearthing anything that was duplicated or no longer of use, and, these being trundled on Marty’s barrow, towards the end of another week the young couple moved into their own home.

  It was hardly an auspicious occasion, the dwelling being situated down a narrow cobbled alley and bereft of sunlight due to the tenements that overshadowed the courtyard, but Etta was determined to make it one and announced that she would soon have the place habitable by the use of bright materials. Marty admired her optimism, for he himself saw only the dank little hovel it was, one room up and one down and a single point of entry. Unlike his parents’ home which had a separate scullery, this had just a tap in the living room, which was leaking and had been for some time judging by the green slime and the cracked bricks beneath. Closer examination showed that it was not something he could fix himself either. But for his wife’s sake he cheered up – after all, if anyone was downhearted it should be Etta, who was accustomed to so much more – and he told her that a friend of his would mend it for nothing.

  ‘I’ll light a fire right away so’s to get the bricks warmed through. Once it’s dried out we can put a bit of lino over it and nobody will be any the wiser!’ For the time being he stuck a bucket under the drip then began to rake out the hearth. Her clothes protected by strategically placed bits of sacking, Etta looked on, planning what she herself was going to do with the room.

  Having got the fire going, Marty found himself enveloped in smoke, and, his eyes streaming and lungs choking, immediately set to rectifying this. Unfortunately his activity dislodged a nest, which came tumbling down the chimney like a fireball, along with a cloud of soot, that saw the pair of them rushing to escape outside in a fit of screaming laughter – though the cleaning-up operation that followed was far from hilarious and it was well into evening by the time they were done.

  But once the water was heated and transported jug by jug between them, there was fun to be had in the tin bath, and, tucked up in bed, a beautiful naked wife at his side, Marty could afford to be magnanimous. ‘I suppose we’d have had to clean it anyway. I
can’t abide other people’s muck.’ Exhausted but happy, he kissed and stroked her and spoke of his plans for the morrow. ‘I’m taking a day off and we’ll go buy a table and chairs, maybe a chest of drawers –’

  ‘And a carpet?’ Etta made a sudden clutch at his bare ribs making him jump and squirm laughingly.

  ‘Agh, don’t tickle! Well, maybe a small little rug. I know a fella who runs a second-hand shop, we’ll get heaps for our money there.’

  Etta squeezed him again lovingly, projecting her joy. ‘Oh, we’re going to be so happy here. I know it.’

  Throughout Saturday there was to be further hard work. Whilst Marty went about household repairs, Etta slipped into town to visit the market. Returning laden at midday, head in the clouds at the joy of having Marty to herself all day and consumed by exciting plans, she failed to hear a greeting from one of her neighbours and went straight indoors without reply.

  ‘The snotty bloody cow!’ The one who had been rebuffed marched back inside to address her husband. ‘Did you see that? She cut me dead!’ And within seconds this was to be relayed to every other household in the courtyard. ‘I knew she’d be like that. Why’s she living round here in the first place, that’s what I want to know? Dressed up like a dog’s dinner and talking with a plum in her gob, thinking she’s better than us…’

  Etta was oblivious to this slander, too involved in showing Marty her latest discovery. ‘Look what I’ve found!’ She held up a tin of meat. ‘Isn’t this a boon? I didn’t know such a thing existed.’

  He smiled. ‘Grand – did ye get the ducks? I tell ye, I’m ready for me dinner.’

  She beheld him dubiously. ‘Marty, I don’t know who informed you that one could buy a duck for a penny but I’ve been all around the livestock market and –’

  He burst out laughing. ‘Sure, I didn’t mean real ducks! I meant those square, faggoty things ye get for a penny.’

  ‘Oh!’ She hooted with embarrassment. ‘I’m such a juggins…’

  ‘No, you’re not!’ He soothed her with a smile.

  ‘Well,’ she announced, still laughing as she put aside the tin, ‘we might not have ducks but we shall have our own eggs – in time.’ And, from a box, with gentle hands she scooped two fluffy yellow chicks that peeped anxiously as she set one on each of her feet, where they were to remain like pom-poms as she paraded them for Marty’s amusement.

  As if adopting Etta as their mother, the chicks were even to travel on her slippers as she went to the privy and back, which again attracted much ridicule from her neighbours.

  Wrapped up in her own little world, Etta was to spare nary a thought for this gossip, and though Marty thought he detected a less than friendly response to his own greeting to a neighbour when he went out to fetch a celebratory jug of ale at the end of the day, he was too tired and happy with Etta to care.

  Alas, by Sunday morn the chicks had been devoured by a predator, leaving only a few telltale downy feathers in the yard. But there was no point in dwelling on this, with other matters taking precedence. With the windows cleaned, curtains affixed, the fireplace black-leaded, lino and a rug on the floor and food in the cupboard under the stairs, Etta now felt able to make that invitation to her parents-in-law. From his friend at the second-hand shop Marty had purchased a whole box of crockery for a few pence, much of it matching so that it appeared to be a set, although it wasn’t. Some of the saucers were chipped but the cups would be perfectly all right once the thick veneer of tannin was removed. Anxious to impress her mother-in-law, Etta wondered aloud how to get it off. Marty didn’t know and so she relied upon a box of crystals that had successfully removed other engrained filth and employed them to great success. By the time her guests arrived the table was set with a white cloth and crockery that was just as spotless. Now that she had an oven she had also managed to bake a cake, though it had taken much practice and the one that took pride of place was not her first effort. Wisely she had steered clear of making bread for the sandwiches, for which the basic ingredients had been purchased from the shop.

