Bells of Bournville Green (31 page)

‘Well, you had help too, from Frances Hatton. She was so kind, and you didn’t seem to be so fussy about whether she was a Quaker or not when you needed her!’

‘Huh,’ was all Ruby replied, busying herself with Francesca. Then she fired out the words that Greta always dreaded.

‘Look, bab – you really ought to move back in with me and not be living off them all the time. I’m ashamed to think of it, with you not working, and me here all on my own . . .’

‘That’s what I’ve come to tell you, Mom,’ Greta said quickly. She didn’t want this conversation, yet again, about her moving back. How could she explain how much she loved living with Edie and Anatoli? And she genuinely believed they enjoyed her living with them. She had found the parents she’d always wanted, but she could hardly say that to her Mom!

‘I’m going back to work – next week. Seasonal, for the moment, till Franny’s older. I’m going to do three days and Edie’s doing two. We’ll look after the kids the days we’re not working . . .’

Ruby’s face darkened. ‘You mean Edie’s going to be looking after
my
granddaughter three days a week?’

‘Well, I’d ask you, Mom, but now you’re back on five days a week you’re not here to have her, are you?’

‘Well, some of us have to work don’t we, not just go in for a bit if fun when we feel like it? I don’t have a big house and a husband where I can take in all and sundry like Lady Bountiful!’

‘Well you’ve had kindness in your time, plenty of it!’ Greta flared. ‘And you could have hung on to it instead of mucking it all up with the way you’ve carried on. With my grandparents for a start!’

‘Oh don’t go on about that again, it’s water under the bridge,’ Ruby snapped, her cheeks flushing. She struck a match, angrily and lit up. ‘And it’s Marleen you want to blame for that, not me.’

Greta bit her lip, already regretting losing her temper. She knew her Mom’s marriage to Carl Christie had wrecked everything as well. But there was no point in keeping on.

Instead she said, ‘And how is Her Majesty?’

‘Well the babby seems all right.’ Two months after Francesca was born, Marleen had had another baby boy, and Trevor had insisted they call him George after George Harrison. Ruby gave a chuckle suddenly. ‘Looks ever so like Trevor, he does!’

‘Poor little bugger!’

‘Well at least one of them looks like its Dad anyroad – I don’t see much sign of him in her!’ She nodded down at Francesca. They both laughed and things eased. ‘What you going to do about her knowing who her Dad is?’

‘Oh, she’ll have to know,’ Greta said. ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’

‘You know, you’d be surprised,’ Ruby mused. ‘But Marleen seemed to be all right with him. Least, for the moment.’

‘Well, Trev’s got what he wanted. Lots of babbies.’ Greta drained her teacup.

‘You seen him?’

‘Not since that one time he came, early on.’

He’d turned up when Francesca was a fortnight old and had been quite emotional when he saw his daughter, told Greta he was sorry and everything.

‘I expect he’s forgotten about her now he’s got another baby of his own,’ Greta said briskly, standing up to go. ‘Better be on my way.’ She lifted Francesca from Ruby’s reluctant arms. ‘I ’spect I’ll see you at work, Mom.’

‘Bring her round to see me, won’t you?’ Ruby said petulantly. ‘Don’t let her forget who her
real
Nan is.’

Going back to work was very hard at first, even for two days. For the past six months her life had revolved round her little one, and Greta felt as if she was being torn away from her. To her surprise she found she had loved looking after her, washing and feeding and rocking her, in a way which she had never imagined for a moment in all the time she was trying to avoid having babies!

But once she made the break it was fun to be back in the swing of things. She was not in the same section as Pat, who was still working full-time. Pat had come to visit her at home and see Francesca after she was born. Greta had wondered if it would upset her, seeing a lovely new baby, but Pat certainly didn’t show it. She was delighted at the sight of Francesca and brought a pretty pair of white bootees as a present.

‘That’s an attractive name,’ she said on her first visit when Greta told her what she was planning to call her. ‘It’s unusual that. I like it.’

Greta told her that it had been Anatoli’s suggestion. Pat looked up at her.

‘He’s very good to you, isn’t he?’

Pat had moved out of her one room now into a tiny little flat not far away, and went round to help her Mom, keeping out of the way of Mr Floyd. She seemed resigned to how things had turned out.

