Bells of Bournville Green (9 page)

Greta smiled shyly, though Janet’s words were like a blow. Was she making the most of it – the way Dennis did? No, not at all. And she felt hopeless.

‘Are things settling?’ Edie asked Ruby in a low voice. This filled Greta further with shame, the thought of her family. Edie had not had an easy life, it was true, but now she was happily married to a man who was comfortably off. Everything about their big house in Selly Oak was pretty and good quality, and it felt as if Edie was a cut above them, even though she and Ruby had been born on the same day in nearby streets and started work the same week at Cadbury’s. Greta always felt a bit grubby and ashamed near Edie, even though she knew Edie would never dream of trying to be superior. Marleen and her carry-on made it all far worse.

‘After a fashion,’ Ruby said. Greta saw her roll her eyes. Did Edie know Marleen was expecting again? Of course not, she thought. Like she wasn’t to know about Herbert Smail or how things really were. Mom had to work hard to keep up appearances in front of Edie and Janet.

‘Must be lovely having your granddaughter at home,’ Edie said wistfully.

‘How’s your David?’ Edie’s adoptive son now lived in Israel with his wife and son, and Edie seldom saw her grandchild.

‘Oh, he’s doing ever so well,’ Edie said proudly. ‘He’s finished his spell in the army, thank goodness. I couldn’t settle at all when he was doing that. It must be terrible for Gila – it’s like the war all over again! Now he’s getting on with training to be a doctor.’

Greta listened, trying to prise the rubbery arm of a little doll into a red velveteen coat with a tiny strip of white fur round the hood. She hadn’t seen David, Edie’s son, for years. He was five years older and she remembered him as very bookish and clever. They had played together as children, but as soon as David went off to the grammar school he had become like someone in another world and she had been in awe of him, especially as he had taken very little notice of her or Marleen.

‘I just wish they were here,’ Edie was saying. ‘I know it’s where he feels he belongs and everything, all this having to be in the army, and Gila needs more help – I could have Shimon. It just seems such a shame . . .’

‘When will you see them next?’ Janet asked.

‘I don’t know. Maybe after the baby’s born we could go over – in the summer.’

Greta shifted her position as the left side of her face was getting so hot by the fire.

‘Are you all right down there?’ Janet asked.

‘Yes, ta,’ Marleen murmured.

Greta looked up and nodded.

‘I’ll come and sit with you,’ Janet said kindly, moving down on to the rug as well. ‘How are you keeping, Marleen? Is it nice to be home?’

‘It’s all right,’ Marleen said. But she spoke politely, not in her usual sulky way. They all liked Janet. She was so kind and sincere that she brought out the best even in Marleen.

‘It does take some time to settle back in,’ Janet said. ‘We still feel as if we’ve only just arrived.’

‘You’ve been here ages!’ Ruby laughed.

‘I know – almost three years,’ Janet said. ‘It takes much longer to adjust to coming back than to going out there in the first place. When I think, this time three years ago . . .’ She looked very sad. ‘I still think of people there every day and wonder how they’re getting on.’

Martin Ferris had been a doctor during the war, in Burma. On his return he had found it hard to settle in England and eventually he and Janet had gone out to work in the Belgian Congo. When the unrest in the country escalated before independence in June 1960, Janet and Martin had stayed and stayed, hoping things would settle. Independence came, with Patrice Lumumba as Prime Minister, but things were no better. Four days later the army revolted and whites were being robbed and killed all over the country. Thousands had to evacuate in a hurry, including Janet and Martin. Already terrified by the appalling stories they had heard of attacks on other whites, they were even more afraid that the abandoned twins they had adopted would attract attention and provoke violence against them. But in a small convoy of fleeing missionaries, they managed to cross the border into Uganda, and from there flew back to England.

‘What about Chrissie?’ Edie asked. Janet’s friend Chrissie, a jungle nurse, had refused to leave and was still in the Congo.

‘We did hear from her before Christmas.’ Greta could hear the anxiety in Janet’s voice. ‘She won’t hear of leaving. Chrissie always believes that the hand of the Lord is protecting her at all times.’

‘That’s all very well,’ Ruby said mockingly.

‘She’s right so far though,’ Edie said. ‘The danger she’s been in!’

‘She’s certainly got nine lives like a cat,’ Janet said. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t worry.’

