The Bells of Bournville Green

by Annie Murray

  Ruby was shaking her head, looking hurt and embarrassed. ‘Thing is – we weren’t married.’

  ‘But . . . Mom what’re you on about?’ Marleen argued. ‘You got married – the day of Mary Lou’s christening!’

  ‘No, bab – we didn’t’ Ruby gave a ragged sigh. ‘We told everyone we was wed so it wouldn’t look bad us living together. But Herbert was never properly divorced from his first wife. They just never got round to it somehow. And I thought he’d altered his will, but I was wrong as it turned out.’

  Herbert had had a bit of money put away, but in law it was all due to go to his estranged wife and their two children who had both moved away from Birmingham.

  ‘Did he tell you he’d altered his will?’ Greta asked. She could hardly take all this in.

  ‘Well, not in so many words . . .’

  ‘What a bastard!’ Marleen said.

  Ruby tried to rally. ‘It’s not that I begrudge it them really,’ she said soberly. ‘His wife and kids I mean. She was married to him for a long while. But he could have made some effort for me . . . I feel as if he’s used me and not bothered to think of me at all. It’s not a very nice feeling.’

  Greta felt for her, however much this confirmed her opinion of Herbert Smail. Her Mom always talked as if she ran men for what she could get, but really she was romantic and seemed to get used again and again.

  ‘Oh, he’ll look after me,’ she’d heard her say so many times. When it came down to it that had never been true.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting a fortune or anything, but a little nest egg would’ve been nice.’ Ruby sighed, wearily. ‘Ah well – at least I can work, eh? Back to square one again – story of my life!’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A few days later Greta woke feeling groggy. Oh no! I can’t have eaten something bad again, she thought. She had still barely recovered from the memory of the upset stomach which had started the day of the funeral. She’d never felt so ill in her life. Surely it wasn’t that again!

  ‘P’raps it’s my cooking,’ she said wryly to Trevor.

  Trevor, who was sitting sleepily on the edge of the bed, grunted in reply. She wasn’t going to get any sympathy there, Greta could see. When they first lived together Trevor would have been sweet and concerned, but these days they were growing further and further apart.

  ‘I’ll go to work and hope it doesn’t get any worse,’ she said, dragging herself out of bed. ‘If it does, I’ll just have to get home somehow.’

  She felt queasy all morning, but once she’d had her lunch it wore off and by the evening she was feeling better.

  ‘I haven’t poisoned myself quite as bad as last time!’ she joked at work.

  But the next day it happened again, and the next.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ she complained to Pat after a few days. They were sitting out on the grass by the lily pond. ‘It’s not like a bug – I think I’m over it and then it just comes back again.’

  Pat’s eyes were searching her face. ‘So you just feel sick in the mornings?’

  It took Greta a moment to catch the meaning of her words. She burst out laughing.

  ‘Yes . . . But I mean, not like that . . . I just don’t feel too good, that’s all!’

  ‘You sure?’ Pat said in a low voice. ‘You couldn’t be . . . ? That’s just what I had . . .’

  ‘No!’ Greta said. ‘I can’t be!’

  She’d been making her regular morning visits to the little lavender box in the pantry. She and Trevor still made love every so often, even if things between them weren’t very good in any other way. She found it kept him happy and she quite liked it too. It was their best time together, when they could snuggle up and feel loving, even if it all quickly wore off afterwards. Sometimes she thought it was the only thing holding them together.

  ‘Well, sounds as if it could be,’ Pat said solemnly. She leaned closer and whispered, ‘The doctor could give you a test.’

  A few days later she emerged from Dr Lonsdale’s office, in shock.

  ‘But I can’t be!’ she gasped, when he gave her his opinion.

  ‘You seem very sure,’ Dr Lonsdale said. ‘But you say you’ve missed your period, you’re feeling sick in the mornings . . .’

  ‘But I’m taking the pills, Doctor . . . The ones you gave me.’ She found herself half whispering even talking to him about it, and her cheeks were burning.

  Dr Lonsdale was a kindly, middle-aged man with a fatherly manner.

