Free Birmingham Blitz by Annie Murray Page A

didn’t argue with Micky – except Teresa did – and the Spinis’ ding-dongs had a way of blowing up on you sudden and harsh as a summer storm.
    ‘We need you here,’ Micky decreed, jabbing a stubby finger towards her. ‘And first you got to learn ’ow to behave yourself before you go anywhere out of my sight on your own.’
    ‘I am behaving myself.’ Teresa was on the boil already, voice booming. ‘He was a customer. I was only talking to him. What’s wrong with that?’
    ‘Talking to him!’ Micky’s voice was mocking. He sat back, waving one thick, hairy arm, his Brummie accent laid over his Italian one. ‘You think you’re just talking but I can see what he’s doing with his eyes. And what you’re doing with yours too. You make yourself cheap, girl, behaving like that. You give him ideas about yourself. If I see you doing that again . . .’
    He stopped because for once he couldn’t think of anything to say and Teresa stared back brazenly. She never went out anywhere, except to Mass, and she knew she was an asset in the shop. The customers loved her, listening to their moans, her big laugh ringing down the road behind them.
    ‘Don’t keep on, Micky,’ Vera interrupted. ‘You’ve said enough already.’
    ‘But she don’t take any bloody notice!’ Micky roared. ‘What do you want – eh? You got no respect!’
    ‘You got my respect,’ Teresa bawled. ‘But how come it’s always me?’ She pointed at Stevie, who was watching her across the table with his heavy-lidded eyes. ‘You don’t say anything when he’s going about with that lunatic Fausto. Or is it awright now to invite a mad man into the family and one who still thinks he’s a Blackshirt as well – eh?’
    ‘You’ve got Fausto wrong,’ Stevie said with contempt.
    Micky waved the air dismissively. ‘The boy’s a hothead, a fool . . .’
    ‘It’s not fair!’
    ‘Teresa!’ It was Vera’s turn to try and calm her down.
    ‘But I’m sick of it! The men in this family do just what they like and expect us to stay at home and wait on them hand and foot.’ She pushed her chair back and marched off outside, saying, ‘It’s like a prison here . . .’
    Micky slammed his spoon down and left as well. I thought he was going after her but we saw him move past the window and head for the street.
    Vera sighed. ‘When will Teresa ever learn to keep her mouth shut?’
    Teresa and I sat out on the back step, frocks over our knees.
    ‘I s’pect Dad’s gone over Park Street to the pub. I really hate him sometimes.’ She squinted up at the sky. ‘Wish they’d come if they’re coming. We could do with a bit of action round here.’
    ‘You’re awful,’ I said. ‘Any rate, I didn’t think that was the kind of action you were interested in nowadays.’
    She stuck her tongue out at me as far as it would go.
    ‘Come on then, tell us. Who is ’e?’
    Teresa stuck a finger urgently against her lips and peeped round the door. Vera was washing up, had said Stevie should help so he was wiping, with his altar boy face on.
    ‘Come over here.’ Teresa pulled me to my feet and over towards the brewhouse and we stood with our faces to the wall. Her whisper tickled my ear.
    ‘He keeps coming in the shop – from that sheet metal place opposite Frank Street. I’m sure he’s taken a fancy to me.’ Even at this distance she kept looking back nervously at the house. Micky and Vera thought Teresa was far too young to be thinking about boys.
    Although we’d left school we were still treated as kids, weren’t allowed out dancing, nothing like that. Teresa was barely allowed to set foot outside by herself. But the boys went for her. It wasn’t that she was pretty exactly. She was shorter than me, small and round, whereas I was bony and boyish; she had Vera’s looks, a snub nose, and her complexion wasn’t all that marvellous. But what she had was a lot of life and a lot of laughs in her. And what’s more she was ripe and ready to be swept