Goodnight Sweetheart

by Annie Groves

  ‘It’s a door, but there’s a space,’ he called back to them. ‘Come on, sweetheart …’ they could hear him saying in a softer voice. Molly’s heart turned over. All of them had stopped working, and were waiting motionless, straining to listen. Then abruptly they all heard Charlie swearing loudly – ‘Bloody hell’ – followed by the sound of small pieces of falling debris and then something small and dark shot out of the tunnel.

  ‘What …?’

  ‘It’s a cat.’

  ‘A cat?’

  The animal had already disappeared, and in the light of their torches, Molly could see Charlie backing slowly out of the tunnel.

  ‘Was that all it was?’ she asked him tiredly. ‘A cat?’

  Glancing upwards briefly to listen to the drone of the first wave of homeward-bound bombers, in the glare from the searchlights Molly could see patches of paler bloodied flesh on Charlie’s face where the debris had rubbed against his skin.

  ‘No,’ he told them all wearily, ‘there’s two kiddies in there; and their mam’s wi’ them as well but I reckon she’s a goner. A door’s fallen, trapping them in what’s left of the under-stairs. There’s a gap there, and it may be big enough for them to crawl out. I could just about get me head inside.’ He grimaced. ‘Thought for a moment I weren’t going to be able to get it out again, though – at least not wi’out cutting off me ears.’

  The men laughed but Molly shuddered.

  ‘The trouble is, the two kiddies are that scared they won’t try to get out. I reckon one of them’s still only a babby, perhaps can’t even walk proper, like. T’other one said sommat about their ma telling them not to go talking to strangers in case they was Germans. I daren’t lift the door in case it brings the whole lot down on top of them.’

  There was silence as the rescuers considered what to do.

  ‘See, this space is big enough p’haps for them to get out, but they won’t come out. But it’s too small for us to get inside and get them out …’

  Molly took a deep breath and said quietly, ‘Maybe I could try.’

  She felt the hiss of Johnny’s breath on the back of her neck, as his hand curled restrainingly round her arm.

  ‘I’m smaller than the rest of you,’ she pressed on doggedly, ‘and perhaps if I took off me coat, I could—’

  ‘No, Molly. It’s too much of a risk,’ Johnny protested.

  ‘The lass might have a point,’ Charlie said bluntly. ‘If’n she’s willing to do it …’

  Willing to do it? She was terrified, but she knew she could not walk away and leave those children there to die alongside their mother.

  ‘I’m willing,’ she announced with more conviction than she felt.

  Charlie nodded. ‘Right, you go in slow and careful, like, and you don’t touch nothing. Go and bring us a good length of rope from off the engine, will you, Danny?’ he called out to one of the men.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Molly demanded when Danny came hurrying back with a coil of shipwright’s rope.

  ‘We’ll tie it round your ankles,’ Charlie told her. ‘Just in case, like. If anything does happen and the tunnel starts to cave in, we can pull you out faster that way than if you was to crawl backwards.’

  Molly started to tremble, imagining the situation he was describing so graphically, and then wishing she had not done.

  ‘Molly, you can’t do this,’ Johnny told her fiercely. ‘I won’t let you.’

  Molly stuck out her chin. ‘And who are you to tell me what to do, Johnny Everton?’ she challenged him, but secretly, deep down inside, a part of her wished that he did have the right to stop her. She felt icy cold with fear and yet at the same time she was burning up with nervous heat.

  ‘You go in slow, like I said,’ Charlie told her, ‘and if you manage to get hold of one of them, then you give a small kick – just a small one, mind – and we’ll have you out of there faster than a grease monkey down a four-masted rigger.’

  Molly took off her heavy coat and the jacket she was wearing underneath it. She had never ever felt so scared of anything. She had been in the tunnel earlier in the evening, but not on her own, and not under circumstances such as these.

  ‘Molly …’

  She could hear the urgency and the emotion in Johnny’s voice, but she dared not let herself look at him. If she did she knew she wouldn’t be able to do what she had to.

