An Ordinary Life

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘Yes, it’s me, Mum!’ she called back. ‘Who else would it be?’ she whispered under her breath as she shucked off her coat and hung it on the coat stand.

  ‘You’re a little late.’

  ‘Yes, I met a friend and we went for a walk.’ She smiled again, feeling the warmth in her palm from where his hand had rested before he jumped into the car and waved through the window, which he had rolled down before shouting, ‘I’ll be seeing you!’ as it spirited him away. Molly had thought she might explode. He had remembered their song. They had a song! Despite her dismissive nature when it came to romance, she was being swept along on a wave more powerful than her resistance and she rather liked it.

  Her mother appeared in the hallway. ‘What friend?’

  Molly refused to let her mum’s sour expression suck the joy from her bones. ‘Oh, a boy – a man, actually – called Johan. He’s the brother of Geertruida; you remember her, of course?’ Geertruida was not easily forgotten.

  ‘I do indeed.’ Her mother pursed her lips as if her tone alone was not enough to convey her disapproval. ‘I’m conflicted, I must confess,’ her mother sighed. ‘It’s wonderful that you are finally seeing sense and spending time with a potential suitor, but is that Dutch boy really the best of the bunch?’ The way her mother said the word ‘Dutch’ was heavy with connotations too unpleasant for Molly to voice to herself.

  ‘In fact,’ Molly added brightly, ‘I’m seeing him again in a few weeks. And I’m very much looking forward to spending some time with him.’

  ‘I see,’ her mother commented, and drew breath, as if she wanted to say more.

  Molly, however, scooted past and up the stairs. Not even her mother’s whiff of disapproval or lack of enthusiasm could dull the bubble of happiness that filled her from top to toe.

  FOUR

  Near Alresford, Hampshire

  January 1944

  Aged 19

  ‘You’re going a bit fast!’ Molly giggled, a little thrilled and a little terrified as the car zipped along at pace. She tucked the thick tartan blanket over her legs and placed her hand on her head, loath to lose the silk headsquare knotted beneath her chin, not with such things so hard to come by. Case in point being her woollen stockings, which she had darned at the toe as best she could. Like everyone, she was schooled in the art of ‘make do and mend’.

  ‘I know!’ Johan threw his head back and laughed as the fancy sports car wove its way along the winding road, beneath the canopy of trees in the rural county of Hampshire, with its acres and acres of farmland, twisting lanes and quaint pubs.

  It felt good to be breathing the clean air, wonderful not to have every aspect crowded by buildings, people and rubble. She could think more clearly away from the din of the city – and what a miserable din it had become, as if war had erased all the colour from the world. It was easy in this moment, just for one second, to forget they were at war. She tilted her head back, letting the bitterly cold winter breeze glance her skin.

  ‘How much further?’ she called over the roar of the wind and the whir of the engine, which rose and fell as Johan cranked through the gears.

  ‘To Alresford? About another twenty minutes, but we’re going on a slight detour!’

  ‘A detour? Won’t your friend be missing his car and won’t your mother be expecting us?’

  ‘Hardly! Dougie’s flying a plane right now – a machine much bigger than this little beauty to worry about!’ He patted the dashboard and laughed again. ‘He keeps the old girl bedded down in the stores under several blankets and talks to her as if she’s his special lady friend. I told him I needed to impress a certain person and he threw me the keys. I thought, what better way to introduce you to my mother than to do so in style?’

  ‘I see.’ She folded her arms. ‘And how many times has he thrown you the keys before?’

  ‘Never.’ He shook his head vigorously but kept his eyes on the road. ‘Never. And don’t worry about my mother. I told her I’d be there at some point but that there was a chance we might bail; she said she just wanted me to be happy. She’s married to a Dutchman, remember, and neither of them have that British stiff upper lip or concern over doing things the right way.’

