by Annie Murray
‘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.
They parted in Oak Tree Lane, as Dennis’s route took him round the back of the hospital. As soon as she was alone, Greta felt herself slow down, her emotions sinking again as she dawdled home. What about when Dennis found out what her family was like? Mom would be back by now. Greta felt disgusted with herself for some of the things she’d said to Ruby that morning, but she still couldn’t trust herself not to say them all over again if Ruby started on her. She’d just have to go and face it. It was only a few days until Christmas. Ruby’s seasonal work at Cadbur
y’s was coming to an end and she’d be home more. They couldn’t go on like this.
As she turned into Kitty Road she realized Pat had been right – there was snow on the way. The sky had that laden, almost creaking look to it, and the flakes were coming down now, large and silent, floating round her face. The sight of it gave her a childlike feeling of wonder that made her feel like skipping down the road. She saw someone halfway up the road, coming towards her, tall and gangling and very familiar.
‘All right, Greta?’ he hailed her, waving a long, skinny arm.
‘All right, Trev?’ Greta stuck a smile on her face. ‘Scalped anyone today, have yer?’
Trevor gambolled up to her like a stork that only barely has control of its legs.
‘What d’yer mean?’ His bony face creased, puzzled.
‘Never mind, it don’t matter. How’s it going with Mr Marshall?’
‘Oh—’ he beamed, enthusiastically. ‘It’s bostin – I can do everything now – short back and sides, the lot!’
‘Good for you,’ Greta said, her smile becoming genuine.
She’d known Trevor since the first days of school and he’d been so delighted when Greta and her family came back from America and settled in Charlotte Road, near where Ethel, Ruby’s Mom, had lived for years. Greta had a soft spot for Trevor. He was sweet and dopey and she felt as if she’d known him for ever. When they all left school, Trevor had gone to work for Mr Marshall, the barber at the bottom of the street, who said he’d give him a go. Mr Marshall, father of Ruby’s friend Edie, was getting on in years, but he had been reluctant to hand the business over to anyone. He was coming to realize, though, that he would soon have to, and he had taken Trevor as an apprentice.
Trevor wasn’t top of the league in the brains department but he was sweet and kind and quite handsome in his way. He was very tall and had wide blue eyes and a Tintin quiff of dark brown hair on his forehead that had a life of its own.
‘Gret—’ He stopped, the trickling snowflakes settling on his hair, and she was sure she saw a blush spread over his face. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d . . . Well, if you’d come out with me. On a date, like.’
‘Oh – well, that’s nice, Trev,’ Greta said, taken aback. She had known Trevor was sweet on her, he always had been, in a bashful, hero-worshipping way, but she had not expected this. She had never seen Trevor as more than a boy before, a kid brother, even though he was grown to six foot two.
‘Thing is – I can’t tonight. I’m going out – with Dennis, from the works. It’s sort of a regular thing.’
That was almost true. She hoped Dennis wanted it to be true.
‘Oh.’ Trev’s face fell, and for a second Greta saw the little lad he’d once been in his raggedy shorts, a string of snot under his nose.
‘Sorry, Trev—’ She smiled but set off walking again. ‘Maybe another time, eh?’
‘Really – would you come out with us, Gret?’
‘You never know,’ she said, giving him a smile as she made for the gate of number thirty-nine. She didn’t want to say yes or no because she liked the feeling of being pursued. She’d just never thought of Trevor like that before. ‘T’ra then Trev – see yer.’
Despite her cheerful tone, her heart was heavy as she pushed open the door. Ruby was already home: Greta could hear her in the kitchen at the back as she hung her coat up and there was an inviting smell of frying – onions this time.
‘That you, Gret?’
Greta assessed her mother’s tone. It didn’t sound like open warfare.
‘Yeah.’ On the kitchen table was a bowl with minced beef in it and a pile of chopped swede.
‘There’s tea brewed.’ Ruby nodded to the little tin pot keeping warm on the stove.
Greta poured a cup, glad of it after the bitter cold outside. She went to the table to put a couple of lumps of sugar in.
‘Sit down,’ Ruby said abruptly. ‘Time we got a few things straight.’
Greta pulled up a chair. Oh, here we go, she thought. She stared sulkily at the blue pilot light in the Ascot over the sink.
‘I haven’t always been a good mother to you, I know that.’ Emphatically, Ruby chopped the root end off a carrot. ‘And I wasn’t that much of a mother to Marleen in some ways neither. But times were hard – the war took both your fathers . . . It was a terrible time, full of fear and misery. And you can wipe that look off your face! The least you can do is listen when I’m talking to yer!’
‘Well I might have guessed you were going to bring the war into it again,’ Greta said, rolling her eyes. ‘The war this, the war that. . .’