  She kneeled down and then lay full length on the rubble in front of the tunnel mouth, waiting for Charlie to tie the rope to her.

  ‘No, let me do it,’ she heard Johnny saying.

  The touch of his fingers on her calves felt oddly comforting and for some reason it made her want to cry.

  ‘All set?’ Charlie asked.

  Molly nodded.

  Keeping the small torch Charlie had given her firmly in her hand, she started to wriggle her way down the tunnel. The fetid closeness of its air seemed to suck the oxygen from her lungs instead of replacing it. When her body blocked off what little light there was from outside, panic hit her. The impulse to try to sit up and turn round jerked through her body in a frantic desperate reflex. Her heart was pounding and she was shaking from head to foot, her body drenched in sweat. She had to get out of here, she had to. And then she heard a child’s voice whispering in fear.

  ‘Mummy, please wake up.’

  Molly’s head jerked up and banged against the top of the tunnel, immediately dislodging a small stream of dust and crushed brick. She must keep going.

  It wasn’t much further; she could see the gap Charlie had described to them. It looked frighteningly narrow and unstable. She could taste brick dust on her tongue. It was clogging her mouth and making it difficult for her to breathe. But she was nearly there. Another wriggle and she would be able to reach out and put her hand inside the gap.

  She had her hand on the splintered wooden door.

  ‘Hello there.’ She tried to make her voice sound as relaxed and calm as possible. ‘My name’s Molly. I’ve come to help you out. Which of you is going to be first?’

  Silence …

  A cold sweat poured from her. What if she was too late? What if she had risked her own life to no purpose?

  ‘I know,’ she continued, ‘why don’t I count to ten first and then one of you—’

  ‘Are you a German?’

  Her whole body sagged in relief, and to her astonishment she actually wanted to laugh. ‘No, sweetheart, I’m not. How many of you are in there? If it’s just the two of you, why don’t I take baby out first …?’

  ‘Our mam says as how we aren’t to talk to strangers …’

  Molly’s back ached, and the slow trickle of silt coming in through the ceiling of the tunnel was forming a heavy weight now right in the middle of it. ‘I’m not a stranger.’

  ‘Who are you then?’

  ‘Your mam asked me to come over and see if you was all right if there was any bombing.’ Molly could hear the sound of cautious movement from behind the barricade. And then the light of her torch illuminated the face of a small child. A girl, Molly saw, fresh blood seeping from scratches on her skin.

  ‘Our mam’s in here with us,’ she told Molly slowly.

  ‘Yes, I know. Can she say anything?’ Molly swallowed hard as she forced out the words.

  The child shook her head. ‘No, she’s lying down and she’s gone to sleep. She feels all cold.’

  Something fell on Molly’s face and crawled over her cheek. She dropped the torch and only just managed to stop herself from screaming. She could hear the rattle of the torch falling inside the space and then the more ominous rattle of falling bricks.

  ‘Your torch has gone out.’

  ‘Oh dear, never mind. Give it back to me, will you, sweetheart?’

  One second. Two … ten, and then she felt the torch being thrust back into her hand. Her own fingers closed round the thin wrist. All she had to do now was kick and she and this child would be pulled free. This child …

  ‘So it’s just you and your sis
ter in there, is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Me bruvver. He’s only a baby, though, and can’t say nuffing yet. Stinks, he does,’ cos he’s messed his nappy.’

  Molly’s heart dropped. There was no chance then of her coming back and persuading the other child to come to her.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked the little girl.

  ‘Fanny.’

  ‘Well, Fanny, here’s what I want you to do. We need to get your brother out so as we can change his nappy, don’t we? So why don’t you pass him to me …’

  ‘He’s too heavy for me to lift ’im. A right little bruiser he is, our mam says.’

  Molly was beginning to feel faint with exhaustion. She edged a bit nearer. Perhaps if she could manage to squeeze her head into the gap … Fear crawled through her stomach and erupted, driving her heart right up into her throat.

  ‘Can you push him to the gap, Fanny?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll try.’

