by Annie Murray
‘So you see – what else was I s’pose to do?’ Marleen’s chin jutted as she said this. ‘I had to get home.’
Swallowing her fury with Marleen for bringing yet more shame and sorrow to her grandparents, Greta managed to say, ‘Well, whatever’s past is past. It’s nice to have you home, sis.’
At that moment, seeing Marleen soft and vulnerable, she had meant it.
She soaped her arms and legs, breasts and stomach, and lay back again. It was so quiet, felt very late. Condensation was running down the windows. In those moments, she felt strong. She could look at Pat’s family and see that not all was as contented as Pat tried to make out. And as for Marleen, God knows she could hardly do worse than that! She thought about Dennis with a surge of excitement. She’d seen him in the week, thanking him for his gift, and he’d been sweet and said he was ever so pleased with the book and was reading it already. She told him about the book the man in the shop had given her and that she was reading it and he looked impressed. She couldn’t wait to see him again. He felt like something hopeful and positive in her life, someone she could learn from, who could get her out of the oppressive sense of chaos which was home. Her dreams took shape as the bath water developed cool edges along her body. She and Dennis would take off together and travel. They’d set off with no destination, on the open road, to see the world. They would get away from these suffocating rooms, these families and babies and all the things that tied you down. They’d be free!
Chapter Twelve
As soon as the New Year celebrations were over, Trevor was on at Greta to go out on the promised date. He came round to the house, huddled up in an old black gabardine, hands pushed down into the pockets.
‘’Llo, Mrs Gilpin,’ he said to Ruby. ‘’Llo Marleen. Nice babby you got.’ He seemed drawn to Mary Lou, and winked at her.
Marleen, whose moment of softness at Christmas had soon passed, said hello with a look of amusement, as if to say, you must be desperate, going out with him. That was the trouble, Greta thought. They’d all known Trevor too long.
‘D’you wanna come to the flicks then, Gret?’ he said at last.
‘Yeah, all right.’ She folded her arms, in defiance against Marleen’s mocking expression. ‘When?’
Trevor shoved his hands further into his pockets. ‘What about tonight?’
‘All right, then.’ She was going out with Dennis the next night. She’d better get Trevor over with, now she’d promised.
Trevor seemed so overcome that she’d agreed that he was lost for words.
‘I’ll come down at seven, all right?’ she said.
‘Your Mom and Dad all right are they?’ Ruby said, struggling to put up the ironing board.
‘Yes, ta – here, let me do it.’ Trevor yanked the wooden-framed board into place with surprising competence, then said, cheerily, ‘Tara then. See you tonight, Gret!’
‘Ooooh, wish I was coming with you,’ Marleen said sarcastically.
‘You shut it,’ Greta snapped. You’ll be lucky to go out with anyone now, she felt like saying, but buttoned her lip.
‘He’s a nice lad, that Trev,’ Ruby said. ‘You could do a lot worse.’
‘He’s a prat, that’s what he is,’ Marleen said poisonously.
Greta felt as if she was going to explode if she stayed in the room. It was so crowded, what with the clothes horse and ironing board, the furniture that was too big for the room and the old pushchair one of the neighbours had passed on for Mary Lou and other baby stuff, that you could hardly get across it. And Mom and Marleen seemed to take up all the space anyway. It was too cold to go out, and all she could do was take herself off upstairs and sit on the bed, fists clenched.
‘Snow’s still ’ere then,’ Trev said as they struggled towards the picture house through the freezing fog, the mucky whiteness under their feet jaundiced under the street lamps.
Trev had always had a way of stating the obvious, but Greta knew what he meant – it had gone on a bit. Now Christmas and the New Year were over it felt like time for a thaw, but if anything there were even harder frosts at night, and even in the day it felt as if everything had frozen solid.
‘I get fed up with slithering and sliding about,’ she said. ‘Makes getting to work take twice as long. It’s all right for you.’
‘Yeah.’ Trev grinned. ‘I s’pose.’ He only had to walk a few houses distance down the road to Mr Marshall’s barbershop.
