Bells of Bournville Green (18 page)

A few days before the wedding she went to Doctor Lonsdale for the pill. He was not a thorough doctor, and when she said she was about to marry and wanted to delay having a family, he said, ‘Very well,’ and handed her the prescription. She never said a word to Trevor.

Marriage felt like a game, as if she and Trevor were playing at it like children, even if they were married solemnly, in the eyes of the law. But there was one thing she was sure about: there would be no babies, not for a long time.

Chapter Twenty-Two

She couldn’t complain that Trevor was unloving. Not at first, especially. He practically worshipped her. Whenever he came in from work the first thing he always did was fling his arms round her and kiss her. And she was flattered and, for the first time in her life, enjoyed being at the centre of someone’s adoring attention.

There was the new experience of having their own home, even if it was tatty and the landlord never seemed to bother with anything. It was all a bit like playing house, like children, having fun buying pieces of furniture from second-hand shops and painting and covering the walls with papers in bold, bright, patterns, orange and brown circles in one room, green leaves with big pink flowers in another.

They bought a second-hand record player and Trevor started talking about saving up for a car. Greta suddenly felt very grown up, having her own frontdoor key, able to make her own decisions without her Mom bossing her about at every step. Best of all, she didn’t have to come home to a house full of Mary Lou’s tantrums, the squalling of Marleen’s new baby, Elvis, or Herbert Smail’s oily presence. And Trevor was her mate, she’d known him much of her life and was comfortable with him, as she was with his Mom and Dad. There wasn’t anything she had to make too much effort about. She didn’t feel all the time that she was trying too hard, the way she had with Dennis.

In fact she didn’t feel much for Trevor at all, except a familiar fondness. Certainly there was no passion, although when it came to the bedroom, she was touched by his enthusiasm in that department. Trevor couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

‘We’ll soon have us a nice little family, won’t we, Gret?’ he used to say in the early days, as they lay in their little bedroom overlooking the street, where they heard the postman whistling along from house to house in the mornings.

Greta would smile at him and say something like, ‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we, love?’

After a few months had passed she started to say, ‘There’s no hurrying Mother Nature. She takes her time.’

Trevor was very patient to begin with. ‘I suppose it’s nice to have a bit of time on our own,’ he said. ‘Once kiddies come along there’s no turning back – that’s what our Mom always says. All the same – it’d be nice if summat happened soon.’

‘Oh I ’spect it will,’ she said, comfortingly.

Six months after Greta and Trevor’s wedding, Ruby had persuaded Marleen to have a christening for Mary Lou and Elvis. Both Greta and Marleen were puzzled by her making an issue out of this, and it only became clear why later in the day.

It was February, and they all gathered at St Francis’s Church on the Green in Bournville huddled up in warm coats. Herbert Smail was there, to Greta’s disgust.

‘Anyone’d think he was part of the family,’ she complained to Marleen.

He seemed to have put on even more weight and his jacket buttons were under strain. His hair was combed over his bald patch and even in the cold he looked hot and bothered, yet also very pleased with himself.

Marleen was still as thin as a rake and had on a short dress in black and white diagonal stripes which made Greta’s eyes go funny every time she looked at it. Marleen had bleached her hair and back-combed it up into a big beehive and she was heavily made up with eye-liner and mascara. Even with all the makeup on, she looked exhausted.

Greta and Ruby had to help her keep Mary Lou and Elvis under control while the ceremony took place. Meanwhile Ruby stood smiling proudly, holding Herbert’s arm. Elvis was a proper little bullet-headed bruiser, who was just beginning to crawl and wriggled and squirmed constantly, wanting to be put down, and Mary Lou kept yanking at her mother’s skirt, trying to get her attention. They had to keep a tight hold on them by the font. Eventually their small party emerged out of the church into the cold grey day.

‘Right now, you lot,’ Ruby said. ‘We’ll all go back to ours and wet Elvis’s head.’ They walked back to Selly Oak, and almost as soon as they were through the door, coats still on, Ruby seemed bursting to speak.

‘Just listen a tick before you all start.’ She was pink-cheeked. ‘This is a double celebration. We’ve got a surprise for yer.’ She eyed Herbert, taking his arm with a coquettish smile which made Greta’s stomach lurch with embarrassment. ‘Thing is, Herbert and I have a surprise for you . . .’ She paused dramatically and Herbert beamed with revolting bashfulness. ‘He and I got married yesterday – on the quiet with a couple of witnesses. We just wanted a quiet wedding – no fuss. So – we’re now man and wife!’

