Bells of Bournville Green (23 page)

Greta stood watching him, her jaw clenched, as he stared at the television. Just then she could have hit him with all her strength. Instead she went into the kitchen and filled the yellow plastic bowl to wash up. Seething with feelings, she stood for a long time with her hands resting in the soapy water, staring out at their tiny strip of garden with the old privy at one side. Trevor made her so angry and frustrated, but at the same time she longed for him to love her, for everything to feel right. Marriage was a lonely place and she was filled with longing. She saw the years stretching ahead. Couldn’t it be better than this?

Chapter Thirty

When Pat came out of hospital at the end of March, Mr Floyd had still not relented. She was forced to take up lodgings in a bedsit in Selly Oak which she and Mrs Floyd hurriedly found.

Greta was disgusted by this.

‘So much for Christians!’ she raged to Trevor. ‘His own daughter and he’s treating her like some kind of whore!’

‘Well – she asked for it.’

‘
What
?’ Greta shouted at him. ‘What’re you on about, you prat? Pat was as innocent as anything – she was taken advantage of!’

‘That’s what they all say,’ Trevor said angrily. He seemed determined to disagree with whatever she said these days.

Greta went to see Pat in her new place, and it wasn’t bad: an upstairs room in a house off the Bristol Road, quite newly painted and not too dark. Mother and daughter had set it up the best they could, and Pat made Greta a cup of tea on a little gas ring.

‘My Mom’s been so kind,’ she said.

Apart from looking pale she seemed quite recovered, and was putting a brave face on. ‘I think it’s brought us closer. And she says she’s sure Dad’ll come round in the end.’

She looked very anxiously at Greta. ‘No one knows except you, do they? At work, I mean?’ She was due back the next week. ‘If they found out, I’m sure I’d get the sack. Thanks for being such a good pal.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Greta said, with a pang of guilt. She knew perfectly well that she wasn’t the only person in on the secret. Her Mom knew, and probably Edie, at Cadbury’s, and the Biddles and Marleen, but it seemed to have been contained and none of them were spiteful enough to report Pat and make her lose her job. At least, fingers crossed, that was the way it seemed to be.

‘I just want to forget all about it,’ Pat whispered, perched on the edge of the pale green candlewick bedspread with her cup of tea. ‘And about
him.’

Ian Plumbridge had come to the hospital to visit just once, at the beginning. He hadn’t a clue what to say to her and Pat had not heard another thing from him.

‘Useless bastard – what a way to go on,’ Greta said. ‘And you were ever so keen on him, weren’t you?’

Even now, Pat’s eyes filled when she thought about it. She nodded. ‘I really loved him. He was obviously only out for what he could get.’ Wiping her eyes determinedly, she said, ‘I won’t make that mistake again. I just feel so guilty about Mom, having to manage Josie all on her own and everything.’

‘Well, what if you’d got married?’ Greta said. ‘You’d have to move out then, wouldn’t you?’

Pat shook her head, miserably. ‘I s’pose so. That’s not going to happen now, is it? I’ve let them down. Disgraced them.’ She looked seriously at Greta. ‘I owe them, Gret. I don’t feel as if I deserve a life of my own. Not until Dad can forgive me, anyway.’

Greta looked at her friend’s sad face. Knowing what Stanley Floyd was like, she thought her friend might wait for ever for forgiveness.

As the spring passed into summer, Greta tried to forget about her own feelings and look after Pat. She worried about her, with her pinched face and sad eyes, and tried to do nice things to cheer her up.

‘We may not be able to afford a holiday,’ she said to Pat, ‘but at least we can sunbathe here!’

She encouraged her to get out in the fresh air, walking round Bournville Green and the Girls’ Grounds, and groups of them sat out to eat their dinner on hot days by the lily pond, where they could sprawl on the grass and drink in the sun. At weekends they took their costumes and went to the Lido at Rowheath, the recreation ground for Cadbury’s workers. Pat had always been a keen swimmer, and a good splash in the water always put a smile on her face.

One day, in the heat of August, they went shopping in town and found themselves walking across the end of Pinfold Street and found it was all blocked off. Across the street big white banners were draped, saying, ‘Birmingham’s Boy, Steve!’

‘They’re filming,’ a man told them. ‘Some film called
Privilege.’

‘Let’s go and see!’ Greta said. ‘Blimey, a film – we might be in it!’

