Free Birmingham Blitz by Annie Murray Page B

off her feet, even though she was innocent as a day-old child, and looked it in that Sunday dress.
    ‘He keeps coming in – I’ve never known anyone buy so many apples – ’cept he comes and gets them one by one!’ She burst into her infectious giggle. ‘Ooh, sometimes I feel like taking off just anywhere, just for a bit of excitement!’
    ‘So he’s Prince Charming then, is he?’ I couldn’t help sounding sarky.
    ‘He’s all right. Nice enough. Bit skinny. I like ’em with a bit more brawn on them than that!’
    ‘Brawn or brains – make your choice.’
    ‘And he’s got this great big Adam’s apple – wobbles around when he’s talking as if he’s got a plum stuck down his throat . . .’ The giggle turned into her loud, exuberant laugh. ‘No, I’m being unkind. He’s got a nice way with him. Oi – what’s up with you?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘Don’t just say nothing—’ She elbowed me but I pulled away, staring stubbornly across the yard. From the top-floor windows the Spinis’ bedding was hanging out to air as usual, an Italian habit the neighbours still weren’t sure about.
    ‘B for Boys. B for Boring.’
    ‘Well, you wanted to know!’
    ‘Yeah, and you told me,’ I snapped, crosser with myself than her because I was mucking up the afternoon. But God she didn’t half go on. I wanted her to be happy – she was my best pal. But I wanted her all to myself as well. She was so restless and impatient. Even now she was tapping her feet against the grey bricks as if she wanted to be off and none of us were good enough for her.
    ‘I don’t know what you’re always moaning about—’
    ‘Who says I’m moaning?’ she interrupted my outburst.
    ‘If I had a family like yours I’d think I was in clover. You should try living with my lot.’
    ‘Oh don’t you start getting on your ’igh ’orse with me!’ Teresa’s temper had a shorter fuse than a banger on fireworks night. ‘You’re not the one stuck in the shop and minding little kiddies all the time . . .’
    ‘Nor are you now, ’cause they’re not here, are they?’
    ‘And your dad doesn’t come down on you like a ton of bricks every time you even open your mouth to talk to a boy . . .’
    I was getting ready to say that’s because he never noticed anything much I did but she was getting well warmed up now. ‘Family this, family that. You can’t get away from them ever – and if it’s not them it’s the sodding church.’
    ‘Well how come Stevie doesn’t mind?’
    She made a big, irritated puffing sound through her lips. ‘Because Stevie’s pain in the backside little Stevie. He’s like a policeman round the place and all he ever thinks about are cars and football.’
    She relented and looked round at me. ‘All I want’s a bit of excitement. We’ll be pals whatever. Boys don’t make any difference.’
    ‘I know,’ I said, face all red.
    Just then we heard footsteps charging along the entry. The Spinis’ yard was a ‘double knack’ which meant there were two ways in, and there was an entry running along by the brewhouse. When I saw who it was my face blushed to my ears. Walt Eccles, Stevie’s pal. I was scared stiff every time I saw Walt, by the way my knees turned wobbly and my heart went like the clappers and my insides churned with frightened, helpless adoration. An adoration I’d rather have jumped from the spire of St Martin’s than let him know about. After all, Walt was two years older than us, which seemed like centuries, and why should he be interested in a gangly scarecrow like me?
    The sun shone on his shock of gold hair and there was the usual cheeky grin on his freckled face as he came panting up to us, looking gorgeous.
    ‘In a bit of a rush, are we?’ I said, tart as I could manage, while Teresa smiled sweetly at him, as she would at anything in trousers.
    Walt gave me his best ingratiating smile which filled me brimming over with panic. ‘Nice to see you too,’ he said. ‘How’re you