by Annie Murray
Her heart beat very fast. What was Dennis saying? That he thought so much of her that he was talking about one day making her a part of the Franklin family? Was that what he meant?
Dennis had a soft, misty look in his eyes as he gazed at her. ‘I can imagine you with apple blossom in your hair.’
‘Dennis—’ To her horror, tears prickled in her eyes. ‘I’m not good enough for you.’
He leaned forward, earnestly. ‘What on earth are you talking about? You’re the most fantastic girl! You’re my ideal of all a girl should be!’
‘Your family sound so nice . . .’ She looked down at the table, flushing with embarrassment. If only she’d never said anything! It wasn’t like her to lay herself bare like this. Usually with blokes she was the joker, keeping them at a distance.
‘Well, they are . . .’ Dennis sounded hurt and worried. ‘Look, what’s brought this on?’
‘You haven’t met my family – they’re just . . . Well, not like yours.’
‘Well, I know your Mom don’t I? She’s a nice lady.’
‘Yes,’ Greta conceded. ‘I suppose she is.’ But she felt inferior, and unsure of herself.
‘Don’t say that,’ Dennis said, taking her hand. ‘You’re the girl for me – I know that – even from knowing you for just a while. I only have to look at you . . . Come on, cheer up. It’s Christmas!’
The sight of Dennis’s doting face always cheered her up, although the feeling would not go away altogether. Grateful for his kindness, she gave him her warmest smile.
‘Oh—’ Dennis made a mocking gesture as if someone had shot him through the heart. ‘That smile! One of these days I’m going to get myself a camera so I can take pictures of you. I’d love to have one to keep. I don’t s’pose you’ve got one have you? That you could give me?’
Greta thought. ‘No – not recent. My grandparents took some when I was little – in America.’
She’d told Dennis about Ed and Louisa and he had been very interested. She had had her usual Christmas card and brief letter from them.
‘Even a picture of you with pigtails would be better than nothing,’ Dennis joked.
Once they’d drunk their tea they wandered out into the cold street where their breath billowed in white clouds against the street lights. But the people of Brum were out, determined to enjoy themselves and find last-minute bargains, despite the cold. Greta and Dennis linked arms and strolled through the Christmassy streets, smelling cigarette smoke and cheap perfume and cooked meat from some of the eating places that were still serving. They avoided the Bull Ring as it was full of building work and people doing desperate last-minute food shopping, and walked the gritted pavements round the snow-clad cathedral and along Colmore Row before heading for Navigation Street to catch their bus. All the time they held hands, laughing about day-to-day things and people they knew at Cadbury’s. Greta felt dreamy, as if she was walking on air.
When they got off the bus in Selly Oak, Dennis insisted on walking her home although it was out of his way. At the bottom of Charlotte Street he stopped her, in the shadows by the old copper works in Alliott Road.
‘I just wanted to say happy Christmas properly,’ he said, gazing at her closely. ‘And to say . . . You’re a lovely girl Greta. I don’t know what you feel for me, but I’m . . . Well, I want to tell you – you do something to me. I love you, that’s all,’ he finished bashfully. ‘And I want us to be together.’
Greta felt emotions welling up in her. She’d never heard him say this before. It made her very happy, but at the same time she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she wasn’t enough for him – good enough, or clever enough, or something enough that she couldn’t even identify.
‘I love you too,’ she said, in a wobbly voice. ‘Oh, Dennis – I can’t believe this is happening!’
He pulled her close and held her, kissing her as if she was very precious, and she kissed him back, passionately. She could have stayed there for hours, but soon Dennis pulled away from her.
‘Better not get carried away.’ He smiled wryly. His hair was looking dishevelled where she had run her hands through it.
‘Come here,’ she laughed, smoothing it down. ‘You look as though you’ve been through a hedge backwards!’
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He brought out a little parcel and handed it to her. ‘For you tomorrow. Happy Christmas, my lovely.’
Greta reached into her bag for the book. ‘I don’t know if you’ll like this,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I didn’t know what to get . . .’
‘Of course I’ll like it if it’s from you,’ he said, already holding it as if it was something precious. He hugged her again for a moment, close and tight.
