Soldier Girl

by Annie Murray

  An ache grew in Molly’s chest. Could it be true, that he really loved her? Could she dare to think that that was what he meant, when against her better judgement, she also felt so much for him? Now it was she who could not think what to say.

  Len gently laid his hands on her shoulders. ‘You’re just . . . I dunno. I feel different . . . You do something to me. You’re not like anyone else.’ He looked towards the roof for a moment as if hoping for inspiration. ‘Look, I’m fond of Sheila, course I am – she’s a good sort, faithful and kind-hearted. And I feel terrible about her – but it’s better to know now, before we get married and everything’s settled. Molly, do you – can you – feel anything for me, the way I do for you?’

  The ache of longing spread and burned in her.

  ‘God, Len – this is a bit sudden. I haven’t let myself think, tried not to – there was always Sheila. But you’re lovely. Of course I . . . I mean I do, yes . . .’

  He cut her off, eagerly leaning down to kiss her. When he drew back, she was pulled in even deeper by the look in his eyes.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  With a feeling of falling she gasped, ‘Yes.’

  He drew her closer, holding her tightly, and said, ‘Molly. My lovely Molly.’

  The telegram arrived two days later, and for the time being took her thoughts away from Len.

  19th October 1943

  Your Dad died yesterday. Funeral Friday. Sorry.

  Em.

  Molly stared bewildered at the message. Your Dad . . . Joe – of course, Joe! Em must have sent the telegram in the certainty that neither Iris nor Bert would bother to let her know. They couldn’t in any case, because she hadn’t told them where she was.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Cath asked gently, seeing the shock on her face. They had come back from the gun park to find the message waiting.

  Molly was about to tell her, then thought the better of it. ‘Oh – yes. Just a message from my friend.’

  Cath frowned. ‘Why did she send a telegram? Must be something urgent.’

  Molly folded the paper, smiling. ‘Oh, she’s crazy about her little boy. She wanted to tell me he’s walking about now, bless him.’

  ‘That’s a lovely thing,’ Cath said. Her tone was so wistful that Molly could have bitten her tongue out. Cath’s own child would not have been very different in age from Robbie. If only she’d said something else! But she could not have told Cath the truth. Her father, who was not her father in truth, had died. And the tragedy was that it felt as if he had never fully been alive. She did not want to explain any of this.

  Upstairs she stood wrapped in a towel, staring at the bath as it filled, agonizingly slowly. The spluttering trickle of tepid water splashed down onto a rusty stain like a giant teardrop in the curve of the bath. Joe was dead. That mild, absent man who had sat vacantly by the hearth for as long as she could remember was no more. That man who sometimes screamed, who cried out and wept in his sleep, a man she had never known when whole and well, but who she had believed to be her father. If only he had truly been her father! Everything she had ever heard about him, when he was young, before the war, pointed to him being intelligent and kindly. He had been able to pick out songs on the piano. She had heard people praise his singing voice. And there had been a piano in their house when she was very small. The brassy gloss of its pedals against the dark wood were what she remembered. But it had been taken away by the Means Test people, since it was deemed that the poor could not be permitted to enjoy music as well as eat. The house had to be picked bare of any assets before they were allowed to fill their bellies. And that was not the only way in which Joe had come down – everyone seemed to agree that he had married beneath him. He’d been an apprentice engineer before the war. Iris, handsome, lively and seductive, had put on her best side for him and he was overwhelmed.

  For a moment Molly even pitied Iris. What chance had she stood: her mother dead in the workhouse, William Rathbone for a father, and a shell-shocked wreck for a husband? But her pity did not last long. Even with all that, surely she could have at least have found some grains of kindness for her children? Loathing of Iris’s sadistic cruelty and her slovenly neglect outweighed any pity for her.

