Bells of Bournville Green (3 page)

They parted in Oak Tree Lane, as Dennis’s route took him round the back of the hospital. As soon as she was alone, Greta felt herself slow down, her emotions sinking again as she dawdled home. What about when Dennis found out what her family was like? Mom would be back by now. Greta felt disgusted with herself for some of the things she’d said to Ruby that morning, but she still couldn’t trust herself not to say them all over again if Ruby started on her. She’d just have to go and face it. It was only a few days until Christmas. Ruby’s seasonal work at Cadbury’s was coming to an end and she’d be home more. They couldn’t go on like this.

As she turned into Kitty Road she realized Pat had been right – there was snow on the way. The sky had that laden, almost creaking look to it, and the flakes were coming down now, large and silent, floating round her face. The sight of it gave her a childlike feeling of wonder that made her feel like skipping down the road. She saw someone halfway up the road, coming towards her, tall and gangling and very familiar.

‘All right, Greta?’ he hailed her, waving a long, skinny arm.

‘All right, Trev?’ Greta stuck a smile on her face. ‘Scalped anyone today, have yer?’

Trevor gambolled up to her like a stork that only barely has control of its legs.

‘What d’yer mean?’ His bony face creased, puzzled.

‘Never mind, it don’t matter. How’s it going with Mr Marshall?’

‘Oh—’ he beamed, enthusiastically. ‘It’s bostin – I can do everything now – short back and sides, the lot!’

‘Good for you,’ Greta said, her smile becoming genuine.

She’d known Trevor since the first days of school and he’d been so delighted when Greta and her family came back from America and settled in Charlotte Road, near where Ethel, Ruby’s Mom, had lived for years. Greta had a soft spot for Trevor. He was sweet and dopey and she felt as if she’d known him for ever. When they all left school, Trevor had gone to work for Mr Marshall, the barber at the bottom of the street, who said he’d give him a go. Mr Marshall, father of Ruby’s friend Edie, was getting on in years, but he had been reluctant to hand the business over to anyone. He was coming to realize, though, that he would soon have to, and he had taken Trevor as an apprentice.

Trevor wasn’t top of the league in the brains department but he was sweet and kind and quite handsome in his way. He was very tall and had wide blue eyes and a Tintin quiff of dark brown hair on his forehead that had a life of its own.

‘Gret—’ He stopped, the trickling snowflakes settling on his hair, and she was sure she saw a blush spread over his face. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d . . . Well, if you’d come out with me. On a date, like.’

‘Oh – well, that’s nice, Trev,’ Greta said, taken aback. She had known Trevor was sweet on her, he always had been, in a bashful, hero-worshipping way, but she had not expected this. She had never seen Trevor as more than a boy before, a kid brother, even though he was grown to six foot two.

‘Thing is – I can’t tonight. I’m going out – with Dennis, from the works. It’s sort of a regular thing.’

That was almost true. She hoped Dennis wanted it to be true.

‘Oh.’ Trev’s face fell, and for a second Greta saw the little lad he’d once been in his raggedy shorts, a string of snot under his nose.

‘Sorry, Trev—’ She smiled but set off walking again. ‘Maybe another time, eh?’

‘Really – would you come out with us, Gret?’

‘You never know,’ she said, giving him a smile as she made for the gate of number thirty-nine. She didn’t want to say yes or no because she liked the feeling of being pursued. She’d just never thought of Trevor like that before. ‘T’ra then Trev – see yer.’

Despite her cheerful tone, her heart was heavy as she pushed open the door. Ruby was already home: Greta could hear her in the kitchen at the back as she hung her coat up and there was an inviting smell of frying – onions this time.

‘That you, Gret?’

Greta assessed her mother’s tone. It didn’t sound like open warfare.

‘Yeah.’ On the kitchen table was a bowl with minced beef in it and a pile of chopped swede.

‘There’s tea brewed.’ Ruby nodded to the little tin pot keeping warm on the stove.

Greta poured a cup, glad of it after the bitter cold outside. She went to the table to put a couple of lumps of sugar in.

‘Sit down,’ Ruby said abruptly. ‘Time we got a few things straight.’

Greta pulled up a chair.
Oh, here we go,
she thought. She stared sulkily at the blue pilot light in the Ascot over the sink.

