During Hard Times, I Married a Woman with Three ChildrenWe Had Only Each Other
In the grim days of Thatchers Britain, I wed a woman with three kids, left to struggle on their own without a soul to lend a hand.
Blimey, Edward, youre really marrying a shop assistant with three children? Gone barmy, have you? Geoff, my mate from the cramped lodgings, clapped me on the back with a smirk.
Whats the matter with that? I barely glanced up from the alarm clock I was repairing, a screwdriver in my grip, though I caught his eye sidelong.
Back thenthe early 80sour quiet Yorkshire town moved at its own sluggish rhythm. For me, a bloke of thirty with no kin, life was a dreary cycle between the factory and my narrow bed in the shared digs. After college, Id settled into the routine: work, the odd game of draughts, the telly, and the occasional pint with the lads.
Sometimes Id gaze out the window at children playing in the courtyard, 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 boarding house?
Everything shifted one damp October evening. I ducked into the corner shop for a loaf. Same as always. Only this time, behind the counter stood *her*Margaret. Id never noticed her before, but now my eyes stuck. Weary but kind, with a quiet glow beneath the exhaustion.
White or granary? she asked, the ghost of a smile touching her lips.
White, I muttered, like a lad caught gawping.
Fresh from the bakers, she said, wrapping it neatly before passing it over.
When our fingers brushed, something sparked. I fumbled for coins while stealing glances. Plain, in her shop apron, early thirties perhaps. Worn down, but with a light inside.
A few days later, I spotted her at the bus stop, wrestling with bags while three children buzzed about her. The eldest, a boy of about fourteen, clutched a heavy sack stubbornly; a girl held the youngests hand.
Let me help, I said, taking a bag.
No, 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 mill, in a crumbling postwar flat. The boy was Henry, the girl Charlotte, the little one Tommy. Margarets husband had passed years ago, and shed been dragging the family along alone ever since.
We get by, she said with a tired smile.
That night, sleep eluded me. Her eyes, Tommys voicesomething long buried stirred in me, like a promise just out of reach.
From then on, I became a regular at the shop. Milk one day, digestives the next, sometimes just loitering. The chaps at work took notice.
Edward, mate, three trips a day? Thats not shopping, thats smitten, my foreman, Higgins, chuckled.
Fancied something fresh, 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
Sleeping on the ceilings the tricky bit, I joked, taking the bags.
As we walked, she told me about the childrenHenry took odd jobs after school, Charlotte was top of her year, and Tommy had just mastered tying his laces.
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 together. Over tea, we talked. Only Henry 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 Charlottes grin when she aced her sums, Tommys laughter as we fixed his toy, and I knewI couldnt turn my back.
Gossip swirled at work, but I paid no mind. I knew what I was living for.
Listen, Edward, Geoff said one night, think it through. Why take that on? Find a nice girl without baggage.
Youre off your rocker, mate! Marry a shop girl with three kids?
Sod off, I grunted, still fiddling with the clock.
Its not thatjust three kids, its
Shut your gob, Geoff.
One evening, I helped Tommy with a school project, cutting shapes as he stuck out his tongue in concentration.
Uncle Edward, 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 pressed to her mouth. Then she spun and hurried to the kitchen.
She was weeping into a tea towel.
Margaret, love, whats wrong? I touched her shoulder gently.
Sorry Tommy doesnt understand
What if he does? I turned her to face me.
Her tear-filled eyes widened.
You mean it?
Dead serious.
Then Henry barged in.
Mum, you alright? He upset you? He glared at me.
No, Henry, its fine, Margaret managed through tears.
Liar! Whats he even doing here? Clear off!
Let him speak, I met Henrys 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.
Henry stared, then turned and slammed his bedroom door. Muffled sobs followed.
Go to him, Margaret whispered.
I found Henry on the fire escape, arms wrapped around 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 tried, but it was hard.
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, Henry. 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 smiled.
Aunt Joan, got anything simpler? I squinted at rings in Woolies.
Edward Shaw, youre seriously marrying Margaret? With *three* children?
Dead serious, I said, eyeing a plain band with a tiny chip of a stone.
I proposed without fussjust a handful of bluebells (shed once said they were her favourite). Tommy barrelled into me at the door.
Whore the flowers for?
Your mum. And theres something else.
Margaret froze when she saw them.
Edward My voice wavered. Maybe we should make it proper? Odd, just popping in.
Charlotte gasped. Henry 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 mill canteen. Margaret wore a homemade cream dress; I had a new suit. Henry shadowed her all day, solemn. Charlotte decorated with her mates. Tommy raced about announcing, This is my new dad! Forever now!
A month later, the mill gave us a two-bed in a new council estate. Higgins even helped us move in.
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 ourselvesHenry plastering, Charlotte choosing wallpaper, Tommy handing up tools. Margaret made sandwiches, and we ate on the floor. It was the happiest Id ever been.
Margaret left the shopI insisted she rest. Henry started technical college, helping me with odd jobs. Charlotte took up ballet. Tommy just *shone*.
Not that it was all plain sailing. We had rows. Once, Henry came home pickledfirst night out with his mates. I didnt shout, just sat across from him.
How is it?
Rotten, he admitted. Heads pounding.
Good. Means youll think twice next time.
The years rolled on like chapters in a favourite novel, and one drizzly autumn evening, as I watched Tommynow taller than meteach his own lad to mend a broken toy lorry, I realised the circle had closed, and the love wed built had taken root deep enough to outlive us all.
Lifes greatest treasures arent gold or land, but the bonds we forge when we dare to open our hearts to those the world has overlooked.
