by Annie Murray
‘What makes you think I am that sort of girl?’ she asked tartly. ‘You just think I’m easy and common, do yer? Well I don’t know what makes you think that.’
‘Oh – no!’ Len sounded mortified. ‘I don’t know why I said that. I just – you’re so amazing to me, Molly. You make me feel . . .’ He was pulling himself together, back to being the old, courteous Len. ‘Of course you’re not. Just me getting beyond myself. I’m sorry. Let’s go back into the dance, shall we?’
‘I s’pose so,’ she said sulkily. It felt as if he had poured cold water on her. She knew it was the safest thing to go back, but perversely she was now filled with anger and a sense of rejection. She longed stormily for Tony’s wiry, urgent need of her, not for this stolid self-control. She needed his desire, to feel able to control him. So he didn’t want her now, was that it? She raged inwardly. Why was he being so boring and reining himself in?
Back in the ballroom Len held her apologetically, though it took her several dances to recover her temper. By the time the evening was over, they were back to kissing goodnight tenderly.
‘See you tomorrow, love,’ Len said softly.
‘Night night,’ Molly said, giving him her sweetest smile. My husband-to-be, she added silently.
As she was drifting off to sleep that night, she imagined the farmhouse where they would live, with the pig, the hens stepping across the backyard laying fresh eggs, the haystacks and carrot crops, the sun always shining and a garden full of flowers and strawberries. She imagined lying naked in Len’s arms, his touch, his maleness, his making love to her. Her body stiffened with dread. Longing and despair mingled in her and she welcomed sleep, unable to face her thoughts.
Thirty-Eight
‘Molly! Here – hop in!’
The truck was waiting for her at the gun park as they came off their shift a few days later, stiff with cold now the winter was setting in. A mizzling rain was falling.
Len was beaming from the cab. ‘Get in with me – I’ll take you back.’
‘What about us?’ Jen shouted, striding up to them. ‘Don’t we get a lift in the dry as well?’
‘Nope, sorry – you’ll have to wait for the other transport. This is a military mission!’ Len shut the window on Jen’s curses, chuckling as Molly clambered up into the cab.
‘Cheeky bugger – what’re you doing here?’
‘Well, we had orders to sort out the anti-freeze for the winter. See, you have to remove the thermostat from the water system, and seal the joiner and then . . .’
‘Len – for God’s sake, I don’t mean what’re you doing like that, I mean why are you here, now, with me?’
‘Oh, I forgot – of course you don’t want to go worrying your pretty little head about technical matters,’ he teased, dodging as Molly reached over to thump him.
‘Technical matters!’ she fumed. ‘Course, there’s nothing technical about what I do, is there!’
‘Calm down, little tiger – I thought I’d bring her out for a trial run, and I came here because I’ve got something to tell you.’ He had been about to pull away, but he braked again, suddenly solemn, staring ahead at the khaki figures walking along the road, blurred through the streaming window.
‘Well come on – tell me!’
‘I’ve written to Sheila.’
Molly gasped. ‘Oh my God – have yer?’ Though this was what she wanted, she was also afraid suddenly. It made everything real and very serious.
Len nodded. She could see he was relieved to have done it, but also sad and uncertain. He released the brake and started driving. They drove about half the distance in silence.
‘You’re wishing you hadn’t done it, aren’t you?’ Molly said eventually. Lately she’d been trying not to say ‘ain’t’.
‘No! Course not. I just feel a bit sorry for her, me backing out on her and nothing turning out how she expected.’
‘Well you can go back to her,’ Molly said harshly. ‘If you feel that sorry for her. I don’t s’pose it’s too late. You either want her or you want me – you’ll have to make your mind up.’
‘Don’t be like that, Molly.’ He sounded wretched.
A moment later he stopped outside her lodging house. A white sheet, hung out to dry, was flapping half-sodden from the balcony railings. For a moment Len looked miserable, then he turned to her with a smile.