‘I brought you these,’ she said as they settled in the red plush seats, handing him a bag of misshapen chocolates. ‘Caramel squares – or not so squares.’
‘Oh!’ Trevor looked stricken, ‘I haven’t got anything for you.’
‘Good,’ Greta said. ‘You gave me that nice record. You eat ’em up, Trev. I don’t want any.’
‘Oh, Gret. . .’ Trevor turned in the gloomy cinema and gave her a look of such melting adoration that she was quite thrown by it. A funny feeling came about in the pit of her stomach and she had to pull herself together. She had already decided she wasn’t going to let him hold her hand or any of that carry-on, not when she was going out with Dennis the night after. She was Dennis’s girl and this was just a friendly trip to the flicks – she was being kind to him, wasn’t she?
They were showing A Kind of Loving, and once the lights had gone down, Trevor sat happily munching chocolates. He didn’t try to hold her hand and Greta found she had almost forgotten he was there. In the cosy, smoky darkness she got drawn right into the story. It took hold of her, the doomed love affair between Vic and Ingrid, the way everyone seemed to have a say in their lives except them – especially when Ingrid got pregnant. Sometimes she felt she was right in the picture and she wanted to stand up and give some of the old gossips a piece of her mind!
When the lights went on at the end she was so full of it, she burst out before they had even stood up.
‘I never want to have babies. It’s a trap – it spoils everything!’
Trevor looked at her, startled.
‘But Gret . . .’
‘But nothing!’ she stormed at him. ‘I want to be able to decide things on my own – to have some life. Not get saddled with babbies and washing and nappies all the time! Look at Marleen – she’s got Mary Lou and another on the way . . . She’s not even twenty . . . It’s horrible. There’re more things to do, there must be!’
‘Yeah – yeah, there must.’ Trevor nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right, Gret. I mean . . .’ He couldn’t seem to think what he meant, but she was at least gratified that he seemed to agree with her. It calmed her down a bit. Then he had to go and spoil it by saying, ‘So Marleen’s expecting again? That’s nice really, ain’t it – babbies, family and that. ’S what life’s for, ain’t it?’
‘Huh!’ Greta looked down mutinously at her feet. Not if she could help it, it wasn’t! ‘It’d help if she was married at least, don’t you think?’
The rest of the audience were all on the way out and it was quiet and warm and fuggy.
‘You’re so fiery, ain’t you?’ Trevor said, fondly. ‘You make me think, you do, Gret. You never was anything like Marleen.’
This softened her and she smiled fondly at him.
‘You’re the most lovely girl I know,’ he went on, with sweet seriousness. ‘I wish—’ His face twitched for a second. ‘I mean – I want you to be my girl.’
‘Oh, Trev—’ She laughed a little. He was sweet and kind and she could let off steam with Trev. He knew everything there was to know about her family, there was no use hiding anything. But as for being his girl – well, it seemed daft. He wasn’t Dennis, was he? Being with Trevor was like wearing a warm old cardigan that she’d had for years when Dennis was like a new fur coat. There was no comparing the two!
‘Gret –’ Trevor looked at her very seriously. It was quiet round them now. ‘It was lovely dancing with you . . . It was the best thing . . . Can I kiss yer?’
She wanted to say no, Trev, we can’t get into that! But he was already leaning
towards her. He wrapped his arms round her and in a second he was kissing her, his lips full and wet and tasting of chocolate. The way he kissed was awkward and sweet and for a second she froze, before giving in and kissing him back. What was the harm anyway? Lots of lads had kissed her and she knew they didn’t care! It felt nice and reassuring.
He drew back and looked at her for a moment, deep in her eyes, then rested his forehead against hers so that their noses touched. She felt as if he was a little boy.
‘I do love you, Greta. I really love you.’
She pulled her head back sharply. Now this had gone too far: she had led him on, he was getting all serious! She had to get out of this. Giving him a cheerful smile, but with no special meaning in it, she said,
‘That’s nice, Trev.’ She squeezed his hand for a second then got up. ‘We’d better get going eh, before they lock us in!’
