Bells of Bournville Green (17 page)

He had a speech prepared in his head but she spoke first, coming to sit on the other chair when he had scarcely realized she was there, rubbing her eyes sleepily after being in the darkened room with Shimon. Her hair hung loose on her shoulders.

‘Today, of all days, I want to speak clearly with you.’ In seconds she became the tough, resolute Gila, the kibbutz Gila. Reflected in her eyes he saw dots of light from the lamp across at the edge of the concrete strip.

She’s so beautiful he thought, and with his whole being he wanted to take her and hold her, but she was not in the same soft mood as he.

‘I’m so sorry, Doodi darling, for what I did. For stopping taking the pills. I don’t really understand myself, except that I am in conflict. Sometimes my heart wants something that my head tells me is wrong and I don’t know how to manage it. But now I feel strong and I have come to a decision. It will be better for our future – for all of us – if I begin my studies as soon as possible. I am going to apply to the School of Dentistry and study to get my qualifications quickly. Then I will be useful and we will not be so poor. It all makes perfect sense.’

David watched her earnest face. All the things he had been dying to say on the way home from the Old City seemed pushed aside by the clear, hard-headed thoughts of his wife. But he tried to regain them.

‘Or, we could just carry on and have a family,’ he said. ‘Children – lots of children . . .’

Gila’s face softened and she leaned forward and stroked his cheek. ‘My darling, sometimes you are so romantic, and so stupid. Where exactly are we going to put these children? On the roof perhaps? And what are they going to eat, or wear – especially when you are off being an army doctor? We have no money – we should starve!’

‘We’d manage,’ he said stubbornly, knowing all the same that she was right.

In the shadows he could see the tender laughter in her eyes. ‘Of course we would, you silly boy,’ she said lightly. ‘No, please, Doodi – I have been thinking about it all day. It will be hard – very hard – but we can manage. In the term times I could take Shimon to my mother.’ She held up her hand against his protest. Gila’s mother was frail, nervy. ‘It would be good for him to be at Hamesh – he will have company on the kibbutz, and learn about the life. If my mother cannot cope, he can stay with Auntie Miriam in Tel Aviv – she adores him. And in the vacation we can be with him all the time.’

He could hear that she was struggling with her emotions, being brave, when the thought of being separated from her son for such long periods would almost break her heart.

‘Love, you don’t have to do this – not yet,’ he argued. ‘Wait at least until Shim is in school. . .’

But she was shaking her head, tears welling in her eyes. ‘No, Doodi – it’s for the best. We cannot just carry on like this, or have more children now. It is just too difficult. My training will give me a sense of purpose and afterwards I can work and have more children. We are still young.’

He knew she was right, and relief flooded through him, yet at the same time his vision was evaporating: of himself at the head of a great family which would nail him down into this place, this rough, spiky country. He would have to work it all out in a different way.

He stood up and took Gila’s hand, drawing her to her feet, and held her warm, curving shape in his arms.

‘You are so brave,’ he said. ‘You will find it hard, leaving our little one. I will find it hard too.’

‘I know,’ she said, tears running down her cheeks. ‘But I am thinking for the future: it is best to do the hard thing first.’

He kissed her wet cheeks, stroking away her tears with his thumbs.

‘I love you so much.’ He was so moved by her. ‘Come inside, will you – to bed?’

She nodded at him, trying to smile.

He hesitated for a second.

‘You’ve taken your pill?’

Her smile broadened, teasing a little now. ‘Yes, my lovely tyrant. I have taken my pill.’

Part Three

Birmingham, 1965–7

Chapter Twenty-One

Spring 1965

‘Gret! You there?’

Greta rolled her eyes in irritation, hearing Trevor come crashing in from work. Sometimes she thought he’d break the door off their little house in Glover Road. And there was always the shout as he came in.

‘What?’ she called, not moving from the cooker. Trevor seemed to expect her to drop everything and come running like an eager puppy whenever he called, even though she was cooking their tea.

‘Hey, bab—’ Trevor burst into the kitchen, dressed as ever in his black gabardine, even though it was a warm spring day. He threw his arms round her from behind, cupping his hands over her breasts. ‘Let’s go out tonight, eh? I got a good couple of tips today. There was some bloke, from Manchester he was, said he was just passing and he gave me five bob! Said he’s never had a better hair cut! I thought we’d go down the boozer . . .’

Greta squirmed, half annoyed, half amused.