  She could hear the sharp angry wail of the baby and the heavy panting of the little girl. ‘Here you are,’ she told Molly, ‘but you’ll not get ’im through there. A right fat little bugger, he is.’

  Very carefully Molly reached into the gap. She thought quickly. They couldn’t have much time left – already she was gasping for proper air. Keeping her hands closed over the baby’s head to protect it, she said firmly, ‘Fanny, I’m going to pull the baby out now and I want you to hold on to his feet and not let go. No matter what, you must hold on to him, do you understand?’

  ‘Our mam will kill me if I pulls his legs off,’ Fanny told her in a small voice.

  ‘You won’t do that. Now hold tight …’

  Her heart felt as though it was going to burst out of her chest as she raised her legs and gave a small kick. But that was nothing to the fear that gripped her when there was no response.

  What had happened? Had the rope somehow come loose? Was she destined to die in here with the children? Was she …?

  ‘Our Georgie’s peeing himself, miss, and it’s coming down his legs.’

  ‘Never mind, Fanny. Just keep holding on,’ Molly told her. And then miraculously she felt it: the small but unmistakable movement of her own body backward.

  Could she get the baby safely through the gap? She winced as she felt the splintered wood ripping at her hands, but then suddenly his head was safely through and she was able to reach further back to grasp his body, and then his legs, and then Fanny’s hands.

  Thinner than her brother, Fanny slipped neatly through the gap, clinging on to her brother as Molly had instructed.

  Slowly, inch by inch, for what seemed like a lifetime, Molly was pulled back the way she had crawled, every now and again debris showering down on them.

  ‘I’m scared, miss,’ Fanny protested. ‘I want me mam.’

  ‘Not much further now,’ Molly promised her, and then suddenly she really knew that it wouldn’t be, because she could feel cold air on her legs and someone grabbing hold of them and tugging her forcefully out of the tunnel.

  She could hear the baby crying lustily, then Johnny’s voice, and the voices of the others, but somehow she couldn’t summon the energy to reply. Someone had taken the baby from her and she could hear Fanny protesting sturdily, ‘Hey, mister, put me bruvver down.’

  Instinctively she knew it was Johnny who was crouching down beside her, helping her to sit up and offering her some water.

  ‘Bloody hell, but I reckon that’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,’ she heard a male voice exclaiming admiringly, close at hand.

  Automatically Molly looked round to see who he meant, and then realised that he meant her.

  EIGHT

  ‘Sure you’re OK?’ Johnny shouted to Molly above the noise of bombers flying low over the city as they headed back to Germany.

  They were standing on Edge Hill Road, and they were on their way home. The children had been taken off to Mill Road Hospital to get checked over, and a heavy rescue team had been called in to remove the rubble of the houses and excavate the bodies of those who had died in them.

  Molly looked up at the night sky. It was four o’clock in the morning and heavy rain slanted down on them.

  ‘It’s all right, they’ve gone now,’ Johnny told her comfortingly.

  ‘For tonight,’ Molly agreed, ‘but they’ll be back.’ Tears brimmed in her eyes and suddenly she was sobbing. ‘Oh, Johnny …’ She was in his arms and he was holding her and patting her back, ignoring her dusty hair and grubby face as he comforted her. ‘That poor woman and them kiddies.’

  ‘They’ve a lot to be grateful for. You saved those kids’ lives. Real pluck, that’s what you’ve got.’

  She stopped crying and looked up at him, and right there and then, in the middle of the street, he bent his head and kissed her.

  She could taste the cold night air and rain on his lips. She wondered dizzily if he could taste dust and death on hers, and then she stopped thinking about anything as he tightened his hold on her and drew her so close to him that she was leaning right into him as bold as brass, and not caring one single jot about it; not caring about anything at all but how good it felt to be held and kissed by him.

  She was trembling when he finally released her.

  ‘I’d give anything right now for a bath, but I daren’t risk waking our June up,’ she told him, striving to sound normal.

  ‘Come back wi’ me then, and share mine.’

