Bells of Bournville Green (2 page)

Greta scowled.

‘Yeah, and this is my house and if I don’t feel like speaking to you first thing in the morning, I won’t – and I don’t, all right?’

She stumped off back upstairs with her cup. Lukewarm tea was better than spending another minute in the kitchen and having to see his pink neck, his fat belly bulging under that sludge-green cardi and his greasy comb-over. Mom must have truly lost her mind to go anywhere near a revolting slob like that!

Greta dressed furiously, trying not to think about the sadness of her mother’s life so that she would have to feel less resentful towards her. But of course it all welled up anyway, the thoughts and memories. Her elder sister Marleen’s Dad, Ruby’s first husband, Frank Gilpin, had been in Bomber Command and was killed flying a raid in 1943. Then Greta’s own father, a GI called Wally Sorenson, had been a ‘D1’ – killed on the first day of the D-Day landings on Omaha Beach. Wally’s kindly parents Ed and Louisa Sorenson had made Ruby and her two daughters warmly welcome in their home in Minnesota after the war. Greta had adored her grandparents, who were kind and loving and made her feel as if she had a proper family, and it had looked as if they could have a good life over there. She still used their name, Sorenson, her father’s name.

But then of course Mom had to go and pick some walking disaster of a bloke to marry. Ruby’s marriage to Carl Christie had lasted barely a year, and it was the most frightening time Greta could remember in her life. Christie had turned out to be a damaged and violent man who had terrorized Ruby and reduced her to a frightened, unkempt woman with no confidence left, before she had finally managed to rouse herself and get away from him. And it hadn’t been just Mom who had messed everything up. Greta pulled her stockings on with furious resentment. Marleen had gone off the rails as well, causing all sorts of trouble, running wild until Ed and Louisa Sorenson had had enough and washed their hands of the family.

‘We’re always your grandparents,’ Louisa had told Greta, tears running down her gentle face. They were God-fearing Christian people and were at their wits’ end with Ruby and Marleen. ‘We love you, Greta. You remind us so much of our beloved Wally and we’ll write you, dear. We do so want to have you in our lives. But we just can’t tolerate this whole
situation
any more.’

Although Ruby and Greta had kissed the Sorensons goodbye, turned their backs on the dream of America and returned to England, Marleen had flatly refused to come. She had taken off, aged only seventeen, with some man who she said was about to marry her. Ruby had seemed unable to stop her, and they had heard from her only twice since, once to say she was married and then, last year, to report the birth of a baby girl called Mary Lou. She was still living somewhere in Minnesota.

And she’d better bloody well stay there, Greta thought, rage swelling in her over the loss of her grandparents. Marleen always did spoil everything.

Leaning close to the tilted mirror over her chest of drawers, she applied a thin line of eye-liner, as much as she could get away with at work. She combed her thick, shoulder-length hair, curling it under at the ends. It would have to be tied back and tucked under a cap all day at work so she wanted to make the most of it now. Even in the cheerless morning her hair looked vividly blonde. Angry and churned up as she was, she produced a smile, seeing her expression echoed in the little white-edged picture she had of Wally Sorenson, tucked into the edge of the mirror. She could easily see from where she had inherited her big, square teeth and broad, healthy-looking face.

‘Hello, Dad.’ Her eyes filled as she hungered for this man she had never even met, for the idea of a father who would have been kind and all-embracing, who would have swung her up in his big strong GI’s arms and cuddled her and given her love of a kind she had never had from a man.

Wally Sorenson, she could tell by the way her Mom talked about him, had been the one man Ruby had ever truly loved and the one really decent one she had ever had in her life. The war had robbed them of him, and Mom and Marleen, between them, had robbed her of her grandparents as well. Yet Mom was forever on about Marleen, worrying to her friends, especially Edie when she was round here. Marleen this, Marleen that.

Greta fastened the top button of her blouse, which kept slipping undone, and as she did so she heard the front door slam shut. So he’d gone, had he? Bloody Herbert Small-Balls, the sweaty old sod – good riddance!

Downstairs smelt of frying and Ruby was by the gas stove. Her navy work skirt hugged her broad hips very tightly and the sleeves of her cream blouse were rolled up her plump arms. The overall effect was of buxom largeness, and even more so with her new ash-blonde hairdo piled on her head, little wisps of fringe hanging stiffly down her forehead. She rounded on Greta, her face pink from the hot stove, and slammed a plate on the table with a slice of fried bread and an egg on it.