  But for Joe, she found tears running down her cheeks, and was glad that the running water covered the sound of her sobs as she perched on the little stool and let herself weep. Joe had been a good man whose youth and life was stolen. He may not have been her father, but all her life she had lived in close intimacy with his bewildered blue eyes and prematurely bald head, his quivering hands and childlike physical needs. In his way he had been the one benign presence in the house and all that time she had at least believed him to be her father. She mourned him as a daughter and this mourning combined with all her loss and sadness over Tony. She wept from the depths of her.

  At last she sat up straight, wiping her eyes. Would she ask for leave to go to his funeral? No – she knew she would not. Joe, the one streak of decency in her family, was gone – only the vile remnant remained. The thought made her so very lonely – they were all she had in the world. For a moment she imagined pouring out the story to Len. How would it feel to lay everything before him, all the things she never said to anyone, every dark corner of her life, and trust him enough to know that he would not turn away in disgust?

  Dismissing the thought, she stood up, wearily, to turn off the tap and then drew the towel from round her to step into the bath. How could she ever trust anybody, however kind, with news of a family as foul and shameful as hers? No, none of that could ever be told, not to anyone. It would have to stay locked inside her for ever.

  Thirty-Seven

  ‘So – you’re not going to tell us you’re “just friends” with him now, are yer?’ Jen teased. ‘Look at you, slapping it on!’

  She leaned over Molly’s shoulder as Molly made up her eyes. The NAAFI shop had a small supply of Innoxa make-up and the girls had clubbed together for eyeshadow, mascara and lipstick to share for the Hallowe’en dance. Jen had come into Molly and Cath’s room for a girls’ getting-ready session. They all had to wear uniform, but everyone did their best to prettify it the best they could, making themselves up and pulling their belts in tight.

  Molly stuck her tongue out at Jen in the mirror. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  Jen pulled her sharp features into a gargoyle expression and they both laughed.

  ‘Yeah, I would. Come on – we’re supposed to be pals.’

  ‘Ah leave her be,’ Cath said from behind them, pulling on her clean uniform shirt. ‘You can see she’s in love – it’s all over her. Oh—’ She stood in a self-mocking pose in her shirt and army-issue khaki underwear. ‘Don’t you just feel the business in these passion-killers? I feel ready for a night of seduction in these all right.’

  ‘Thought you weren’t interested in seduction,’ Molly said, applying mascara to her lashes.

  ‘No, well I’m not . . .’

  ‘Well you look gorgeous anyway,’ Molly said, and of course she did.

  ‘Eh – we’ll find out who your mystery lover is,’ Jen said. ‘It’s Hallowe’en! You hold a candle by the mirror and see him looking over your shoulder. Hang on, lovely lassies – I’ll get that candle from the kitchen.’

  They heard her footsteps clatter down the uncarpeted stairs and she was soon back, holding a lighted candle.

  ‘One at a time now!’

  The three of them giggled, taking their turn in front of the mirror as the others held up the candle. Molly watched half seriously as Jen held the candle beside her. In her mind she willed Len to appear, as if she needed confirmation from somewhere beyond her own feelings to tell her she was right about him. She looked into the darkness beyond her shoulder, but nothing appeared. On the other side of her, Jen and Cath peered intently into the glass.

  ‘Can yer see him?’ Jen asked.

  ‘No!’ Molly wailed in mock dismay.

  ‘Well, how could he not love yer, lass?’ Jen
gave her a squeeze. ‘God I wish I had your hair.’ She fingered Molly’s thick golden locks. ‘You’re a stunner. Right, my turn!’

  Her dark eyes danced with laughter as they all looked again. Nothing.

  ‘Ah well, someone’ll come along sooner or later I s’pose.’ Jen was never without a bloke in tow anyway. Then Cath’s turn came, her tendrils of hair glowing red in the candlelight, her face wearing an expression of cynical patience.

  ‘Well I wasn’t expecting anything.’ She shrugged ruefully. ‘That’s the best way – don’t expect much. Especially when it comes to fellas, that’s my way of seeing it.’

  ‘You’re a proper cold shower you, aren’t yer?’ Jen said, rumpling Cath’s mop of hair. ‘Come on – you never know what the evening will bring. You might end up surprised.’