They caught glimpses of the film crew hurrying along behind a clutch of motorbikes, and they hung about for a bit, wondering if the cameras had swept across their faces.

‘We’ll have to go and see it,’ Pat said. Her cheerfulness was returning more now, even though Ian’s and her father’s treatment of her were a permanent sadness. ‘We might see our ugly mugs flash past!’

‘Huh – speak for yourself!’ Greta said.

When she got home that day, Marleen was waiting on the doorstep.

‘You again?’ Greta said sarkily, because Marleen seemed to be turning up a lot these days. ‘Looking for a free babysitter again?’ Marleen wanted someone to mind her kids on a Sunday afternoon and Trevor was ideal for the job. Sometimes she even came and just left the kids and went off. Greta got sick of it, but Trev said he didn’t mind. And the way he said it now was always touched with bitterness.
You
may not be able to give me any kids, was the message, but at least I can play with Marleen’s.

‘You’ve taken your time,’ Marleen said, but Greta saw she was really anxious. ‘You’d better come, Gret. Mom’s up the hospital. It’s Herbert – he’s collapsed.’

They didn’t have long to wait. Soon after they got round to Charlotte Road, Ruby walked in, and her face told them everything. They both stood up, unsure what to do.

‘Well—’ Stopping just inside the doorway, Ruby made a helpless gesture with her hands. She looked much older suddenly, her hair limp and straggly, the dark roots showing. Greta felt a pang for her. ‘He’s gone. Just like that. His heart, they said. He didn’t even make it to the hospital.’

‘Sorry, Mom,’ Greta said softly.

Ruby put her hands over her face and her shoulders began to shake. Greta and Marleen helped her to a chair, but she gathered herself, not giving way to it, and looked up at them.

‘I can’t take it in. He was just there, right as rain. Then he said he had a pain, he sat down . . . Thought it was just indigestion. There’s one thing, he didn’t suffer long.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Marleen said, softer and kind for once.

‘Yes bab, ta.’ Ruby sat on, staring ahead of her, obviously in shock.

Greta sat on the chair close to her. The clock ticked loudly.

‘Well,’ Ruby said, eventually. ‘That’s him gone now as well.’

And then she began to weep.

Herbert’s body was cremated at Lodge Hill cemetery on a boiling hot day. Greta didn’t feel too well when she got up in the morning, and by the time they reached the crematorium she was feeling quite sick and dizzy.

‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me,’ she said to Trevor. ‘I must’ve eaten something bad. Must’ve been that fish last night. Are you feeling all right?’

‘Yeah,’ Trevor shrugged. ‘I’m fine.’

Greta felt there was nothing she would have liked better than to crawl back into bed but she couldn’t miss the funeral. As she sat in the little chapel for the brief ceremony, she felt more and more sick and faint.

Everyone was there of course: Edie and Anatoli, and Janet and Martin Ferris, lending support to their old friend. Greta could see them thinking,
poor old Ruby.
And while she couldn’t stand Herbert herself, she felt sad for her mother. She’d had such a cursed life when it came to men! With a pang of gloom, in her sickly state, she realized she had no real idea how things were supposed to be between a man and a woman because she’d never seen it – not when it was good and happy. The sick feeling got worse, a cold sweat passed over her and she put her head in her hands.

She just managed to get through the short service, but by the end she was feeling so bad she had to run outside and was sick in one of the flower-beds.

‘Greta?’ She heard Janet’s voice behind her as she was struggling to recover. ‘Oh dear, you poor thing! I thought you were looking groggy!’

‘I think I’d better go home,’ Greta gasped. ‘Oh, I feel dreadful!’

‘Let’s get you some water, and then Martin can drive you,’ Janet said, taking her arm. ‘Come along, dear.’

Greta felt so ill she hardly remembered the journey home, just the relief of being able to lie down at last and give way to being ill.

‘I don’t know what I ate,’ she said to Ruby two days later. As soon as she was feeling better, she went round to her Mom’s. ‘Whatever it was turned me inside out, I can tell you! I’m sorry for missing the rest of it, Mom.’

‘Can’t be helped,’ Ruby said. ‘Your face was nearly as green as the grass, bab! It went off all right – and Edie and Janet were a big help, bless them.’

She looked pale and sad, as if the life had gone out of her.

