The Ring on Her Finger

The Ring on Her Finger

Michael Graeme

No one said it to my face, but it's what they were thinking all the same - that Angeline was no good for me,...

I had worked ten years at the factory, worked my way up from being the operator of a machine, to a desk in the office. Now, there were others who'd progressed that way and made more of themselves, vying shamelessly for the chance of a company car and the salary to buy an executive home on the outskirts of town, but I was not ambitious.

All I asked of life was a little house,... and a good woman to share it with. But at twenty six, I had made little progress in the direction of either. I was still living at home with my folks, still rising each morning from the bed I had slept in as a boy and I was beginning to fear that I was going nowhere at all,...

....until I met Angeline.

The morning she came into the office pushing her tea trolley was one of the formative moments of my life. She was new to the company, a good looking girl with a wide, enchanting smile and I could tell by their winks and their knowing looks that all the other fellows were taken with her as well.

"Tea or coffee?" she asked, and it was all I could do to answer her without blushing.

"I liked that," she told me later. "It was what made me think of you all day and the next and the next, until you finally asked me out."

Now, it was a while before I plucked up the courage, but when I finally asked her to the pictures one evening, she bowled me over with her smile.

"Sure, that would be grand," she said.

I don't remember the movie, only afterwards when we took a stroll by the river. We had been strangers that morning, yet now we were arm in arm and Angeline was telling me all about herself. We took a bench in the late evening sunshine and as I listened to her, I felt myself carried away on waves of the most heady distraction. Ah, she was a fine girl all right, with just the hint of a mischievous sparkle about her.

"Will I call you tomorrow, then?" I asked.

"Sure," she said. "That'll be just grand."

When I returned to my room that night, I remember thinking that it seemed smaller - or that I had grown. I realised then of course that whatever the future held for me now, nothing would ever be the same.

_______________

After our first date, Angeline had me calling for her at home. It was a run down house in a poor part of town. Her folks were jolly and earthy, being fond of a drink and a song at the local pub. Her father took to me with an easy familiarity and would slap me heartily on the back each time we met.

"Welcome, lad," he'd say and her mother would be for ever spoiling me with tea and home-made cakes.

Now, my own parents were not well off, yet I knew no matter how welcoming Angeline's folks were, they were not the sort my mother and father would willingly have mingled with. I tried to ignore this notion, telling myself that of course it made no difference to me, yet all the same I was troubled by what it might mean for me and Angeline.

Word of our romance spread quickly at the factory and I prepared myself for some good humoured ribbing from my colleagues, but to my surprise, they said nothing. Angeline would push her trolley through the office as usual every morning and I'd see the gaffer, peering over his glasses at us, maybe looking for a sign of us chatting and wasting company time, but she'd just wink at me and smile.

"Tea or coffee?" she'd say like always. Then she'd move on, leaving me to bask in her warmth and the knowledge of what we shared,... all this in spite of the peculiar silence which had descended upon the usual chatter-boxes.

_______________

It was a few months before Angeline met my folks, my mother having insisted I brought her to tea. Angeline was nervous and kept me waiting for hours that day while she got herself ready, though later she told me she had spent most of the time sitting before her mirror, staring at her reflection.

"I didn't want it to end," she told me, later. "And I had a feeling if it was going to end, it would start the moment I went downstairs to meet you."

My mother greeted us with a stiff smile. My father too seemed uncomfortable as he welcomed her inside. My mother had made up the table in the parlour - best China, best cutlery, best linen. I was amazed to see it, for such a spread was usually reserved only for Christmas and Birthdays.

"Sit you down, Angeline," my mother said and so we sat down to salad and cold ham and to Earl Grey tea and all the while I was proud of my mother for going to so much trouble, not having the wit to sense that the trouble had been made for less charitable motives.

The first I knew of it was when I drove Angeline home. "It went well," I said but Angeline pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed it to her eyes.

"They don't like me," she said.

I was stunned. "Sure they like you. What is there not to like? Did my mother say something?"

She shook her head . "She didn't need to."

"Then how,..."

"I just know that's all."

"But, Angeline,..."

"I can't explain," she said with a sad sort of smile. "Best take me home, eh?"

At first I thought it was just her imagination but when I returned home myself I began to get the feeling she was right. They were in the kitchen, talking quietly. All evidence of the tea had been cleared away and the parlour restored to its pristine order. They looked up at my arrival but did not smile and, in the way of my colleagues at the office, nor they did not mention Angeline.

It was weeks before the subject was broached, my father catching me alone one evening and drawing up his chair in that slow, reluctant way he had.

"You're doin' well at the office," he said.

"I'm doing all right, I guess, dad."

"It's more than all right from what I hear."

I was intrigued.

My father went on: "I've heard your gaffer thinks well of you,... that he thinks you'll go a long way."

"Ah, I don't know about that."

"Sure, you'll do well,... but you'll be needin' a good woman behind you, lad. And,.... well,... your mother and I have been talkin'. You see, Angeline doesn't seem,..."

