by Maggie Hope
‘No, I have to get back. I have the baby to see to.’
Molly felt faint. The dark day turned darker. A cold wind whistled down the neck of her grey utility costume. ‘Dora?’ she whispered, her brown eyes large in appeal.
Dora let her eyes roam over the company: Harry, holding on to Frank’s wheel chair with Maggie beside him. Jackson in his Sergeant’s uniform. He was smiling at her though his eyes were watchful. And lastly she looked at Molly.
‘No, I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m minding a bairn for the neighbours. I promised, you see. I’ll see you soon, will I, Molly?’
‘Yes, soon.’ It was all she could do to get the words out. The party stood and watched as Dora hurried over the road to Station Approach and disappeared into the station.
‘Molly, you look fair nithered,’ pronounced Maggie. ‘Come on, you two, shift yourselves. Let’s get in the warm.’
Chapter Thirty-one
THE NEWLY-WEDS WANDERED hand in hand through the park at Cockton Hill and along Etherley Lane until they came to the banks of the Wear. The clouds had thinned at last and the sun kept peeking through as they walked on to the path alongside the river. They didn’t speak much, they were too happy just to be there together, forgetting the war and the fact that Jackson had to return to his unit by the following Tuesday morning, when Molly would also be back at her machine in the arms factory.
It had been a muted celebration in the Wear Valley Hotel where they had reservations for two nights, all the honeymoon they had time for. Now Frank and Maggie had gone back to Eden Hope while Harry had returned to camp. He was due back that evening, Jackson and Molly had seen him off at the station.
‘Watch yourself, mate,’ said Jackson. ‘Though how you’ll manage without me to look after you, I don’t know.’ He grinned and dodged Harry’s mock blow. ‘Anyway, I reckon I might join you in the Airborne Division. It’s more money, isn’t it? Aye, I thought that’s what must have tempted you.’
‘What else?’
Harry turned to his sister. ‘You’ll have to stand up for yourself with this one,’ he said to her. ‘Don’t take any lip from him, mind.’ He put out his arms and pulled her into a bear hug. ‘Look after yourself in that factory, won’t you?’ he whispered, and she knew he was thinking of Mona. Poor Mona, killed so soon after she’d met her love.
Now as Molly and Jackson wandered by the river, which was brown and peaty after its run through the dale high in the Pennines, her brother was uppermost in her thoughts.
‘I wish Harry would meet a nice girl and settle down,’ she said to Jackson, who laughed.
‘Married all of two hours and already you like it so much you want it for Harry,’ he said, and put his arm around her to draw her to a fallen log by the side of the path. He kissed her lingeringly on the lips and small boys walking past whistled and cheered.
‘Go on, soldier, give it to her!’ one cheeky urchin cried. Jackson made a threatening move after them and they scattered and flew along the path and round the bend in the river.
Jackson smiled and turned his full attention back to Molly. ‘I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted, you’ll see!’
Molly took a deep breath. Now was the time, she thought. He would forgive her, of course he would. He loved her. She wished she had told him straight away but she had not and now she couldn’t let it go on any longer.
‘Even your forgiveness?’ It didn’t sound like her own voice asking. She could hardly believe she had finally found the courage.
‘Forgiveness? What could I possibly have to forgive you for?’ Jackson laughed, his arm tightening around her. With one hand he tilted her chin, looking deep into her eyes. Oh, it was too hard. Molly coughed slightly, pulled away a little, looked in her pocket for a handkerchief.
‘Well?’
‘Dora had to go back to see to a baby, do you remember?’
‘Yes?’ Jackson was looking puzzled now.
‘She said it was a neighbour’s baby, but it wasn’t.’
‘No? Surely Dora hasn’t got a baby at her age, has she? Has she had a secret love affair, is that it? The baby is hers? I don’t believe you, you’re joking!’
‘No, I never said that. Oh, just listen to me, Jackson, and let me tell you.’
He sat back on the log, leaning against the low branch of an oak tree, a remnant of the forest that had given the town its name.
