by Carol Rivers
‘So you don’t worry about him now?’
Jean smiled. ‘When I get that thought in my head, I say to meself, come on now, girl, what’s a better thing to think? After all, nothing’s happened, has it? It’s just the thought, like a splinter, that irritates until you believe it. So what flamin’ use is that? Torture, it is. When you could be thinking something nice, like, when we get into bed tonight, I’m gonna warm me hands on his lovely bum. Cos if there’s one thing I’ve always fancied about my old man, it’s his arse.’
Jean looked seriously at Molly, until she threw back her head and burst into laughter. Molly did too. Both she and Jean knew that laughter was the antidote they needed at times like this.
The first frost of the year came on the last day of November, and with it a change in the baby’s condition.
It was Spot who called at the shop on Monday, one of his few brief visits over the last two weeks. He told Molly that two nights previously, when they had almost given up on little Harry, he’d taken to Cissy’s breast and drawn out the life-giving milk.
‘Honest, Molly, we thought we’d lost him,’ Spot said as he stood in the shop, leaning heavily on the counter. ‘But all of a sudden I see Cissy looking at me as she holds the baby against her. And she’s got this big smile on her face. I almost broke in the glass to cuddle her.’ For the first time in weeks, Molly witnessed a happy Spot.
‘Have they weighed him?’
‘Five pounds, six ounces. But he ain’t lost no more.’
‘Early days yet.’
‘They said he’s not out of danger.’
‘Is he still as yellow?’
Spot grinned again. ‘She reckons ’e’s got me old granny’s blood. But the doctor said it’s jaundice that didn’t clear up like it should have. And with him being a bit early and not getting the dates right . . .’ He pushed his hands over his thick stubble and scratched his jaw. ‘I’m gonna have a good shave. Spruce meself up a bit and go back this afternoon.’
‘Tell her we miss her.’
She watched Spot hurry out, a spring in his step once more. Then she turned the sign to CLOSED and put on her raincoat. She would run down to Jean’s and tell her Spot’s news.
Outside, the street was busy. Everyone had got used to the hole in the road and walked round it. Molly was preoccupied as she thought of little Harry. Was this really good news or was Spot jumping the gun? The doctor had warned him Harry wasn’t yet out of danger. What did that mean? And then she remembered Jean’s words and how she found it helped to change her thoughts for the better. Well, she would try, only it wasn’t easy!
She was concentrating so intently that as she made her way down the street, she didn’t see a tall figure standing at the end of it. Her head was bowed, so that when she did look up, it was several seconds before she recognized the clean-shaven face and deeply set dark eyes staring in her direction.
Andy Miller paused as he stood in Roper Street, carefully inhaling the crisp November air, and with it his memories of London’s docklands; this street in particular that had been torn apart during the blitz and was now, like a battered old brig after a refit, revitalized and seaworthy again.
Not that the raids were over. Molly had written of the Luftwaffe’s unwanted attention still focused on the cities and ports. Many of his pals had lost family and friends in the attacks on the coastal areas and historic towns targeted by the enemy.
But in the year he had been away, the East End had shaken itself alive again, come up for round two, surviving the damage of high-velocity bombing and incendiary raids that had almost broken its back.
Andy swept the woollen cap from his head and narrowed his eyes at the Turners’ house, wondering if Dennis and Jean were at home; he was tempted to knock before walking on up to the store.
But then a slim figure caught his eye. She was at the far end of the street, occasionally hidden by idling shoppers, casual pedestrians, a couple of cyclists and women pushing prams around the hole in the road which had got neither wider nor deeper in his absence.
His heart lifted, or rather jerked to attention as he braced himself. He found his gaze pinned to the slender young woman wearing a dark, belted raincoat and ankle boots. She walked thoughtfully, gracefully, head bowed, as she manoeuvred her way past the banked rubble.
He stood still, then forced his legs into motion, swinging his kit bag over his shoulder, placing his steps in alignment with hers.
