During Hard Times, I Married a Woman with Three ChildrenWe Had Only Each Other
In the bleak days of Thatchers Britain, I wed a woman with three kids, left to struggle without a soul to lend a hand.
Blimey, Edward, youre seriously tying the knot with a shop assistant whos got three little ones? Gone barmy, have you? My mate, Simon, clapped me on the back with a laugh, perched on the edge of our cramped flats kitchen chair.
Whats the issue? I didnt look up from the watch I was repairing, but I caught his smirk from the corner of my eye.
Back thenthe early 80sour quiet town in Lancashire moved at its own sluggish rhythm. For a bloke of thirty with no kin, life was a dull cycle of clocking in at the mill and returning to my narrow bed in the shared lodgings. After college, Id settled into it: work, the odd game of darts, telly nights, and the occasional pint down the pub.
Sometimes Id glance out the window at kids kicking a football in the street, and itd hit methat old longing for a family. But Id push it aside sharpish. What sort of life could you build in a dingy bedsit?
Then, one damp November evening, everything changed. I ducked 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 I couldnt look away. Worn but warm, with a quiet strength behind her tired smile.
White or brown? she asked, the hint of amusement in her voice.
White, I muttered, feeling like a lad caught gawping.
Fresh this morning, she said, wrapping it neatly before passing it over.
When our fingers brushed, something shifted. I fumbled for coins while stealing glances. Ordinary, in her shop smock, maybe early thirties. Tired, but with a light in her eyes.
Days later, I spotted her at the bus stop, wrestling with shopping bags while three children darted about. The eldest, a boy of about thirteen, clung to a heavy sack; a girl held the youngests hand.
Let me help, I said, taking a bag.
No, really she began, but Id already hoisted them onto the bus.
Mum, whos this? the little one piped up.
Hush, Billy, his sister scolded.
On the ride, I learned they lived near the mill, in a crumbling postwar flat. The lad was Thomas, the girl Lucy, the little one Billy. Margarets husband had passed years ago, and shed been raising them alone since.
We get by, she said with a weary smile.
That night, I lay awake. Her voice, Billys chattersomething long buried stirred in me, like a road Id forgotten to take.
From then on, I became a regular at the shop. Milk one day, crisps the next, sometimes just dawdling. The lads at work took notice.
Edward, mate, three trips before noon? Thats not hunger, thats heartache, my foreman, Higgins, chuckled.
Just fancied a bite, I mumbled, ears burning.
Or the shopgirl, eh? he winked.
One evening, I waited for her after closing.
Let me carry those, I said, aiming for casual.
You neednt
Sleeping upside downs the tricky bit, I joked, taking the bags.
As we walked, she spoke of the kidsThomas did odd jobs after school, Lucy was top in maths, and Billy had just mastered tying his shoes.
Youre kind. But dont pity us, she said abruptly.
I dont. I want to be here.
Later, I mended their dripping tap. Billy hovered, wide-eyed.
Can you fix my toy lorry too?
Fetch it, lets have a look, I grinned.
Lucy asked for help with sums. We worked through equations. Over tea, we talked. Only Thomas kept his distance. Then I overheard:
Mum, dyou need him? What if he walks out?
Hes different.
They *all* say that!
I stood in the hall, fists tight. Nearly turned for the door. Then I recalled Lucys grin when she solved a tough problem, Billys giggles as we fixed his toy, and I knewI couldnt leave.
Gossip swirled at the mill, but I ignored it. I knew what mattered.
Listen, Edward, Simon said one night, think it through. Why saddle yourself? Find a nice girl without all that.
Youre off your chump, mate! Marry a shopgirl with three kids?
Sod off, I grunted, fiddling with the watch.
Its justthree kids, its
Shut it, Simon.
One evening, I helped Billy with a school project, cutting cardboard as he stuck out his tongue in focus.
Uncle Edward, are you staying with us forever? he asked out of nowhere.
How dyou mean?
Like a dad.
I froze, scissors mid-air. A floorboard creakedMargaret stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth. Then she hurried to the kitchen.
She was weeping into a dishcloth.
Margaret, love, whats wrong? I touched her shoulder gently.
Sorry Billy doesnt understand
What if he does? I turned her to face me.
Her tear-filled eyes widened.
You mean it?
Dead serious.
Then Thomas barged in.
Mum, you alright? He upset you? He glared at me.
No, Thomas, its fine, Margaret managed.
Liar! Whys he always here? Clear off!
Let him speak, I met Thomass stare. Say your piece.
Why dyou keep coming? Weve no money, the flats a dumpwhat dyou want?
You. And Lucy. And Billy. And your mum. I need *all* of you. Im not leaving, so dont hold your breath.
Thomas stared, then stormed to his room. Muffled sobs followed.
Go to him, Margaret whispered. You must.
I found Thomas on the fire escape, arms crossed, scowling at the night.
Mind if I sit? I settled beside him.
What dyou want?
I grew up without a dad too. Mum tried, but it was rough.
So?
Just know how it feelsno one to show you how to change a tyre or stand your ground.
I can handle myself, he muttered.
Ill bet. Youre a good lad, Thomas. But being a mans not just fists. Its knowing when to let someone in. For your family.
He was quiet. Then, barely a whisper:
You really wont leave?
Never.
Swear it.
On my life.
Dont lie, he almost smiled.
Aunt Joan, got anything plainer? I squinted at rings in Woolworths.
Edward Carter, youre truly marrying Margaret? With *three* children?
Dead serious, I said, eyeing a simple band with a fleck of a stone.
I proposed without fussjust a bunch of bluebells (shed once said she loved them more than roses). Billy barrelled into me at the door.
Whore those for?
Your mum. And theres something else.
Margaret froze when she saw them.
Edward My voice cracked. Maybe we ought to make it proper? Feels odd, just calling round.
Lucy gasped. Thomas looked up from his book. Margaret burst into tears.
Mum, is it a bad gift? Billy panicked.
The *best*, love, she smiled through tears.
We married quietly at the mills social club. Margaret wore a secondhand cream dress; I had a new suit. Thomas shadowed her all day, solemn. Lucy decorated with mates. Billy raced about announcing, This is my new dad! For keeps!
A month later, the mill gave us a two-up-two-down on the new estate. Higgins even helped us move.
Alright, old man, he clapped my shoulder. Dont expect us to wallpaper for you.
Wouldnt dream of it, I grinned.
And we did it ourselvesThomas plastering, Lucy picking paint, Billy fetching brushes. Margaret cooked, and we ate on packing crates. It was the happiest Id ever been.
Margaret left the shopI insisted she rest. Thomas started trade school, helping me with odd jobs. Lucy took up ballet. Billy just *shone*.
Not that it was all smooth. We had rows. Once, Thomas came home drunkfirst time out with mates. I didnt shout, just sat him down.
How is it?
Rubbish, he admitted. Heads pounding.
Good. Means youll think twice next time.
The years rolled on like chapters in a dog-eared novel, and one damp autumn evening, as I watched Billynow taller than meshow his own lad how to mend a toy lorry, I realised the circle had closed, and the love wed built had taken root deep enough to outlive us all.