  Molly didn’t know whether she should be relieved or concerned that she might not get to meet Johan’s mother, but could not care less either way. Time with Johan was like being under a magic spell, as if they created a bubble where the rest of the world and all its rules melted away and where the ache of war didn’t shadow their every move. She forgot the rumble of hunger in her stomach, her duty to her mother, her workload, her ambition and even the sad, hollow feeling at the fact that she and Johan had only a measly twenty-four hours together before he was due to head back down to his jolly secret role in Devon. He had written her brief notes in the weeks since she had last seen him, only ever mentioning the wide sweep of beaches close by and the settle of rose gold on the water at sunset but, as was par for the course, never mentioning his work.

  ‘I must confess to feeling a little bit relieved that I might be delayed in meeting your mum. I’m more than a little nervous. Supposing she doesn’t like me?’ She tried to imagine the reception her own mother might give Johan.

  He shook his head as if the very idea was preposterous. ‘I told her you’re a linguist and she was very impressed. Don’t be nervous. How could she not love you, M? And anyway, I’ll be right by your side.’

  And strangely, with no more than these words for encouragement, she felt her anxiety ease. Geer had of course been delighted at the mutual admiration between her brother and her friend; it was a girl’s dream if not to have a hand in, then at the very least to approve of her beloved brother’s choice of partner.

  ‘The more I see of Johan, the more I like him, and that’s never happened to me before, in fact it’s usually the opposite,’ Molly told her friend over a shared corned-beef sandwich one afternoon. ‘I thought I was immune to all this emotional stuff – turns out I’m not.’

  Geer spoke through her mouthful. ‘A girl would be lying if she said she wasn’t the tiniest bit . . . what’s the word I want? Not jealous, exactly, but I guess a little put out. It’s only when I think about the reality of being usurped in Joe’s affections that I feel a little miffed, but honestly, Moll, if I had to pick someone to knock me from that pedestal, it’d be you. You’re two of my very favourite people in the entire universe.’

  ‘Geer, I do adore you.’

  Geer grinned. ‘Well, it’s hard not to! I am entirely adorable.’

  Molly closed her eyes briefly, feeling the warmth of winter sunshine on her face and inhaling Johan’s cigarette smoke, which spiralled from the open-top roof of the green MG TB Midget with its tan leather interior.

  ‘Here we are! Damn nearly missed it,’ he shouted from behind his cigarette.

  The car slowed and bumped along as Johan turned down a narrow track all but obscured from the road. Ancient willows lined the path and sat clustered around a small clearing with one side open to a narrow stretch of river. Johan killed the engine.

  ‘Oh my, this is beautiful!’ Molly untied the knot at her chin, flung the scarf onto the seat as she wriggled free of the rug and left the MG, running the few steps over the grass to the riverbank. She stood, transfixed by the sight of the water gurgling over a small weir, where sun diamonds danced on its surface, all in the shadow of a larger willow that wept into the water, its long, delicate fronds, devoid of leaves, dipped into the depths below. Johan stood watching her, smiling, as he discarded his gloves in the vehicle and pulled down his wool tunic, now with the button replaced.

  ‘This is a special place for me.’ His voice was low. ‘It’s where I come to think, and I wanted you to see it. It felt important to me. I first came here with my dad when I was small and we used to play at fishing. I had a bamboo stick with a piece of string tied to the end. I’d sit for hours on the bank, dangling that string into the water, desperate for a fish, while he read a book. It was only when I was
older that I sussed that I was never going to catch anything without bait and a proper rod!’ He laughed now. ‘More recently I come here with Dixie and throw a stick in the water for her, which she really loves.’

  Molly felt honoured and delighted that he wanted to share this with her and slightly envious not to have similar memories of her own father. Johan walked forward and ran his fingers lightly along the hairline at the nape of her neck.

  ‘I love every second I get to spend with you in the present, every second, but I also can’t help but picture a future’ – he paused, letting the enormity of his declaration sink in – ‘a future with you. And I want you to know that over the past few weeks, it’s been those thoughts that have got me through the darkest or coldest of nights.’ Molly felt her gut leap at the idea, knowing she would recall these words when her own nights were dark or cold. ‘Does that thought make you happy or . . . or shock you . . .?’ he fished, stuttering with nerves. ‘I know it’s all very sudden.’