‘See you as soon as we can. Happy Christmas, Greta.’
‘Happy Christmas,’ she whispered.
He turned to wave at the end of the street as she stood watching, still hardly able to believe it was real. It can’t work, she thought, a feeling of doom coming over her even as her heart soared to the heights. Good things like this don’t work in my family. They never do. I’ll spoil it somehow – I can just see it coming.
She walked in to the sound of Mary Lou wailing. Marleen was pacing up and down the back kitchen with Mary Lou on her hip, jiggling her irritably, a tense, angry expression in her face. The room smelled of liver and onions and another odour which she realized was of dirty nappies.
‘Give her to me,’ Ruby said, getting up from the table where she was sorting out vegetables for tomorrow’s dinner. A ketchup bottle was somehow managing to stay upright, balanced on its lid. ‘Let me have another go – quieten her down before we have our tea.’
‘Bloody shurrup, Mary Lou!’ Marleen erupted suddenly. She hoiked the child round and started to give her a good shaking, which only made her cry more.
‘Don’t be like that with her!’ Ruby went to her straight away and took the child, who was now bawling at full volume. ‘That ain’t going to make her stop is it?’
‘I don’t know!’ Marleen screeched, distraught. ‘I don’t know what’ll make her shut up! She’s always been like that ever since she was born – there’s no pleasing her. I don’t know what to do with her – I wish I’d never had her!’
She burst into tears and ran to the stairs, and they heard her crash up to the bedroom and slam the door.
‘Make her a bottle will you, Gret?’ Greta could see her Mom was near the end of her tether and she did as she was asked.
The bottle seemed to pacify Mary Lou for a time, and she sat tearstained on Ruby’s lap, glugging the milk down. In the quiet that followed they could hear Marleen sobbing in the room upstairs.
‘What’s up with her, Mom?’ Greta asked.
Ruby shook her head. ‘If I knew, I’d tell yer – but she’s just sat here and hardly said a word all day.’ She looked up at Greta. ‘Oh – Trevor came round. Said will you pop round and see them tomorrow – teatime?’ Despite her weariness a smile played round Ruby’s lips. ‘He said he had summat for you!’ And she gave a big saucy wink.
Chapter Eight
Christmas morning, and the first sound Greta heard when she came to was Marleen being sick.
Dragging herself out of bed into the freezing cold, she listened for a few seconds outside the locked bathroom, then tapped on the door.
‘Marleen, what’s up? You poorly?’
There was no answer. After calling several more times and hearing more retching sounds emanating from the bathroom, she said, ‘Be like that then,’ and went downstairs to put the kettle on.
Ruby had beaten her to it and was standing by the stove in her dressing gown. The light was strange because of the snow. Seeing her, Ruby gave a vague smile.
‘Little ’un still asleep?’
‘Yes, thank God.’
‘Happy Christmas, love.’
‘Happy Christmas.’ Greta perched on a chair by the table. ‘I think our Marleen’s poorly,’ she said, through a y
awn. ‘She’s up there being sick.’
Ruby whipped round. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘In the bathroom – I could hear her.’
‘Oh my God. What about yesterday?’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, was she sick then an’ all?’
‘I dunno. I was down here when she got up . . .’
But Ruby was already halfway up the stairs.
‘Come out here my girl,’ she heard. ‘I want to speak to you! You get that door unlocked, now!’
There was a pause, then the click of the bolt on the bathroom door.
‘What’s going on?’ Ruby demanded.
Greta didn’t hear any reply from Marleen. She could imagine her shrugging in her usual sulky way.
‘I asked you a question!’ Ruby roared at her. ‘Come on – out with it! Are you in the family way again?’
Within seconds Mary Lou gave a great screech which drowned out Marleen’s reply.
Greta listened, her heart pounding. Marleen, having another baby? How could she be? Mary Lou was still so young – could you have another one that quickly? She realized how ignorant she was about all that sort of thing. And worst of all was the thought that Marleen might bring yet another screaming brat into the house. She didn’t even know how to look after the one she’d got!