As he drew closer, a fist at the bottom of his stomach clenched. He sucked in a calming breath, though not entirely with success. For at that very moment she looked up and their gazes met.
Her hair was just as he remembered: a thick rope of auburn plaited around her head. Her heart-shaped face was solemn but unchanged from a year ago.
Slowly her full lips parted and she stopped, her hands coming out of her pockets as she recognized him.
He had to prevent himself rushing forward as he felt the prickle of sweat under his thick navy roll-neck service jumper, which now seemed a size too small. The excitement, the hope and the disbelief were swelling inside him and telling him he was home. On dry land. In England. On Roper Street, where one particular dwelling had become a sanctuary for him and his kids – against all the odds.
And then he found himself breaking into a run. As though a force had taken him over, driving him forward. Choking down the throb inside his chest, he called her name, and called it once more.
And then she began running too. Her breath fanned up into the clear winter’s air. As energetically as a five-year-old he leaped the obstructions along the path.
Finally they met, he unable to do more than gasp her name. And she, doing much the same, until they were in each other’s arms and holding on so tight that it was then he really knew he was home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Molly could neither laugh nor cry; even to speak was challenge enough as the world went on around them. The earth neither opened up nor did the sky fall in, though with the shock of seeing Andy she wouldn’t have been surprised at anything. He was here, in the flesh, and she looked up into his face in disbelief.
‘Molly, Molly,’ he said, and holding her at arm’s length, he gave that almost shy smile – Cissy’s Jimmy Stewart smile – a slow parting of the lips and the sight of even white teeth; and the smell of him! Oh, the smell! Of the ocean, the wind and the waves embedded in his skin and hair. It took her to a place that she remembered when he’d kissed her that day before they parted.
‘Andy – I can’t believe me eyes!’
The smile widened then and he nodded. ‘Me too. There you was. In the street. Walking towards me.’
Molly felt the tickle of laughter in her chest. ‘Are you on leave? Why didn’t you write?’
‘I sent you a letter three weeks ago.’
‘It’s not come yet. But the surprise is better. Much better.’ She wanted to hold him again, to sink into his arms. And she knew he wanted that too, as his grasp on her was strong and possessive.
They both let laughter loose then, awkwardly standing apart and conscious of the people in the street.
‘You’ve had a good shave,’ she said, and he nodded, rubbing his smooth chin.
‘Docked at Portsmouth last night and stayed at the hostel. Had a good scrub. Caught the train this morning. And, well, here I am.’
‘The kids are at school.’
‘Funny, I thought they might be over at the Turners’. I was about to knock.’ He cleared his throat. ‘How are they?’
‘Never better.’
‘I dunno how to thank you for what you did at Romford.’
‘You don’t have to thank me. Listen, why don’t we go over to Jean’s? I’ve got something to tell them and I’d like you to hear it too.’
He lifted his kit bag to the other shoulder. ‘We’ll talk after, right?’
She nodded and together they made their way down to the Turners’, her steps light as they walked arm in arm.
‘Come here and g
ive us a hug, stranger.’ Jean threw herself at Andy and Molly smiled as they embraced. Dennis took his hand and shook it and the two men slapped each other’s shoulders. During the multitude of questions Molly absorbed the changed appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered figure who hadn’t seemed quite real. As he’d stood in Roper Street, he had seemed so tall and upright, his bearing much improved from the sick man who had once been shipwrecked at sea and almost drowned.
His thick, dark hair was trimmed short and his sea-whipped skin was glowing and healthy. He’d filled out considerably. The close-fitting naval jumper showed a proud, broad chest squared off by strong shoulders. As he gazed at each of them, trying to answer their enquiries, he made light of what Molly knew must have been a dangerous year at sea. He described the battles of the Atlantic and the perilous convoys of merchant ships to and from Russia that were notorious in every headline of the newspapers.