‘So who’s this other bloke you’re going out with?’ Marleen demanded the next evening. She had still been lying queasily in bed when Greta left for work. Now she was huddled up in an old woolly of Ruby’s, her hair looking lank, as if neither brush nor comb had been near it all day. Feeling ill and fed up only made her more spiteful.
‘Just someone,’ Greta said, standing by the fire still in her coat, to try and thaw out her hands and feet. Everything outside was painful to touch: door handles, iron gates, the icicles hanging from gutters and railings. It all burned the hands and seeped its cold into the body.
‘Well who?’
‘What the hell’s it got to do with you?’ Greta flared.
‘I’m your sister, that’s what.’
‘What – all of a sudden? Funny kind of sister you’ve been all this time.’
Greta flounced off. Why should she tell Marleen anything? She’d only throw it back in her face. She knew Herbert would be round that night, as he was more and more these days, and she was going to get out of there as fast as she could. Marleen could get stuffed.
She bolted down the sausages Ruby had done for tea.
‘What’s the flaming hurry?’ Ruby asked.
‘I’m going out,’ she said, scraping up the last of the mash and gravy.
‘Who with this time?’
‘Dennis – Franklin.’
‘She wouldn’t bloody tell me,’ Marleen complained.
‘Oh, him again. What’s the carry-on with Trevor then?’
‘Nothing.’ Greta got up and put her plate in the sink. ‘That was just a bit of fun. T’ra – see you later.’
Marleen’s moaning followed her out. ‘That’s right – just go and leave us the washing up!’
Dennis had said he’d call for her and she wanted to get out before he arrived. She didn’t want him anywhere near Marleen. A sister with two kids born out of wedlock didn’t seem to fit into Dennis’s sunny ideas about family. So she hurried out into the street to see him just coming up Charlotte Road. He raised his hand and beamed in greeting.
‘Thought I’d save you the trouble of calling,’ she said, struggling towards him. It was hard to walk on the ice.
‘It’s no trouble – it’d be nice to see your family.’
‘Ah well – another time, maybe?’ she said. ‘They’re still having tea.’
‘I wondered if you’d fancy a drink?’ Dennis said. ‘We could just go down to one of the pubs over the bridge.’ There were no pubs in Bournville of course – they had to stay in Selly Oak or go to Stirchley if they wanted a drink.
‘That’d be nice.’ She smiled.
A lot of other people seemed to have had the same idea, and the pub was crowded. Greta asked for a lemonade shandy and she and Dennis managed to squeeze close together on to a bench in one corner. It felt cosy, even though they had to speak up to make themselves heard over the piano and all the other talk and laughter. There was a rowdy game of pool going on nearby as well. Greta took her hat off and laid it in her lap, patting her hair. She tried to put on the calm, intelligent demeanour she thought Dennis required.
‘It’s ever so nice to see you,’ Dennis said, smiling at her in that way which made her quite giddy. ‘I’ve missed you, Greta – only we’ve had such a lot going on.’
‘So you had a nice Christmas, then?’
Dennis beamed. ‘Oh, it was lovely! Maggie, my sister’s, had a baby boy and they’ve called him Mark – he’s such a great little lad. They’re astonishing, babies are! You should have seen Mom’s face! He was the centre of attention all the time of course. Even while we were eating dinner and having games and all the usual sort of thing. We have all sorts of things we do at Christmas – rituals you’d call them, I s’pose. There’s a meal on Christmas Eve and we gather the presents together all round the tree. And when we all get up in the morning we always have boiled eggs. Nothing fancy – just things we always do.’ He took a sip of his pint. ‘It makes you realize – there’s nothing like family life, is there?’
‘No – no, there certainly isn’t,’ Greta said, her heart sinking. ‘Only mine isn’t a big close one like yours.’
‘We’re very lucky – but we can’t all be the same,’ he said, turning to her. ‘Look, I’d like you to come home, soon – meet everyone. Or at least the ones who are around. Maggie and Don live in Wolverhampton now of course. He works on the Express and Star.’