  ‘Well, my dear – what could have happened? Perhaps you have forgotten on some occasions. Or have you been ill, by any chance?’

  ‘What d’you mean? I did have a bad stomach upset – oh, about six weeks ago. I was ever so sick and that.’

  ‘Ah, well, that’ll be it,’ he told her. ‘If you experience diarrhoea and vomiting when you’re taking the contraceptive pill it can make it ineffective. Did you have, er, relations, round that time?’

  Blushing even more, Greta tried to remember. ‘I ’spect so,’ she said, staring at the blotter on the doctor’s desk.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Then congratulations are due, Mrs Biddle. Do cheer up – it’s not the end of the world, is it? You’re a married woman, and after all, that’s what marriage is for. Off you go, and prepare for motherhood!’

  She didn’t say anything to Trevor then. She was having enough difficulty herself, coming to terms with the fact she was pregnant. All day at work it was all she could think about, especially as she was battling with feeling queasy in the mornings, something she tried to hide from Trevor, as she didn’t want him putting two and two together.

  She went through the working days like a robot.

  ‘Greta. GRETA!’ Pat tried to get her attention at times. ‘Hello – are you down here with us or up in a moon rocket?’

  More privately she asked, ‘Is anything wrong? You’re not . . . ?’

  But Greta shook her head. ‘Course not,’ she laughed. She couldn’t face the truth herself yet, let alone tell anyone about it.

  At first her main, shameful impulse was to get rid of it. The pregnancy was a problem she had to solve. Quite quickly, though, her attitude started to soften. The second night after she had the news she lay in bed beside Trevor. He always slept easily and she could hear his steady breathing.

  Little does he know, she thought.

  For a moment she imagined telling him, and how happy it would make him. Then she thought about the baby, the real, unseen, tiny creature inside her, and felt suddenly overwhelmed with tenderness. A baby – which would turn into a little person like Edie’s little Peter, and Ruth and Naomi and Mary Lou! She stroked her hand over her stomach. Suddenly she felt older, as if in seconds she’d grown into a mother.

  From then on it didn’t seem so bad and she felt herself beginning to adjust. She didn’t mind as much as she’d expected to.

  Next Saturday she went shopping, late in the morning when she was feeling a bit better. She decided to take the bus into town to get meat and fruit and veg from the market. People were getting used to the new Bull Ring now they had rebuilt it, although there were plenty who moaned about it being nothing like as good as it was before. But Greta quite liked the new Market Hall and having a mooch round the market outside, all the activity and colour of the veg and fruit stalls and the man selling willow pattern crockery. She bought a milk jug off him because she liked its shape.

  She took her time, glad to be alone for a bit, and sat down and had a cup of tea in the Market Hall, as a rest from carrying the heavy bags of carrots and spuds. She had a currant bun with her tea, and by the time she’d eaten it she felt completely better. The cafe was full of Saturday shoppers, and she saw one woman over the other side with a young child on her lap. He was a pale, brown-haired toddler who kept squirming, yanking at the collar of her blouse and whining, but the woman was very patiently feeding him pieces of toast.

  She really loves him, Greta thought. The way Edie loved Peter, with utter devotion. For a second s
he felt like crying. She was being offered that too! In that moment everything changed. She picked up her bags and set off in a hurry for the bus stop. She would go home and tell Trevor and it would make everything sweet between them because this was what he wanted and they could have a family and be happy. And suddenly that was what she found she wanted more than anything else in the world. She could hardly wait to get back, now everything felt so clear.

  The bus crawled along. From the university clock she saw that it was almost three o’clock and she was in a fever of impatience.

  Weighed down by her bags in each hand, she hurried down Alliott Road and home as fast as she could. She went along the entry and round the back: it saved having to get her keys out as the back door was nearly always open when it was warm.

  She put the bags down thankfully in the kitchen and hurried through.

  ‘Trev?’

  What she saw was like a slap in the face.

  Trevor was on the sofa, Marleen beside him, and they jumped apart as she came into the room. But she’d seen them, locked together, kissing. They couldn’t hide it: they both looked guilty as anything.