They all talked as it became completely dark outside. Once the little girls were all put down to sleep, Janet made a nice meal of cold cuts and cheeses and the adults talked and laughed the evening away. Janet found a few magazines for Greta and Marleen to look at and apologized that there was no television. The adults talked about the H-bomb, and how Janet and Martin had just joined the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. Marleen fell asleep herself after a while, leaning back in one of the easy chairs, her face looking tense even in sleep.

‘Is she all right?’ Edie asked. ‘She doesn’t seem too well.’

‘Oh yes,’ Ruby said. She was sitting comfortably, lighting up a cigarette once the food was finished. Janet slid an ashtray on to the table beside her. ‘Ta, love,’ Ruby said. ‘Marleen’s just tired. Mary Lou takes it out of her.’

Why don’t you tell them? Greta thought angrily. She felt differently now towards her sister. A few days ago Marleen had told her, her and no one else, what had happened to her in America. And yet she could see why Ruby hid things from her friends. She’d always been the odd one out. It was only the war that had brought them together really. Once again, Greta found herself feeling angry and ashamed.

Chapter Eleven

Much later, after all the shaking of hands at midnight, accompanied by a warming punch of Janet’s making, Anatoli drove them home. Greta knew she would not sleep and she was dying for a bath. After the others were settled she slipped a shilling into the meter and crept past Marleen to the bathroom. Soon the cold room was full of steam and she slid into the water, sighing with pleasure as the lower half of her body turned pink and the warmth seeped into her.

Her mind was in a turmoil of feelings after the last week. First there’d been the shock at Pat’s house. She’d been so glad to get out after Christmas Day and had set off expectantly towards Bournville, past the old entrance to the workhouse. Playfully, she trampled fresh snow on the verges. She liked Pat’s Mom with her plain, tired face, and their calm home with its little upright piano with hymn-sheet music piled on it, the telly on and Josie squealing at it in excitement. She had been round for a cup of tea now and then after work.

But today it was different. Everything was tidied away, the telly was off, chairs set in a tight circle, and Mrs Floyd, though friendly as ever, seemed almost a different person. She seemed terribly tense, and knocked over a cup of tea as she was carrying it to one of the elderly neighbours they had also invited round. And Greta met Mr Floyd properly for the first time. He was dressed very sprucely in a brown suit, had wavy grey hair and piercing grey eyes, and though he shook her hand and welcomed her in his nasal voice, she felt intimidated by him.

‘You’ve met Greta before, haven’t you, Stan?’ Mrs Floyd said.

‘Yes, I believe so, how nice,’ he said. His grip on her hand was surprisingly tight and his eyes met hers, unsmiling. Greta felt a strange sense of dread, as if he already disliked her and she couldn’t think why.

He was civil enough, but there was an incident after they had all had tea and cakes and mince pies. Under the window that faced out over the neat back garden stood a table with a jigsaw puzzle half done on it. Greta and Pat broke away from the groups of older people, having a very stilted conversation, and sat at the table with the puzzle, which was a view of a canal with an old narrowboat and a country pub on the bank. On the windowsill, Greta saw a pile of three books, all of which had Holy Bible in gold lettering on the spines.

Greta could feel a bubbling up of giggles inside her because the whole situation was so awkward. What was it about Pat’s Dad that made her feel as if she was back at school in the naughty corner? She fought to control herself. She desperately didn’t want to offend Pat.

‘Ooh it’s good to see you,’ she said. She realized how desperate she was to be back at work, away from Marleen and her Mom and bloody Herbert. ‘You had a nice Christmas?’

Pat nodded, wide-eyed. ‘Oh yes,’ she said – as if she’d say anything else. Greta thought how innocent she was, and how sweet. For devilment she leaned in closer to the table.

‘Guess what? Trevor’s asked me out!’

‘What? Trevor Biddle?’ Pat said far too loudly, and she made a face, looking round to see if they’d disturbed everyone. She and Greta had gone to the same primary school together, with Trevor.

Greta nodded, enjoying the impact of her words. Her eyes danced.

‘You never said yes?’

Greta giggled. ‘I did!’

‘But you’re going out with Dennis, aren’t you?’

‘Well, yes . . .’

‘Whatever are you going to do?’ Pat said, shocked.