‘He wasn’t the love of my life or anything, Gret. If anyone was that, it was your Dad. But he was all right – and he was company.’ She managed a wan smile. ‘Ah well. Seems to be my bad luck, doesn’t it?’

Greta smiled. Her Mom could bounce back, that was one thing for sure, and one thing she admired about her.

‘Maybe your luck’ll change one day,’ she said.

But Ruby found she had another bitter pill to swallow on the reading of Herbert’s will. He had made no provision in the will, she told Greta and Marleen shamefacedly, and there was nothing left to her at all.

The girls were completely confused. ‘But if you’re his wife you get his money don’t you?’ Marleen frowned. ‘I thought that was how it works?’

Ruby was shaking her head, looking hurt and embarrassed. ‘Thing is – we weren’t married.’

‘But . . . Mom what’re you on about?’ Marleen argued. ‘You got married – the day of Mary Lou’s christening!’

‘No, bab – we didn’t’ Ruby gave a ragged sigh. ‘We told everyone we was wed so it wouldn’t look bad us living together. But Herbert was never properly divorced from his first wife. They just never got round to it somehow. And I thought he’d altered his will, but I was wrong as it turned out.’

Herbert had had a bit of money put away, but in law it was all due to go to his estranged wife and their two children who had both moved away from Birmingham.

‘Did he tell you he’d altered his will?’ Greta asked. She could hardly take all this in.

‘Well, not in so many words . . .’

‘What a bastard!’ Marleen said.

Ruby tried to rally. ‘It’s not that I begrudge it them really,’ she said soberly. ‘His wife and kids I mean. She was married to him for a long while. But he could have made some effort for me . . . I feel as if he’s used me and not bothered to think of me at all. It’s not a very nice feeling.’

Greta felt for her, however much this confirmed her opinion of Herbert Smail. Her Mom always talked as if she ran men for what she could get, but really she was romantic and seemed to get used again and again.

‘Oh, he’ll look after me,’ she’d heard her say so many times. When it came down to it that had never been true.

‘I wasn’t expecting a fortune or anything, but a little nest egg would’ve been nice.’ Ruby sighed, wearily. ‘Ah well – at least I can work, eh? Back to square one again – story of my life!’

Chapter Thirty-One

A few days later Greta woke feeling groggy. Oh no! I can’t have eaten something bad again, she thought. She had still barely recovered from the memory of the upset stomach which had started the day of the funeral. She’d never felt so ill in her life. Surely it wasn’t that again!

‘P’raps it’s my cooking,’ she said wryly to Trevor.

Trevor, who was sitting sleepily on the edge of the bed, grunted in reply. She wasn’t going to get any sympathy there, Greta could see. When they first lived together Trevor would have been sweet and concerned, but these days they were growing further and further apart.

‘I’ll go to work and hope it doesn’t get any worse,’ she said, dragging herself out of bed. ‘If it does, I’ll just have to get home somehow.’

She felt queasy all morning, but once she’d had her lunch it wore off and by the evening she was feeling better.

‘I haven’t poisoned myself quite as bad as last time!’ she joked at work.

But the next day it happened again, and the next.

‘I don’t understand it,’ she complained to Pat after a few days. They were sitting out on the grass by the lily pond. ‘It’s not like a bug – I think I’m over it and then it just comes back again.’

Pat’s eyes were searching her face. ‘So you just feel sick in the mornings?’

It took Greta a moment to catch the meaning of her words. She burst out laughing.

‘Yes . . . But I mean, not like
that
. . . I just don’t feel too good, that’s all!’

‘You sure?’ Pat said in a low voice. ‘You couldn’t be . . . ? That’s just what I had . . .’

‘No!’ Greta said. ‘I can’t be!’

She’d been making her regular morning visits to the little lavender box in the pantry. She and Trevor still made love every so often, even if things between them weren’t very good in any other way. She found it kept him happy and she quite liked it too. It was their best time together, when they could snuggle up and feel loving, even if it all quickly wore off afterwards. Sometimes she thought it was the only thing holding them together.

‘Well, sounds as if it could be,’ Pat said solemnly. She leaned closer and whispered, ‘The doctor could give you a test.’

A few days later she emerged from Dr Lonsdale’s office, in shock.

‘But I can’t be!’ she gasped, when he gave her his opinion.

‘You seem very sure,’ Dr Lonsdale said. ‘But you say you’ve missed your period, you’re feeling sick in the mornings . . .’