‘Trev, get off! That tickles – look, you’ve brought me all up in goose pimples!’ She freed herself from his grip. ‘You know I can’t go out – it’s my club night.’

‘Oh, Gret!’ Trevor threw his coat angrily over a chair. ‘You’re always cowing well out these days – we never go out no more – not just the two of us!’

‘Yes we do . . .’ She tried to think, as she said it, of the last time they’d been out together, but realized with a shock that it was a long time. ‘But you know these are my nights out – French Monday, club tonight. That’s all. We can go out any other night if you want.’

‘Make us a cuppa tea then,’ he said, sitting down sulkily on top of his coat. ‘At least you can do that for us.’

Greta put the kettle on, biting her lip. Trev was envious, she knew that. Her going to the class on Monday seemed to annoy him the most. ‘What d’you want to learn French for?’ he’d say. ‘You’re not going to France, are you?’ The Seven O’Clock Club at Cadbury’s, a social club, just seemed to wind him up because she had somewhere to go and he didn’t. She liked dancing too, but Trevor said he couldn’t dance. And he thought she was getting full of high-flown ideas, reading books and all that.

‘Why don’t you go down the Old Oak with your mates?’ she’d ask. ‘You know – while I’m out. You might as well go and enjoy yourself.’

The plain truth was Trevor didn’t really have any mates. He hadn’t been very pally with anyone at school and now he just worked with Edie’s Dad, Mr Marshall, and he was old enough to be his grandfather. Trev just wanted to go out with her and no one else. Or better still, stay in and watch Dick Emery on the telly. He was a proper Derby and Joan sort, whereas she still went out with Pat now and again, as well as to her clubs at Cadbury’s.

‘Look, we’ll go tomorrow,’ she said.

‘It’ll be too late then,’ Trevor said morosely.

‘Too late for what?’

‘I want to go tonight.’

Greta could feel herself beginning to lose her temper. All Trev could ever think of to do was going down the pub! Even if she suggested anything else he’d just shrug and say, ‘Oh, I dunno. No – let’s just go down the boozer . . .’

And there was she doing all sorts. Two weeks ago the Seven O’Clock Club had gone to the Alpha TV studios in Aston to see them recording
Thank Your Lucky Stars –
and the Beatles had been on! It was ever so glamorous, the cameras and bright lights! Trev had been green over that, her seeing the Beatles in the flesh. But there were all sorts of other things going on – talks and sketches, music and outings, and he just poured scorn on them or said, ‘What d’you want to go and do that for?’

Sometimes, she thought, all Trev ever wanted to do was sit in a pub with a pint and stare at the wall. More and more it made her want to scream. She took a deep breath, telling herself she was being unkind. After all, Trevor had good reason to be fed up with her as well.

‘Look, love—’ She went and stood behind his chair, hands on his shoulders. ‘We’ll go tomorrow. It’s a date – all right?’

Trevor twisted round, his pale face eager, like a little boy. ‘Shall we, Gret? Eh – come here.’

He pulled her round to sit on his lap.

‘Trev, the kettle’s about to boil – and I’m all grease down my front!’ She tried to get up, but he pulled her down.

‘Sit here – I want you to.’ He cuddled up against her, a hand on her breast once again, then ran his tongue along the lobe of her ear. ‘That’s my girl. Eh, Gret, before you go, can we . . . ? You know . . . You’ve got time, ain’t you . . . ?’

‘Trev! No I haven’t! You’re terrible you are!’

Trev grinned in a sort of ‘Well, it was worth a try’ sort of way. Then his face became serious again.

‘I don’t s’pose . . . Is there any sign of . . . You know . . . ?’

Trevor had no words for anything that went on with women’s bodies, periods, pregnancies, the very names of anything. He always trailed off, leaving her to guess what he was trying to say. But this time she knew exactly what he meant. It was what he always meant.

The kettle started to whistle and she jumped up.

‘No,’ she said softly, her back to him. ‘There isn’t. Sorry, love.’

She could feel him staring at her.

‘Our Mom says you’d oughta go and see the doctor,’ Trevor said. ‘You ain’t taking anything, are yer?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Our Mom says there’s pills you can have now to stop it. . .’

‘No!
Why would I be doing that?’

‘She says no one takes this long to catch for a babby if there ain’t nothing wrong.’