‘I haven’t always been a good mother to you, I know that.’ Emphatically, Ruby chopped the root end off a carrot. ‘And I wasn’t that much of a mother to Marleen in some ways neither. But times were hard – the war took both your fathers . . . It was a terrible time, full of fear and misery. And you can wipe that look off your face! The least you can do is listen when I’m talking to yer!’

‘Well I might have guessed you were going to bring the war into it again,’ Greta said, rolling her eyes. ‘The war this, the war that. . .’

Already this was not going well. She knew what her Mom was saying was true, that things had been hard – punishingly hard. She was aware of what her Mom had been through, as well as Janet, Frances Hatton’s daughter, and Edie when she was living with Frances and Janet during the war. They’d all had their heartbreaks. Deep down, she knew all this. But what was she supposed to do about it exactly? She’d only been a baby for heaven’s sake and it was all in the past now. Why did they have to keep bringing up the war for breakfast, dinner and tea? And what difference did the war make now to the fact that when it came to men her Mom still behaved like some sort of street trollop? What was it she was supposed to understand?

Ruby turned, drumming her fist on the table. ‘Your generation won’t have to go through all that, at least we hope to God you don’t. And we went through it all so you won’t have to. But you don’t know you’re born, some of yer, carrying on as if the world owes you a living with your loud music and your coffee bars and coming and going when yer like . . . You’ve all got more wages than sense . . . And don’t you get up and walk off when I’m talking to yer!’

Greta slumped back down in her seat.

‘What’s that got to do with it, Mom? What’s the war got to do with the fact that I have to come down and find that . . . that bloke here when I get up in the morning! He’s
vile.
His eyes were all over me . . . You’ve never had a moment for me! Why can’t you . . . Why can’t we . . .’

Suddenly she couldn’t find words, didn’t know what it was she wanted to say except that she wanted,
needed
things to be different, to have a proper family like Pat, who’d never need to shout at her Mom and Dad, and for there to be something more to life than chasing men and having babies, over and over, round and round inexorably, like the life-cycle of the butterfly she could remember drawing at school.

‘Oh, it’s no good talking to you,’ she snapped, jumping up from the table. ‘Whatever I say won’t make any difference will it?’

‘All I want is a bit of life and family for myself as well,’ Ruby shouted after her as she disappeared into the front room. ‘And why shouldn’t I, after all I’ve been through?’

‘Well,
I’m
your family,’ Greta shouted, pulling the door to the stairs open violently. ‘Or had you forgotten that?’’

And she thumped upstairs, slamming the door. At least Dennis wanted her. She clung to the thought of him.

Ruby cursed over the glowing pile of carrots.

‘What’s the use in even trying to talk any sense into her, the mardy little bint! When I think of all I had to do for my mother. And if I’d talked to her like that I’d’ve had a walloping all right!’

Chapter Four

It felt very cosy, walking with Dennis through the falling snow, then snuggling up on seats near the back of the picture house, though it took some time before Greta’s feet thawed out. There was already a layer of snow on the ground about an inch deep, and one of her shoes had a hole in and let in the wet. And she felt nervous. Dennis was different from other lads she’d been here with.

‘This is going to be good!’ Dennis said, settling down. ‘Here – d’you want one of these?’

He offered her a bag of misshapen pieces of marzipan coated in chocolate. Like all Cadbury’s employees they had a ticket which allowed them to buy cheap misshapes from the reject shop at the factory.

Greta smiled politely. ‘Think I might give it a miss, ta.’

They weren’t allowed to take chocolate out of the Cadbury factory, but everyone working there was allowed to eat as much of it as they liked while on the premises. Most people, after going chocolate-mad for the first days after they were taken on, soon came to behave in a more moderate way. A few never wanted to eat chocolate again. Greta liked it still, but only now and then.

‘Only joking,’ Dennis chuckled. ‘Have one of these instead?’ From another pocket he produced a little white bag of strawberry bonbons. ‘I thought they’d be more your thing.’

‘Oh – ta, Dennis,’ Greta said. ‘My favourite!’

‘Thought so. I’ve got some peanut brittle in here somewhere as well.’ He twinkled at her and for a moment it felt as if he was more like a Dad than a bloke of twenty, a kindly father giving her a treat, and she liked the feeling. In fact she liked it a lot. He seemed old and capable, and she felt she could sink back and be taken care of. She smiled back gratefully at him, popping a bonbon in her mouth.

