During Hard Times, I Married a Woman with Three ChildrenWe Had Only Each Other
In the grip of recession-era England, I wed a woman with three kids, left to struggle on their own with no support.
Christ, James, youre really marrying a shop assistant with three children? Gone mad, have you? my mate Geoff, who shared my cramped bedsit, clapped me on the back with a smirk.
Whats wrong with that? I barely glanced up from the old radio I was fiddling with, spanner in hand, though I caught his eye sidelong.
Back thenthe early 80sour quiet Yorkshire town moved at its own lazy rhythm. For me, a bloke of thirty with no kin, life was a dull cycle between the factory and my narrow bed in the shared lodgings. After college, Id settled into it: work, the odd game of darts, the telly, and the occasional pint down the pub.
Sometimes Id gaze out the window at kids kicking a football in the street, and it would strike methat old longing for a family. But Id push it aside sharpish. What sort of family could you have in a dingy bedsit?
Everything shifted one damp November evening. I nipped into the corner shop for a loaf. Same as always. Only this time, behind the counter stood *her*Margaret. Id never paid her mind before, but now my eyes stuck. Weary but kind, with a quiet fire beneath.
White or brown? she asked, the ghost of a smile at her lips.
White, I muttered, like a lad caught gawping.
Fresh this morning, she said, wrapping it neatly before passing it over.
When our fingers brushed, something sparked. I fumbled for coins while stealing glances. Simple, in her shop smock, mid-thirties perhaps. Tired, but with a warmth about her.
A few days later, I spotted her at the bus stop, wrestling with shopping bags while three children buzzed around her. The eldest, a boy of about fourteen, lugged a heavy sack stubbornly; a girl held the youngests hand.
Let me help, I said, taking a bag.
Really, its alright she began, but I was already loading them onto the bus.
Mum, whos this? the little one piped up.
Hush, Tommy, his sister scolded.
On the ride, I learned they lived near the factory, in a crumbling postwar flat. The boy was William, the girl Charlotte, the little one Tommy. Margarets husband had passed years back, and shed been shouldering the lot alone since.
We get by, she said with a worn smile.
That night, I couldnt sleep. Her eyes, Tommys voicesomething long buried stirred in me, like a vow waiting just round the corner.
From then on, I became a regular at the shop. Milk one day, crisps the next, sometimes just loitering. The blokes at work took notice.
James, lad, three trips a day? Thats not shopping, thats smitten, my foreman, Harris, chuckled.
Just fancied a change, I mumbled, flushing.
Or the shop girl, eh? he winked.
One evening, I waited for her after closing.
Let me carry those, I said, aiming for casual.
You neednt
Floatings the tricky part, I joked, taking the bags.
On the walk, she told me about the kidsWilliam did odd jobs after school, Charlotte was top of her year, and Tommy had just mastered tying his shoelaces.
Youre kind. But dont pity us, she said suddenly.
I dont. I want to be here.
Later, I mended their dripping tap. Tommy hovered, wide-eyed.
Could you fix my toy lorry too?
Fetch it, lets have a look, I smiled.
Charlotte asked for help with sums. We worked through them. Over tea, we talked. Only William kept his distance. Then I overheard:
Mum, dyou need him? What if he leaves?
Hes not like that.
Theyre *all* like that!
I stood in the hallway, fists tight. I nearly walked. But then I recalled Charlottes grin when she nailed her sums, Tommys giggles as we fixed his toy, and I knewI couldnt turn my back.
Gossip flew at work, but I paid no mind. I knew what I was living for.
Listen, James, Geoff said one night, think it through. Why take that on? Find a nice lass without baggage.
Youre off your rocker, mate! Marry a shop girl with three kids?
Sod off, I grunted, still tinkering with the radio.
Its not thatjust three kids, its
Shut it, Geoff.
One evening, I helped Tommy with a school project, cutting out shapes as he stuck out his tongue in concentration.
Uncle James, are you gonna stay with us forever? he asked out of the blue.
What dyou mean?
Yknow like a dad.
I froze, scissors in hand. A floorboard creakedMargaret stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth. Then she spun and hurried to the kitchen.
She was crying into a tea towel.
Margaret, love, whats wrong? I touched her shoulder gently.
Sorry Tommy doesnt understand what hes saying
What if he does? I turned her to face me.
Her tear-filled eyes widened.
You mean it?
Dead serious.
Then William barged in.
Mum, you alright? He upset you? He glared at me.
No, William, its fine, Margaret managed through tears.
Liar! Whats he even doing here? Push off!
Let him speak, I met Williams stare. Say your piece.
Why dyou keep coming? Weve no money, the flats tinywhat dyou want?
You. And Charlotte. And Tommy. And your mum. I need *all* of you. Im not going anywhere, so dont hold your breath.
William stared, then turned and slammed his bedroom door. Muffled sobs came through.
Go to him, Margaret whispered. You must.
I found William on the fire escape, hugging his knees, staring into the dark.
Mind if I join you? I sat beside him.
What dyou want?
I grew up without a dad too. Mum did her best, but it was rough.
So?
Just know what its likeno one to show you how to mend a puncture or stand your ground.
I can scrap, he muttered.
Ill bet. Youre a good lad, William. But being a man isnt just fists. Its knowing when to let someone help. For your family.
He was quiet. Then, barely audible:
You really wont leave?
Never.
Swear it.
On my life.
Dont lie, he almost grinned.
Aunt Joan, got anything simpler? I squinted at rings in Woolworths.
James Carter, youre seriously marrying Margaret? With *three* children?
Dead serious, I said, eyeing a plain band with a tiny chip.
I proposed without fussjust a clutch of daisies (shed once said she liked them better than roses). Tommy barrelled into me at the door.
Whore the flowers for?
Your mum. And theres something else.
Margaret froze when she saw them.
James My voice wobbled. Maybe we should make it proper? Feels odd, just calling round.
Charlotte gasped. William looked up from his book. Margaret burst into tears.
Mum, is it a bad present? Tommy panicked.
The *best*, love, she smiled through tears.
We married quietly at the factory canteen. Margaret wore a homemade ivory dress; I had a new suit. William shadowed her all day, solemn. Charlotte decorated with mates. Tommy raced about announcing, This is my new dad! For keeps now!
A month later, the factory gave us a two-up two-down on the new estate. Harris even helped us move.
Alright, newlywed, he clapped my back. Just dont expect us to paper it for you.
Wouldnt dream of it, I grinned.
And we did it ourselvesWilliam plastering, Charlotte picking wallpaper, Tommy handing up nails. Margaret made sandwiches, and we ate on packing crates. It was the proudest Id ever been.
Margaret left the shopI insisted she rest. William started trade school, helping me with odd jobs. Charlotte took up ballet. Tommy just *shone*.
Not that it was all smooth. We had dust-ups. Once, William came home worse for wearfirst time out with mates. I didnt shout, just sat across from him.
How is it?
Rotten, he admitted. Heads pounding.
Good. Means youll remember.
The years turned like pages in a well-thumbed book, and one damp autumn evening, as I watched Tommynow taller than meshow his own lad how to fix a broken toy lorry, I saw the circle had closed, and the love wed made had taken root deep enough to outlast us all.