Greta put the tea and a mug on the table, still not looking at him, but her heart was pounding and she knew her face had blushed a guilty red. Two years they’d been married and Trevor had been patient at first and he hadn’t got a clue anyway. She kept telling him that it often took a long while.

But
two years!
Of course they’d all be on about it – Ruby, Trev’s mother, even Marleen.
Hasn’t our Gret caught for a babby yet?
Ruby had said things to her, but Greta had fended her off. What business was it of Mom’s whether she became instantly pregnant the minute she got married? Didn’t anyone have anything else on their mind?

But poor Trevor – she knew he longed for children. That was the whole point of getting married so far as he was concerned. He wanted a wife who was always in the kitchen with a gaggle of kids round her, and so far he had neither.

‘Maybe I will,’ she said gently, pouring milk into his cup. ‘That’s a good idea.’

She knew she wouldn’t. There was no point in going to the doctor because Dr Lonsdale knew exactly why she wasn’t having a baby. It was he who prescribed the little cards of pills that she kept in a secret little soap box with a sprig of lavender painted on the lid, in the kitchen cupboard, behind the tins and packets, the pills she had been taking since the very week they got married.

When she said ‘Yes’ to marrying Trevor, that summer, after things had ended with Dennis, everything seemed to happen very fast. She had gone running back to Trevor, to all that was easy and familiar, needing his adoration after her humiliation with Dennis, and Trevor had obliged with gleeful willingness.

They married at the registry office. She found a long, pretty white dress in C & A and Trevor wore a suit which hung loosely on his skinny frame. He had beamed with delight the whole day long.

‘I can’t believe my luck!’ he kept telling everyone. ‘The prettiest girl in the world and she’s going to be Mrs Biddle!’

Alf Biddle found them the house for rent in Glover Road.

‘Nice and near Trev’s work and yours, Gret,’ he said kindly.

Greta had forced a grateful smile. She had hoped that getting away from home would entail going further afield than just round the corner in Glover Road, but still, the rent was reasonable and it was better than nothing. At least she’d got away from Marleen and Mom and flaming Herbert Smail. By the time she moved out he was starting to leave his slippers in the house.

Forty-six Glover Road was owned by a fat, lazy landlord who did not keep the place in good repair. There were big patches of damp on some of the walls and both the front step and door frame were broken. Trevor, handier with his hands than Greta expected, was delighted with it.

‘We can soon sort it out,’ he said, arm round Greta’s shoulders as they first went in with the key. ‘Our little castle, that’s what it is.’

Greta went through that whole time in a shocked daze. Ruby was pleased, of course. That was what you did, marriage and kids, and it was at least one of her daughters off her hands. She also liked the Biddles. Trevor was a good lad, she said, now he’d grown up a bit. Marleen just shrugged and said, ‘You might as well, mightn’t you?’ Pat tried to look pleased for her.

‘You sure about it, Gret?’ she asked once, as they walked home from work together. She sounded concerned.

But Greta just said, ‘Yeah, course. Trev’s all right. Anyway – at least it’s not like the old days at Cad-bury’s when they gave you a carnation and a bible and a wave bye-bye if you got married. I’ll still be here, you know!’

‘Oh, that’s what you think. It won’t be long before you’ll be up to your eyes in nappies and bottles,’ Pat predicted.

Greta had already decided that this was not going to happen, but she didn’t say anything. She squeezed her friend’s arm.

‘I expect it’ll be the same for you soon. But I’m not going anywhere, Pat. We’ve practically been brought up by Cadbury’s, haven’t we? All those days in the school and factory, and all the swims we’ve had – well, we still will!’

Pat looked a bit comforted by this. They had often had lunchtime dips in the Girls’ Baths, where they had been taught to swim as youngsters.

‘Me getting married won’t make any difference – honest it won’t.’

She knew, in a vague way, while she was in town buying her wedding dress, and she knew even as she stood in front of the registrar making her wedding vows, that this was all a terrible mistake. Trev loved her, that she did believe. She needed someone to love her and want her, and in a spirit of hoping for the best, she bet on that being enough. She knew she didn’t love him and felt badly about it, so she tried to be affectionate. After all she
liked
Trevor. He was a mate, someone she knew through and through. But she had barely yet admitted to herself that she’d married him on the rebound because she was angry: with Dennis for his snobby, superior assessment of her, with her Mom and Marleen and the way everything was at home. And she was angry with herself, for not doing more with her life, for not achieving more for herself.