The Bells of Bournville Green

by Annie Murray

  The lights started to go down then. Dennis looked eagerly at the screen, but Greta wasn’t that interested in The Guns of Navarone: she’d come to please him. Dennis was a real gent, she thought. Nothing pushy or forward, just natural. Not like Reg Wallace, a lad she went out with last year who’d been all over her, fingers prodding and exploring the moment the lights went down. That was when the lads usually made their move.

  Every so often she stole a look at Dennis’s profile in the silver light from the screen. He was obviously enjoying the picture, sitting with a slight smile on his lips even during the tense parts. It was more of a lads’ film, Greta thought. She took her stockinged foot out of her damp shoe and wiggled her toes to warm them. And she tried to decide who was the more handsome, David Niven or Gregory Peck. She decided on Gregory Peck.

  But her mind didn’t stay on Gregory Peck for long, because something strange was happening to her. She couldn’t stop thinking about Dennis. A strange, warm, fluttery feeling was growing in her that she’d never felt before, and it kept growing. Dennis was lovely, wasn’t he! She was acutely aware of him sitting beside her and of every time either of them moved and his leg brushed against hers. And although she didn’t want to be mauled about she began to wonder why he wasn’t paying her a bit more attention.

  It was only the second time they had been anywhere together. Last time it had been a Cadbury do where there were lots of other people about and there had been no chance of a kiss or cuddle. This was the first time they had been out alone and he could take his chance to kiss her or at least hold her hand! That was how you knew a bloke wanted you, wasn’t it? As the minutes went by she started to feel a bit huffy. What was the matter – wasn’t she good enough for him or something? She knew Dennis’s family lived in a nice big house – nicer than Charlotte Road, anyway. Maybe he’d already decided that coming out with her was all a mistake.

  After a while though, as the action got more exciting Dennis turned to her enthusiastically. ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ he said, then reaching over he added, ‘May I?’ and took her hand, holding it gently in his warm one.

  The warm, fluttering feeling increased and she sat back, gratified now, and excited. Even though he was gripped by the story he turned and looked at her now and then and he held her hand all the way through.

  As the adventures on the island of Navarone came to a climax and the credits began to roll, Dennis turned to her, his eyes looking deep into hers.

  ‘That was ever so good. And the best part is being here with you, Gret. You’re lovely, you really are.’ He hesitated. ‘Would it be all right if I gave you a kiss?’

  Her heart thudded hard. ‘All right.’ She nodded, wondering what was happening to her that she wanted him to kiss her so much. With other lads it had felt like something she had to do but hadn’t much enjoyed.

  Moving closer, he began to kiss her, his full lips warm and caressing as if he really cared for her, and she was just starting to respond when he drew back. People round them were getting up and shuffling out.

  ‘It’d be lovely just to stay here,’ Dennis said, ‘but the lights’ll go on again any minute.’

  Feeling breathless, almost dreamlike, she followed him out of the red gloom into the cold.

  ‘My goodness!’ he exclaimed when they got outside, still holding her hand. ‘It must’ve kept coming down all the time we were in there!’

  While they had been inside, another couple of inches had fallen. The pavements and rooftops were thick with it, and it was still coming. Everything seemed muffled and magical at the same time, the flakes whirling in the beam of car headlights and tickling against their cheeks. Greta ran up the road a little way, frolicking in it, then felt foolish because Dennis didn’t join in.

  ‘I think I’d better get you home,’ Dennis said. ‘We’ve both got work in the morning.’

  He walked her to her door, and on the step, he put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes again. She felt overwhelmed by him, by the speed at which her feelings had come upon her. Even her legs felt a bit shaky and she didn’t think she was just shivering with cold.

  ‘Gret – will you smile at me? Please?’

  Bashful, she laughed, her lips parting and Dennis threw his head back in pleasure. ‘Oh – you’re lovely you are. God I love the way you smile.’

  He looked very serious then. ‘I know it’s early days . . .’ he started to say. But then he stopped himself.

  Greta caught her breath. ‘What were you going to say?’

  ‘Best not,’ he said. ‘Must take things carefully – I like to do things properly, see.’ For another long moment he gazed into her eyes, then leaned forward and his lips kissed her cool cheek.

