Bells of Bournville Green (6 page)

‘I’m going to miss you,’ he said, drawing back to look down at her again. ‘I wish you could come and spend Christmas with us. You’d love it!’

‘So do I,’ she said, more sincerely than he realized. She would have loved to be almost anywhere else than with Mom, Marleen and the dreaded Herbert tomorrow. Suddenly it dawned on her that she’d better buy little presents for Marleen and Mary Lou.

‘Ah well,’ Dennis said, very correctly. ‘All in good time. Mustn’t rush things.’ He often did that, she noticed. He would seem exuberant, carefree when he first saw her, then very quickly he would become rather stiff, as if he had put a brake on somewhere in himself. ‘How about we go and find a place to sit down – have something hot to drink? We could go in here.’ He nodded at Lewis’s.

‘All right,’ Greta said. ‘I’d like that. I’m blooming freezing. And I need to look round.’

Arm in arm they walked into Lewis’s, and on the way to the tea rooms Greta picked out a pretty brooch for Marleen with red stones and, in the toy section, a little blue stuffed rabbit for Mary Lou.

‘Who’s that for?’ Dennis asked.

‘My sister,’ she said airily. ‘She was living in America and she’s come home with her little girl.’

‘You never said you had a sister!’ Dennis frowned. In fact he never asked her much about herself. ‘Well, that’s nice – and just in time for Christmas!’ Greta smiled, while shuddering inside at the thought of him meeting Marleen.

They sat down at a table in the warmly lit room, where ‘Jingle Bells’ was piping out around them.

‘What d’you fancy?’ Dennis asked.

‘You,’ Greta said with a mischievous grin. ‘But I’ll settle for a cuppa.’

‘Cheeky minx,’ Dennis said. ‘D’you always talk to your boyfriends like that?’

‘No,’ she said truthfully. ‘But then I’ve never had a boyfriend like you before.’

She actually saw Dennis blush. ‘Well, there’s a compliment,’ he said.

They drank their tea, gratefully warming their hands round the cups, and Greta talked a bit about Pat and how they were going to her family on Boxing Day.

‘What’ll you be doing?’ she asked.

‘Oh, Boxing Day we always have the Walk,’ Dennis said. ‘Christmas Day’s always a lazy day – nice big dinner, our Mom always does a big turkey with all the trimmings, and all the family squeeze in. And then we talk and sing and play games – well on into the evening, with the kids there – all my sisters’ kids – and everyone gets very merry . . .’

Greta remembered the nice times they used to have at Frances Hatton’s house and the one really lovely Christmas they’d had their first year in America when things had not been spoilt, with Ed and Louisa Sorenson, and her heart ached. These were the memories of childhood that she treasured, and she held on tight to the past as it seemed so much better than now. If only Frances hadn’t died so young and Mom and Marleen hadn’t messed everything up in Minnesota!

‘Anyway,’ Dennis was saying happily, ‘by Boxing Day everyone’s ready to get moving and walk off the Christmas pud. So we all meet up for a walk – up the Clent Hills. My brothers-in-law have all got cars so there’s no problem getting everyone up there.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ Greta said wistfully.

‘Well—’ Dennis became solemn and looked at her very tenderly. ‘I do hope that eventually, when the time’s right, you might be able to join us.’

Her heart beat very fast. What was Dennis saying? That he thought so much of her that he was talking about one day making her a part of the Franklin family? Was that what he meant?

Dennis had a soft, misty look in his eyes as he gazed at her. ‘I can imagine you with apple blossom in your hair.’

‘Dennis—’ To her horror, tears prickled in her eyes. ‘I’m not good enough for you.’

He leaned forward, earnestly. ‘What on earth are you talking about? You’re the most fantastic girl! You’re my ideal of all a girl should be!’

‘Your family sound so nice . . .’ She looked down at the table, flushing with embarrassment. If only she’d never said anything! It wasn’t like her to lay herself bare like this. Usually with blokes she was the joker, keeping them at a distance.

‘Well, they are . . .’ Dennis sounded hurt and worried. ‘Look, what’s brought this on?’

‘You haven’t met my family – they’re just . . . Well, not like yours.’

‘Well, I know your Mom don’t I? She’s a nice lady.’

‘Yes,’ Greta conceded. ‘I suppose she is.’ But she felt inferior, and unsure of herself.

