Sheelagh Kelly - The Keepsake

He bit his lip. ‘No, I hardly ever tell them lies. I hate doing it now really but they’ve been so blasted obstrocu-lous over this marriage that it serves them right. If they supported their son he wouldn’t have to lie, would he? Though what I’ll do if Ma wants to feed me…’ He chuckled and, holding his distended stomach, pretended to retch.

Etta grimaced emphathetically as they paid for the meal and left the restaurant. ‘But they’ll still expect you to come home some time during the evening,’ she reminded him.

‘Not if I say I’m going to kip on a bench at the station so’s to be bright and early tomorrow.’ Marty looked smug.

‘Another lie for Judgement Day,’ teased Etta.

‘Well, only in part. I will be up bright and early, it’s not every day a fella gets married.’ He linked her arm as they ambled through the city, along narrow streets that boasted elegant Georgian architecture, its symmetry marred by the squat and decrepit medieval buildings that lurked between, their gable-ends plastered with garish advertisements, plus an array of striped awnings, even now at seven o’clock having to shade the goods in the shop windows against an unrelenting sun. ‘Mindst, we won’t be tying the knot until the afternoon, we might decide we deserve a lie in.’ A twinkle in his eye, he nudged her suggestively with his hip.

‘Well, I might,’ said Etta, ‘though I can’t see you being very comfortable on the floor.’

At this he looked blank.

‘We only have the licence, not the certificate,’ she reminded him archly. ‘It’s rather presumptuous of you.’

Marty’s visage flooded with disappointment. ‘Aye, well, I suppose it is…’

Etta remained aloof for a moment, then could no longer maintain the charade and broke into peals of laughter at his chagrin, clutching his arm as if hanging on to life itself. ‘Do you seriously think I’m ever going to let you out of my sight again? Of course you shall share the bed, tonight and always – oh, won’t it be wonderful never to be parted!’

He returned her laughing gesture, voicing agreement, but still in the dark as to whether she intended only to let him sleep beside her or to lift the embargo on their physical union before marriage. But at present nothing else mattered other than her vow to be his – as his warning glance told every other man who turned to stare at her, though secretly he enjoyed the kudos of having such a jewel on his arm.

They came out of town via the gnarled stone bridge at Castle Mills, over the scum-laden, oil-dappled broth that was the River Foss, where barges idled in the evening sun, and through the postern gate in the medieval limestone walls. Marty had deliberately brought her this way to avoid any drunken antics along Walmgate, renowned as the roughest thoroughfare in York. Some might have declared it a futile gesture when the room he had rented was over a pub, but he himself was pleased to find the saloon bar comparatively quiet, this being mid-week, albeit reeking of the usual beery fumes and tobacco smoke.

Still, he imagined it must be a shock for Etta.

‘It won’t be for long!’ he assured her again, seeing her face drop at the realisation that this seedy venue was home. ‘Had there been anything else –’

‘I’m sure it will be fine!’ Hiding her disappointment, Etta faked glee. ‘It’s all rather exciting, come show me the way!’

He led her up a dilapidated staircase and across a landing with nicotine-stained walls, apologising for the room’s bare boards and sparse furnishings, drawing the curtains to give them some privacy and repeating that this was purely a temporary lodging.

Etta remained optimistic. ‘I didn’t come here to admire the furniture.’ And, smiling, she opened her arms, into which he gladly stepped.

There followed a passionate succession of kisses. It was such a wrench to leave her, but with a regretful expression he unglued his lips. ‘I really should go and pacify the mammy and daddy now.’

‘Do they live far?’ She stroked him.

‘Only a hundred yards or so.’ His eyes crinkled in laughter. ‘That’s why I was so edgy in coming here, lest I was spotted. What will you do while I’m gone?’

Etta planted herself demurely on the edge of the bed, hands in lap. ‘I shall just sit here and contemplate my extreme good fortune in finding you.’

‘Aw!’ Overwhelmed with affection, Marty threw his arms round her again, then, knowing how dusty and sticky he himself felt from their journey, said, ‘I should fetch you some water so’s you can make yourself more comfy.’ There was a bowl and jug on a table. Grabbing the jug, he returned some moments later with a supply of cold water. ‘Sorry we’ve no tap of our own. Everything’s a bit primitive.’

She said this was of no matter. ‘Do I call someone to take it away when I’m done?’

‘No! Mustn’t let anyone see you’re not wearing a ring, I told them we’re already man and wife. I’ll shift it later. Oh, and I’d better light this, don’t want to leave you in the dark.’ After fumbling over the paraffin lamp, he looked about him, checking for any other addition to her comfort. ‘Er…there’s a whatsit under the bed if you need it.’ Then he blew her a last kiss, saying he would try not to be away too long. ‘Think of this, after tomorrow none of it will matter.’

He hurried through the dying light to his parents’ house, both happy and ashamed that they believed him when he said what a hard day he’d had and did not question when he told them of his plan to return to the railway station. There was no avoiding the meal his mother had kept for him, but luckily it was a platter of cold meat, which he was able to wrap and take with him saying he must get back without delay. It would provide him and Etta with breakfast.

On the way back he relieved his bladder for the night so as not to have to do it in front of his wife-to-be. Expecting that she might have fallen asleep after her gruelling day, he was touched to discover she had forced herself to stay awake for him, although she was in bed, the covers up to her chest and her long, dark tresses spread across the pillow.

She asked how things had gone with his parents, to be told that all was fine, then saw his eyes go to the dress and corset draped over the iron bedstead. ‘I had dreadful trouble unlacing without Blanche.’

‘Never mind, from now on you’ll have me to help you.’ He removed his jacket, gave it a shake, draped it over the back of a chair and went to wash his hands and face in the bowl using the sliver of soap that Etta had conjured from somewhere. Then, oddly self-conscious under her drowsy gaze, he snuffed out the lamp before unbuttoning his trousers, carefully laying these aside too and climbing in beside her.

Discovering that Etta, too, had left on her underwear, he refrained from cuddling her for the moment, not just because it was stiflingly hot but because he was unsure what she expected of him. ‘I’ll bet you’re exhausted, aren’t you?’ he blurted.

The dark outline of her head nodded sleepily. ‘But incredibly happy.’ She reached for his hand.

A little relieved, he lay back gripping her fingers, closing his eyes and murmuring how much he was looking forward to tomorrow.

The next thing he knew it was tomorrow, light streaming through the thin curtains, his body drenched in sweat and his garments plastered to him. Coming round, he stretched uncomfortably, then, feeling the stack of hot coals beside him, rolled his head to view his sleeping partner through a misty veil and smiled when he saw she was not asleep at all but was grinning back at him, her eyes more alert than his.

His first words were unromantic. ‘God, isn’t it clammy?’