  ‘Don’t catch cold – you go in,’ he said. ‘Goodnight, Greta.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, making as if to go into the house, but then she stopped, wondering if he’d call her back for more, but he kept on going. She stood on the step and watched him disappearing into the dark, his footsteps muffled, but the happy sound of his whistling carrying back along the street.

  ‘I love your smile . . .’ she whispered to herself, as the sound died away. ‘Oh Dennis – I love yours too – and I think I love you.’

  Chapter Five

  There was no sign of Herbert Smail or anyone else when she got up for work the next morning. Ruby was still in bed, now the Christmas rush was over at Cadbury’s. She would have a few weeks off, then be taken on for the Easter egg rush.

  Greta flung a woolly on over her nightie and crept down to the freezing kitchen, lit the gas and stood looking out of the snow-swathed back window at their tiny oblong of garden. The sight made her smile. There was a deep layer of snow along the wall and sitting like a drunken hat on top of the dustbin. It must have been snowing for a good part of the night and the sky was a bulging grey again.

  She sat down at the table, hugging herself, listening to the hiss of the gas and thinking about Dennis. Memories of yesterday made her feel fluttery and excited all over again. If only she could feel his arms around her now. She’d fallen in love last night, that was what had happened! And Dennis was steady and kind and a good few years older than her – three years felt like half a lifetime – and life was not grim and depressing the way it had seemed all day yesterday but lit up by the look in Dennis’s eyes. The snow seemed like a promise of sweet, happy things to come.

  She was in such a dreamy daze that the kettle whistled to the boil in no time, and she mashed a pot of tea.

  Better make Mom some, she thought. She’ll moan if she wakes and there’s no tea on the go.

  She poured herself a cup of dark, strong brew and was just shuffling to the stairs in her pink nylon furry slippers when she heard a knocking. Frowning, she put the cup and saucer down.

  ‘If that’s greasy Herbert he’ll get my sodding tea over him,’ she muttered, going to the front. ‘It’s only seven o’clock in the morning!’

  She opened the door a crack and peered out into the whiteness. The front steps were piled with snow, its perfection marred by the imprints of a pair of white plimsolls whose owner stood on the top step. Above the shoes were very skinny legs clad in blue jeans, topped by a jumper with a huge polo-neck in a chaotic blend of red, black, orange and yellow wool. In the person’s arms was a small child with big blue eyes.

  ‘Well, open the door then,’ the visitor ordered impatiently. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze a monkey’s arse off out ’ere.’

  Greta swung the door open, recognition sweeping through her: the narrow eyes, lanky brown hair, pale face, and that voice, only slightly marked by an American twang.

  ‘Marleen?’

  ‘You gonna let me in sis, or what?’

  In a daze, Greta led her through to the back. It was only then, when Marleen parked her daughter on the kitchen table and unwrapped the thin shawl from round her, that Greta noticed the child’s bare feet and legs.

  ‘She must be frozen!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why the hell hasn�
��t she got anything on?’

  Marleen turned and gave her a long, scornful stare. ‘Look – you ain’t got a clue what I’ve been through. I was in a hurry, right? She’s all right – she ain’t making a fuss, is she?’

  ‘D’you want a cuppa tea?’ Greta asked, not sure what else to say.

  Marleen gave a harsh laugh, standing the little blonde girl on a kitchen chair.

  ‘God, you really are getting like our Mom, aren’t you? Have a cuppa tea and that makes everything all right. You sound like an old woman already, Gret.’

  ‘I was only . . .’ Greta saw there was no point arguing. Already, though this great sisterly reunion had been going on for only about five minutes, she was having to hold on very tight to her temper. ‘Well, d’you want one, or not?’

  ‘Yeah – all right,’ Marleen said ungraciously. ‘Oh, Mary Lou – you’re flaming well wet again!’ She laid the child roughly on the kitchen table in a way which made Greta wince, and the little one began to grizzle. ‘Well, I ain’t got more clean diapers to put you in so you’ll just have to shurrup for a bit,’ Marleen snapped.

  ‘Shall I give her some milk?’ Greta suggested, as the toddler cried miserably.