‘’Ere, get that down you.’ Her hands went to her hips and she stood over the table where Greta had sat down sulkily. ‘And what the ’ell d’you think you’re playing at, speaking to Herbert like that? He said you were bloody rude to him!’

Greta felt her temper flare immediately.

‘No I wasn’t.’

‘’E said you were.’ Ruby wasn’t budging. ‘’E was quite put out. You’ve got a nerve, wench, going on like that.’

Greta stabbed her knife into the egg yolk, which trickled stickily across the white plate.

‘It’s me who lives here, not him. I came down in my nightie – it was embarrassing.’

‘This is my house!’ Ruby erupted. ‘It’s my business who stays here and who doesn’t, and I don’t need a little bint like you thinking you can insult my . . . my . . .’

‘What?’ Boiling over, Greta stood up so abruptly that the chair fell over and crashed on to the linoleum. ‘Your boyfriend? The latest in a long line, eh Mom? Have you taken a
look
at him? I’d’ve thought you could do better than that!’

Ruby’s face turned even redder. ‘He may not be in the first flush of youth but neither am I. And he’s all right to me – he’s got a good job at the Leyland – prospects. I s’pose I’m not meant to have any life apart from working and cooking and scrubbing for you, eh? I want a bit of life for myself as well as all that drudgery . . .’

‘Drudgery! Oh don’t come the martyr with me, Mom – you hardly lift a finger! It’s me left doing all the cooking and cleaning when you’re gadding off with your latest seedy bloke in tow. How many is it now? Albert, Emlyn, Sid . . .’

‘Well you’re a fine one to talk, my girl. You’ve had more blokes buzzing round you than I’d had hot dinners at your age!’

They were yelling now, across the table.

‘Well where d’you think I get it from? My glowing example of a Mom!’

‘Don’t you talk to me like that, my girl!’ Ruby folded her arms and pitched her voice lower suddenly, so that it was intense and threatening. ‘I’ve had enough on my plate, bringing you and Marleen up with no help from anyone . . .’

‘What d’you mean?’ Greta could feel herself saying worse things than she ever intended, as if they were gushing out of her. ‘You’re always spinning that sob story of yours, but I seem to remember being brought up by Mrs Hatton back then, not by you – you were always off chasing summat in uniform . . .’

Frances Hatton, a kind Quaker lady, had helped both Ruby and Edie a great deal during the hardest days of the war. A retired midwife, she had even delivered Greta when she was born one winter night in her house in Bournville. Frances had died after the war but Greta remembered her with great affection.

Ruby’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you lately, my girl. You were always the quiet one, not like Marleen with all her carry-on. But now you’re getting just as bad and she’s constantly a worry – I don’t hear from her for months on end and . . .’

‘Marleen this, Marleen that – it’s always her isn’t it? All I ever hear about is your precious Marleen! It’s all right for her over there in America! All you ever think about is her when she’s the one who’s nothing but bloody trouble. She ruined everything for me. She took my grandparents away from me and she wrecked
everything . . .’

Sobs were rising from deep inside her. Until now she had not realized quite how angry and hurt she was about what had happened during their brief ‘new life’ in the USA, how much she resented both Marleen and her mother because of that madman Carl Christie, because things had not turned out how they might have done.

‘She stole America from me! I should have stayed over there with Ed and Louisa – at least they loved me. And all you can think about is Marleen and your
vile
string of men. You’re both as bad as each other . . . You disgust me, both of you . . .’

Afraid she might break down and cry Greta pushed the sticky yellow plate across the table.

‘I don’t want this. I’m going to work.’ Bitterly she glared at her mother. ‘I don’t want to end up like you, Mom. Or like Marleen. I’m sick to the back teeth of the pair of you. I want a proper life!’

Picking up her coat, she went out into the grey, overcast morning and slammed the front door behind her with all her strength.

Chapter Three

‘Greta – wait for us!’

Dennis’s voice rang out behind Pat and Greta as they left the block at the end of their shift.

‘Eh—’ Pat nudged Greta in the ribs, giving her a mischievous wink as they turned round. ‘Look who it isn’t!’ Though she never went out with boys herself, she was always fascinated by Greta’s dates.

Through the knots of people wending their way out from the works towards the tree-named roads stretching away from Bournville Green – Sycamore and Elm, Willow and Laburnum – they saw Dennis’s eager figure dashing and dodging round everyone. His jacket was thrown over one shoulder and he was waving. As he drew closer they could see his round, freckled face smiling eagerly.

