by Annie Murray
‘Who’s that one?’ Molly asked afterwards, pointing at the brown-robed statue.
‘Oh, d’you not know that?’ Dymphna laughed. ‘That’s St Anthony, heaven bless him. And that—’ She pointed at a small black-and-white profile on the wall beside him, of a thin-faced, austere-looking man. ‘That’s our Holy Father in Rome, Pope Pius the twelfth.’
‘Oh,’ Molly said, glancing at Tony, who, to her surprise, winked at her. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Our priests are very special to us,’ Dymphna said, passionately. ‘You’ll come to understand that when you’re a Catholic. It’s a marvellous blessing, what those holy men do for the faith. Our Father Callaghan now – he’s a pure, holy man.’
Tony was staring past her, out at the darkening sky.
Later, she insisted that Molly sleep in the small room Tony had always shared with Mickey.
‘Tony can bunk up downstairs like a gentleman,’ she said. ‘Here we are now, dear, I’ll show you where to go.’
Molly lay cosily tucked up behind the blackout curtains which shut out the summer night. This had been Tony’s boyhood bed and she enjoyed the thought of it. He had come up and given her a long, tender kiss goodnight, and then, to her surprise, he had whispered, ‘I’ll see you later!’
Sure enough, a long time later when the house was really quiet, he was at the door, so silently that she had not heard him climb the stairs. He tiptoed across the room, to pull back the edge of the curtain, letting in the thin moonlight, then he was beside her, his breath on her cheek.
‘Budge up, wench!’
‘You shouldn’t be here! What if your mom finds out?’
‘She won’t. Don’t fret.’
Very quietly so as not to make a single spring squeak, he eased himself in beside her as Molly inched up by the wall. Both of them giggled quietly, settling themselves cuddled up close together.
‘Your family are so nice,’ she whispered. ‘Is your mom always like that? So friendly before she even knows people.’
‘She is like that, yes. But she likes you – I can tell. She took to you straight away.’
‘Really? D’you think so?’
‘Course.’ He cuddled her, kissing her back. ‘You’re lovely, Molly. Only you don’t seem to know it!’
She was squirming with pleasure.
‘I think she thinks you’re going to settle me down. She thought I was going off the rails before. And so long as you’ll be a Catholic – that’s what matters to her – being in the fold.’
‘Course I will – I said I would.’
He gave her a squeeze. ‘Everything’ll be all right then.’ He kissed her neck, then whispered, his tone a little hurt, ‘You never said – about your dad.’
She stared into the darkness. ‘Daint I tell yer? He’s in a poor state really. And there’s nothing much you can do. I s’pose I try not to think about it.’
‘Poor man.’ He kissed her. After a silence, he said, ‘What about your ma, love?’
‘I’ve told you.’ She turned her head; anger and resentment swelled in her just thinking about Iris. How could she explain to Tony – especially after meeting his warmhearted mother? ‘I’m not proud of what I’ve come from. I don’t really want to tell you about her – or you to meet her.’
There was a hurt silence. ‘Seems a bit bad that. We’re supposed to be getting married and you won’t even tell me about her. I love you. It won’t make any difference.’
Oh, won’t it? Molly thought, bitterly. Should she pour it all out, the full horrible truth – well, my granddad used to molest me several nights a week and as it turns out he’s my father as well because he bedded my mother, his own daughter? No – she couldn’t tell him everything – not even Tony, who she loved most in all the world. Harshly, she whispered, ‘She’s a boozer, OK? All she cares about is staring into the bottom of a bottle. She’s never been a mom to me and I don’t want anything to do with her. And Joe – my dad – well, he’s done for.’ She twisted round to him, emotionally. ‘I swear to you, when we get wed, I want your mom to be my mother – you can forget about mine.’
In the very faint light she could see him watching her intently. He brought his hand out from under the covers and smoothed back her hair. ‘All right – if that’s really how it is.’