  ‘Gret!’ Trevor got up, trying to act normal. ‘Hello – you’re back early.’

  Marleen stood up as well, smoothing down her tight blouse and little short skirt. Her skirts seemed to get shorter by the week. She looked smug and defiant.

  ‘No – I’m not early, as a matter of fact,’ Greta said, injecting as much venom as she could into her voice. She could feel herself beginning to tremble with shock and rage. ‘I’ve been out ages – but I don’t s’pose you’ve noticed, you’ve been enjoying yourselves so much!’

  They didn’t deny it. Both of them stood there looking both shame-faced and pleased with themselves at the same time.

  ‘Sorry, Gret,’ Marleen said. ‘Only – we’ve been wanting to tell yer for a while now . . .’

  ‘Yeah,’ Trevor nodded. ‘We have. Only we didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ A terrible dead feeling came over her. Things were far worse than she had thought. How had she not noticed?

  ‘Thing is,’ Marleen announced pertly. ‘You and Trev aren’t happy in any case, are you? And Trev wants kids and that, and you’re never here, and . . .’

  ‘We was just driven together,’ Trevor announced urgently.

  ‘What d’you mean I’m never here?’ Greta asked. But she felt helpless. Things had already been decided, she could see, and she had been asleep and not noticed what was going on under her nose.

  ‘Thing is, Trev and me, we’re really two of a kind . . .’ Marleen said.

  Greta felt she was drowning. She couldn’t think to argue or plead.

  ‘But what about . . . Ron?’ She groped for the name of Marleen’s latest date. ‘I thought you were with him . . .’

  Marleen shrugged with a look of distaste. ‘Nah – I chucked him ages ago. He were no good.’

  ‘Sorry Gret. . .’ Trevor said. ‘Only me and Marl – we want the same things, see.’

  ‘So—’ She groped for words. ‘You’re just chucking me?’ She stared Trevor straight in the eyes. Should she tell him now, that she was expecting his baby? With a flare of pure rage, she thought, No! I’m not giving him the satisfaction.

  ‘Sorry, Gret,’ Trevor said again. ‘I think it’d be better if Marleen moved in here. At least you can go and live back at yer Mom’s.’

  ‘Yes,’ Marleen said. ‘You’re lucky to have somewhere to go.’

  ‘Well—’ Greta looked from one to the other of them, completely despising them. ‘You’ve got it all nicely worked out, haven’t you? Well, sod you both – you deserve each other.’

  And without so much as picking up her bag, she walked out of the house.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  She walked and walked for hours.

  All she could think of at first was how stupid she’d been. How could she not have seen this coming? Then the hurt and rage started to course through her. She stormed along paying no attention to where she was going, noticing no one, crossing roads without even looking.

  What was so shocking was the way they had had it all worked out. She could just go back and live with Ruby, as if she was nothing, just like a piece of furniture to be moved around. All this time – how long? – they’d been carrying on under her nose and she’d had no idea. Her husband and her sister! And just at the moment when she had been ready to give Trevor what he wanted, she had to walk in and find that! Her heart thumped so hard that several times she had to slow down and catch her breath.

  All those soft feelings she had had only this afternoon towards Trevor, the thought of having a family with him, how pathetic they seemed now. Thoughts swirled in her mind. Trevor had betrayed her . . . She was alone and carrying his child. For a second she imagined doing what Pat had done: looking for someone who would help her be rid of it. But immediately there came the memory of Pat that night, the terrible haemorrhaging. Heavens, no! Shuddering, she knew she could never go through that. And her tender feelings towards the little being inside her had not all vanished, despite her fear and upset.

  As the afternoon waned into evening and she had wandered round and round the back roads of Selly Oak, she sat down on a bench at the edge of a park. Some boys were playing football across the green and their shouts carried to her.

  ‘Well,’ she whispered, a hand on her stomach. ‘It’s you and me now.’ The thought made her feel both strong and terrified.

  She sat in the gathering dusk, sick with anger towards her sister.