‘I suppose I’d’ve had to make the break sometime,’ she said. ‘Although I feel terrible about Mom being left with it all. But I look at my Dad and I think, however much I did something wicked and awful, he’s still in the wrong. I’m his daughter, and if he can’t forgive me, well, that’s his loss.’

Greta was impressed at how strong Pat seemed these days. And Pat was delighted that Greta was coming back to Cadbury’s.

‘It hasn’t been the same without you,’ she said, when they met to walk to work the first day to begin the morning shift.

‘Well it won’t be the same now either,’ Greta said, half her mind still wondering how Francesca was. When she left, Greta had had to hand her over to Edie to finish giving her her bottle, and it felt like one of the hardest things she had ever done. ‘I’m on seasonal – no holiday pay or sick pay or anything. And they’ll lay us off once the Christmas rush is over. But it’ll give me time to be with Franny again and I’m desperate to give Edie some money. They’re ever so kind, but I’ve lived off them long enough.’

When she went back this time she was put on Milk Tray. The women working seasonal shifts were mainly mothers and the atmosphere was chatty, with the radio on, but the work was very fast and you had to keep alert. Hands covered by white gloves, they worked either side of the belt, while the chocolates streamed past endlessly after their journey through the enrobing machine, then into the cooler room to set the chocolate. They scooped them off the belt on to trays fast and furiously, to ready them for packing. When you got there early enough in the morning you could have free cocoa and bread and butter, but Greta did not think she would ever be organized enough for that and tried to eat something at home with Francesca first.

It was wonderful to go home at the end of her first shift and find her baby happily asleep.

‘You’ll be able to pop in for a swim after work if you feel like it,’ Edie said. ‘She’s no trouble. Now Peter’s at school, looking after her is ever so easy.’

She still had plenty of days to spend with Francesca, and on the days Edie was working she sometimes went and picked Peter up from school. He practised his violin and piano while she played with Francesca, or snatched a while to read when the little girl was happy playing near her. Edie and Anatoli had quite a few books and told her to dip in and read whatever she liked. Best of all she liked Thomas Hardy, and had read
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
twice already. And he encouraged her to read bits of French, even though she no longer went to her lessons.

Things settled into a contented, almost dreamlike routine, and when she stopped to think about it she realized how happy she was. As Christmas drew near again, Greta realized with surprise how much she was looking forward to it.

Chapter Forty-Two

Greta’s favourite time of the day was the early evening when Anatoli came home after closing the pharmacy. The shop was almost a mile away and he always chose to walk home, shaking rain from his big black umbrella on wet winter nights, or anxious to get down to his shirtsleeves in summer. In his old-fashioned way he would never dream of removing his jacket until he was inside with the front door closed, restored to the informal realm of his family.

As soon as he came home Edie made him tea, bringing it to him in his favourite wide-rimmed willow-patterned cup and saucer. He always drank it sitting in his chair in the living room, stirring in plenty of sugar and sipping it with relish, the big blue and white saucer resting in the palm of his hand. Edie always slipped a couple of biscuits in beside the cup as well.

‘Aaah!’ he would say, closing his eyes with pleasure while he swallowed the first mouthful of tea. ‘The taste of home! Where I am treated like a Prince!’

It was a ritual which Greta loved and it was when Anatoli held court to his family. The children were always excited when he came home. Peter would hurry in with a book or some Meccano and bask in his father’s attention. Later it would be time for serious things, like violin lessons, but now was a time for fun. At the moment Peter’s favourite books were the adventures of Thomas the Tank Engine, and Anatoli was good at mimicking different voices for the characters of the trains, which made Peter laugh or gasp in fear at what was going to happen next.

Greta was coming downstairs one evening, deep in the winter, with Francesca in her arms, when Anatoli arrived. His breath streamed white on the freezing air as he came in, then shut out the cold and dark. At first he did not notice her. He closed the door and turned to take off his coat, reaching up to hang it on the hooks near the door. But instead of backing away he held on to the hook and leaned his head against his woollen coat for a few seconds, as if in extreme weariness. This small private action sent a chill through her, though she did not know what it meant. Then Francesca let out a squeak of excitement at seeing him and Anatoli immediately drew back, lowering his arms, and turned to smile at the two of them.

