by Annie Murray
‘O-ooh,’ Molly mocked loudly, enjoying herself. ‘Dirty and sordid to you! Maybe it’s you that’s got the dirty mind, hearing things when there’s nothing in it!’
‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous,’ Ruth snapped. ‘Everything you all say is . . . is just so disgusting. I’m sick to death of listening to it.’
The Nottingham girls were laughing unkindly at Ruth’s pompous delivery of these words. She was a stolid, scholarly girl who was not used to this sort of exchange at all. Until ten days ago she had been steeped in little else but boarding-school life, and calculus and chemical equations.
‘Oh really,’ Molly mocked, feeling she was gaining the upper hand. A nasty triumph overcame her. She mimicked Ruth’s posh but constricted-sounding voice which seemed to come from somewhere deep in the back of her throat. ‘It’s all just ever so sordid my dear – I really don’t know how I put up with it all . . . I really must go and read a book . . .’ The others laughed.
Win leapt off her bed suddenly as if something in her had snapped. She advanced on Molly so determinedly that for a moment Molly thought she was going to hit her, and raised her arm to protect herself. Seeing her reaction, a flicker of shock passed over Win’s face. She had no intention of hitting Molly – she was in full control. She spoke very fast, hands on hips, her pleasant face creased with passionate earnestness.
‘What I want to know is why you think it’s acceptable to mock us, Ruth and me, and some of the others. You mock the way we speak, the things we’re interested in, the way we’ve been brought up – when we wouldn’t dream of being so rude and unkind as to make fun of you and the way you speak. I’m not used, personally, to hearing the Birmingham accent – or Nottingham for that matter. It’s all new for me, and strange, and to be brutally truthful it sounds uncouth and not very nice to listen to. But I don’t mock you, do I? And nor does Ruth. Because we have something called good manners and we know that it’s not fair or kind to make fun of someone for being the way they are when they can’t help it because that’s the way they were brought up. Would you like it if I started making fun of you, Molly?’ Win’s voice was lower now. It was not accusatory – she was appealing to Molly’s better side, and Molly had the wind taken totally out of her sails. It was true – not once had Win or Ruth or any of the others made fun of her or Doris and Mary, however rude or provocative they’d been. She felt small and ashamed – and angry. Her fingers fiddled with the blanket on Doris’s bed. Once again this posh cow was telling her what to do and belittling her. And the worst of it was, she was right!
‘Look – we’ve all just got to get on somehow.’ Win’s voice was quieter now. ‘We’re in something bigger than all of us: the army, the war. It’s not easy for any of us. So can’t we all just – well, put aside some of our differences?’
There came a scattering of applause from some of the others along the hut.
‘Well said, Win!’
‘If you say so,’ Doris said, but still with a twinkle of mockery in her eyes.
Molly couldn’t think of anything to say: she wasn’t climbing down and losing face. She got up grumpily and went back to her bed without looking at any of them.
‘Not big enough to apologize then?’ someone called after her.
‘Oh shut it, yer stupid cow!’ Molly snapped. That very second she regretted it. Why didn’t she just say sorry to Win and make things better? She knew Win was right. None of them, whatever their class, enjoyed having feet burning with blisters, the endless square-bashing, the cold, draughty showers where there weren’t even any curtains, and the fact that there was no privacy anywhere. It was a shock to all of them. And they were all in it together. She could see really that Win was a nice person, but something in her couldn’t stand showing her own softer side or admitting she was wrong.
She could hear murmurings about her across the hut. She looked to her friends for support. Cath was still asleep and had missed the whole thing. Lena, who had followed her down, rolled her eyes before flinging herself on her bed. But when it came down to it, Lena never actually said much. It wasn’t her that caused the trouble.
An impulse seized Molly. She got up and strode down to the door of the hut, slamming out into the darkness. They may not be allowed out of the camp, but at least she’d go off to the NAAFI and see if she could find some blokes to talk to – she was sick of all these bloody catty women!