  Molly laughed. ‘Oh, yes, your mam and sisters would love that.’

  ‘I don’t live with them any more; I’ve got me own place now.’

  Molly’s heart pounded against her ribs.

  ‘I’ll even let you have the water first,’ he told her, adding softly, ‘unless, of course, you want to share it with me.’

  ‘Give over, Johnny. That’s enough of your joking,’ Molly told him, trying to sound dismissive and uncaring, but her voice was giving her away.

  ‘Who says I’m joking?’

  They stood looking at one another in the darkness without touching. If she went with him now she knew what would happen, what she was agreeing to. There had been so much death and destruction, so much pain and despair, and something within her yearned for the warmth of Johnny’s touch.

  ‘Come with me,’ he whispered.

  Silently, she reached out and put her hand in his.

  He pulled her into his arms so fast and kissed her so passionately that she didn’t have time to resist, or change her mind.

  ‘You’ll be covered in dust,’ she protested against his mouth.

  ‘I don’t care,’ he told her thickly. ‘I don’t care about anything or anyone, only this and you, Molly.’

  The house he was renting was a small end terrace tucked down a maze of backstreets. They sneaked down the back alleyway to it like two children playing hooky from school, but the laughter died out of Molly’s eyes when Johnny opened the door and stepped back to let her in. She couldn’t help thinking of the time when she and Eddie had found it almost impossible to resist each other. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but in fact it was barely a year. Was she being disloyal to the memory of her beloved Eddie?

  ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want,’ he told her.

  Her mouth had gone dry. She thought of Eddie, and of June and of her father, and of all those who would not recognise the Molly who was standing here now. Their Molly knew nothing of death or destruction, or other people’s pain, or feared that there might be no tomorrow.

  This Molly knew all of those things and this Molly shared that knowledge with Johnny.

  Their Molly would run a mile rather than hold out her hand to Johnny the way this Molly was doing, and when he took it and led her inside the door he was holding open, then their Molly could easily be gone for ever.

  Earlier, lying in that tunnel, desperately afraid that she might be trapped there, torn between her longing to escape and her stubborn determination not to leave those children behind, she had felt as though death was hovering over he
r and she could feel its fearful icy breath.

  She had escaped from it and she was alive, and now she wanted desperately to live – to live every bit of her life in every single way she could, starting now with this and with Johnny.

  ‘I want to,’ she answered him and, shockingly, she knew that it was true.

  It was a shabby house that smelled slightly of damp, but Johnny had got it spotlessly clean, she noticed approvingly as he ushered her into the kitchen.

  ‘Sit down, whilst I light the geyser for the hot water,’ he told her, indicating the oilcloth-covered kitchen table with its two chairs.

  Molly pulled a face. ‘I’d better not. I’m filthy,’ she told him, shivering slightly, and then frowning as he said, ‘Hang on here a tick,’ and then opened the back door. When he came back he was carrying a tin bath.

  ‘And where are you going to put that?’ she demanded warily.

  Johnny grinned. ‘Why, right here in front of the fire, of course.’

  ‘What? You’re expecting me to bath meself here, with no lock on the door, where anyone could see me?’ she demanded, scandalised. They both knew that by ‘anyone’ she meant him.

  ‘I’ll stoke up the fire for you,’ Johnny offered. Without waiting for her to answer him, he added, ‘Wait on whilst I go upstairs and bring down some towels.’

  She could leave now, Molly told herself as she heard his feet thumping on the stairs. Did he really expect her to take a bath in a tub in the kitchen? She would do no such thing! The geyser was starting to bubble. Automatically she went over and switched off the gas. By the time she had done so, Johnny was back carrying an armful of unexpectedly good quality towels.

  ‘Fell off a lorry,’ he told her with a big grin as he put them on the table, and then stirred up the banked-down fire and added some more coke to it.

  ‘I’m not having a bath in that,’ Molly began to protest, but Johnny ignored her, carefully placing two towels on the floor and then putting the bath onto them before connecting a piece of hose from the geyser to the bath.