‘Don’t say that,’ Dennis said, taking her hand. ‘You’re the girl for me – I know that – even from knowing you for just a while. I only have to look at you . . . Come on, cheer up. It’s Christmas!’

The sight of Dennis’s doting face always cheered her up, although the feeling would not go away altogether. Grateful for his kindness, she gave him her warmest smile.

‘Oh—’ Dennis made a mocking gesture as if someone had shot him through the heart. ‘That smile! One of these days I’m going to get myself a camera so I can take pictures of you. I’d love to have one to keep. I don’t s’pose you’ve got one have you? That you could give me?’

Greta thought. ‘No – not recent. My grandparents took some when I was little – in America.’

She’d told Dennis about Ed and Louisa and he had been very interested. She had had her usual Christmas card and brief letter from them.

‘Even a picture of you with pigtails would be better than nothing,’ Dennis joked.

Once they’d drunk their tea they wandered out into the cold street where their breath billowed in white clouds against the street lights. But the people of Brum were out, determined to enjoy themselves and find last-minute bargains, despite the cold. Greta and Dennis linked arms and strolled through the Christmassy streets, smelling cigarette smoke and cheap perfume and cooked meat from some of the eating places that were still serving. They avoided the Bull Ring as it was full of building work and people doing desperate last-minute food shopping, and walked the gritted pavements round the snow-clad cathedral and along Colmore Row before heading for Navigation Street to catch their bus. All the time they held hands, laughing about day-to-day things and people they knew at Cadbury’s. Greta felt dreamy, as if she was walking on air.

When they got off the bus in Selly Oak, Dennis insisted on walking her home although it was out of his way. At the bottom of Charlotte Street he stopped her, in the shadows by the old copper works in Alliott Road.

‘I just wanted to say happy Christmas properly,’ he said, gazing at her closely. ‘And to say . . . You’re a lovely girl Greta. I don’t know what you feel for me, but I’m . . . Well, I want to tell you – you do something to me. I love you, that’s all,’ he finished bashfully. ‘And I want us to be together.’

Greta felt emotions welling up in her. She’d never heard him say this before. It made her very happy, but at the same time she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she wasn’t enough for him – good enough, or clever enough, or something enough that she couldn’t even identify.

‘I love you too,’ she said, in a wobbly voice. ‘Oh, Dennis – I can’t believe this is happening!’

He pulled her close and held her, kissing her as if she was very precious, and she kissed him back, passionately. She could have stayed there for hours, but soon Dennis pulled away from her.

‘Better not get carried away.’ He smiled wryly. His hair was looking dishevelled where she had run her hands through it.

‘Come here,’ she laughed, smoothing it down. ‘You look as though you’ve been through a hedge backwards!’

‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He brought out a little parcel and handed it to her. ‘For you tomorrow. Happy Christmas, my lovely.’

Greta reached into her bag for the book. ‘I don’t know if you’ll like this,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I didn’t know what to get . . .’

‘Of course I’ll like it if it’s from you,’ he said, already holding it as if it was something precious. He hugged her again for a moment, close and tight.

‘See you as soon as we can. Happy Christmas, Greta.’

‘Happy Christmas,’ she whispered.

He turned to wave at the end of the street as she stood watching, still hardly able to believe it was real. It can’t work, she thought, a feeling of doom coming over her even as her heart soared to the heights. Good things like this don’t work in my family. They never do. I’ll spoil it somehow – I can just see it coming.

She walked in to the sound of Mary Lou wailing. Marleen was pacing up and down the back kitchen with Mary Lou on her hip, jiggling her irritably, a tense, angry expression in her face. The room smelled of liver and onions and another odour which she realized was of dirty nappies.

‘Give her to me,’ Ruby said, getting up from the table where she was sorting out vegetables for tomorrow’s dinner. A ketchup bottle was somehow managing to stay upright, balanced on its lid. ‘Let me have another go – quieten her down before we have our tea.’

‘Bloody
shurrup,
Mary Lou!’ Marleen erupted suddenly. She hoiked the child round and started to give her a good shaking, which only made her cry more.

‘Don’t be like that with her!’ Ruby went to her straight away and took the child, who was now bawling at full volume. ‘That ain’t going to make her stop is it?’

‘I don’t know!’ Marleen screeched, distraught. ‘I don’t know what’ll make her shut up! She’s always been like that ever since she was born – there’s no pleasing her. I don’t know what to do with her – I wish I’d never had her!’