But every so often his gaze caught hers, a light in his eyes that told her how relieved he was to be home. Sitting at the table in the Turners’ kitchen as Jean made tea, Molly was amused at Dennis, who thought of every excuse not to go out to work, as he listened enthralled.
The conversation then turned to all that had happened in his absence. Molly watched Andy’s face fill with pride as he learned how well Mark and Evie were doing at school. How they had made friends and had settled back into East End life after leaving Southend and saying goodbye to Len and Betty.
But his expression saddened as he learned of Cissy and Spot’s troubles, and Molly, not wanting to spoil his homecoming, quickly added that Spot had brought better news today.
‘Harry’s gonna make it,’ declared Dennis confidently. ‘With parents like Cissy and Spot, he’s got fighting blood in his veins.’
After yet more tea and gossip that could have gone on all day, Molly stood up. ‘The store won’t run itself, much as I’d like it to.’
‘You’ll both have a couple of hours to catch up before the kids get home,’ Jean said, giving Molly a sly wink. ‘And give us another hug, Andy. I want to make up for lost time.’
Everyone had a smile on their face as Molly and Andy left, walking slowly hand in hand up Roper Street, skirting the hole and the debris and passing the bicycle factory to amble up the little path at the back of the shop. But before Molly could push her key into the lock, he took her in his arms and, gazing into her eyes, whispered, ‘I’ve dreamed of this moment, Molly. Though I didn’t think it would ever come to pass. I wondered if that kiss we shared was just a figment of my imagination.’
‘I did too,’ she admitted, feeling the warmth of his body close to hers and realizing they were completely alone and unobserved. ‘You never said any more in your letters.’
‘Didn’t know if you felt the same.’ He lifted her chin. ‘Do you feel like me, Molly? I know how much you loved Ted. He was a good man and died for his country. I’ll never be able to fill his shoes.’
‘It ain’t about dying, Andy. I’ve learned that life is all about living. Yes, Ted was a loving and loyal husband and that part of me life has treasured memories. But I’m still here, and I have so much to be thankful for. Including you and the kids.’
He said no more, but this time sought out her lips with a fierce passion and she responded, knowing that from this moment onwards there was not only a future to look forward to, but most importantly, she understood the value of every precious moment.
Leading him upstairs and into her bedroom, she closed the door. ‘The shop can wait. I can’t.’ She drew him close. ‘The children won’t be home for a while.’
‘Molly, I’ve thought of you every day. Probably every hour.’ He bent his dark head and kissed her passionately. She felt as though she was spinning above the clouds as desire overwhelmed her and very soon they lay in bed, locked in each other’s arms.
Much later, they dressed and sat together at the kitchen table holding hands. They were hungry but decided to wait for Mark and Evie and share their first meal together.
‘I’d better go down and open up before they come home,’ Molly decided.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered, kissing her again. ‘That was wonderful.’
Molly thought so too and wished they could sit here together for the rest of the day. Instead she put on her overall and went down to the shop. As she served her customers she wondered if any of them could see the change in her. But no one mentioned the flush on her cheeks or her distracted manner. And when the rush was over, Andy appeared and pulled her into the glory hole. ‘I can’t wait till tonight,’ he told her. ‘Now I’ve started kissing you, I can’t stop.’ He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her cheeks.
They giggled like children as someone walked in the shop door and the bell tinkled. Molly served her customer, and found Andy beside her once more.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll behave myself.’
‘It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s me.’ She smiled and pushed back her hair self-consciously. ‘I’m so glad you’re home.’
He looked at her longingly, then with hands in pockets, he reclined against the counter and studied her. ‘Tell me about Romford,’ he said quietly. ‘You made light of it in your letter, by but God, Molly, I’d have gone crazy if you hadn’t found them.’
She explained how she’d located Roger’s cottage and managed to prevent Mark and Evie from being evacuated on the coach. And how Roger had put her up for the night and driven them back to London the next day.
