The Keepsake. Sheelagh Kelly

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      ‘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.

       4

      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?’

      Propped on one elbow, Etta agreed. ‘That’s what woke me – that and the birds. I’ve been watching you for ages.’ She trailed tender fingers down his sweating face, then dabbed her lips to it.

      Smothered by her long hair, he chuckled and fought a gentle way out. Few sounds came from outside. ‘It must only be about five.’ He kicked off the covers, the erotic musk of her body wafting up to arouse him into kissing her, she meeting him willingly. But the room was like an oven, forcing him to break away abruptly with a grunt of discomfort.

      ‘Sorry, darlin’, I’ll just have to open the window.’ He clambered over the bed and reached through the curtains to open the sash, though this was to provide little relief and he groaned as he slumped back beside her and tried to flap some air inside his shirt.

      ‘I don’t mind if you take your clothes off.’ Etta dipped her mouth into the socket of his eye then licked the salt from her lips.

      His lazy grin exuded sensuality and he ran his hands through his hair to relieve his perspiring scalp. ‘I can’t vouch for what would happen then.’

      ‘I think it already has happened to some extent.’ She rolled a coquettish eye at his groin.

      He gasped – ‘You’re shameless!’ – but immediately leapt atop her, eager to find out the extent of her invitation, and was ecstatic upon finding that she did not push his hands away this time, no matter how intimately they pried.

      The heat of the day was forgotten as an inner heat took over, overwhelming Etta to such a pitch that in her thrashing she almost rolled off the bed. Between frantic laughing kisses she urged him to stop only so that she might take off her underwear. All self-consciousness gone, both rapidly divested themselves of this last barrier, then hurled their fevered bodies back together, rocking and chuckling and moaning, and, amidst passion, pain and apology, forged their blissful union.

      Sweat trickled off Marty’s body as, finally, he rolled away from her and lay there panting and victorious, whilst Etta shifted onto her side and continued to kiss him, quiet, loving little kisses on his shoulder, nestling and nuzzling, both of them thoughtful, marvelling at what had occurred. Inevitably, though, much as each loved the other they were forced to move to the outer edges of the mattress, spreading their naked limbs to try and catch what little draught came through the window, yet maintaining contact with each other by the tips of their fingers. The air was pungent with their odour.

      ‘I’ve no hat.’

      Marty chuckled at the inappropriate comment. ‘And do you always wear a hat for this kinda thing?’

      ‘For our wedding! I must have one.’ On the point of going to luncheon when he had come to rescue her, she had not been wearing outdoor clothing. It had only just begun to register now what dire straits she would be in when the climate changed. And, ‘Oh, look, my dress is on the floor!’ She beheld the crumpled garment with dismay.

      He threw off his languor and leapt out of bed, giving the dress a shake and hanging it on a peg. ‘The creases’ll drop out by afternoon. I shall have to sponge me suit an’ all, it’s carrying half o’ your father’s garden.’

      ‘You’re so capable.’ She ran admiring eyes over his naked muscles.

      ‘There’s no limit to my talents, but holding my water isn’t one of them – could I ask ye