Bells of Bournville Green by Annie Murray

looked at her for a moment, deep in her eyes, then rested his forehead against hers so that their noses touched. She felt as if he was a little boy.
    ‘I do love you, Greta. I really love you.’
    She pulled her head back sharply. Now this had gone too far: she had led him on, he was getting all serious! She had to get out of this. Giving him a cheerful smile, but with no special meaning in it, she said,
    ‘That’s nice, Trev.’ She squeezed his hand for a second then got up. ‘We’d better get going eh, before they lock us in!’
    ‘So who’s this other bloke you’re going out with?’ Marleen demanded the next evening. She had still been lying queasily in bed when Greta left for work. Now she was huddled up in an old woolly of Ruby’s, her hair looking lank, as if neither brush nor comb had been near it all day. Feeling ill and fed up only made her more spiteful.
    ‘Just someone,’ Greta said, standing by the fire still in her coat, to try and thaw out her hands and feet. Everything outside was painful to touch: door handles, iron gates, the icicles hanging from gutters and railings. It all burned the hands and seeped its cold into the body.
    ‘Well who?’
    ‘What the hell’s it got to do with you?’ Greta flared.
    ‘I’m your sister, that’s what.’
    ‘What – all of a sudden? Funny kind of sister you’ve been all this time.’
    Greta flounced off. Why should she tell Marleen anything? She’d only throw it back in her face. She knew Herbert would be round that night, as he was more and more these days, and she was going to get out of there as fast as she could. Marleen could get stuffed.
    She bolted down the sausages Ruby had done for tea.
    ‘What’s the flaming hurry?’ Ruby asked.
    ‘I’m going out,’ she said, scraping up the last of the mash and gravy.
    ‘Who with this time?’
    ‘Dennis – Franklin.’
    ‘She wouldn’t bloody tell me,’ Marleen complained.
    ‘Oh, him again. What’s the carry-on with Trevor then?’
    ‘Nothing.’ Greta got up and put her plate in the sink. ‘That was just a bit of fun. T’ra – see you later.’
    Marleen’s moaning followed her out. ‘That’s right – just go and leave us the washing up!’
    Dennis had said he’d call for her and she wanted to get out before he arrived. She didn’t want him anywhere near Marleen. A sister with two kids born out of wedlock didn’t seem to fit into Dennis’s sunny ideas about family. So she hurried out into the street to see him just coming up Charlotte Road. He raised his hand and beamed in greeting.
    ‘Thought I’d save you the trouble of calling,’ she said, struggling towards him. It was hard to walk on the ice.
    ‘It’s no trouble – it’d be nice to see your family.’
    ‘Ah well – another time, maybe?’ she said. ‘They’re still having tea.’
    ‘I wondered if you’d fancy a drink?’ Dennis said. ‘We could just go down to one of the pubs over the bridge.’ There were no pubs in Bournville of course – they had to stay in Selly Oak or go to Stirchley if they wanted a drink.
    ‘That’d be nice.’ She smiled.
    A lot of other people seemed to have had the same idea, and the pub was crowded. Greta asked for a lemonade shandy and she and Dennis managed to squeeze close together on to a bench in one corner. It felt cosy, even though they had to speak up to make themselves heard over the piano and all the other talk and laughter. There was a rowdy game of pool going on nearby as well. Greta took her hat off and laid it in her lap, patting her hair. She tried to put on the calm, intelligent demeanour she thought Dennis required.
    ‘It’s ever so nice to see you,’ Dennis said, smiling at her in that way which made her quite giddy. ‘I’ve missed you, Greta – only we’ve had such a lot going on.’
    ‘So you had a nice Christmas, then?’
    Dennis beamed. ‘Oh, it was lovely! Maggie, my sister’s, had a baby boy and they’ve called him Mark – he’s such a great little