‘I’d like that,’ Greta said, feeling excited. If Dennis thought she was good enough to meet his wonderful family, then things must be going all right.
‘We’ll sort it out then. You can come round for tea or something, at the weekend. It’s very important to me – and so are you.’
They sat chatting about the book she had given him and how he’d enjoyed it. She told Dennis a bit about Bonjour Tristesse and he said he’d like to borrow it when she’d finished.
‘We’ll have to go and have a browse in that shop together,’ he said. ‘He’s a great bloke, the one who runs it.’
‘Yes, he seemed very nice,’ Greta said. She suddenly felt Edie’s words wash through her, the feeling that she had wasted her opportunities at Cadbury’s, that there were so many more things she could be doing. Dennis seemed to be in so many clubs: the film club, cricket and football, and he even went to German classes on Mondays.
‘I went on one of the trips,’ he told her. ‘When I was sixteen. We went walking in the Austrian Alps and it was absolutely marvellous. I’d never heard German spoken before and everyone seems to hate Germans anyway, but the Austrians were ever so kind and hospitable to us. I’ve been learning for a few years now.’
‘Oh,’ Greta said, shrinking inside. Cadbury’s offered trips to everyone of course, but somehow she never seemed to have taken these opportunities. Whereas Dennis just took life head-on and did things with straightforward enthusiasm. Somehow, for herself, things always seemed to be more twisted round. Why did she not want to do more things to improve herself? She knew there was a competition at the factory – Cadbury Girl of the Year. When she’d heard she’d felt a bitter pang of envy knowing that she couldn’t enter herself. What did she have to offer? Nothing.
‘I don’t do many club things,’ she admitted. ‘But I think it’s time I took up some more.’
‘Good idea,’ Dennis said. ‘It’s marvellous, I think, all the things we can do. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Some people even go on to the university.’
This seemed so completely over the horizon to Greta in terms of ambition that she could think of nothing to say.
‘It’s so nice talking to you,’ Dennis said suddenly. ‘I always feel that you really understand what I’m saying.’
Greta blushed. Suddenly she was filled with a longing she couldn’t explain. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes. You’re sweet – lovely.’
Everyone seemed to keep telling her she was lovely, but she didn’t feel it.
They walked home very slowly in the icy darkness and Dennis took her arm on the slippery pavement and walked her all the way to the front door.
‘D’you want to come in?’ she f
elt compelled to ask, praying that he would say no. Herbert Smail was there no doubt, and she could hardly bear the thought of Dennis seeing him. She breathed out with relief when he said, ‘Better not. Another time when it’s not so late.’
For a moment he stood, just looking at her, then put his hands on her shoulders. She thought he was going to take her in his arms and kiss her as she was dying for him to, but he didn’t.
‘God, you’re lovely.’ He looked solemnly into her eyes, and what he said next brought her to tears. ‘And you don’t think well enough of yourself, Greta.’
She could not speak.
‘Goodnight, love. See you very soon.’ And he kissed her cheek, and then he was gone into the dark street, leaving her aching for more.
Chapter Thirteen
Everyone kept harking back to the winter of ’47. The sea was frozen, it said on the telly, and the Thames. Every day the roads had to be cleared and Greta met snowploughs as she struggled along Bournville Lane in the mornings.
‘D’you know,’ Pat said one day when they were on their break, ‘Mom said she saw a bird in the garden this morning. It was sitting on the washing line, very still, and then it fell off, just like that – dead! She’s been putting food out in our garden – crumbs and nuts and stuff. She says it’s the only way they’ll stay alive.’
‘Well, it’s not working very well, is it?’ Greta joked.
‘Anyway—’ Pat said. ‘How’s Dennis?’
‘All right. I’m going for tea to meet his Mom on Sunday,’ Greta said, realizing as she said it how nervous she was. Carelessly, she added, ‘And I’m off to the pictures with Trevor tonight.’
Pat’s eyes widened. ‘What – again?’
‘Well, yeah.’ Greta rather enjoyed Pat’s look of shock. ‘He wants me to go with him, so . . .’
‘But you’re going out with Dennis aren’t you?’