Read Online Bells of Bournville Green by Annie Murray - Free Book Online Page A

proudly round. By the look of things her podgy arms had only just squeezed into the sleeves.
    ‘Who is it, Dorrie? Is that Greta?’ Nancy Biddle conducted most of her front-door conversations from her chair, whether she could see the person or not. ‘Hello, Greta, if that’s you – let ’er in yer silly wench, she’ll freeze ’er bones out there. TREVOR – GRETA’S HERE!’
    As she entered the familiar stuffy room she saw Trevor’s Mom and Dad, Nancy and Alf, sitting either side of the fire, where the dog, an old brown mongrel called Trigger, lay on the fag-burned hearth rug. April, who was thirteen, was poring over a new Bunty annual. There were cups and plates on the hearth and side table, the remains of a fruit cake and a scattering of boiled-sweet wrappers. The Biddles greeted her warmly.
    ‘’Ullo, Greta.’ Nancy smiled through a haze of cigarette smoke. She was a cheerful woman in her late thirties with chopped, shoulder-length black hair. Freckles dotted her upturned nose, and made her look good-tempered and friendly, which she was. ‘Nice of you to call in, bab – I hope yer Mom doesn’t mind you coming out?’
    No – it’s all right,’ Greta said.
    ‘Having a nice Christmas?’ Alf asked. He had a long, bony face, a toothy smile, and had given Trevor his long, lean frame.
    ‘Yes, ta.’
    Greta could hear feet running eagerly down the stairs.
    ‘Here ’e comes.’ Nancy rolled her eyes.
    ‘’Ave a chocolate?’ Alf said, holding out a box of Roses.
    ‘Oh – no, ta.’ Greta smiled.
    ‘Don’t be daft, Dad!’ Trevor said, appearing from the back.
    ‘Oh – sorry,’ Alf laughed, showing his big square teeth. ‘You ’ave quite enough of it at work I s’pose! How’s yer Mom?’
    ‘All right.’
    ‘I hear she’s got company for Christmas,’ Nancy said, winking. ‘Is ’e nice?’
    Greta hesitated and Nancy gave her chesty laugh. ‘Oh I see, like that is it!’ She stubbed her cigarette out on the saucer by her chair. ‘I’m going to make another cuppa – d’you want some, Greta?’
    ‘Yeah, go on then.’
    ‘I’ve got summat for you, Gret,’ Trevor said with eager bashfulness.‘’Ere, Mom – I’ll put the kettle on.’
    Nancy had been about to get up but she sank back with a grin.
    ‘Go on then, Trev – you take Greta through.’
    The back kitchen of the Biddles’ house was in need of a lick of paint and was in a chaotic state, cascades of greasy pans from Christmas dinner stacked all over the tables and in the sink.
    Trevor suddenly seemed overwhelmed at finding himself alone with her and just stood awkwardly the other side of the table, on which the remains of a joint of beef lay in a pool of bloody liquid. Greta saw a cigarette end floating in it. Trevor chewed his lower lip for a moment.
    ‘You look nice,’ he said, at last. Greta had on a skirt in red tartan and a cream jumper. ‘But you always do . . .’
    ‘Oh – ta,’ Greta said. She looked into Trevor’s eager face. ‘That’s a nice thing to say.’
    Then they both stood at a loss, until she said, ’You going to put that kettle on for your Mom then?’
    ‘Oh – yeah.’
    He filled the kettle and stood it over the flame.
    ‘I got you a present,’ he said, going to a shelf where he had hidden something between two storage tins. ‘Here – that’s for you, Greta. Happy Christmas.’ He was holding out a thin, square package. She thought of Dennis’s present, a delicate silver chain with a tiny silver flower pendant which was resting now in the cleft between her breasts.
    ‘Oh, Trev!’ It was her turn to blush now. She hesitated to take it from him. ‘You shouldn’t have. I feel bad now – I haven’t got you anything.’
    ‘Never mind,’ he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was really disappointed or not. ‘Go on – open it.’
    She took it from him. The wrapper had holly leaves on a white background. Inside she found a 45 single.
    ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, doubtfully. ‘The Beatles.