  Molly swallowed, barely able to get the words out over the enormous lump that had lodged itself at the base of her throat. ‘It makes me very happy, actually,’ she managed, her voice quiet but steady. His face lit up at her response. ‘I liked what you said before about relationships being a partnership. That’s what I want too: equality, conversation, support and love . . .’

  ‘Yes.’ He leaned closer to her. ‘We could live in a cottage in the country,’ he continued now with enthusiasm. ‘And we could sit in front of roaring fires with full stomachs and a good brandy and you can knit me socks while I read the paper.’ He grinned.

  ‘Or you could knit me socks while I read the paper, Mr de Fries . . .’ She stood her ground and he laughed.

  ‘I’m teasing you, my thoroughly modern girl. I’d happily knit socks for you if you show me how . . .’

  He kissed her then and her whole body softened with longing for this man, his touch, his skin, his scent.

  ‘God, Johan, we hardly . . .’ she began, almost breathless as he kissed her again on the mouth, ‘we hardly know each other – how’ – he kissed her again – ‘how is this . . .?’ Molly drifted off as her knees collapsed and she became quite breathless.

  ‘It’s wartime,’ Johan said with sincerity, cupping her face in his hands and gazing deep into her eyes. ‘And that changes everything – everything. Time is compressed and time is stolen.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ She thought of the interminable hours she had lain awake, listening to the tick of her bedside clock, wondering where he was and when, oh when, she would get to feel his mouth against hers again . . . and she thought of the Davenport boy, Anthony – three doors along from them on Old Gloucester Street – for whom time had been stolen away. He would forever be twenty-three, and his poor mother, who, in receipt of a telegram only last week, had grown old overnight and now carried an expression that told the world she wanted nothing more than for time to stop. This thought of death made her want to grab life. She pressed against him, seeking his mouth with hers as her fingers stroked his neck.

  ‘Are you’ – he pulled away from her – ‘are you sure, Molly, this is what you want? Because I’m happy to wait. I don’t want to pressure you or . . .’

  She silenced him again with a kiss. ‘I have never been more sure of anything in my life. You are exactly what I want, Johan.’

  ‘Wait here!’ He kissed her hand before running to the car to retrieve the thick tartan rug she had discarded. He took great pains to lay it neatly beneath the willow before sitting down and patting the space beside him. Molly kicked off her brown brogues with the sensible square heel and wriggled her stockinged toes against the chilly grass, not that she minded. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the clumsy seam along her stockings.

  What came next required no discussion, no thought or preamble, the two laughing as they fumbled through a jumble of clothing, lost in the beauty of the moment and revelling in the respite from the uncertainty of war: the misery, the sirens, the rationing, the destruction and the loss. This act was the very opposite. It was everything good: joyful, abundant, generous; and it brought light – light and joy – to two people, equals who had found something bright and beautiful at a time when the world felt shrouded in darkness . . .

  Afterwards, Molly lay against him, huddling her coat around them both and seeking warmth from his body, entirely without regret, enthralled at the sensation of her lover’s palm drifting over her skin beneath the winter sunshine. It was quite hypnotic. This had been her first time and she knew there was no other place she could have envisaged that would be more perfect. They were happy, content and quiet, listening to the sound of water burbling over the rocks and the beat of their hearts keeping time. They might have dozed a little, she couldn’t be sure, but certainly the temperature seemed to have dropped even further and all thoughts of rushing off to meet Mrs de Fries had flown from her mind. Johan eased up onto his elbows and lit a cigarette. Molly propped her head on her hand and drank in his handsome profile. She felt changed and was grateful for it, glad to feel connected in this way to another living soul. She presented him her happiness, handed it to him like a neatly wrapped thing, and for a woman determined to be in charge of her own destiny, it left her feeling vulnerable and hoping – no, trusting – that he would only do good with it.

  ‘Tell me the world isn’t always going to be so mad,’ she whispered.