‘You got a busy Christmas coming up?’ he asked, indistinctly.

‘Not really—’ They both laughed as she tried to speak without drooling. ‘You know, just family and a few friends. There’s only me and Mom.’

She’d better be damn careful what she told Dennis, at least for now.

‘No brothers or sisters?’ His tone was pitying.

Greta hesitated. ‘No – not really. How many’ve you got?’

‘Three big sisters and one brother,’ he said happily. ‘I’m the youngest, so it’s always a houseful with their husbands, kids and all that. You know – do it all properly, like. My mother’s heroic, the way she manages everything. And there might be a new little one arriving for Christmas as well – my sister Maggie’s expecting her first.’

‘That’s nice,’ Greta said, enviously. It sounded so lovely, everyone getting together like that, and the way he spoke about it, as if it was the happiest time of the year.

The lights started to go down then. Dennis looked eagerly at the screen, but Greta wasn’t that interested in
The Guns of Navarone:
she’d come to please him. Dennis was a real gent, she thought. Nothing pushy or forward, just natural. Not like Reg Wallace, a lad she went out with last year who’d been all over her, fingers prodding and exploring the moment the lights went down. That was when the lads usually made their move.

Every so often she stole a look at Dennis’s profile in the silver light from the screen. He was obviously enjoying the picture, sitting with a slight smile on his lips even during the tense parts. It was more of a lads’ film, Greta thought. She took her stockinged foot out of her damp shoe and wiggled her toes to warm them. And she tried to decide who was the more handsome, David Niven or Gregory Peck. She decided on Gregory Peck.

But her mind didn’t stay on Gregory Peck for long, because something strange was happening to her. She couldn’t stop thinking about Dennis. A strange, warm, fluttery feeling was growing in her that she’d never felt before, and it kept growing. Dennis was lovely, wasn’t he! She was acutely aware of him sitting beside her and of every time either of them moved and his leg brushed against hers. And although she didn’t want to be mauled about she began to wonder why he wasn’t paying her a bit more attention.

It was only the second time they had been anywhere together. Last time it had been a Cadbury do where there were lots of other people about and there had been no chance of a kiss or cuddle. This was the first time they had been out alone and he could take his chance to kiss her or at least hold her hand! That was how you knew a bloke wanted you, wasn’t it? As the minutes went by she started to feel a bit huffy. What was the matter – wasn’t she good enough for him or something? She knew Dennis’s family lived in a nice big house – nicer than Charlotte Road, anyway. Maybe he’d already decided that coming out with her was all a mistake.

After a while though, as the action got more exciting Dennis turned to her enthusiastically. ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ he said, then reaching over he added, ‘May I?’ and took her hand, holding it gently in his warm one.

The warm, fluttering feeling increased and she sat back, gratified now, and excited. Even though he was gripped by the story he turned and looked at her now and then and he held her hand all the way through.

As the adventures on the island of Navarone came to a climax and the credits began to roll, Dennis turned to her, his eyes looking deep into hers.

‘That was ever so good. And the best part is being here with you, Gret. You’re lovely, you really are.’ He hesitated. ‘Would it be all right if I gave you a kiss?’

Her heart thudded hard. ‘All right.’ She nodded, wondering what was happening to her that she wanted him to kiss her so much. With other lads it had felt like something she had to do but hadn’t much enjoyed.

Moving closer, he began to kiss her, his full lips warm and caressing as if he really cared for her, and she was just starting to respond when he drew back. People round them were getting up and shuffling out.

‘It’d be lovely just to stay here,’ Dennis said, ‘but the lights’ll go on again any minute.’

Feeling breathless, almost dreamlike, she followed him out of the red gloom into the cold.

‘My goodness!’ he exclaimed when they got outside, still holding her hand. ‘It must’ve kept coming down all the time we were in there!’

While they had been inside, another couple of inches had fallen. The pavements and rooftops were thick with it, and it was still coming. Everything seemed muffled and magical at the same time, the flakes whirling in the beam of car headlights and tickling against their cheeks. Greta ran up the road a little way, frolicking in it, then felt foolish because Dennis didn’t join in.