‘It is,’ she said firmly. ‘My family’re nothing like yours. Yours are wonderful.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I know.’ But there was a dry sadness to the way he said it, in which she could hear his sense of betrayal. And Molly could see what he meant: the impossibility of telling his mother the truth about the saintly priests, the lash of their canes and leather straps. It was as if Dymphna could not have believed it even if it was happening in front of her very eyes. Molly cuddled him tightly.
‘I just want to be part of yours. They’re a proper family, not like mine. When can we get married and make it all right?’
‘Soon,’ he said passionately. ‘We’ll get leave – next time. We’ll do it then.’
‘Oh love! D’yer mean it?’
‘Course I do. The sooner the better.’
Ecstatic, she turned to the wall, snuggling back against him. ‘I love you so much,’ she said. For a second she tried to imagine life without him, a future without his love, now she knew what it was like with it, and the thought was so dizzyingly awful she banished it immediately.
‘I love you too, my girl. And tomorrow,’ she heard in her ear, ‘I’m taking you for a ride.’
She clung to him, arms wrapped tight round his waist, the sun on her face and the wind buffeting it as they raced away, first from his cramped, sooty-faced neighbourhood, then out past the villas of north London, further and further until the barrage balloons shrank to tiny dots in the distance behind, then vanished, and the houses spread further apart, and soon there were no factories or chimneys in sight, nothing but farmhouses and barns. It was a warm, sultry August and they had the whole weekend ahead of them. Molly didn’t think it could be possible to be happier.
‘I want to show you my favourite place,’ he said, before they set off. Dymphna had given them a packet of sandwiches, urging them not to be back too late – ‘Because I know what he’s like,’ she twinkled at Molly. ‘There’s no knowing where you’ll get to – it’s a mystery tour you’re going on! Now you just be careful, Tony,’ she added seriously.
After miles of country road, Tony turned into an obscure lane leading to a wood, heading gently downhill, through dappled light, until they reached a stream at the bottom among the trees. The water caught the sunlight through the leaves.
Molly exclaimed at seeing the soft grass and flowers edging the water and feeling the gentle atmosphere of the place. ‘How did you know it was here?’
‘I didn’t. I just came here by accident one day, nosing about. It’s the most peaceful place I’ve ever been. I’ve been wanting to bring you here ever since we first started.’
Molly climbed down from the bike. ‘I’m going to dip my feet in!’ She was still in uniform as she had nothing else with her, but her legs were bare. She slipped off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bank, squeaking as the cold water slid over her feet. Tony came and sat beside her, put his arm round her and kissed her neck.
‘You’re getting tanned.’
She put her hands to her cheeks. ‘They feel as if the wind’s been slapping them all morning!’
‘You look lovely – like a big strong farm girl!’ Then he nuzzled her. ‘My Molly. My wife-to-be.’
She laughed, seemed to be forever laughing these days, despite the war, despite everything. He laughed with her, for no reason, and she thought how handsome he looked, boyish and happy.
‘Mr and Mrs Belham. Like your mom and dad. You’ve made everything so good – I’m so, so happy.’ She beamed into his face, and they moved in closer for a long kiss.
‘Come here,’ he said, and she knew what that meant, could hear how much he wanted her.
‘Here? Surely we can’t?’
‘It’s all right – I’ve never seen another soul anywhere near. Oh love, let’s – please.’
He laid her back on the soft grass and made love to her urgently. Molly did her best to respond, to not go off to the faraway place that these sensations sent her to. She so much wanted it to be right for him, for both of them. This is Tony, she kept saying in her mind. Lovely Tony, not him. Not him. Tony who you love . . . And then he was lying, spent, in her arms and she kissed his face again and again.
They spent the afternoon there, eating the sandwiches, lolling, playing in the stream like children and talking and cuddling in the green quiet and the heaven of a long, lazy afternoon. The war seemed far away, even here, quite close to London. They did not talk about it, didn’t even want to think about it. Today was enough – tomorrow they would deal with when it came.
Twenty-Five
The next day Tony took her into London town. They walked round looking at the sights – the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey – and strolled across the parks. Despite the sandbags, gun emplacements, shelters and rubble from which it was impossible to escape completely, the London parks were full of people, many managing to find some weekend relaxation in deckchairs and sprawled on the dry grass with handkerchiefs or newspapers shielding their eyes.