  Nevertheless, Aggie was to pass compliment as she handed over some buns in a paper bag. ‘I brought you these though I can see you don’t need them. My, this all looks very inviting, that cake especially.’

  ‘Thank you, but you’re responsible, it’s from your own receipt.’ Etta’s reply was modest, though she felt immensely proud of herself as she poured tea for everyone and smiled at Marty, who winked back at her.

  There was compliment over the cups too. ‘Lovely china, isn’t it, Red?’ murmured Aggie, and took a sip, at which her face changed slightly.

  Thinking she might be mistaken, she did not immediately remark on the contents and tasted the tea again to make sure. Her husband and uncle looked at each other suspiciously.

  But Marty gagged and pulled a face, blurting, ‘Jesus, Ett, what the hell did you use to clean them?’

  Stricken, Etta took a sip from her own cup, casting an agonised look at him before admitting, ‘Borax.’

  ‘I think you forgot to rinse them out, dear.’ Mouth pursed in distaste, Aggie grabbed the cup from her husband who had been trying to remain polite and, needlessly warning the others not to swallow another drop, she put herself in charge, collected the rest and tipped the contents outside down the drain.

  Guilty over his rash outburst, Marty tried to make a joke of it, but, annoyed at being made to feel stupid, Etta retorted stiffly, ‘I did rinse them. Anybody would think I was trying to poison you.’

  ‘Ach, we didn’t think that, deary, these things happen.’ Red murmured words of comfort and along with the others tried to rid himself of the vile taste by tucking into the sandwiches and saying how good they were, but for Etta the afternoon had been ruined. She could not wait for the guests to leave and was to voice her upset the moment they did, berating Marty in harsh manner:

  ‘Did you have to make such a fuss about it?’

  ‘Sorry, sorry!’ He hauled her into an embrace, plastering her with conciliatory kisses until she began to lose her scowl. ‘’Twas unforgivable, I’m just a blasted eejit who says the first thing that comes into me head, please forgive me, aw, please, please…’ He wriggled his groin suggestively against hers.

  ‘I might.’

  Despite the jutting lower lip and the forceful response, a softer expression underlay them, luring Marty to form a roguish grin. ‘You only wanted them out o’ the house so’s ye could get your wicked way with me, didn’t ye?’

  Etta scoffed, but there was glee in her eye. When he seduced her with that droopy-lidded gaze she could deny him nothing.

  ‘Ye know, if ye’d wanted rid of them so badly there are easier ways without poisoning your husband too – aagh!’ He ran laughing to the stairs with Etta in pursuit.

  ‘Poor old Marty’s copping it now.’ Misinterpreting the squeals, Uncle Mal threw a sympathetic grimace at Red as they made their exit along the cobble-stoned alley.

  Aggie was more concerned with the awful taste in her mouth. ‘Dilatory, she is!’ she spat her favourite denounce-ment of Etta. ‘I thought her sort were meant to be more intelligent than us? All those privileges and she hasn’t the sense she was born with. Wasn’t trying to poison us, says she – well, trying or not she almost succeeded! I’m still crunching on that blessed grit.’

  Mal threw a wheezy laugh at Red. ‘At least we’ll have nice white gnashers.’

  But Aggie did not share their amusement, especially when having to keep catching her husband, whose laughter caused him to buckle into a faint every few seconds. ‘I swear, I’ve never known anyone so bloody dilatory! Well, this week, come hell or high water I’m going to take that girl in hand.’

  And to some extent she succeeded, managing to convey all manner of valuable information to Etta during the week that followed. But for all her intensive training, her hopes that this might encourage her daughter-in-law to provide her own dinner the following Sunday were shattered when Red heard the front door open and informed his wife drolly:


  ‘Looks like Pyramus ’n’ Thisby will be dining with us again.’

  Oblivious to the sigh of exasperation from the kitchen, Marty entered chirpily and explained away his wife’s shortcomings. ‘I think the chimney’s still got a nest up it. It’s blocked with something anyway, ’cause I couldn’t get a decent fire going for Etta to cook dinner. Is it all right if we…?’

  Aggie bit her tongue and sighed, ‘Sit down. Lizzie, fetch two more plates.’

  ‘Maybe you should have the chimney swept,’ Redmond advised his son, his face a mass of abrasions from a recent fall. ‘Best to have it done every quarter.’

  Marty shrugged carelessly. ‘Ah well, we won’t be there long if I have my way.’ He rubbed his palms together merrily at the sight and smell of the roast mutton. ‘By, ’tis a good job you’re just round the corner, Ma, we’d have had no dinner, would we, Ett?’

  Mellowed by a morning’s lovemaking, Etta did not infer from this that she was useless, and nodded benignly.

  Aggie returned an affable nod, but later, after the uninvited guests had gone, she complained to her husband, ‘God Almighty, you think you’re getting rid of them when they wed! I see more of Marty than ever since he married that useless girl.’

  ‘Ah well now, you shouldn’t have been so good to him,’ joked Red. ‘He’ll still be turning up when he’s a bloody pensioner.’

  ‘Bedad, he won’t! One pensioner’s enough for me.’

  ‘Sure, is that any way to treat an old soldier?’ gasped Mal, offended. ‘If you’d sooner I take my annuity elsewhere –’

  ‘Oh, whist you silly old donkey, who else would have yese, money or no.’ Aggie continued as if there had been no interruption. ‘Anyway, ’tis not entirely Marty’s fault, you can’t blame him for wanting a decent dinner. It’s that dilatory cuckoo he married, there’s always some excuse as to why she can’t provide for him. Too used to servants, that’s her trouble.’