  He took his time in responding, taking deep drags of his cigarette, his free arm lying alongside hers. ‘It isn’t always going to be so mad.’ He spoke with a calm conviction that she found immensely comforting. ‘I promise you that.’ He kissed her face. ‘If I think about the future, I picture a generation of young men who don’t know what it’s like to put their hands over their ears to quiet the explosions, who have not seen their blood or that of their friends running into the earth of which they will forever be part. I don’t want them to know what it’s like to have to say goodbye to the things and people they love with every fibre of their being, knowing it might be for the very last time. And then to have to erase those things and people from their minds and switch to fighting mode just to enable them to get through the next hour and the next and the next . . .’

  ‘Oh, Johan.’ His words made her want to weep. She laid her face on his chest and let her tears fall into the cotton of his shirt. ‘I want it to be over soon.’

  ‘It will be, darling. It will, and we can all sigh with relief, no longer in a world where some of us are the lucky ones, unable to hold the gaze of those who loved the unlucky.’ He let out a deep breath. ‘It is so bloody unfair.’

  ‘I need you to be one of the lucky ones, Johan,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I need you to be one of the lucky ones. I can’t possibly conceive of—’

  ‘You don’t need to.’ He leaned over and kissed her hair.

  ‘I know you said you’ll be away. Are you . . . are you going abroad?’ She knew not to ask specifics.

  ‘No. No, I’m not. I’m going to be out of contact, but boringly safe – an exercise no more, off the Devon coast. Does it get any safer than that?’

  The tight band of anxiety loosened across her chest. ‘I know you need to do your duty. Just do it well and know that I’ll be waiting for you.’

  ‘That means the world to me, M. And when I come home, it’ll be to a world where soft pads of reason have replaced the spikes of hatred, and I can’t wait for those kinder times.’

  ‘God, me too.’ She nodded. ‘I want to live in a world like that.’

  He took a slow breath. ‘I want to live in a world like that with you.’

  ‘You are . . .’ She paused, sitting up to look him directly in the eye, every word inadequate, thin in response to the strength of her feeling.

  ‘I am what?’ He fixed her stare, searching.

  ‘I hardly dare say.’ She lowered her chin, the intensity of his gaze almost too much.

  ‘Well, that’s the other thing about war – it makes you bold. It made us wonderfully bold.’ He smil
ed mischievously, touching his fingers to her décolletage where the cool wind brushed her skin. She knew she would carry the act of their union close to her heart, a precious, glorious surprise of a thing.

  Johan too sat up, their legs a lovely jumble. He put a finger under her chin and raised her face until she had no option once again but to stare into his beautiful eyes, the exact colour of amber.

  ‘I love you, Molly. Be in no doubt – I do. I love you. I want to hold you tight and set you free. I don’t want you to be lonely and I don’t want you to live how you’re expected to. I want you to live how you want to.’

  Hold me tight and set me free . . . His words were the sweetest music that filled every gap of loneliness and halted each beat of doubt inside her. In that moment she saw her life stretched out before her, her whole life, spent with Johan by her side in a plentiful world full of colour and laughter and freedom, as equals. A partnership.

  ‘So come on, don’t leave a chap waiting – now would be a very good time to tell me if my feelings are reciprocated or if I’m very awkwardly barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘I love you, Johan. But I think you know that, don’t you?’ she said clearly.

  Johan took both of her hands into his and raised them to his lips, kissed them gently and tucked them against his chest. Another wave of longing swept through her body and she wanted nothing more than to fall against him again, skin to skin.

  ‘I do know that, Miss Molly Collway, I do.’ He kissed her full on the mouth.

  Molly finally pulled herself away. ‘We need to get to your mother’s house; she’ll be expecting us.’ Her tone was less than urgent and she made no attempt to move. There was something about the way he looked at her . . . It would have been hard to describe the effect it had on her, but it felt like coming home.

  ‘I have no intention of sharing you with anyone this afternoon. Mother will understand. I’ll write to her this evening and explain. We need to grab every second, M, grab every second and live in it.’