Greta looked at Marleen, who mimicked being sick. But everyone else tried to sound pleased, and soon Ruby was opening bottles and putting out plates of sausage rolls and there was nothing they could do about any of it anyway. Greta even felt sorry for Marleen.

‘It’s a bit much,’ she said to her, ‘Mom making you have a christening so she can take it over and tell us about her and Herbert getting married by the back door!’

Marleen rolled her eyes. ’I just let them get on with it. Here – take him off me a minute. Give over, will yer!’ she snapped at Elvis, who was throwing himself backwards as she tried to hold on to him. They were all in the front room, the small family and a very few of Ruby’s Cadbury’s friends. Greta noticed that her mother had not invited either Edie or Janet. Wouldn’t they have approved of her marrying Herbert? Was that why she didn’t ask them, even though they were such old friends – they knew her all too well!

She was sitting on the sofa holding a squirming Elvis, amazed at his eight-month-old strength, when Trevor came over in his baggy suit. He squatted down beside them.

‘Come ’ere mate – I’ll take him for a bit, shall I? Give Marleen a rest.’

Greta felt a pang of guilt and she saw Elvis look up awestruck at Trevor and move eagerly into his arms. Trevor was good with kids, it was obvious. And she was depriving him of having any. But the thought of it, of being stuck with it all and with Trevor, appalled her, she was shocked to realize how much. That wasn’t how you were supposed to feel, was it?

Marleen sat smoking and watching without much apparent interest as Trevor played with Elvis, holding him high in the air until the little boy let out delighted chuckles. Marleen had calmed down a bit since having Elvis. Either calmed down or had the stuffing knocked out of her, Greta couldn’t decide which. She just seemed rather lifeless now.

A burst of laughter rang across the room. Ruby, Herbert and one or two others were sharing a joke. She watched her Mom, laughing, self-satisfied yet somehow vulnerable as well, and the sight dragged her down. Was this the fate of women in her family – to keep marrying any old bloke who came along? Her own wedding had only been six months ago, and hadn’t she done just the same thing? She pushed the thought away. She and Trevor were OK! They were happy enough weren’t they?

But hard as she tried to persuade herself, a sinking, desperate feeling came over her as she watched her mother link her arm through that of a man who none of them could stand and who she didn’t think Ruby loved either. He was just someone, anyone in trousers to have around the place. Watching her mother that day, it was as if she had suddenly woken up and found herself in a place she didn’t expect. How had she come to be married to Trevor? How could she have done it all so lightly, just rushing into it? How could she ever make anything of herself now? She had slipped somehow into marriage and now there was no turning back.

This thought, as she stood there on her mother’s third wedding day, a match so ghastly that even Ruby had kept the ceremony a secret, made her feel utterly desolate.

When they got home later, Trevor was all lit up. He had spent most of the afternoon entertaining Mary Lou and Elvis, making them laugh, tickling them and clowning around. They kept hearing Elvis’s gurgling laughter.

‘Wasn’t that lovely?’ he said as they got into the house. Greta went wearily and put the kettle on.

‘Umm, s’pose, so.’ She slammed it down on the hob.

‘What d’you mean, s’pose so? Your Mom’s done well for herself there, I reckon. That Herbert’s all right – and he’s got a bit of money behind him.’

‘Has he?’ she asked, indifferently. ‘Maybe
that’s
why she married him then.’

Trevor looked shocked. ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say, is it? They looked very happy together.’

‘Have you
looked
at him, Trevor? Can’t you see, he’s just vile!’

‘No he’s not! And anyway – you’re the one who’s always saying looks aren’t everything!’

Greta stared at him furiously, wanting to lash out in her frustration. Damn Trevor and the whole bloody lot of them! All she said was something she had been thinking about all afternoon. It was when she had decided for certain.

‘I’m going to go to French lessons,’ she announced.

‘What?’ Trev’s brow crinkled. ‘What’re you on about? I don’t get it.’

‘No,’ Greta snapped. ‘I don’t s’pose you do, Trevor.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

The other thing that had finally propelled Greta into attending classes and trying to better herself was a chance meeting with Edie one day, in the girls’ dining room at Cadbury’s. Edie was carrying a bowl of soup on a tray, her russet hair tied up neatly.