Thirteen
A couple of nights later, Molly found herself stumbling her way across the camp to Hut J. Two evenings in a row she’d been out drinking in the local pubs. Somehow she’d managed to check in with the NCO in the guardroom without him noticing quite how drunk she was. Now, reeling across the muddy grass, she could barely walk in a straight line.
Last night, Billy had been there, the first pub she went into arm in arm with a moon-faced lad called Eric and with a group of other lads in tow. She’d made up to Eric in front of Billy, making sure he saw, wanting to make him feel bad.
‘Steady on,’ Eric had said. He wasn’t used to girls like Molly. He came from a village in Hertfordshire and had coughed nervously as she pressed her leg suggestively against his and cuddled up close to him. The more she drank, the more uproariously she laughed at everything the boys said. Another ATS called Lois, whom she didn’t know, joined in with them, and she was a giggler too. Not that Molly knew her any better by the end of the evening – she was too drunk to take anything much in, except that her throat was dry from smoking, the pub was full of uniforms and there were sing-songs going on with the piano. There was someone there very good at playing.
After a time she saw Billy and his mates leave to go elsewhere. Billy didn’t even cast her a glance.
‘Ungrateful little bastard,’ she mumbled, leaning forward to pick up her glass of beer. ‘Eric,’ she wheedled, ‘get us summat stronger will yer?’
‘Oh, I think you’ve already had enough, Molly,’ Eric said in a humouring voice which roused Molly’s temper.
‘What d’you mean? You a flaming vicar or summat, talking like that? You gunna get us a drink or not?’
‘Well . . .’
‘Go on, Eric, darlin’ – get us a Dubonnet, eh?’
‘But I . . .’
‘Go on, love!’ Lois cackled. She was a pale redhead. ‘What you waiting for?’
So he’d had to go and fetch Molly a drink, and then another.
Molly reached the door of what she hoped was Hut J. Suddenly she was assailed by memories of Eric’s face once she’d got him outside. They’d had a bit of bother with a few locals, not all of whom were delighted at the mass of servicemen and women taking over their watering holes. Molly had given them a good old mouthful on the way out and Eric had looked shocked.
‘Blimey, that one’s got a gob and half on ’er,’ one of the other lads remarked as they stepped out into the cold darkness. ‘You’ve got your hands full there, mate!’
The lads disappeared along the street. Lois had already vanished.
‘Come ’ere then, gorgeous—’ Molly took Eric’s hand and dragged him off along a quiet side street. You couldn’t see anything much. It didn’t matter where they were.
‘Give us a kiss then,’ she said, suddenly getting the giggles, though she didn’t know why.
‘What’s so funny?’ Eric asked, sounding peeved.
‘I dunno!’ Tears of laughter were rolling down her cheeks. ‘I really dunno. Hang on – I’ll be right in a tick. Ooh, I think I need to pee . . .’
Still recovering, she turned to him. Even in the gloom she could see the terror in his expression. This struck her as wildly funny as well and she was off, tittering again.
‘I ain’t gunna eat yer, yer know!’ she guffawed. ‘Don’t you like girls then, Eric darlin’?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘C’m’ere then . . .’
He had kissed her enthusiastically enough, once she’d got hold of him. And her need to relieve herself meant she’d had to disentangle herself before she pushed anyt
hing too far. But the memory of his goofy expression made her titter again now as she stumbled back to her hut. Fortunately she’d already visited the latrine block on the way over.
Laughter tight in her chest, she pushed open the door of Hut J. Flipping blimey – the lights were already out! It must be a lot later than she thought. How the hell was she supposed to get ready for bed in the pitch dark? Shutting the door as carefully as she could manage in her condition, she bent down and removed her shoes. The thought of herself stumbling about in there was already making the giggles pop out of her. Picturing Win and Ruth’s disapproving faces made it all the worse. She felt like exploding with laughter.
She stopped and listened. All seemed to be quiet. Holding her shoes, she began to tiptoe along the lino. The stove had gone out so there was no glow from the coals to guide her. She stumbled past it, a landmark in the middle. Stopping, she heard the sound of even breathing around her. All asleep, she thought with an expected rush of fondness. All those heads on pillows, closed eyes, all breathing away. For a moment she felt like a mother looking at her children, except that of course she couldn’t see a thing. This also was funny.