He couldn't finish his words, as if he were ashamed to utter them. My heart sank. Angeline was a fine, attractive girl,... how could they possibly not like her?

Then it all fell into place, the strange silence at the office,... they were all thinking the same,... that Angeline was a pretty girl and all right for a man to raise his eyebrows at, but not the sort for an ambitious lad to think of in a serious way.

"But I don't want to get on, dad," I said.

He laughed softly. "Ah, sure you do."

Angeline was never mentioned again, though I went on seeing her as usual. I did my best not to dwell on it, though it was inevitable, knowing the way everyone was thinking, that an unspoken strain should develop between us. There were times when we were together, I could forget it completely but whenever I returned home, it was almost with a feeling of guilt,... a feeling that all along the street, eyes were watching and heads were shaking.

____________

We had known each other a year when the fair came to town. By now I was feeling myself ground down by the weight of it all. There was a Gypsy-lady at the fair. She eyed us both as we passed her tent. "Read your fortune?" she inquired.

Angeline gave my hand a squeeze. "Go on," she said.

Now, I've never had much time for that sort of thing, so I let her follow the Gypsy into the tent alone and when she came out, I was troubled by her distant expression.

"Well?" I asked.

"She reckons there's a man waitin' to put a ring on my finger,... but that someone's gettin' in the way."

Sure, I had been thinking the same thing myself. We had known each other long enough to be thinking of an engagement. It was time to be moving on but my parents would have been devasated. It was my life, I know, but they had always been fair and decent to me and it seemed ungrateful to think of going against them.If only they could see her the way I did.

"Would you like a go on the Waltzer," I said, evasively.

She looked away then and I knew I had disappointed her.

The next day, when Angeline came through the office, there was a sadness about her. She managed a smile but the energy was gone. I saw her later, in the machine shop with her trolley. One of the lads was chatting to her, and she was laughing, maybe relieved to have someone to lift her mood, if only for a moment.

I realised of course, she was an attractive girl and I would have to do something quickly,... or I would lose her.

That evening, I took myself off for a long walk to think things over but came no nearer achieving a sense of certainty over our future. I remember walking by the river, where it had all begun. There, I thought of Angeline and those first magical weeks, before the clouds had blighted our happiness and suddenly I became angry, seizing upon the notion that if I did nothing I'd be stuck at home with my folks for ever,... and I was twenty six!.... twenty six!...

I went straight round to her house, not daring to leave it another day in case I lost my resolve. She was not expecting me and I was surprised to find her dressed up, as if she was going out.

"Oh," she said and she hesitated a while before showing me into the parlour. I felt uneasy.

"I was wondering," I said.

"Yes,..."

"If you'd marry me."

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. Then she hung her head and remained quiet for a long while. So, I knew her answer, and I knew also that I had lost her.

_____________________

It was a different girl on the tea trolley next day, and eventually word came round that Angeline had handed in her notice. No doubt it caused the tongues to wag, but not half as much as when not a month later, some lad from the machine shop began inviting people to the pub to celebrate his getting engaged,... to Angeline.

I lingered quite late in the office, the evening I found out, just thinking back on it all. I remembered what the gypsy had told Angeline, and I felt a fool. I had supposed it was me waiting to put the ring on her finger, when all along it was some other man - that I had been the one getting in the way.

The gaffer came over, and put his hand on my shoulder. He was not a bad fellow, I thought - quite fatherly in a way.

"You may not think so now," he said. "But you're better off out of it."

I put on a brave face and thanked him. "Maybe you're right," I said, but I did not believe it,... sure, it was a bitter pill, the realisation that she must have been seeing this other fellow for a while, in between the times she'd been seeing me,... but I could not blame her - it was my own fault for dithering so long.

Then the gaffer told me he thought it was time I had more responsibility in the office. "It'll mean promotion," he said,...

When I finally arrived home, I sat down to my tea and wondered why I was not angry with my folks. In truth, a part of me was glad there was nothing contentious between us any more.

My mother looked at me from across the table. "Will you have some more vegetables?" she asked.

I nodded and as she dished them out I found myself wondering that maybe if Angeline and I had been truly meant for one another, then it would not have been so easy for other people's opinions to deny me a sense of certainty about our future. My proposal had been made in a muddle of haste, spurred on by frustration - hardly the best frame of mind for contemplating matrimony and it was perhaps as well for both our sakes that she had turned me down.

"Will you be going out tonight?" my mother asked.

"No, Mam," I said. "Not tonight."

And later, when I retired to my old room I was still thinking of Angeline. Sure, maybe we weren't right for one another,... but not for the reasons everyone supposed. Had she truly been the one, then her merest glance would have stilled my heart and filled me to the brim with certainty,... and all the conflicts I'd been plagued with would have turned to dust. It was not to be,... not this time,... but one day,...

I drifted to sleep, listening to the murmur of my folks chatting late into the night. No doubt it would please them, I thought,....

....when they heard about the promotion.

First published 1999

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m_graeme@yahoo.co.uk