‘Thing was, I couldn’t say no. I was round his house and he’d just given me this record, the Beatles – it’s ever so good. And he was being nice. We were dancing and everything . . .’

Pat raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, it’s like that is it?’

‘Like what? No!’ Greta protested. ‘April and Dorrie were there . . .’

‘So why did you say yes?’ Pat brought her back to the point.

‘Well – ’cause I didn’t say no,’ Greta said. The two of them were getting the giggles. In the restrained atmosphere of the room almost anything would have seemed funny.

‘But what about Dennis?’

‘Dennis is lovely,’ Greta said, tittering. ‘Really he is. But I just thought if I went out with Trevor once – to the pictures or summat – that’d keep him happy.’

‘Well, I hope you’re right, but aren’t you leading him on?’ Pat said drily.

‘Oh, I’ll soon sort Trevor out,’ Greta said, putting on a woman-of-the-world tone.

‘Gosh,’ Pat said.

They were silent for a moment, looking at one another as the laughter bubbled up and burst out. It was like getting the giggles in the classroom. Greta saw Pat glance anxiously across at her father, who was eyeing them.

Seeing that made them giggle even more until Pat said, ‘Ssshhhh.’

But it was too late. Greta looked up and jumped, suddenly aware of a brown-clad body standing over them at the table. Mr Floyd laid his hand on Pat’s arm and Greta remembered the tight grip of his handshake.

‘I think we’re all getting a little bit out of control over here, don’t you?’ he said, in tones of sweet reason.

Pat sobered up instantly. ‘Yes – sorry, Daddy.’

He did not move away instantly, but looked at each of them in turn, a penetrating look deep into each of their eyes as if in warning, before he moved slowly away to sit down again. Greta felt quite shaken by the intense expression in his eyes.

‘Blimey,’ she said, grimacing.

‘Oh dear, sorry,’ Pat said. Greta could see she was mortified. She had seen Pat’s household in quite a different light this afternoon, and afterwards she tramped through the snow as glad to get out of there as she had been to escape her own house. All this time she’d envied Pat her home, seeing it as calm and loving and everything hers was not. And she liked Mrs Floyd. But this time, seeing how it was when Mr Floyd was there, the way Pat and her Mom were so nervous with him, had opened her eyes. They seemed almost afraid of him. Things were nothing like as ideal as she had thought.

Then that night, when she got home, she’d found Marleen up in the darkened bedroom, howling her eyes out. For a moment she had been afraid to go near her, but the crying sounded so heartbroken that she groped her way to sit on the creaky folding bed and said timidly,

‘What’s up, sis?’

There was a silence for a moment, followed by sniffles, then, in a high baby voice, Marleen wailed,

‘I thought he loved me. He told me he loved me!’

‘Who?’ Greta said.

‘Brett . . . He said he loved me and he’d be with me for ever!’

Her face appeared, mascara smudged, over the bedclothes. ‘I just wanted someone to love me – to be mine!’

Greta was touched by the sight of her at that moment. With her hair hanging loose and her tear-smudged cheeks she looked about ten years old.

‘What happened, sis?’

Marleen lay back on the pillow in the dim light from the landing and it came pouring out. She had met Brett Stewart when she was just seventeen and couldn’t stand any more of the Sorensons. They were too good and sweet, too kind and Christian, and anyway, they were not her grandparents, only Greta’s, and she was jealous. She didn’t say that exactly but Greta understood and remembered how it was.

Brett had a car. He was nineteen and they whisked off together, got married in a registry office and soon she was expecting Mary Lou. There followed a dismal tale of living in a broken-down trailer on the edge of town which belonged to Brett’s uncle, of Brett’s disappearances. He would go for a week or so, come and go unpredictably, expecting to sleep with Marleen and be fed whenever he turned up, until she was almost out of her mind with it. He brought money, though she didn’t know how he obtained it. Mary Lou was born and she hoped that would make the difference, but things only got worse. She couldn’t get shot of Brett because she needed the money and she clung to the hope that he would come back and love her again the way he had at the beginning. Finally he didn’t come home at all and she heard he’d been arrested. He and two other boys had robbed a house. One had a gun. Brett was given four years in the State Penitentiary. Only as she picked herself up and went to the Sorensons to beg the money to come home – Greta’s heart sank to her toes as she heard this – did Marleen realize she was carrying another baby by Brett.