Dymphna had asked Molly if she would like to borrow a frock for the day, so that she didn’t have to stay in uniform. Hesitantly Molly agreed, not liking to offend her, though after the odd hand-me-downs Iris had dressed her in, she wondered what she was in for. At least her ATS uniform didn’t make her stand out as strange, and it often commanded respect. But to her surprise, Tony’s mother came to her with a very pretty pink-and-white floral dress.
‘I can’t fit into it any more,’ she said wistfully. ‘Geraldine says it’s old-fashioned, but I can’t quite bear to part with it.’
‘Oh, it’s ever so pretty!’ Molly exclaimed, fingering the soft folds of the skirt. She felt honoured to be offered such a lovely thing. ‘But I don’t know if I’ll fit into it either.’
‘I should think you will,’ Dymphna said, looking her up and down. ‘It might be a shade short on you, that’s all. But that’s more the fashion these days.’
Molly, who had never had the luxury of being able to take any notice of what the fashion was, slipped into the cotton frock in the bedroom and found that it not only fitted her, but it showed off her curving figure beautifully. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror, excited at how nice it looked. After brushing out her hair and pinning it back, she went self-consciously downstairs. Tony whistled appreciatively and Dymphna beamed with pleasure.
‘You’re a picture,’ she said softly. ‘Oh, I don’t think I ever did look as lovely as you in it!’
‘I s’pect you did,’ Molly said, overwhelmed by all this attention. She could see the pride in Tony’s eyes.
‘You can wear it to Mass tomorrow as well, dear – in fact, you can keep it. It’s no good to me any more and it’s a joy to see you in it. Oh now – you can’t go out in those great army shoes, can you? Here – you and I are much of a size. Would these fit now?’ She held out a pair of white sandals.
Molly was delighted. ‘What – you’d really lend them to me?’
‘Go on with you – you’ll look a picture.’
They were a little bit tight, but Molly wasn’t going to let that stand in her way. She thanked Dymphna, overwhelmed by her kindness.
After their lovely day in town, Molly’s feet were blistered with the heat and all the walking, but it had been worth it, to feel prettily dressed. She soaked her feet luxuriously in a bucket of cold water. Then they settled down for a cosy evening in with the family. Everyone sat round talking and drinking tea, the girls nagging Tony and Molly to play cards and hangman with them, Fred teasing them, all laughing, and someone remarking several times, as they did every evening, how strange and marvellous it was not to have air raids.
‘Those buggers can stay in Russia,’ Fred said.
‘Fred, language now!’ Dymphna said, tutting. Fred lit a cigarette and sat back, blowing smoke to the ceiling with a mischievous grin. ‘Good bloody riddance to ’em. You all right there, Molly? Another drop of tea?’
She woke the next morning, aware of Tony slipping away to his bed on the floor downstairs before his mother came down. They were to go to Mass early, keeping to the Sunday fast, and soon everyone was ready and walking out, past the rubble of bombed-out houses at the end of the road and round the corner to the parish church. The morning was hazy with cloud that would burn off later.
Molly found Dymphna beside her and realized she had come up next to her because she wanted to talk. She felt extremely smart and proud in the dress Dymphna had given her and Dymphna looked very fresh and nice in a pale blue shirtwaister. Geraldine and Josephine were ahead in their frocks and socks and Tony had fallen into conversation with his father. Molly heard them laughing. She thought for a moment of Bert, and for the first time, felt sorry for him. When had Bert ever had a decent bloke in his life who he could laugh with, a father figure to show him a decent way to be a man?
‘I’m glad you’ve come to be with us,’ Dymphna said, kindly. ‘You’ve made our Tony very happy – it’s written all over him. He hasn’t always been a happy soul. You’ve done wonders for him.’
‘Well, he’s made me very happy,’ Molly replied. ‘And . . . and all of you. I don’t really know what to say. It’s lovely – my family’s not, well, not up to much really, to tell yer the truth.’