‘I don’t know what I would have done without you,’ he said, only to be interrupted by yet another customer. Molly saw how easily he spoke to the women and how warmly they welcomed him. The talk, though, always returned to war and their menfolk, who, like Andy, were serving on ships in the freezing cold north, or toiling in the deserts of North Africa. There were those, too, whose men had been taken prisoner or perished in Burma and Japan, and in Europe there were stories of the merciless atrocities in Jewish ghettos.
It was late in the afternoon when the shop door opened to reveal two young faces, both unaware of the surprise awaiting them.
It took Evie only a few seconds to fly into her father’s arms, and then Mark, close on her heels. After the initial surprise came the questions, and breathless delight when Andy opened his kit bag to give them each a small gift.
‘I made these for you,’ he said, his voice breaking slightly, ‘a little souvenir for both of you.’
Molly smiled as Evie examined the raffia horse made by her father and Mark the carved wooden submarine that Andy had sculpted from driftwood.
‘Has you got something for Molly?’ Evie asked and Andy nodded, presenting Molly with a small square box. Inside was a little silver anchor on a chain.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Molly said as Andy clipped it around her neck.
‘She’s a sailor now, ain’t she?’ said Evie, and Andy roared with laughter. Lifting Mark and Evie, one under each arm, to squeals of laughter, he grinned at Molly. ‘Reckon it’s time we got out of your way.’
‘I’m putting you two in charge of showing your father what’s for dinner,’ she told the children. ‘There’s yesterday’s mash and veg for bubble and squeak. And cold custard and apple pie for afters.’
‘Are you coming?’ Mark asked Molly as Andy lowered him to the floor.
‘I’ll close the shop first.’ She met Andy’s eyes as she fingered the anchor around her neck.
His smile told her he was thinking the same; they couldn’t wait to be in each other’s arms once more.
When the children were asleep that night, they sat together in the front room holding hands. They had shared so much happiness in the last few hours that Molly had almost forgotten Cissy and Harry. Now, as Andy’s fingers stroked lightly across hers, she almost felt guilty for that happiness and she suddenly wondered about the Denhams. ‘I hope you won’t worry about Betty and Len,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sure Roger would have found them a decent billet in Wales.’
‘Molly, it’s not the De
nhams that worries me. It’s that copper who was hanging around you.’
‘Who? Detective Constable Longman?’ she said in surprise.
‘Has he been round?’
Molly’s cheeks flushed. Ted had never been the jealous type and she had never given him cause to be. But she could see by the look in Andy’s eyes that he was a different kind of man. ‘Only at Christmas to tell us that Ronnie Hook went to jail.’
‘Christmas ain’t the time to be calling on folk. Did he make a nuisance of himself?’
‘I didn’t give him a chance to. It was the day Dad stayed and the Turners and Cissy and Spot were here. I was polite but sent him on his way.’
‘I wish I had been here,’ he growled, pulling Molly to him. ‘He would have got a very different reception.’
‘Andy, he’s just a nosy copper.’
‘Don’t care if he’s nosy. Got nothing to hide. But I don’t want him pestering you.’
Molly laughed and held his face between her hands. ‘This is a very funny feeling.’
‘What is?’
She put her lips close to his. ‘Knowing that someone cares enough to say that.’
‘I care all right,’ he whispered. ‘You’d be shocked to know just how much.’
Molly silenced him with a long and tender kiss, then, leaning back against the settee, he said very slowly, ‘I want us to be together always. Do you?’
‘I think you know the answer to that.’
‘Then there’s something important I have to say.’ He looked down at their joined hands then slowly brought his gaze up. ‘Before the war, I took a course in signals. Was going to make something of meself as a signalman. But when I married Stella, me dreams all went out of the window. Until now, when it wouldn’t take too long to get myself up to scratch again – or so I’m told. The good thing is, I’d be in England for a while, at a signals training camp.’
‘Oh, Andy, that’s wonderful news.’
‘I might not pass the course.’
‘You will, I’m sure.’
‘I ain’t never had anyone show any faith in me before.’