‘It’s you and me now, sweetheart. What d’you think of that?’
Her heart softened, fear and jealousy melting away. ‘I think it’s the best news ever. You’re my fella.’ And she snuggled close and kissed him.
Things were sweet after that, for a few days. Len received a letter from Sheila almost by return of post. It was sad, brave and dignified. He showed it to her when they were sitting together in the NAAFI.
I was always afraid you’d meet someone else, and I suppose now it’s happened I shall just have to make the best of it. I’m trying very hard to be brave about it. . . . I always looked up to you, felt you were too good for me in some ways. I know I’ll miss you terribly, but I can’t help wanting to wish you well . . .
Molly saw tears in Len’s eyes as he watched her read the letter, written on pale blue paper, in a looping, careful hand. It made her feel tearful as well.
‘She sounds ever so nice,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ he said, very subdued. ‘She is. I thought she might be a bit, well, angrier. She’s taken it very well. I’m not proud of hurting her though. And she’s buried out there in the country. I hope she’ll find someone else in the end.’ He stared wanly ahead of him. Molly felt herself shrink inside. She could see his regret, even if he kept telling her he wanted to be with her. And she felt humbled by Sheila’s lack of anger or spite, certain that she would not have behaved so nobly if the same thing had happened to her. At the same time she felt very tender towards Len: he had been prepared to do this for her, to give up so much.
‘Have you told your mom and dad?’
‘Yes,’ he said, sighing. ‘I haven’t heard from them yet though.’
They sat in silence for a moment, both awed by what had happened. He’s all mine now, Molly thought. Instead of excited, she felt suddenly flat, but she told herself not to be so silly. It was her job to cheer Len up.
‘Come on,’ she jumped up. ‘It’s stopped raining. Let’s go out for a bit.’
When they were outside, in the blustering wind, Len held her very close and looked deep into her eyes. She could see him wondering if he had done the right thing.
‘You won’t go and leave me, will you?’ he asked.
Tenderly she stroked his cheek. ‘Why would I do that?’
The news came very abruptly three days later. Molly, Cath and their battery were being re-posted – this time to Dover. Though they had known it was coming, Molly listened to their sergeant relaying the information, and was shocked to realize that mingled with her dismay at the terrible prospect of being separated from Len was a surge of relief which disturbed her so much that she tried to pretend she had not felt it at all. But the feeling of being trapped had lodged in her ever since she knew about Sheila’s letter.
There was no time to see Len and tell him until much later that day. They often met up outside the ballroom, and that was where he was that evening. She hurried up to him and just came out with it.
‘We’re moving on – the order came this morning. Day after tomorrow.’
His expectant expression fell into one of misery and anxiety.
‘The day after tomorrow?’ He was rubbing the top of his head as if to make his brain work better. He seemed more uncertain about everything these days.
‘Oh Len—’ Seeing him, the news suddenly felt unbearable. ‘What am I going to do without yer?’
He held her close. ‘If only we could get some time to ourselves,’ he said. ‘Just before you have to go. I can’t stand the thought of your leaving. Look—’ An idea seemed to come to him. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Whenever she knew they
were about to leave a particular site, Molly usually started to feel very attached to it. Knowing that this was their last day but one on the gun site in Clacton brought a sweet preciousness to the work, the place and people. Suddenly she felt very fond of the seaside town on the sweeping east coast, and the ramshackle old house they were staying in. She even gave Ruth a cheerful smile as she saw her go past to spot for another battery. Everything was bathed in the awareness that she was about to lose it and start anew yet again somewhere else.
She worked hard all day, trying not to think about Len, or the horrible unease which filled her whenever she remembered Sheila’s letter. Every so often, Len’s besotted face would float into her memory, and then the sight of him looking worried and dejected, and she was filled with confusion.
When he met her that evening, though, he looked very cheerful.
‘If this is our last proper evening, let’s make the most of it,’ he said. ‘Let’s go out on the town, shall we?’