Nearly there. Still trying desperately not to titter and wake everyone up, she went to her bed and put her shoes down with exaggerated care, then sank down on to the bed.
Immediately something was wrong. The bed was lumpy. It was also screaming, a horrified shrieking from behind her. Molly leapt up.
‘What in heaven’s name is going on?’ Win’s voice.
The screaming bed was now gasping and sobbing. Molly, in her befuddled state, couldn’t make sense of any of it. Other voices were full of questions and confusion.
‘I say – put on the light someone!’
A second later all of them were squinting like moles in the shock of illumination. Molly had sat herself down heavily on Honor, who was now sitting up hugging her knees, her pale hair a curtain down her back, staring at her in horror.
‘Sorry,’ Molly said, sobering up enough to realize that the girl was really frightened. ‘I came in in the dark and I thought it was my bed.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ Honor half whispered. ‘Oh, yes, I see. I – I just thought you were Nanny.’
This was an odd thing to say, but Molly, having been used to invasions in her bed at night as a child, could understand her fright, being woken from sleep like that.
‘What the hell’re you doing, Molly?’ Win was coming over, impatiently. ‘You’ve woken the whole damn lot of us up!’
‘Sorry, Honor,’ Molly said, ignoring Win, and all the other discontented muttering round the hut. ‘I never meant to frighten yer, honest.’
Honor stared at her, bewildered. Her eyes had dark rings round them. Honor was never horrible to anyone and Molly felt genuinely sorry.
‘It’s all right. I’m sure you didn’t – only I . . . Golly.’ She shook herself and gave a faint smile.
‘Are you all right, Honor?’ Win asked.
‘Yes – quite all right, thank you. I’m so sorry everyone’s awake now.’
‘Hardly your fault, is it?’ Win retorted dryly. ‘Get to bed, Molly, for goodness’ sake.’
Molly got through the next morning’s drill session feeling as if a crowd of devils were banging hammers in her head. She felt queasy and slow-witted and kept trying to turn the wrong way.
‘Keep up, Fox!’ the drill sergeant bawled at her. ‘We’re not ballroom dancing here – this is the army!’
‘Oh bugger off,’ Molly muttered savagely.
Lena, beside her, let out a snort of laughter.
‘Serves yer right,’ she hissed.
A couple of good strong cups of tea helped to pull her round. In one break in the NAAFI, she saw Honor, sitting on her own. Honor smiled and beckoned her over. Molly sat down with a groan, nursing her cup of tea.
‘Are you not feeling too good?’ Honor asked sympathetically. ‘Would one of these make you feel better?’ She held out a packet of cigarettes. Molly attempted a smile and took one. There was something so sweet and other-worldly about Honor, and she didn’t seem to favour anyone particular; she just took people as they came.
‘Ta,’ Molly said as Honor lit it for her. ‘My own fault I s’pose.’ The smoke was comforting. Between them was a dirty white saucer for an ashtray, with several dead stubs in it. ‘Listen, I’m sorry – for jumping on yer last night. Only I thought it was my bed.’
‘Oh, it’s quite all right. Easy mistake to make. I’m sure if I was tiptoeing about in the dark I’d be stubbing my toes and all sorts.’ She smiled, and once again Molly thought what an interesting face she had, the wide mouth and huge beaky nose. Honor’s long, thin fingers flickered nervously on the table almost as if it was a piano. ‘You must have thought me very strange. What I said . . .’
‘No – it’s all right,’ Molly said, even though she had found it strange.
‘It’s just that, you see . . .’ Honor’s eyes filled with tears and she looked away a moment, taking a long draw on her cigarette. Molly felt slightly panic stricken. What was she supposed to say?
