During Hard Times, I Married a Woman with Three ChildrenWe Were All We Had
In the midst of Britains economic struggles, I married a woman with three kids, left to manage on her own without a soul to lend a hand.
Blimey, Edward, youre really marrying a shop assistant with three children? Have you gone completely daft? Graham, my flatmate in the cramped shared house, clapped me on the back with a smirk.
Whats wrong with that? I barely glanced up from the clock I was repairing, a screwdriver in my grip, though I caught his eye sideways.
Back thenthe early 90sour quiet Yorkshire town moved at its own unhurried pace. For me, a bloke in his thirties with no family, life was a monotonous cycle between the factory and my narrow bed in the lodgings. After uni, Id settled into it: work, the occasional game of darts, telly, and a pint now and then with mates.
Sometimes Id watch the neighbourhood kids playing football in the street, and it would hit methat old longing for a family. But Id push it aside. What sort of family could you build in a dingy shared house?
Everything changed one damp November evening. I stopped by the corner shop for a loaf. Same as always. Only this time, behind the counter stood *her*Claire. Id never noticed her before, but now I couldnt look away. Tired but warm, with a quiet strength beneath the weariness.
White or granary? she asked, the hint of a smile touching her lips.
White, I mumbled, feeling like a schoolboy caught staring.
Fresh in today, she said, wrapping it neatly before handing it over.
When our fingers brushed, something shifted. I fumbled for coins while stealing glances. Ordinary, in her shop apron, maybe early thirties. Worn out, but with a spark in her eyes.
A few days later, I spotted her at the bus stop, wrestling with shopping bags while three children darted around her. The eldest, a lad of about fifteen, stubbornly carried the heaviest bag; a girl held the youngests hand.
Let me help, I said, taking a bag.
No, its fine she began, but I was already loading them onto the bus.
Mum, whos this? the little one piped up.
Hush, Tommy, his sister whispered.
On the ride, I learned they lived near the factory, in a worn-out postwar flat. The boy was James, the girl Sophie, the little one Tommy. Claires husband had passed years ago, and shed been raising them alone ever since.
We get by, she said with a tired smile.
That night, I lay awake. Her eyes, Tommys chattersomething long buried stirred in me, like a promise waiting just around the corner.
From then on, I became a regular at the shop. Milk one day, biscuits the next, sometimes just loitering. The lads at work took notice.
Edward, mate, three trips a day? Thats not shopping, thats love, my foreman, Harris, grinned.
Just fancied something fresh, I muttered, flushing.
Or the shop girl, eh? he winked.
One evening, I waited for her after closing.
Let me carry those, I said, trying to sound casual.
You dont have to
Sleeping on the ceilings the tricky bit, I joked, taking the bags.
As we walked, she told me about the kidsJames did odd jobs after school, Sophie was top of her class, and Tommy had just learned to tie his shoes.
Youre kind. But dont pity us, she said suddenly.
I dont. I want to be here.
Later, I fixed their dripping tap. Tommy hovered, fascinated.
Can you fix my toy car too?
Bring it here, lets see, I smiled.
Sophie asked for help with her maths homework. We worked through the sums. Over tea, we talked. Only James 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 clenched. I nearly walked out. But then I remembered Sophies grin when she solved a tough problem, Tommys laughter as we fixed his toy, and I knewI couldnt leave.
Gossip swirled at work, but I ignored it. I knew what mattered.
Listen, Edward, Graham said one night, think it through. Why take that on? Find a nice girl without baggage.
Youre off your rock, mate! Marry a shop girl with three kids?
Piss off, I grunted, still tinkering with the clock.
Its not thatjust three kids, its
Shut it, Graham.
One evening, I helped Tommy with a school project, cutting out shapes as he stuck out his tongue in concentration.
Uncle Edward, are you gonna stay with us forever? he asked suddenly.
What dyou mean?
Yknow like a dad.
I froze, scissors in hand. A floorboard creakedClaire stood in the doorway, hand pressed to her mouth. Then she turned and hurried to the kitchen.
She was crying into a tea towel.
Claire, love, whats wrong? I touched her shoulder gently.
Sorry Tommy doesnt understand what hes saying
What if hes right? I turned her to face me.
Her tear-filled eyes widened.
You mean it?
Dead serious.
Then James burst in.
Mum, you alright? He upset you? He glared at me.
No, James, its fine, Claire managed through tears.
Liar! Whats he even doing here? Clear off!
Let him speak, I met Jamess stare. Say what you want.
Why dyou keep coming? Weve no money, the flats tinywhat dyou want?
You. And Sophie. And Tommy. And your mum. I need *all* of you. Im not going anywhere, so dont hold your breath.
James stared, then turned and slammed his bedroom door. Muffled sobs came through.
Go to him, Claire whispered. You have to.
I found James on the fire escape, arms around his knees, staring into the night.
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 hard.
So?
Just know what its likeno one to show you how to mend a bike or stand up for yourself.
I can handle myself, he muttered.
I bet. Youre a good lad, James. But being a man isnt just about 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 smiled.
Aunt Margaret, got anything simpler? I squinted at rings in Woolworths.
Edward Carter, youre really marrying Claire? With *three* children?
Dead serious, I said, eyeing a plain band with a tiny stone.
I proposed without fussjust a bunch of wildflowers (shed once said she liked them better than roses). Tommy tackled me at the door.
Whore the flowers for?
Your mum. And theres something else.
Claire froze when she saw them.
Edward My voice wavered. Maybe we should make it official? Feels odd, just dropping by.
Sophie gasped. James looked up from his book. Claire 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. Claire wore a homemade white dress; I had a new suit. James shadowed her all day, solemn. Sophie decorated with friends. Tommy raced around announcing, This is my new dad! Forever now!
A month later, the factory gave us a two-bed in a new estate. Harris even helped us move.
Alright, newlywed, he clapped my back. Just dont expect us to paint it for you.
Wouldnt dream of it, I grinned.
And we did it ourselvesJames plastering, Sophie choosing wallpaper, Tommy passing tools. Claire cooked, and we ate on the floor. It was the happiest Id ever been.
Claire left the shopI insisted she take a break. James started college, helping me with projects. Sophie took up ballet. Tommy just *shone*.
Not that it was perfect. We had rows. Once, James came home drunkfirst time with mates. I didnt shout, just sat opposite him.
How is it?
Rubbish, he admitted. Heads pounding.
Good. Means youll think twice next time.
The years rolled on like chapters in a favourite novel, and one rainy autumn evening, as I watched Tommynow taller than meteach his own son to fix a broken toy car, I realised the circle had closed, and the love wed built had taken root deep enough to outlast us all.