She burst into tears and ran to the stairs, and they heard her crash up to the bedroom and slam the door.

‘Make her a bottle will you, Gret?’ Greta could see her Mom was near the end of her tether and she did as she was asked.

The bottle seemed to pacify Mary Lou for a time, and she sat tearstained on Ruby’s lap, glugging the milk down. In the quiet that followed they could hear Marleen sobbing in the room upstairs.

‘What’s up with her, Mom?’ Greta asked.

Ruby shook her head. ‘If I knew, I’d tell yer – but she’s just sat here and hardly said a word all day.’ She looked up at Greta. ‘Oh – Trevor came round. Said will you pop round and see them tomorrow – teatime?’ Despite her weariness a smile played round Ruby’s lips. ‘He said he had summat for you!’ And she gave a big saucy wink.

Chapter Eight

Christmas morning, and the first sound Greta heard when she came to was Marleen being sick.

Dragging herself out of bed into the freezing cold, she listened for a few seconds outside the locked bathroom, then tapped on the door.

‘Marleen, what’s up? You poorly?’

There was no answer. After calling several more times and hearing more retching sounds emanating from the bathroom, she said, ‘Be like that then,’ and went downstairs to put the kettle on.

Ruby had beaten her to it and was standing by the stove in her dressing gown. The light was strange because of the snow. Seeing her, Ruby gave a vague smile.

‘Little ’un still asleep?’

‘Yes, thank God.’

‘Happy Christmas, love.’

‘Happy Christmas.’ Greta perched on a chair by the table. ‘I think our Marleen’s poorly,’ she said, through a yawn. ‘She’s up there being sick.’

Ruby whipped round. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘In the bathroom – I could hear her.’

‘Oh my God. What about yesterday?’

‘What about it?’

‘Well, was she sick then an’ all?’

‘I dunno. I was down here when she got up . . .’

But Ruby was already halfway up the stairs.

‘Come out here my girl,’ she heard. ‘I want to speak to you! You get that door unlocked,
now
!’

There was a pause, then the click of the bolt on the bathroom door.

‘What’s going on?’ Ruby demanded.

Greta didn’t hear any reply from Marleen. She could imagine her shrugging in her usual sulky way.

‘I asked you a question!’ Ruby roared at her. ‘Come on – out with it! Are you in the family way again?’

Within seconds Mary Lou gave a great screech which drowned out Marleen’s reply.

Greta listened, her heart pounding. Marleen, having another baby? How could she be? Mary Lou was still so young – could you have another one that quickly? She realized how ignorant she was about all that sort of thing. And worst of all was the thought that Marleen might bring yet another screaming brat into the house. She didn’t even know how to look after the one she’d got!

Greta filled with explosive rage. Wasn’t that just like Marleen, to come home, not say a word, and expect everyone else to put up with whatever mess she’d got herself into? Marleen was so stupid, so selfish! She always had to spoil everything for everybody! Greta thumped up the stairs. At that moment she could cheerfully have given Marleen a good slapping.

In the bedroom though she found her mother and sister sitting side by side on her bed. Ruby had the wailing Mary Lou in her arms, and beside her Marleen was bent over, looking sickly and faint, hair hanging in lank trails each side of her cheeks and obviously feeling dreadful. She also looked very young and vulnerable.

Greta gave her mother a questioning look and saw Ruby nod grimly. So it was true. She felt her anger drain away at the sight of her sister, to be replaced by a resigned pity. What a cowing awful mess Marleen was making of everything! There wasn’t much love lost between them, and probably never would be, but she could still feel sorry for her. Marleen had still not said a word about what had happened to her during her time in America, but it had left her in this terrible low state, and with two children into the bargain.

‘Kettle’s coming up to the boil,’ she said quietly. ‘Shall I go and brew up a cuppa?’

‘You do that, bab,’ Ruby said, over Mary Lou’s screams. ‘I think we all need it.’

Well, Marleen, Greta thought angrily, hands in freezing cold water, peeling potatoes, you’ve managed to wreck everything again – you’ve even wrecked Christmas . . . Jolly music drifted through from the television, which seemed to mock her mood. ‘Thanks a bunch,’ she growled, throwing the gritty peels savagely into the bin.

They were all trying to take in Marleen’s news, and as if things couldn’t get any worse, come midday there was the expected loud banging on the front door.