‘You know, Jackson, when you were posted missing, believed killed, I nearly went mad, I think.’ Molly sat forward, picked up a stick and began scratching in the dirt at their feet with it. Anything to occupy her hands, keep them from trembling. Anything to stop her heart from jumping up into her throat and threatening to choke her, the way it was doing now.
‘I know it has been hard for you, love. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’
‘I was so low,’ Molly went on. She was speaking deliberately now, the terror rising within her. She had to make an enormous effort to force her voice to work at all. ‘And your parents … well, they were grieving so much, too, they closed in on themselves, didn’t want me. Oh, I don’t mean that in a grumbling sort of way. And I’m not making excuses for what I did either –’
‘What you did?’ Jackson sat forward suddenly, put his hands on her shoulders and stood up, taking her with him. ‘What are you saying, Molly? Are you telling me the baby is yours?’
He held her away from him, the grip of his hands on her shoulders like iron. She couldn’t bear to look at his eyes; they were so changed, so cold.
‘Jackson, you’re hurting me,’ she whispered, but he didn’t appear to hear. His relentless grip on her shoulders tightened.
‘Whose is it?’
‘No one’s. Nobody important.’
‘Nobody important? Are you telling me you went with some bloke but it wasn’t important?’
‘Yes! No … Oh, God. Jackson, let me go!’
‘I’ll let you go all right – you can go to hell! Or go back to your unimportant lover!’
‘Jackson, it wasn’t like that. I was out of my mind … I thought you were dead.’ She tried to explain, her words falling over themselves in her hurry to get him to understand how it had been.
‘Don’t make excuses, Molly,’ was all he said. She looked up at him. There was a white line around his nostrils, his mouth was pinched and his eyes glittered.
‘I’m not! I’m not making excuses … I’m just telling you how it was …’
‘You couldn’t tell me yesterday, though, could you? You couldn’t tell me when I first came back, could you?’
Jackson released his grip, pushing her away from him violently so that she staggered and almost fell over the log they had been sitting on. The place where he had whispered so lovingly in her ear, where he had told her he would do anything for her. He turned and walked away, not even pausing to see if she had been hurt but striding along the path in the direction of the town.
‘You all right, pet?’ a kindly voice asked. It was a man returning from his allotment, a basket of vegetables in his hand. He paused on the path and looked at her with concern.
Swiftly Molly turned away, found her handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you. Just a cold, I think,’ she said, her back to him, her head bent.
He regarded her doubtfully for a moment. ‘Aye, well,’ he said. ‘If I were you I’d go home to bed, lass, you look terrible.’ He went on his way.
Molly walked in the opposite direction, then paused to study the turbulent waters of the dam head. She was deeply shocked, in a kind of daze. The waters were dark, deep and rushing, and for one brief moment she thought of ending it all, throwing herself into the depths, at last finding some peace. She couldn’t believe Jackson had said what he had. He hadn’t even asked why or how, had simply condemned her out of hand. His features had been transformed with hatred and jealousy. And now he never wanted to see her again. She swayed, dangerously close to the edge, almost hypnotised by the river, her eyes closing. Then a pictur
e of Beth flashed before her eyes. Beth, her innocent baby, smiling at her as she had done that morning before Molly went out to her wedding. But maybe she would be better off with Dora …
‘Come here!’
Molly turned, her heart suddenly fluttering for Jackson had come back! He was going to forgive her, he really was. But the hope died in her as she saw his face, still that of a stranger. He took her by the arm and marched her along with him, back down the path to the town and the hotel. He got the key to their room from a mystified receptionist who gazed after them curiously as they mounted the stairs, the soldier pushing the girl in front of him. A bedroom door banged shut above. The receptionist glanced at a waiter, who was hovering in the dining-room doorway, her eyebrows raised.
‘By heck,’ she said. ‘Those two have soon started fighting, haven’t they?’