They headed out into Clacton and found a pub popular with service people. It was full to the gunwales and very smoky and noisy, with someone on a penny whistle, songs and screams of laughter, and they had some drinks and joked and chatted with some of the others. After a time, Molly saw Jen come in with her bloke and they waved at each other.
A piano was playing and people were taking turns to get up and do a number. There was a raucous rendering of ‘Mairzy Doats and Dozy Doats,’ and then a young, fresh-faced ATS sang ‘Somewhere in France with You’, and several others had tears in their eyes by the time she’d finished. Len looked at her admiringly.
‘Are you going to get up and sing?’ he asked.
‘Not likely!’ Molly said. ‘I can’t sing to save my life – least I don’t think so.’ She realized that she was not sure if she was any good at singing or not.
‘Bet you can – you’ve got a good strong voice on you. Why don’t you give it a go?’
‘Don’t be silly!’ She was blushing now. ‘I’m not getting up there, singing. Why don’t you sing?’
‘I’ve sung before – in church, when I was young.’
‘Have yer? What did you sing?’
‘Well, hymns of course. They got me to sing on my own sometimes. I was quite good then – course when my voice broke it all changed.’
Molly stared at him. It was another of those moments when a gulf opened up between them. What did she really know about Len? Her awful feeling of discomfort increased.
‘My uncle’s a lay preacher, so we go to his church – used to anyway, but then he died.’
‘Oh,’ Molly said. ‘That’s nice.’ She had no idea what a lay preacher was. For the first time in a long while, she was suddenly filled with the urge to get blindingly drunk.
‘Come on—’ Len leaned close to her ear. ‘Let’s go – I want you to myself.’
She followed him from the pub into the darkness and the pub’s racket receded behind them. A gaggle of soldiers were talking and laughing across the street and other couples, some having to prop each other up, were meandering along the pavement. The sound came of someone being sick somewhere out of sight.
‘Charming,’ Len said. ‘There’s no need for that, is there?’
‘No,’ Molly said, glad he could not see into her memory of the times when she had been in much the same state, if not worse.
‘Let’s go and look over the sea. There’s enough moon to see a bit.’
He took her arm, holding her close, as if she was very precious. She sensed an excitement in him, whereas she was full of a sense of things not being real, as if she was distant from everything, or in a dream. The faint sound of laughter floated from somewhere.
The moon gave just enough light to make out the edge of the land, where the black sea began. Despite the buffets of moist wind, the sea itself was fairly calm and silent below them. It was just possible to make out where the pier extended out over the water.
‘You’ll still be looking out at the same water, where you’re going,’ Len said, as they stood side by side, looking out.
‘Yes, I s’pose I will,’ Molly said.
Len leaned round and kissed her on the lips, then stayed close, looking into her eyes in the gloom. ‘God, I wish you weren’t leaving. My lovely girl.’
These words pierced through Molly. Lovely girl! If only he knew. The sense of conflict began to grow in her again.
‘Have you told your mother and father about me?’ he asked fondly.
‘My dad’s dead.’
It came out abruptly.
‘What, and you never told me? How long ago did he die?’
She could hardly tell him the truth, that it had been just two months ago, since she’d never mentioned it before now.
‘Some time back,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t very well for a long time. It was the war, and that.’
‘You poor girl . . .’ He turned and took her in his arms, holding her close, as if deciding on something. Then, drawing back a little, he looked down at her.
‘We must meet each other’s folks. Look, I’ve been thinking a lot over the past day or two. Molly – I need to get things straight, to ask you something . . .’
Her heart thumped. What did he want to know? God, he barely knew anything about her, and what about when he found out! Imagine Len coming to Birmingham and meeting Iris and Bert, seeing where she came from, after all she’d heard about his wholesome farming life! She knew that was why he was attracted to her, because she was different, pretty and lippy, and drew men like bees. She knew that besotted look in his eyes. She’d seen it so many times before. But what about her real life and family? How would he ever come to terms with that? Why on earth hadn’t she told him they were all dead while she was at it? She couldn’t gather her wits enough to say anything, so she stood waiting.