‘Lucky I caught you!’ he panted, running up to them and beaming at Greta. ‘Hello – you all right, Pat?’

‘Yes thanks,’ Pat said shyly. She blushed whenever a male spoke to her and seemed to be awed by them. But earlier in the day she had said to Greta, ‘He’s nice, handsome and that – but he’s a bit staid compared with your usual, isn’t he?’

‘Well, maybe I want a change,’ Greta had said. ‘Anyway—’ She drew closer to Pat and whispered. ‘I asked that lady in the wages department to check up on him for me. He lives in one of those big houses on Upland Road – and he’s definitely not married!’

Dennis was certainly not like some of the other boys who came chasing after her. He was already twenty and seemed very old and sensible, the way she needed Pat to be sensible and stable too, though she hardly knew it then. With Pat she was always the larky one, the one who needed anchoring. Maybe Dennis would anchor her too. He seemed to offer something she dimly knew she needed. And clearly he had eyes only for her.

‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds and get home,’ Pat said, and as Greta started to protest Pat put her hand on her friend’s arm. ‘No – I’ve got to get back – ’cos of Josie.’

‘Oh yes – course,’ Greta said sympathetically. ‘And say hello to your Mom from me.’

‘I will.’ Pat flashed another brave smile at both of them. ‘Tara you two – see yer in the morning.’ She glanced up at the heavy sky. ‘It’s definitely coming on for snow, I reckon. It’s bloomin’ cold enough!’

‘T’ra Pat!’ they both said.

Greta watched her walk away, solid and responsible as ever, as she and Dennis began walking together.

‘It’s hard for her,’ she sighed. ‘And her Mom.’ Mrs Floyd, Pat’s mother, was a kindly woman, but she always looked so worn and harassed. And she liked going to Pat’s house, where she was always given a warm welcome. The television was forever on, even when it was just the test card. Pat said they always had to turn it off when her Dad got home. He didn’t approve of it, but Pat’s Mom said she liked the company.

‘You coming out tonight?’ Dennis said as they headed along towards Selly Oak where both of them lived. ‘Thought we could go to the pictures. There’s
The Guns of Navarone . . .
’

‘I dunno . . .’ Greta hesitated. ‘Mom’s expecting me . . .’ Her spirits sank horribly at the thought of that morning and the way her Mom had cut her dead at dinner time. Usually every time Ruby saw Greta at Cadbury’s she’d call across to her. ‘’Ello, bab! Make sure you get ’ome in time!’ or ‘Watch who you’re walking out with tonight!’ It was embarrassing but warming as well, and had become a light-hearted joke among Ruby’s friends. ‘Bringing the whole family to work, eh Rube? Chip off the old block, isn’t she?’

Today, even though she was still angry, and sickened by the memory of finding Herbert Smail sitting at the table when she came down, she felt very down and cold inside.

‘I know – but after? Oh come on, Gret – we’ve hardly seen each other . . .’

‘All right – course I’ll come,’ she said, trying to sound more cheerful. Unguardedly she added, ‘Only – I had words with our Mom this morning. I ought to go home . . .’

‘Gracious – what about?’ Dennis seemed so shocked at the idea of rowing with anyone that Greta immediately cursed herself for saying too much.

‘Oh – you know—’ Her emotions were too raw about Marleen and about her Mom’s chaotic love life, and she was definitely not going to air it all in front of Dennis. What sort of impression would that give him?

Dennis clearly didn’t know, but he said, ‘Ah well – you can patch it up, can’t you? Families always have their moments. But how about meeting me at the end of Oak Tree Lane, seven-fifteen, eh?’ He put his lips close to her ear and said playfully, ‘I’m yours for the evening, baby!’

Greta giggled, as his breath tickled her ear, excited by his attention. Maybe she had misjudged Dennis!

‘Are you now, you cheeky so-and-so?’

He gave a mock salute. ‘Eager and reporting for duty with my boots blacked.’

‘Well, I’ll do my best,’ she said, cheered by the sight of Dennis’s eager expression. He was in many ways an ordinary-looking bloke, with wavy, ginger-brown hair, and on the chubby side, but his wide mouth, so often drawn into a smile, his hazel eyes and freckled complexion made him very attractive. Greta realized that quite a few of the Cadbury’s girls – and others – had their eye on Dennis Franklin. He evidently came from a good family, with money, and she was flattered that he had chosen her.