  ‘Huh,’ Cath said.

  The girls had been invited to the Hallowe’en dance in the Viennese Ballroom at the Butlin’s camp. They had borrowed bicycles to get there, and hurried along, eager to get out of the damp night.

  As soon as they pulled up, brakes squeaking, Molly saw Len step out towards them and her heart fluttered like a bird.

  ‘Here’s lover boy,’ Jen hissed.

  ‘Shut up you!’ Molly said. ‘See you girls later!’

  She was still at a tremulous, disbelieving stage with Len. The sight of him made her feel shaky and excited. Could he really be in love with her? Was it possible that in her lifetime, two men could have loved her and wanted to be with her? All she really knew was that he was obsessed with her and she could not seem to help being sucked into his orbit. To her, that felt like love. Since that afternoon in Colchester they had met as often as they could. The pressure was off, now they had both admitted their feelings for each other, and there had been a few drinks together and walks along the low cliffs, snatched kisses in between looking out over the steel grey sea.

  Tonight felt more serious. It was a proper date, and she walked proudly into the ballroom on Len’s arm. An army band was playing, and their entrance into the glamorous space felt something like a parade. Molly knew that they were physically well matched – both well-built, strong and good-looking, and they made a handsome pair. She saw others notice them as they walked in, both smiling broadly at each other.

  ‘Let’s get a drink,’ Len said. She liked the way he took her arm as they moved through the crowd to the NAAFI bar. The music made her want to dance and she was already twisting and swaying as she stood at the bar, looking laughingly at him. Len grinned at her jigging excitement. ‘Then we can have a dance, if you like.’

  ‘Thing is,’ she confessed. ‘I don’t really know how to dance – not proper, like. I’ve never done it.’

  Len grinned. ‘Nor me, much. We’ll just have to make it up. I don’t care, so long as I can hold you.’

  Molly felt excitement rise in her, the warmth of being wanted and desired.

  It was the most romantic evening she could ever remember. Light glinted off the ballroom’s long mirrors, which reflected the dancing couples, khaki-clad, glowing cigarette tips, brass buttons, red lipstick. The air was blue with smoke, and the grand space was full of sounds of music, talk and laughter. There were some at the tables round the edge, taking a rest. Someone had made a jack-o’-lantern and it stood on the bar with leering, fiery eyes.

  Len led Molly onto the dance floor and showed her how to hold her arms for the dance.

  ‘You do know how to do it!’ she said indignantly.

  ‘Well, a bit. I did go once or twice with Sheila. She likes a bit of a dance.’

  ‘Oh, does she?’ She couldn’t help speaking tartly. Jealousy flared in her. Before, when she had been trying not to feel anything for Len, she was all consideration for Sheila, but now he claimed he was hers, she didn’t want to hear all about their past times together. She wanted to forget that Sheila ever existed – and she wished Len could do the same.

  Soon they were having fun, and Molly quickly picked up on the dance steps, the band playing ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’ and ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’. It was exhilarating, and they both ended up laughing during each number, trying to keep up and not tread on each other or pull in the wrong direction. Other blokes came up, wanting to dance with her, and Molly went off for a couple, but mostly they stuck together the whole evening. She called hello to Jen, who was dancing with the gunner she had been knocking about with for some time. Cath also seemed to be enjoying herself with her date, a dark-eyed, smiling young man, and Molly was glad to see her chatting to him and looking cheerful.

  They did sit out a number every so often to rest and have a drink, but there was not much time for talking, and Molly felt full of energy and excitement and wanted to be up and moving again. It was a night for letting off steam and having fun. She revelled in Len’s company, proud to be seen with him, enjoying the admiring looks he kept giving her. But one question kept niggling at the back of her mind. Now that they had agreed they were together, had Len yet told Sheila? He had said he must write as soon as possible, so that Sheila did not go ahead with arrangements for the wedding. Had he done it – or was he holding back? Would he ever really do it, or was he just leading her on? But she tried not to let her doubts get in the way of a happy evening.