‘What I’d like to ask, Molly’ – he was down on one knee suddenly, so that she was looking into his pale, upturned face – ‘is if you’d agree to be my wife.’
Molly stood as if turned to stone. She was filled with complete panic at this reality which had crashed over her, at all it meant. There would be his family to deal with, let alone hers: his would be disappointed that he had chosen this common woman over Sheila, who they’d known since girlhood. Imagine what the wedding would be like! Then there’d be bedrooms where he would expect, even demand, her to give herself to him. But she barely knew him at all! She could never marry him! How could she have even thought it might be possible – her with her drunken mother and the filthy specimens of men she had had around her all her life? And though she longed for it, she just could not give herself like that, couldn’t tie herself to him, fond of him as she was.
‘Molly?’ He stood up again, trying to interpret her silence. ‘I know it’s a bit sudden, but with you going away – and we know we want each other, don’t we? Just say you’ll be my wife. After all, I’ve let Sheila go – I need to know you’ll be there, that my wife is waiting for me somewhere.’
Words seemed to choke her. It would be so much easier just to do what he wanted and say yes. But in seconds, the whole idea of her being with him, marrying him, had become preposterous. The fantasy dissolved. What the hell had she been thinking of?
‘I can’t,’ she said faintly.
‘Molly?’
‘This is all a mistake.’ She backed away from him until she almost toppled over the low wall of the promenade. ‘Oh Len – don’t ask me. Not me. I’m not right for you, I’m not right for anybody!’
‘What are you talking about?’ He sounded lost and utterly baffled.
‘I just—’ She struggled to find words, holding out her hands to fend him off as he tried to embrace her again. ‘I don’t know what I‘ve been doing, making you think I could marry you. I’m all wrong. You mustn’t think you can marry me. I’m no good for you.’
Len came close. ‘What the hell’re you going on about? I love you, girl – I can’t think about anything else. God, if it wasn’t so wrong I’d take you here and no
w, I want you so much. I’ve given up Sheila for you – my mother and father are furious with me. That’s how much I love you. You can’t pull out on me now!’
‘You don’t want me,’ Molly said, speaking low and seriously, trying to get through to him. ‘You want to have me, like that, you want to take me to bed. Men always do. But you don’t want me – you don’t know anything about me, Len.’
‘Well tell me then!’ he pleaded. ‘I want to know everything about you. But when I ask you, you change the subject. I want to know about your family and your home and, and everything!’
‘Len – just believe me. I’m no good.’ She was firm now, hard as steel. ‘You’ll thank me for this one day . . .’
‘Don’t say that!’ He was distraught. ‘Molly, what’s happened to you?’
‘You will. You don’t want to get tangled up with me. I’m not much good and my family are terrible. I don’t want you to know about them, that’s why I’ve never said. Look, love’ – she laid a hand on his shoulder – ‘just forget about me. Go back and tell Sheila you’re going to marry her. That’s what’s right. She loves you – no one’d write a letter as nice as she did if she didn’t. I wouldn’t have done, I can tell yer! Go and say sorry, send her a wire – tell her it was all a mistake.’
He was breaking down, almost weeping now. ‘How can you? How could you make me go through all that and then say all these things to me, and turn me down?’
‘I thought I could do it,’ she said. ‘I thought I loved you. But I can’t – and I don’t.’
Her heart felt squeezed too tight, and she longed to cry and tell him not to leave her, to be with her for ever. But above all there was the relief, the sense of escape. She’d never live as a farmer’s wife in a quaint country house with hens pecking across the yard. Deep down she’d always known that, that somehow it would always have been spoilt and it would always have been her fault. But if she’d said any of that to him she knew he would never understand.