Inside the room Jackson flung Molly on to the bed. He pulled at her suit buttons, sending one flying into the corner of the room so that she tried to undo the rest herself only to have her hands thrust away. Then she let him finish undressing her. He pulled off her blouse, pulled down the straps of her bra so that her breasts were exposed, the nipples proud and the contours fuller since she’d had the baby. He pulled her skirt up around her waist and held her down with one hand while he pushed the wide-legged cami-knickers to one side.
Molly lay there, the roll of her clothes around her waist hurting her back, her legs spread-eagled so that the elastic of her suspenders stretched hard against her skin. His hands were rough on her breasts, squeezing, digging into the soft flesh. He has a right, she thought dimly. I married him under false pretences. Tears ran down her face and she didn’t even know she was crying. She was nothing, less than nothing, she was worse than a whore, she knew it now, saw herself through Jackson’s eyes and shrank from what she saw.
He was unbuttoning his flies; he wasn’t even going to undress, she thought dimly. She wasn’t worth it. She turned her face away and closed her eyes. Suddenly he stopped in the very act of pushing her legs wider apart. His hand was on her breast but he was still. Molly opened her eyes and looked up at him.
Jackson was staring at her reddened face, at the tears, with an expression of disgust. But the disgust was not for her, she realised as the next minute he was climbing off the bed, adjusting his clothing, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
‘Cover yourself up,’ he said, his voice ragged. He turned to the window and looked out at the darkening street, filled with shoppers making their way home. He couldn’t do it, she thought. When it came down to it, he couldn’t do it. A flicker of hope stirred within her to be instantly quashed as he spoke again.
‘You can stop here tonight. The room’s paid for. I’ll go back to camp early. I don’t want my mother and father to find out about this, do you hear?’
‘Yes.’
Jackson turned and looked at her. She saw the suffering in his eyes and it was because of her and she couldn’t bear it.
‘I wanted to tell you, Jackson. Oh, dear God, I thought you were dead, don’t you understand?’ She sniffed, looked around for her bag, found it and searched inside for a handkerchief. A tiny blue lacy handkerchief which Dora had given her for luck. It was completely inadequate. He threw her a large khaki square and Molly wiped her eyes, blew her nose.
She pulled down her skirt and buttoned up her blouse, still conscious of the marks of his fingers on her breast, squeezing and twisting. She shrugged into her costume jacket and winced.
‘I’m sorry if I hurt you,’ he said. ‘No, I’m not, what am I saying? Dear God in Heaven, you’ve done for me today, Molly. I was going to treat you like the whore you are, but when it came to it I couldn’t.’ Jackson sighed heavily and turned to the window, his back straight and unforgiving.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and he laughed mirthlessly.
‘What was it, Molly? I gave you a taste for it, did I? Was it my fault, all of this?’ She was shaking her head in denial but he wasn’t looking at her, talking to himself. ‘I know it’s been happening a lot in this blasted war, I hear of it often enough. What’s it going to be like by the end, whenever that might be? Oh, God, I never thought it would happen to me!’
His voice was full of anguish and bitterness and Molly couldn’t bear it. She moved towards him, to comfort him; put a hand out to him. But he shrank away from her touch as though it burned him. She moved quickly away, sat down on the only chair in the room and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap.
‘I love you, Jackson,’ she said. ‘I’ll never love anyone but you.’
‘I know that really,’ he replied. ‘I know you thought I was probably dead. But you didn’t know for sure, did you? So soon, Molly, it was so soon after I’d gone!’
‘I was half-mad with grief.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you were,’ said Jackson heavily. He sounded so sad, so resigned, and Molly knew that he had decided, he wasn’t going to change his mind, not now.
‘I’ll have to go back to my baby,’ she said and rose to her feet.
‘I don’t want my mother and father to find out what has happened, not yet,’ he said again. ‘They’ve had enough grief. You’ll have to pretend.’
‘I can’t stay there, Jackson. I have my baby. Dora looks after her when I’m at work, that’s all.’
‘Yes, well, you’ll have to concoct a story, won’t you? You’re good at lying.’