Greta filled with explosive rage. Wasn’t that just like Marleen, to come home, not say a word, and expect everyone else to put up with whatever mess she’d got herself into? Marleen was so stupid, so selfish! She always had to spoil everything for everybody! Greta thumped up the stairs. At that moment she could cheerfully have given Marleen a good slapping.
In the bedroom though she found her mother and sister sitting side by side on her bed. Ruby had the wailing Mary Lou in her arms, and beside her Marleen was bent over, looking sickly and faint, hair hanging in lank trails each side of her cheeks and obviously feeling dreadful. She also looked very young and vulnerable.
Greta gave her mother a questioning look and saw Ruby nod grimly. So it was true. She felt her anger drain away at the sight of her sister, to be replaced by a resigned pity. What a cowing awful mess Marleen was making of everything! There wasn’t much love lost between them, and probably never would be, but she could still feel sorry for her. Marleen had still not said a word about what had happened to her during her time in America, but it had left her in this terrible low state, and with two children into the bargain.
‘Kettle’s coming up to the boil,’ she said quietly. ‘Shall I go and brew up a cuppa?’
‘You do that, bab,’ Ruby said, over Mary Lou’s screams. ‘I think we all need it.’
Well, Marleen, Greta thought angrily, hands in freezing cold water, peeling potatoes, you’ve managed to wreck everything again – you’ve even wrecked Christmas . . . Jolly music drifted through from the television, which seemed to mock her mood. ‘Thanks a bunch,’ she growled, throwing the gritty peels savagely into the bin.
They were all trying to take in Marleen’s news, and as if things couldn’t get any worse, come midday there was the expected loud banging on the front door.
‘That’ll be Herbert,’ Ruby said, as if they couldn’t have guessed. She took her pinny off, revealing a new terylene dress in swirls of maroon and white, and patted at her hair, which she had touched up at the roots and sprayed into place. She hissed at Greta, ‘Now, listen here – Herbert means a lot to me. You’d better be nice.’
From the kitchen Greta heard Ruby greeting Herbert Smail as if she had not a care in the world, laughing and joking with him.
‘Oh, you’re a tonic, Ruby, you really are!’ he said in his smarmy voice, stamping the snow off his shoes. ‘A salve and balm for the weary.’ She heard the smacking sound of him kissing her mother’s cheek, and then he must have noticed who else was in the room.
‘Who’s this?’ Herbert sounded really thrown by the sight of Marleen and Mary Lou on the rug by the fire, near the little Christmas tree. In the background there was music coming from the television.
‘Ah, now, Herbert,’ Ruby explained, speaking in a light, sparkly way that made Greta clench her fists. ‘We had a little surprise a couple of days ago. This is my other daughter Marleen and her little girl Mary Lou – they’ve come home from America.’
Greta found a wicked grin spreading across her face at the thought of Herbert getting the Marleen treatment. She had to see this. She went and stood in the doorway. Herbert was dressed in a blaringly loud tan and black check suit, the jacket buttons unfastened to reveal an immense, bilious-green shirt.
‘Say hello, Marleen,’ Ruby said brightly. ‘This is my friend Herbert.’
Marleen, still obviously feeling sick, raised her eyes to Herbert as if she had just been asked to inspect a blocked drain.
‘’Llo,’ she grunted.
‘How delightful to meet you, Marleen,’ Herbert oozed. ‘Well what a nice surprise – a familial Christmas festivity. Aren’t I a lucky boy?’
Greta wondered whether Herbert had even known Marleen existed. Most likely not, she decided.
‘I’ve had the privilege of visiting the United States of America myself,’ he told Marleen. ‘Detroit, to be completely precise and accurate. Which part of that great and esteemed country have you been living in?’
Marleen stared at him blankly. ‘What?’
‘Don’t be dense Marleen,’ Ruby said sharply. ‘Herbert’s asking you where you were living in America.’
All he got in reply was another withering stare from Marleen.
‘She’s not feeling too good today,’ Ruby said. ‘Any road, here’s Greta to see you!’
