not so late.’
For a moment he stood, just looking at her, then put his hands on her shoulders. She thought he was going to take her in his arms and kiss her as she was dying for him to, but he didn’t.
‘God, you’re lovely.’ He looked solemnly into her eyes, and what he said next brought her to tears. ‘And you don’t think well enough of yourself, Greta.’
She could not speak.
‘Goodnight, love. See you very soon.’ And he kissed her cheek, and then he was gone into the dark street, leaving her aching for more.
Chapter Thirteen
Everyone kept harking back to the winter of ’47. The sea was frozen, it said on the telly, and the Thames. Every day the roads had to be cleared and Greta met snowploughs as she struggled along Bournville Lane in the mornings.
‘D’you know,’ Pat said one day when they were on their break, ‘Mom said she saw a bird in the garden this morning. It was sitting on the washing line, very still, and then it fell off, just like that – dead! She’s been putting food out in our garden – crumbs and nuts and stuff. She says it’s the only way they’ll stay alive.’
‘Well, it’s not working very well, is it?’ Greta joked.
‘Anyway—’ Pat said. ‘How’s Dennis?’
‘All right. I’m going for tea to meet his Mom on Sunday,’ Greta said, realizing as she said it how nervous she was. Carelessly, she added, ‘And I’m off to the pictures with Trevor tonight.’
Pat’s eyes widened. ‘What – again?’
‘Well, yeah.’ Greta rather enjoyed Pat’s look of shock. ‘He wants me to go with him, so . . .’
‘But you’re going out with Dennis aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Well you can’t just string poor old Trev along, Greta! You’re such a flirt – it’s not right.’
‘I’m not! I’m just . . .’
‘Yes you are! If it was just for a laugh it’d be different, but he’s ever so keen on you, you know that.’
‘Well I know, but . . .’
‘It’s not very kind, is it?’ Pat had a way of holding her hands, primly, one clasped over the other, which irritated Greta, and she did it then.
‘What the hell do you know about it?’ Greta’s temper flared as she knew she was in the wrong. She got up, scraping her chair back. ‘You’re not exactly an expert are you?’
They couldn’t discuss Pat’s love life because she didn’t have one. Even if anyone offered she felt she couldn’t leave her Mom to look after Josie on her own. Greta was sorry for her, but sometimes Pat’s goody-goody ways got on her nerves.
She went angrily back to work, slamming the bars of chocolate so hard off the belt that she dropped several on the floor and was told off. She was seething. Who was Pat to tell her what to do? Pat didn’t have a clue what it was like living in Charlotte Road! She needed Trevor as an excuse to get out, when the house was full of Marleen, as well as her Mom’s carry-on with Herbert Smail, who seemed to be there most of the flaming time now. He kept staying over, and the next thing, Greta saw, would be wedding bells and him moving in. All her life she’d been at the mercy of Mom and her blasted men!
But deep down she was ashamed because she knew she was playing with Trevor. She liked the sense of power she had over him because he wanted her. It was very gratifying when blokes wanted her – and plenty of them did. But she knew Pat was right, and that made her anger burn even more fiercely as it was a hard truth to swallow. She’d have to tell Trevor the truth – that she was really not his girl, but Dennis Franklin’s.
By Sunday afternoon she was desperate to get out and go to Dennis’s. Herbert was asleep by the fire, mouth hanging open and apparently oblivious to Mary Lou’s grizzling and Marleen’s snappish outbursts to her.
If the weather doesn’t change soon we’re all going to go mad, Greta thought, slipping and sliding round the back of the hospital towards where Dennis’s family lived, in one of the big
For a moment he stood, just looking at her, then put his hands on her shoulders. She thought he was going to take her in his arms and kiss her as she was dying for him to, but he didn’t.
‘God, you’re lovely.’ He looked solemnly into her eyes, and what he said next brought her to tears. ‘And you don’t think well enough of yourself, Greta.’
She could not speak.
‘Goodnight, love. See you very soon.’ And he kissed her cheek, and then he was gone into the dark street, leaving her aching for more.
Chapter Thirteen
Everyone kept harking back to the winter of ’47. The sea was frozen, it said on the telly, and the Thames. Every day the roads had to be cleared and Greta met snowploughs as she struggled along Bournville Lane in the mornings.
‘D’you know,’ Pat said one day when they were on their break, ‘Mom said she saw a bird in the garden this morning. It was sitting on the washing line, very still, and then it fell off, just like that – dead! She’s been putting food out in our garden – crumbs and nuts and stuff. She says it’s the only way they’ll stay alive.’
‘Well, it’s not working very well, is it?’ Greta joked.
‘Anyway—’ Pat said. ‘How’s Dennis?’
‘All right. I’m going for tea to meet his Mom on Sunday,’ Greta said, realizing as she said it how nervous she was. Carelessly, she added, ‘And I’m off to the pictures with Trevor tonight.’
Pat’s eyes widened. ‘What – again?’
‘Well, yeah.’ Greta rather enjoyed Pat’s look of shock. ‘He wants me to go with him, so . . .’
‘But you’re going out with Dennis aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Well you can’t just string poor old Trev along, Greta! You’re such a flirt – it’s not right.’
‘I’m not! I’m just . . .’
‘Yes you are! If it was just for a laugh it’d be different, but he’s ever so keen on you, you know that.’
‘Well I know, but . . .’
‘It’s not very kind, is it?’ Pat had a way of holding her hands, primly, one clasped over the other, which irritated Greta, and she did it then.
‘What the hell do you know about it?’ Greta’s temper flared as she knew she was in the wrong. She got up, scraping her chair back. ‘You’re not exactly an expert are you?’
They couldn’t discuss Pat’s love life because she didn’t have one. Even if anyone offered she felt she couldn’t leave her Mom to look after Josie on her own. Greta was sorry for her, but sometimes Pat’s goody-goody ways got on her nerves.
She went angrily back to work, slamming the bars of chocolate so hard off the belt that she dropped several on the floor and was told off. She was seething. Who was Pat to tell her what to do? Pat didn’t have a clue what it was like living in Charlotte Road! She needed Trevor as an excuse to get out, when the house was full of Marleen, as well as her Mom’s carry-on with Herbert Smail, who seemed to be there most of the flaming time now. He kept staying over, and the next thing, Greta saw, would be wedding bells and him moving in. All her life she’d been at the mercy of Mom and her blasted men!
But deep down she was ashamed because she knew she was playing with Trevor. She liked the sense of power she had over him because he wanted her. It was very gratifying when blokes wanted her – and plenty of them did. But she knew Pat was right, and that made her anger burn even more fiercely as it was a hard truth to swallow. She’d have to tell Trevor the truth – that she was really not his girl, but Dennis Franklin’s.
By Sunday afternoon she was desperate to get out and go to Dennis’s. Herbert was asleep by the fire, mouth hanging open and apparently oblivious to Mary Lou’s grizzling and Marleen’s snappish outbursts to her.
If the weather doesn’t change soon we’re all going to go mad, Greta thought, slipping and sliding round the back of the hospital towards where Dennis’s family lived, in one of the big
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