Already this was not going well. She knew what her Mom was saying was true, that things had been hard – punishingly hard. She was aware of what her Mom had been through, as well as Janet, Frances Hatton’s daughter, and Edie when she was living with Frances and Janet during the war. They’d all had their heartbreaks. Deep down, she knew all this. But what was she supposed to do about it exactly? She’d only been a baby for heaven’s sake and it was all in the past now. Why did they have to keep bringing up the war for breakfast, dinner and tea? And what difference did the war make now to the fact that when it came to men her Mom still behaved like some sort of street trollop? What was it she was supposed to understand?
Ruby turned, drumming her fist on the table. ‘Your generation won’t have to go through all that, at least we hope to God you don’t. And we went through it all so you won’t have to. But you don’t know you’re born, some of yer, carrying on as if the world owes you a living with your loud music and your coffee bars and coming and going when yer like . . . You’ve all got more wages than sense . . . And don’t you get up and walk off when I’m talking to yer!’
Greta slumped back down in her seat.
‘What’s that got to do with it, Mom? What’s the war got to do with the fact that I have to come down and find that . . . that bloke here when I get up in the morning! He’s vile. His eyes were all over me . . . You’ve never had a moment for me! Why can’t you . . . Why can’t we . . .’
Suddenly she couldn’t find words, didn’t know what it was she wanted to say except that she wanted, needed things to be different, to have a proper family like Pat, who’d never need to shout at her Mom and Dad, and for there to be something more to life than chasing men and having babies, over and over, round and round inexorably, like the life-cycle of the butterfly she could remember drawing at school.
‘Oh, it’s no good talking to you,’ she snapped, jumping up from the table. ‘Whatever I say won’t make any difference will it?’
‘All I want is a bit of life and family for myself as well,’ Ruby shouted after her as she disappeared into the front room. ‘And why shouldn’t I, after all I’ve been through?’
‘Well, I’m your family,’ Greta shouted, pulling the door to the stairs open violently. ‘Or had you forgotten that?’’
And she thumped upstairs, slamming the door. At least Dennis wanted her. She clung to the thought of him.
Ruby cursed over the glowing pile of carrots.
‘What’s the use in even trying to talk any sense into her, the mardy little bint! When I think of all I had to do for my mother. And if I’d talked to her like that I’d’ve had a walloping all right!’
Chapter Four
It felt very cosy, walking with Dennis through the falling snow, then snuggling up on seats near the back of the picture house, though it took some time before Greta’s feet thawed out. There was already a layer of snow on the ground about an inch deep, and one of her shoes had a hole in and let in the wet. And she felt nervous. Dennis was different from other lads she’d been here with.
‘This is going to be good!’ Dennis said, settling down. ‘Here – d’you want one of these?’
He offered her a bag of misshapen pieces of marzipan coated in chocolate. Like all Cadbury’s employees they had a ticket which allowed them to buy cheap misshapes from the reject shop at the factory.
Greta smiled
politely. ‘Think I might give it a miss, ta.’
They weren’t allowed to take chocolate out of the Cadbury factory, but everyone working there was allowed to eat as much of it as they liked while on the premises. Most people, after going chocolate-mad for the first days after they were taken on, soon came to behave in a more moderate way. A few never wanted to eat chocolate again. Greta liked it still, but only now and then.
‘Only joking,’ Dennis chuckled. ‘Have one of these instead?’ From another pocket he produced a little white bag of strawberry bonbons. ‘I thought they’d be more your thing.’
‘Oh – ta, Dennis,’ Greta said. ‘My favourite!’
‘Thought so. I’ve got some peanut brittle in here somewhere as well.’ He twinkled at her and for a moment it felt as if he was more like a Dad than a bloke of twenty, a kindly father giving her a treat, and she liked the feeling. In fact she liked it a lot. He seemed old and capable, and she felt she could sink back and be taken care of. She smiled back gratefully at him, popping a bonbon in her mouth.
‘You got a busy Christmas coming up?’ he asked, indistinctly.
‘Not really—’ They both laughed as she tried to speak without drooling. ‘You know, just family and a few friends. There’s only me and Mom.’
She’d better be damn careful what she told Dennis, at least for now.
‘No brothers or sisters?’ His tone was pitying.
Greta hesitated. ‘No – not really. How many’ve you got?’
‘Three big sisters and one brother,’ he said happily. ‘I’m the youngest, so it’s always a houseful with their husbands, kids and all that. You know – do it all properly, like. My mother’s heroic, the way she manages everything. And there might be a new little one arriving for Christmas as well – my sister Maggie’s expecting her first.’
‘That’s nice,’ Greta said, enviously. It sounded so lovely, everyone getting together like that, and the way he spoke about it, as if it was the happiest time of the year.