‘Ah, the lovely Greta!’ Herbert turned to her. ‘Allow me to offer Christmas felicitations by kissing your fair and delectable cheek!’
Before Greta could either decipher this sentence or move away, Herbert had swooped towards her. His wet lips smacked against her cheek.
‘Happy Christmas,’ Greta said hastily. ‘I’ll just check on the spuds, Mom.’
She retreated to the kitchen, wiping her cheek. Then she got the giggles and stood snorting helplessly into her hands by the cooker. Herbert kissing her had been like being mauled by a giant slug. God Almighty, what a day, and it was only twelve o’clock!
‘Come through and I’ll get us a drink, Herbert,’ Ruby said. ‘I’ve got some nice cider – I know you like that.’
As soon as Ruby and Herbert came into the kitchen Greta went back into the front room and sat down next to Marleen. She started building a brick tower for Mary Lou.
‘Who the bloody hell’s that?’ Marleen asked.
‘Mom’s new boyfriend.’
Marleen stared at her. ‘What the hell was he on about?’
Within two minutes of sitting down at the table for Christmas dinner, Greta wondered how she was going to get through it, never mind the rest of the day.
Ruby had cooked a sumptuous meal: turkey and trimmings, potatoes, carrots and parsnips and cabbage, and the room was full of steam and the smells of food. There were crackers on the table, which Mary Lou was very taken with and cried when Ruby took hers away.
‘You could hurt yourself, bab,’ she said. ‘We’ll have it later!’
Mary Lou was setting up for a big wail when Herbert leaned down to her. ‘Coochie-coochie!’ he said, blowing cidery breath into her face. ‘There’s a coochie-coochie little girl, aren’t you?’
Mary Lou’s mouth opened in astonishment at the sight of his great big red face and she forgot to cry. Greta caught Marleen’s eye and for a moment they were on the same side when Marleen smirked back at her.
‘You’ve got a way with children, haven’t you?’ Ruby said, piling potatoes on to Herbert’s plate. ‘It’s nice to see that.’
‘Oh, I do my best,’ Herbert said, laughing and looking round the table. ‘I’m a bit out of practice, with my own being grown up and gone.’
Greta stopped in the middle of pouring gravy and looking sharply at her mother. I thought he was s
ingle, her look said. What’s this about children?
‘In America they have Thanksgiving, not Christmas,’ Marleen volunteered suddenly.
‘That’s most true, they do,’ Herbert said, and this was his cue to go off on a long speech about the Pilgrim Fathers and the good ship Mayflower landing in America in the seventeenth century. ‘It’s really a harvest celebration,’ he finished.
‘Ooh, don’t you know a lot?’ Ruby said, beaming at him. ‘Can I top up your glass, Herbert?’
‘You can top me up any time,’ Herbert said, with a suggestive grin, and he and Ruby laughed for a long time at this.
‘You are a scream,’ Ruby said, her cheeks very pink from cooking and generous amounts of cider. ‘Ain’t he a scream, girls? There’s no one like Herbert for a good joke.’
As the meal continued, with Herbert boasting about how much money he was earning, about the car he was about to buy, not to mention the new house he planned to buy too, and Ruby’s behaviour became more and more flirtatious, Greta sat feeling more and more outraged and embarrassed. She was ashamed of her mother, of her being tipsy, of her past, the way she had to fling herself at men and usually the wrong ones. Men were only after one thing, Ruby often said. So why give it to them all the time then?
The joking and laughing made her feel sick. The longer the meal went on, the more she felt wound up, tighter and tighter. She wanted to get up and run from the house. She looked round the table at her Mom, puce-faced and making up to this fat creep, her sister, sulky-faced and sickly, no more than a child herself and trying to cope with Mary Lou and some other unknown man’s brat in her belly. And this was her family.
Suddenly she felt very distant from them, as if she was seeing them on telly, like a film. She didn’t want to be where they were.
I’m never having children, she thought. Never, never, never.
She was the one who was going to be different. She wasn’t going to get caught out like that – she was going to get somewhere in her life. But she hated feeling like this about her family: she wanted to be bursting with pride, the way Dennis was over his.