  ‘Course, you think you can just move in on my husband, don’t you, Marleen,’ she murmured out loud. ‘You and your kids can play happy families with Trevor and you pack me off back to Mom’s – all tidied up, out of the way to suit you, just like that. ’Cause you never think of anyone else except yourself even for a second, do you, you selfish little bitch. Well I’ve got news for you – I’m not being pushed around by you . . .’

  Going back to Mom’s would be like landing right back where she started, trapped and frustrated – only worse, now she was pregnant. For a second she thought of her grandparents, Ethel and Lionel. But they didn’t want her, she knew that. And they lived so far away. Ruby’s was the only realistic place to go.

  ‘Wild horses wouldn’t drag me back to Mom’s,’ she said. ‘I’m not bloody going back there just on your say-so . . . I’m going to manage on my own, and sod the lot of you . . .’

  The thought drove her to her feet, but utter weariness came over her. Her legs felt wobbly and a wave of nausea hit her. The tears came then, and she slumped back down on the bench, hands over her face, shaking with sobs. She knew her pride was terribly battered. All those times Trevor had said he adored her, when they were first married, had said he’d do anything for her. She’d never really wanted or appreciated him, had taken him for granted. And hadn’t she dreamed of leaving him and starting again without being burdened by a man and marriage? But it still felt bitter now that he’d made a fool of her – with Marleen of all people! How much more could he have betrayed her? Well, she wasn’t going to show him she cared what had happened. What did stupid Trevor matter – she wasn’t going to have to keep house for him or wash his bloody socks any more! And she wouldn’t tell him about the baby either, not until she could avoid it no longer. She wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her.

  But in the meantime she was the one alone, feeling ill and exhausted. She wiped her eyes, but more tears kept coming. No wonder she felt so low. She had not eaten anything since her tea and bun at the market, and she was supposed to be eating for two! Then came the realization that she hadn’t even a penny on her. Her anger seeped away and she began to feel really frightened. What on earth was she going to do? There were homes for girls like her, weren’t there, who were ‘in trouble’? It was a desolate thought. All she’d ever heard whispered about them was grim and frightening. No – she wasn’t going anywhere near one of them – and she couldn’t stand the thought of
running back to Ruby even for the night. She must manage alone somehow.

  Feeling very groggy, she got up and walked on and on, still crying exhaustedly. After a time she crossed the Bristol Road, seeing the lights of the cars blurrily through her tears, and kept on walking, having no real idea where she was going. Overwrought and exhausted, she scarcely knew any more what she was doing.

  She glimpsed the university clock across the road and to her right were large houses set back from the road, lit up and seeming to shut her out by their cosiness. All these people had homes and she had nowhere to go. But a little while later she saw one that she recognized. It was quite a large house, the lights were on and it looked very homely. The sight of it filled her with longing, and in desperation she walked up the path.

  Pulling the bell cord produced a gentle clanging inside. She leaned exhaustedly against the front wall and closed her eyes.

  ‘Greta – Greta love?’

  Afterwards she realized she must have lost consciousness for a moment, because she had not heard the door open. Edie’s arm was already round her shoulders, trying to guide her into the house.

  ‘Are you all right love? What’re you doing here? Oh dear – you don’t look very well at all! Anatoli – come and help me, love – quick!’

  Within a few moments, Greta had been led through the crimson-carpeted hall of the Gruschovs’ warm house, to the couch in their sitting room, and collapsed on to it. She must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing she heard was a voice saying,

  ‘Here my dear – Anatoli’s very special scrambled eggs. Come now – eat. You look half famished.’

  Greta sat up, dazed, taking in that she was in the Gruschovs’ warm living room, with the piano at one end, curtains drawn across wide windows at the other, vivid coloured rugs on the floor and photographs on the mantelpiece. She could scarcely remember how she got there. Edie was sitting opposite her, looking anxious. Greta thought how lovely Edie looked. Though she was a homely woman, she had her hair smoothed back in a bun in a way that was not fashionable but looked softly elegant.