There seemed nothing more to say. Jackson had been going straight from the Wear Valley to the train in any case; he did it now instead of a few days later. She knew he didn’t want her to go with him to the station, of course he didn’t, but she watched through the window as the train steamed away and felt as though her heart was being cut out of her body.
Molly stayed in the room that night, sitting sleepless in the chair, staring at the wall. She didn’t eat; couldn’t face the curious eyes of the women working in the hotel. On Monday, she packed her bag and went downstairs, said a dignified goodbye and went out to catch the bus to Eden Hope.
‘I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,’ said Maggie, surprised when she came in.
‘I wasn’t, but Jackson was called back early so I might as well go to work.’
‘You’ll be bringing your things here, will you?’ Maggie studied her; Molly looked so white and there were huge shadows under her eyes.
‘It’s easier to travel from Ferryhill,’ she said. ‘Jackson sends his love and says he’ll be seeing you.’
‘By, I hope he doesn’t have to go abroad again,’ said his mother. ‘In my opinion he’s done his bit, it’s somebody else’s turn.’
‘I’d like to take the marble clock, is that all right?’
‘Oh, aye, it’s yours, isn’t it? I bet you’re fond of it, what with it coming from your mam’s house.’ Maggie lifted the clock down from the mantelpiece and dusted it with the corner of her pinny, spotless and gleaming though it already was.
Oh, Mam, thought Molly. If you could see me now you’d be ashamed of me, and that’s a fact.
‘I’ll be back to see you, you know that,’ she said aloud. ‘But, you know, we’re going to be working overtime …’
Back in Ferryhill, the clock wrapped in newspaper under one arm, her going-away case in the other hand, Molly walked down the street to Dora’s door, knocked and went in.
‘You’ve told him, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he left you. Well, I could have told you what would happen. You should have let me have the bairn and kept quiet.’
‘I couldn’t do that, Dora.’
Molly walked over to the sofa where Beth lay propped up between cushions. She was smiling and waving her arms, chirruping away to her mother to attract her attention.
‘Hallo, my precious,’ said Molly. She cuddled the baby tightly until Beth began to struggle and protest. Molly sat down on the sofa with her, jiggling her knees and turning the cries of protest into chuckles.
‘You’re all I’ve got now, p
etal,’ she said softly. The baby burped and a dribble of milk ran down her chin and dripped on to Molly’s skirt. Dora ran over with a cloth and began wiping it.
‘Oh, leave it alone, Dora.’
‘But it will spoil! It’ll smell an’ all. Clothes aren’t that easy to come by these days,’ she protested.
‘I don’t care. I’ll never wear it again,’ said Molly. ‘Coupons or no flaming coupons.’ She bent her head until her chin touched the soft curls of Beth’s head and wept. The tears ran down and mingled with those of the baby who began to cry also, frightened by her mother’s emotion.
‘Give her here,’ Dora commanded. ‘You’re tired out. Get away up to bed and get some sleep. I’ll bring you a nice cup of cocoa. Once I’ve got Beth to sleep, that is.’
As Molly climbed the stairs she reflected that Dora looked happier than she had done since Jackson came home.
Chapter Thirty-two
IT SEEMED TO Molly that she was living in a kind of limbo. The weeks dragged on, one after the other, filled with going to work and sewing and coming home and sewing. The only bright spots, the only times she came alive at all, were when she was with Beth, her baby, watching her grow, sit up unaided, begin to crawl. The war passed her by apart from the fact that rationing tightened and the news was all of the Tunisian campaign with little maps on the front page of the Northern Echo illustrating the position of the troops; the line sometimes moving forward, sometimes back towards Egypt. Was Jackson among them? she wondered, anxiety for his safety rising in her.
‘You look tired out, lass,’ Dora greeted her one evening, a dark, cold evening with sleet slanting down the street as she walked home, drenching her skirt and bare knees for her last pair of stockings had ‘gone home’ as Dora put it. She should have worn her one pair of slacks, Molly thought dully, but the morning had been fine and sunny.
‘I am tired, Dora,’ she admitted. ‘And I promised Mrs Jones that I would finish her skirt tonight.’