  After a couple of hours of dancing, laughing and joking, they were both beginning to flag a little.

  ‘I could do with a bit of air,’ Len said.

  ‘Me too. My feet’re killing me!’

  Len took her arm and they went outside. Molly felt the perspiration cooling on her face. She breathed in the salt-tinged night air. The laughter and music faded as the doors closed behind them and Len led her down the side of the tennis courts with their sagging nets, along the sandy path towards the chalets.

  ‘Must be nice, having a holiday here,’ she said. Instinctively they spoke in low voices.

  ‘S’pose so,’ Len said. ‘You don’t want to be in one of them in the winter though – they’re perishing. You get water freezing on the inside of the walls!’

  Molly could hear the low voices and giggles from other couples among the chalets, all having sought out a private spot for a kiss and cuddle. Suddenly, mixed with her longing and desire was the old thread of confusion and dread. Now they were alone like this, how should she behave? How should she feel? She mustn’t throw herself at Len, not like in the old days. But she was out of practice – she had been avoiding men for the past two years. She didn’t trust herself not to get it all wrong and put him off.

  ‘At last I’ve got you to myself,’ Len said. He stopped beside one of the chalets and listened to check that it was quiet inside. The shape of the chalet loomed behind him, even darker than the sky with its sliver of moon. Len’s big, solid hands were very warm as he pulled her towards him. She could smell him, hot, manly. She wanted to be wrapped in his arms, to be kissed and caressed, for her confusion to disappear into him, but the nagging doubt was in the way. She couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Have you told her? Sheila? You said you’d write—’ She wanted to speak lightly, but her voice came out sharp with tension.

  Len gave a brief sigh. ‘Not yet. There’s been no time. But I will. I’ll do it this week.’

  ‘You promise?’ She felt like a child, weak and vulnerable.

  ‘Yes. It’s just – well, it’s a rotten thing to have to do.’

  ‘Well—’ She pulled away, petulantly. ‘If what you want is to be with her, then be with her. Just don’t keep on messing with me!’

  ‘Oh love – Molly, don’t!’ Len sounded really fed up. She could just see the glister of his eyes in the thin moonlight. ‘You know it’s not like that. I’m being a coward, I know. It’s just it’s been so long, and all her family thinking we’re getting married, and mine. They’re neighbours – it’s going to be a shock to everyone. I’m just having to prepare myself. Just don’t get all upset, love – I will do it.’

  Appeased, she moved back towards him, trying to be understanding, even though what she real
ly wondered was, if he wanted to be with her, why didn’t he just get on with it?

  ‘Come here – let’s have a cuddle.’

  They pressed close, his mouth searching out hers. Molly began to give herself up to the sensation of it, his warm lips, her hands stroking the rough serge of his uniform. They kissed for a long time and she could feel his excitement, his need for her. And she desired him as well, had not reached that dreaded point where she would switch off and go cold.

  After a time Len drew back. ‘Back there, when we were dancing, it was like the loveliest thing,’ he said shyly. ‘Just seeing you – knowing I was with you. I can’t believe it. You’re just gorgeous you are, Molly.’

  Molly giggled. ‘Well, that’s nice.’

  He leaned down to kiss her again, eyes glazing with desire. ‘I just wish – well, that we could . . . well . . .’ There was a pressure in his voice, words coming out in a rush. ‘That we could go further. You won’t be here much longer, will you? And then we’ll be apart. I mean, Sheila and I never – I mean, she’s not that sort of girl, not that I didn’t want to . . .’

  Molly listened to him with rising panic. It was very obvious what he meant, what he was after. She could easily, out of habit, throw herself at him, wind him up until he couldn’t resist. But then would he look down on her instead of respecting her the way he did Sheila? And she was afraid of her own reactions. With Tony it had been unsatisfactory, from her point of view at least. She was afraid now that she didn’t have it in her to respond to a man the way you were supposed to. Something in her just shut down when things progressed beyond a certain point. And she didn’t want him to know that – didn’t want to know it herself.