  ‘Yes, and hurry up with it. Can’t stand her grizzling, it drives me mad.’ She handed Greta a baby’s bottle. It looked grubby and had a rime of old white milk in the bottom so Greta set about washing it.

  ‘So this is Mary Lou?’ she asked as Marleen tried to adjust the girl’s soggy nappy.

  ‘Yeah,’ Marleen said indifferently. ‘And a bloody handful she is an’ all.’

  ‘She’s very pretty.’ Though Mary Lou was bawling, Greta could still see how sweet she looked, with wide blue eyes and a round face topped by loosely tumbling blonde curls.

  There was no reply, so Greta busied herself making a bottle for the little girl, pouring tea and sneaking glances at her sister when she was not looking. Now she could take in Marleen’s appearance she was shocked by it. The reason she had not recognized her at first was because, although she had always been lightly built, she had lost so much weight that she was truly scrawny. Her already pointed features had a narrow-eyed, wolfish look and her hair was unkempt and hung loose. She looked pale and very unhealthy. Despite her thinness, above all, her appearance was of someone worn and tired and much older than her nineteen years. Greta felt a sense of dread looking at her. It was like looking at her Mom all over again, after the effects of Carl Christie. What on earth had happened? Was this what marriage had done to Marleen?

  She put Marleen’s tea on the table. Mary Lou was still grizzling.

  ‘Here y’are. There’s the sugar.’ She stood, not knowing what to do next. It was hard to talk over the crying baby. ‘Why’re you here, sis? You staying long?’

  ‘Oh that’s nice!’ Marleen snapped. ‘I come home after years away and you ask me why I’m here! Ain’t I part of the family any more?’

  ‘Well yes, but . . .’

  Both of them fell silent then, because they heard a heavy tread on the stairs. The door opened and they saw Ruby’s bleary face beneath her bleached hair.

  ‘What the hell’s all this racket?’ She was tying the belt of a mauve nylon dressing gown. ‘Oh!’ Her hand went to her heart. ‘What’s . . . ? Is that you . . . ?’

  As Greta watched her mother’s face she saw a few seconds of confusion, and then of vulnerable tenderness, pass over it.

  ‘Marleen?’ her voice sank to barely a whisper.

  ‘Yes, Mom, it’s me – and Mary Lou, your granddaughter,’ Marleen said matter-of-factly. ‘We’ve come home.’

  Everyone at work was talking about the snow. Thick as a quilt, it had turned everything – the Cadbury’s cricket pitch and girls’ gardens, the factory blocks and trees, and the old buildings on Bournville Green – into an icing-sugar, Christmas card scene. Everyone was chatting about how they had managed to get in to work, and how it looked as if it really was going to be a white Christmas for once. Heavy snowfalls were moving fast down from the north! But for Greta and her friends, her news had taken their attention away from it. Pat and the others were all ears over this turn of events in Greta’s home.

  ‘What – you mean she just breezed in, just like that, after all this time?’ one of them exclaimed, now they were on their dinner break, sitting over steaming bowls of soup, and it was the first good opportunity to talk.

  ‘Well – yeah,’ Greta shrugged. ‘I’d only just got out of bed and there she was, with the kid half-naked, on the doorstep.’

  ‘How did she get there?’ Pat said. ‘She must’ve come on an aeroplane. And where’s she been? You said she was married?’

  ‘I don’t know – I never had time to ask her . . .’

  ‘And is she staying?’

  ‘Look, I’ve told you – I don’t know!’ Greta said, exasperated. ‘She was in a mood and wasn’t saying much.’ All Ruby’s attention had been fixed on Marleen and the child from the second she arrived. Greta hadn’t been able to get any sense out of anyone and her longing for a proper sister who she could be close to had come clanging up against the hard reality. ‘All I know is that she’s turned up and said she’s come home for good. Or I think that’s what she said. I never had time to ask much – I had to come to work!’

  But she rolled her eyes comically to make light of it, and the others laughed. Greta had never hidden the fact that her relationship with Marleen was not a close one. It would have been lovely to think she could go home tonight to a sister she loved and was longing to see. Instead, she was already dreading it.

  ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ Pat said as they went back to work. ‘My Mom said to ask if you’d both like to come round for tea over Christmas – Boxing Day or something – if you’re not busy and that. I mean now Marleen’s home maybe she could come too?’ But Pat sounded a bit doubtful about that.

  Greta was touched. ‘That’s nice of them, Pat. I’d like to come – course I will’ She liked Mrs Floyd, though she had hardly seen anything of Pat’s father. ‘I’ll ask Mom – if you’re sure?’

  ‘Course I’m sure,’ Pat said, smiling her sweet, dimply smile. ‘And I’d love you to come over. I’ll make mince pies! It gets boring over Christmas without a bit of company.’

  ‘I s’pose you spend half the time in church singing hymns,’ Greta remarked.

  ‘Well, we do a bit,’ Pat said. ‘It’s not too bad though. It’s just once Christmas Day’s over the time hangs a bit heavy.’

  ‘You want to put a couple of bottles of summat fiery in their Christmas stockings – that’d soon get them going,’ Greta said wickedly, knowing perfectly well that Mr and Mrs Floyd never touched ‘intoxicating liquor’ of any kind. Seeing Pat blush slightly, although she was smiling, she said, ‘Don’t worry, chuck, I’m only kidding.’

  ‘So d’you think you’ll be able to come?’ Pat persisted.

  ‘Yes, course,’ Greta said. Her teasing had an edge of envy – she often wished she had Pat’s quiet, ordered life.

  As they went back to their machines she remembered Dennis’s description of his family Christmas. For a second she felt an ache of longing in her chest for the happy family scene he had portrayed to her. And the thought of him made her glow inside. But then came a sinking feeling of doubt. How could she ever be part of something like that? It sounded too good for her – she was too rough for people like that, wasn’t she? Not sweet and genteel. Someone like Pat would be better for Dennis! But she dismissed the thought. It was her that Dennis wanted to go out with. And whatever happened with Marleen coming home, she had Dennis, the man she was already convinced she loved. Marleen might be one for spoiling things, but at least she couldn’t spoil that.

  Chapter Six

  As soon as the word was out, of course everyone wanted to see Marleen and little Mary Lou. By the time Greta got home from work, her nanny Ethel, Ruby’s Mom, was there. She saw the car parked outside as she walked down the street.

  When she pushed the front door open everyone was
crowded round the fire in the front room: Nanny Ethel, and her husband Lionel, who she’d married towards the end of the war when they were both working for ENSA, Ruby, Marleen and little Mary Lou. There were empty teacups all over the place and the room was muggy and full of smoke.

  ‘Hello Nanna,’ Greta said, removing her coat and shaking the latest fall of snowflakes from it.

  ‘All right are you, Greta love?’ Ethel greeted her, dragging her eyes away from Mary Lou, who was sitting on the old blue rug by the fire, playing with something. Greta saw it was a doll. Nanna must have gone out and bought it as soon as she heard the news of her great-grandchild arriving home.

  ‘’Allo, Greta!’ Lionel said chirpily, his leathery face smiling at her through the usual cloud of cigarette smoke. Greta smiled back. At least someone seemed glad to see her, and she liked Lionel. He’d made her Nan happy again after she’d been widowed and depressed and he was always cheerful and good to everyone.

  ‘There’s tea in the pot . . .’ Ruby began, then leaned urgently downwards. ‘Oi Marleen, watch her – she’s got summat in her mouth!’

  Greta eyed the plate on the low table on which there had evidently been a fruit cake but now there was nothing but crumbs.

  ‘Nice of them to leave me some, she thought, going through to the back to pour a much-needed cup of tea. She found some stale custard creams instead and went to join the others in the front, perching on the stool near the fire as all the other chairs were taken.

  ‘Nice to see your sister home, isn’t it?’ Ethel said. ‘Even if it has all been a bit of a surprise. You had us ever so worried, Marleen – and we’ve been saying, she’s looking very thin and peaky. She wants to look after herself. You can settle back home now, Marleen—’ Ethel raised her voice to speak to Marleen, as if she was making a long-distance telephone call. ‘Whatever’s happened to you, bab, it’s all over and you’re home.’