Dymphna reached out and took Molly’s hand between both of hers, holding it gently.
‘Well, you’re welcome in ours, dear. I can see you’ve a good heart.’ There was a pause, and then she said, ‘Now, today we can have a little talk with Father Callaghan.’
‘Yes, all right,’ Molly agreed, though the thought made her a little nervous.
‘Did your family really not give you any religious instruction?’
‘No, not at all.’ Nor any other sort much either, Molly thought bitterly. ‘But I’d like to’ – she struggled for the right words – ‘to go into being a Catholic – I mean, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course it’s all right,’ Dymphna said. ‘Bless you dear, it’s more than all right, it’s what we’d expect.’
‘I’d want to be the same as him. It seems the right thing.’ Molly was so eager to please, to be part of this family, that being a Catholic now seemed a rather glamorous thing and certainly the least she could do, especially if it meant gaining their approval.
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ Dymphna patted her hand, seeming reassured. ‘You’re a good girl. We’ll speak to Father after Mass.’
Molly sat between Tony and Josephine in the dark church with its musky smell of polish and incense, seeing the dark-suited men, the lace veils shrouding the women, including herself, as Dymphna had provided her with one. All of it was mysterious to her, the priest’s robes, the Latin, which everyone but her knew as second nature, the strange ritual going on in the far distance at the altar, with the altar boys flanking the priest, none of which she could see very much, but which seemed to move everyone.
She followed what everyone else did, as well as she could, trying to make out the way to cross herself. Now and then, Tony took her hand and squeezed it. His face was solemn throughout. Molly felt a little foolish and shut out. She had such a lot to learn! But sitting there in a row with all the Belhams, as if she was already part of the family, was satisfaction in itself. This will be my family, she thought, and a warm feeling filled her. This was the greatest prize of all. She dared to imagine herself in the future, married to Tony, already a Catholic, perhaps with their first baby, sitting there among them. What more could she ever want?
Afterwards, a lot of people were pleased to see Tony, and the family was evidently very well known. Molly found a lot of curious looks directed at her. Tony proudly introduced her as his fiancée and Molly basked in being welcomed and congratulated with
him. One elderly lady, called Mrs O’Malley, with a very crinkly face, beckoned her close.
‘Come down here, darlin’, and give me a kiss. I’ve known this young fella since the day he was born. I was a midwife, see – in fact Tony here was one of the last babies I ever helped bring into the world before I retired from it, so he has a special place in my heart.’
Molly bent to kiss her soft skin while Tony grinned rather sheepishly.
‘Perhaps you can help us one day,’ he said cheekily.
‘Ah, go on with you – I’m well past all that now,’ she said, giving a cracked but delighted chuckle. She gripped both their hands with her cold, bony ones and asked all sorts of questions about the army and what they were doing and how they had met. Molly basked in all this attention, proud to see how much affection everyone had for Tony.
Dymphna was hovering close to them. ‘Father Callaghan will have a word with you now,’ she said, ushering them towards the priest, a small, sharp-eyed man. The matter was soon settled.
‘As your time’s so limited, perhaps you could come and see me later – let’s say four o’clock?’ he suggested. ‘We are having to do things a little differently in these unsettled times.’
Molly agreed gladly, wondering what she was supposed to see him for.
‘He’ll take you through the basics, I expect,’ Tony said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Come on now, son,’ Fred Belham said, appearing to lay his hand on Tony’s shoulder. ‘Time for a quick one.’
Tony looked apologetically at Molly. ‘I usually go with the old man for a quick one after Mass.’
‘They won’t be long,’ Dymphna said, appearing beside them. ‘Molly, you can come back with me and the girls and help with the dinner.’
Tony made a comical face. ‘Careful what you let her loose on,’ he said.
Dymphna tutted. ‘You cheeky boy – I’m sure Molly can cook very well. Now you won’t mind will you, Molly?’
‘No – it’s OK,’ Molly said. She didn’t mind at all. In fact, almost as much as being with Tony, she loved the warm, all-embracing company of his mother. The thought of being with her and cooking together was blissful.