‘Hello young lady!’ He took Francesca’s hand and shook it as she gurgled happily. ‘And hello to you, my dear. Have you had a good day?’

‘Yes thank you,’ Greta said. ‘Did you?’ She wanted to ask if he was all right but she felt shy.

‘Oh yes,’ he said in his light way, as if to say, what other sort of day might he have had?

‘Hello, love,’ Edie said, coming through from the kitchen. In her dark brown skirt and pale blue, ribbed polo-neck jumper, her hair pinned up in a pleat, she looked warmly cosy and comforting. She kissed Anatoli and he put his arm round her shoulders and drew her to him. Greta watched with a pang. How wonderful to have found love like that!

As soon as the children heard that he was home, Peter came rushing out of the living room and Anatoli said, ‘Ah – it must be story time!’

‘There’s tea in the pot,’ Edie smiled. ‘I’ll bring it through. D’you want one, Greta?’

‘Oh, yes please!’

Greta sat and listened to the stories too. She remembered Frances and Janet reading to her and Marleen and David when they were little, and how much she had loved it. Edie sometimes stayed in the room if she was not cooking, and she did today. Francesca sat on the floor or on one of their laps. Normally she was very active, now she was ten months old, crawling around and into everything, but during story time she already seemed to know to keep still and watch with huge eyes, giggling at Peter’s laughter, and waving and clapping her hands. The sight of her joining in was one of the loveliest things Greta had ever seen. It made her glow with happiness.

‘Look at young miss,’ Anatoli said as he closed the book on another of Thomas’s adventures. ‘She takes in everything doesn’t she? Every detail.’

Edie went out to check on the cooking, but Peter was not satisfied. He sat straddling Anatoli.

‘Will you read another one Daddy?’ he begged.

‘Ah, now you know, you young rascal, that we only read one story!’ Anatoli tickled him, and Peter squirmed happily. ‘That is your ration for the day. And anyway, you know you can really read them yourself as well now . . .’

‘Oh please – just this once!’ Overexcited, Peter began to pummel Anatoli’s chest.

Greta, who had been looking down at Francesca, jumped in shock as Anatoli suddenly let out a yell.

‘I said no! All right? You heard me – now get off and stop this! Go!’

Peter scrambled down from his father’s knee, lips aquiver, looking as if he was going to explode with upset as he ran from the room. It was almost unheard-of for Anatoli to react like this and raise his voice.

‘Now just leave me!’ Anatoli shouted after his son.

Greta took this to mean her as well, so she got up and went to find Peter, who was curled in a sobbing ball at the bottom of the stairs.

‘It’s all right, love—’ She went and put her arm round the bewildered little boy who was used to a father who, even in his darker moods, was calm and kindly to him. She felt upset herself, almost as if she was a child and Anatoli had yelled at her as well. ‘Daddy must be tired or something. I’m sure he didn’t mean to frighten you.’

‘Mom,’ Peter said, pulling away and running for the kitchen. There was hurt and outrage in every line of his body. Greta picked up Francesca and went after him.

Edie was checking the boiling potatoes to see if they were cooked.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ she said, putting down her knife as Peter plunged at her and buried his head in her skirt. ‘That’s not like my big boy!’

‘He had a little run-in with his Dad,’ Greta said awkwardly.

‘Anatoli?’ Edie frowned and bent down to her son. ‘What happened?’

‘Daddy shouted at me!’ Peter cried.

Face stricken Edie looked up. ‘Why on earth?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Greta said. ‘Peter just wanted another story.’

‘Oh,’ Edie said, baffled. It was so unlike Anatoli. ‘Well, maybe your Daddy’s tired today love. Or got a toothache. Come on – you come and stir the stewpot for me, will you?’

Greta was surprised not to see Anatoli coming into the kitchen to make amends. He and Peter were usually so sunny with each other. She carried Francesca from the kitchen, thinking to go and see Anatoli. She wanted to see him in a happier mood again to make herself feel better.

But when she put her head round the door of the living room, Anatoli was stretched out in the chair with his eyes closed and his face looked tired and sunken. Frowning, she left again, quietly closing the door.

It happened gradually. Edie started teasing Anatoli, telling him he must be watching his waistline because he didn’t seem to be eating much.