Sheelagh Kelly - The Keepsake

Murmuring reassurance to his bride and hoping Uncle Mal would not yield to his uninhibited penchant for describing bowel movements, the groom slipped away to the scullery where he disturbed Aggie in the act of trying to calm herself.

‘Mammy, I’m –’

‘Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!’ Nearly choking herself in trying to dispose of the sherry, which had come by dishonest means, she slammed the empty glass down and stabbed a finger at him, hissing the words through clenched teeth. ‘You treacherous spalpeen, you’re not sorry at all!’

‘I’m not sorry for marrying Etta, but I’m sorry you made me have to lie in doing it!’

‘Oh, so it’s my fault! God damn you – here, give me that bloody glass before your father gets back – that’s if he hasn’t collapsed again out there from the outrage!’ And she tipped another tot of the illicit sherry down her throat before hiding the bottle behind bags of flour and dried peas and reaching for the bread knife, which was first levelled threateningly at Marty before being used to more legitimate purpose.

Reappearing from the privy, Redmond found his wife carving a loaf, his son standing by shamefaced.

Shaking his head in disgust, he told the latter tersely, ‘We’ll have this out later. Back to the table with you, you’re neglecting your wife.’

In between discussing the hot weather with Uncle Mal, Etta had been examining her surroundings, a small but tidy room displaying religious pictures, many china ornaments of surprisingly high quality, gleaming brass oil-lamps with elaborate cowls, and lace antimacassars all pristine, but as her husband re-entered she turned to feast her attention on him as if he had been gone years. Marty sat beside her.

Competing for her attention, Uncle Mal leaned towards her mouthing boastfully, ‘I’m seventy-eight, ye know.’

Etta tore her eyes from Marty. ‘That’s a remarkable age.’

Then, a plate of bread and butter was delivered to the table and tea began. The pampered Etta might have no idea as to how meals were produced, but she could not fail to notice that there were insufficient boiled eggs to go round. Presented with one herself, she thanked her mother-in-law but said, ‘I do hope by our impromptu appearance we haven’t deprived anyone?’

‘No one in this family is deprived,’ replied Aggie firmly.

‘Of course, I didn’t mean to imply…’ Etta’s hands remained in her lap as she watched her mother-in-law deftly slice the top off one diner’s egg and give it to another, performing this thrice more until everyone had a share.

‘Nobody will go hungry. Please be at liberty to begin.’ Obviously unhappy, but, out of courtesy, not going so far as to voice this, Aggie passed around the bread and butter.

Etta removed the top of her egg and began to eat, her every mouthful under surveillance from those children who had already scooped up their meagre ration and were now reliant on bread.

Beside her, despite being one of the lucky few with a whole egg, Marty festered. Was his mother deliberately trying to make him feel guilty?

Both he and Etta were glad when the meal was over, yet it would be impolite for them to rush off after being fed and they were obliged to sit a while longer. Voicing more thanks, Etta moved aside to allow Martin’s sisters to clear her plate and others. They were several years younger than herself, their skinny, shapeless trunks belonging more to monkeys than women, yet Elizabeth and Maggie emitted an air of competence as they moved around the table, stacking the crockery and taking it away. Her eyes moved back to the ornaments on the sideboard upon which she commented to no one in particular.

‘I must say, you have some very handsome china.’

Before thanks could be issued, Uncle Mal raised white eyebrows and emitted cheerfully, ‘Those? Pff! They’re just Aggie’s gimcracks.’ He inflated his chest and hoiked up the waistband of his trousers. ‘You want fine china, ye should’ve seen the collection I used to have, shouldn’t she, Red? ’Twould have graced a palace –’

‘Probably did before you got your hands on it, Unc,’ joked Marty from the side of his mouth, then shrank at the glare from his mother.

Mal was oblivious. ‘– but that was before my dear Bridget passed away and her sisters grabbed the lot and I was forced to come and live here. Never left me so much as a spoon to stir my tea, so they didn’t…’

‘You’ve talent enough for stirring without spoons,’ accused Red, but Mal just heaved an emotional sigh and pulled out a handkerchief to mop at his glistening eyes. ‘God love her, she had real style, my Biddy. I’m not saying Aggie doesn’t try her best of course…’

Grossly insulted and too furious to sit still, with face a-thunder Aggie marched off to the scullery where, against habit, she aided her girls with the washing up.

Meantime, a child was ousted so that Etta could get to one of the more comfortable seats, the youngest planting himself at her feet.

‘Jimmy-Joe seems to have a fascination with your shoes, Etta,’ observed Redmond in his soft brogue, between taking puffs of a pipe.

Responding to his kind attempts to make conversation, she agreed and smiled down at the toddler, who played with the tassel on one of her kid shoes – but fondness swiftly turned to dismay when, with one crafty sleight of hand, the tassel was ripped from its moorings and was spirited away as Jimmy-Joe made his gleeful escape on all fours.

‘Catch that wee divil!’ Redmond signalled to Maggie, who grabbed the toddler before he managed to scramble between her stick-thin legs, upturning him and retrieving the tassel, which was apologetically handed back to its owner.

Marty saw Etta’s crestfallen face at the disfigurement of her only pair of shoes, and said hastily, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll stick it on when we get home. Have you any glue I can borrow, Da?’

Redmond gritted his teeth to smile contritely at Etta. ‘Why, to be sure.’

‘Will I fetch it?’ offered Uncle Mal, rising. ‘I want to go for a –’

‘Thanks, Uncle.’ Marty pre-empted any rude utterance.

‘– drink of water, anyway,’ finished the old man before tottering off.

The washing-up done, Aggie was forced to return and to undergo dialogue with Etta, perching herself uncomfortably on a dining chair. Informed of the vandalism and seeing an unrepentant Jimmy-Joe bound for Etta’s other shoe, she snatched his dress and hauled him back, advising the rest of her youngsters, ‘Take him out to play for a while afore bed.’

Excited by their brother’s choice of bride, the children were loath to miss any crumb of information and had to be forced outside, twelve-year-old Elizabeth tutting sulkily, ‘Just call your slave in when you want any more washing-up done!’ Then quick as a sprite she ducked outside to escape retribution. However, nothing of much import was to follow, the topics ranging from the hot weather to Etta’s outfit, which Aggie deigned to compliment. Her daughter-in-law was indeed a very pretty girl, she could see how Marty would have fallen for her, and she went so far as to say this, Etta’s response being equally gracious.

Uncle Mal re-entered then, carrying the glue-pot, which he placed on the table for Marty to collect when he left.

Whilst the old man lowered himself into his chair, Aggie resumed the chit-chat, but the polite conversation was halted by an agonised yelp.

‘Sat on me nuts,’ explained a pain-faced Uncle Mal.

Redmond cleared his throat noisily, signalling for his wife to say something. Marty wanted to die and dared not lift his eyes from his shoes. Etta fought laughter and pretended she had not heard, saying, ‘It’s remarkably light still, isn’t it? The children must appreciate these summer nights.’