‘Oh hello, Greta!’ Edie greeted her warmly, her smile including Pat as well. ‘How are you, love?’

‘All right,’ Greta said, blushing. She liked and admired Edie.

‘Come and sit with me,’ Edie invited, and Greta followed her small but robust figure to a table where they all sat together.

‘They’ve taken me on for seasonal work now I’ve got Peter,’ Edie said, ‘so I’m back along with your Mom – just like old times! We work three days together – she’s off today and I’m off Fridays. They’ve taken me on for the great Easter egg rush – I’m packing them into the Waddies.’ The Milk Tray eggs were packed into Waddington’s cartons. ‘Oh it’s really nice to be back, I can tell you. I’ve missed it.’

Her freckly face was full of enthusiasm and Greta saw she was looking at someone who was radiantly happy.

‘How is Peter?’ Greta asked.

Peter was a handsome little boy with a magnificent head of black curls and obviously like his father, Anatoli, in appearance. Greta thought what a handsome pair of boys Edie had brought up. She remembered that David had been a looker as well. In fact David had been rather awesome in every way, very clever and, once they had grown out of childhood, she had always felt he was way above her.

‘Oh, Peter’s full of it,’ Edie said happily. ‘I can hardly believe he’s three already – it won’t be long before he’s at school. And he goes off to the shop and helps Anatoli while I’m at work. I was worried to death when he first started taking him down there, in case he swallowed any of the pills or anything by mistake. But Anatoli says he’s very sensible. He’s starting to teach Peter the violin as well . . . He’s such a grown-up little chap already – he knows all his letters and he’s learning to read.’

Greta listened enviously to Edie’s pride in her son. If only she’d had a Mom and Dad who had spent time with her and taught her things! She felt handicapped by ignorance and awkwardness, a sense of wanting more but not knowing what to do about it. She went to her classes and read any book she could get her hands on, but she never really felt she knew what she was doing.

After Edie had asked after Pat’s family, Greta plucked up the courage to say, ‘Are you still going to the art school?’ Ruskin Hall was another provision by the Cadbury foundation.

‘Oh
yes,’
Edie enthused. ‘I’ve had one of my paintings chosen to go in the exhibition again this year. And I’ve been doing some sculpture, which is all new to me. Oh, it’s marvellous there! I don’t think Anatoli would let me stop even if I wanted to – and I certainly don’t!’

She looked at Greta intently. ‘Why – are you interested in coming to the Ruskin as well?’

Greta blushed. ‘I’m no good at drawing,’ she said.
I’m no good at anything
was how she felt.

‘You were always the clever one,’ Edie said. ‘I remember when you and David were little he used to read to you sometimes. Marleen always got bored and wandered off, but you used to sit there, your eyes almost out on stalks listening to him.’

‘Did I?’ Greta blushed. She could remember, dimly, sitting at David’s side, his thick jumpers and wayward curls. ‘I ’spect he read very well.’

‘Oh yes – but so did you, later. You were a bright little spark. Janet always says you could have gone far.’

Though she didn’t show it, Greta was glowing inside. She felt like getting up and doing cartwheels round the dining room. Someone believed she could do and be more! But she stumbled on the words
could have gone far . . .
Was it too late now? After her rebuff by Dennis she had fallen into marriage as if it was a refuge from everything else and an answer to all her problems.

It was then she made up her mind that she was going to take up the opportunities that working at Cadbury’s offered her.

She joined the Monday French classes. Ever since she’d seen the picture of Hilda Hurlbutt, the Cadbury Girl of the Year, standing smartly dressed outside the church of the Sacré Coeur in Paris, where she had been taken for her prize, Greta had seen France and French as something romantic and desirable. Of course she had never learned French at school – not at the Secondary Modern. In the eleven-plus she’d barely bothered to answer any of the questions – what was the point? That was how she had felt at the time. And then they’d gone to America anyway, where everything was different, and trying to study in any house where Carl Christie lived was impossible. So everything had drifted, any feeling that she might be good at anything or capable of more, even though her grandparents had told her that her father Wally had been a clever boy at school. That was how it had been for so long, even if they had thought she was the studious one. Anyone was studious compared with Marleen!