‘You see, Mrs Dukes, my nanny, died just a few weeks ago. She suffered terribly. And I’d been at home, helping to look after her. She stayed with us, of course – she had nowhere else to go, really. My mother is an artist and she never spent very much time with me. She has a studio at the side of the house and she takes in pupils as well. She’s always so busy. So it was Mrs Dukes who brought me up. We spent nearly all our time together – I could tell her anything. She was a wonderful woman, so kind, and well-read, and she spoke French and a little German. I didn’t go to school – she taught me herself, everything. She was marvellous at gardening as well . . . We were everything to each other really: she had no children of her own. She fell ill quite suddenly, and after a few months, when I just stayed beside her, she was gone.’ Honor’s mouth puckered with emotion. ‘I couldn’t stay, not just me at home with Mummy and Daddy. Mummy’s so very difficult and the house felt desolate. So on impulse I joined up. At first’ – she made a wry face – ‘I didn’t think I could stand it. It was so cold and squalid and awful after our lovely house. But in fact it’s all right, I think. Everyone’s so kind. And it’s helped me to get away. I think Mrs Dukes would be proud of me.’
‘I bet she would,’ Molly said, thinking of Jenny Button. She didn’t know what else to say but she did feel sympathetic and Honor could see that.
‘We’re very different I suppose, you and I,’ Honor observed.
‘Well – yeah.’ Molly laughed. ‘I’ll say.
‘But I think you’re nice. Nicer than you show you are.’ One of Honor’s naked, odd statements, but it almost brought Molly to tears.
‘Well – ta.’
Honor was looking closely at her. ‘And you’re so pretty.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Molly said, blushing now. She turned her mug round and round on the stained table.
‘No – you really are. But I realize I don’t know anything about you. You’re from Birmingham? I’ve never been there.’
‘Don’t s’pose you’d ’ave call to really.’
‘What about your family?’
Molly gave a harsh laugh, grinding her cigarette stub into the saucer. ‘What about them?’
‘Well – what’re they like? Are you close to your mother?
This was such an absurd notion that Molly burst out laughing. Her head felt better suddenly, as if pressure in it had been released. ‘No! I can’t say I am!’
‘Why? What’s she like?’
God, Honor was an innocent. How could she even begin?
‘You don’t want to know, you really don’t.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Clearly she didn’t.
‘Look – I’ve got to go.’ Molly got up. ‘I’m really sorry to hear about your . . . nanny, passing away though,’ she added gruffly.
‘Thank you,’ Honor said sweetly. ‘See you later, Molly.’
But Molly didn’t see Honor later. She fe
lt a desperate need to get as well-oiled as possible, and after a long, drunken evening, most of which she could barely remember, she was checking in at the guardhouse, while singing, ‘I’m gonna hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line!’ at the top of her voice.
‘Shush, Molly, for God’s sake!’ the others had said who were with her. Who the hell they were she couldn’t remember after either.
But what she could remember was being put on a charge for drunk and disorderly behaviour. The next morning, she also recalled with a groan that the Gorgon had walked into the guardroom at the fatal moment she was being given a dressing down. Molly had looked up with a swimming head to find Phoebe Morrison’s dark-browed, fearsome face glaring at her from under the brim of her ATS hat.
‘Fox,’ she ordered, in a tone which admitted no argument. ‘I want to talk to you. No good now – I can see you’re not in a fit state. Report to me tomorrow – two o’clock sharp. Got it?’
‘Yes, Corp,’ Molly slurred back at her.
‘Corporal, if you don’t mind! You will have half your pay docked. Now get to bed!’
‘Aye aye, captain – I mean, yes, Corporal!’ Molly said, lurching off outside.
‘What’s the matter with you, Fox?’
Molly was back in the guardhouse, where Corporal Morrison was standing behind the table on which papers were neatly arranged. Despite having got so completely drunk last night, today Molly didn’t feel as bad as she had the day before. Her head felt strangely clear, as if it had been washed clean.
‘What d’yer mean?’
She expected Phoebe Morrison to echo ‘What do you mean, Corporal?’ But she didn’t.
‘I mean—’ The woman leaned forward, resting the palms of her hands on the table. Her face, turned upwards to look at Molly, without its frown of command, looked softer, more vulnerable: certainly no Gorgon. She paused for a few seconds, weighing up carefully what to say, her dark eyes fixed on Molly’s so that Molly was forced to look down.