Soldier Girl

by Annie Murray

  Under a counterpane hectic with sickly pink flowers lay Iris and a stocky man with a moustache. The room smelt headily of spirits and both of them were so soundly asleep that Molly could have danced a jig in clogs and they wouldn’t have noticed.

  She moved closer and stood looking down at her mother, squeezed into the three-quarter-sized bed with this strapping bloke in his vest with his chest hair fuzzing out round the neck and armholes. His chin was dark with stubble and his open mouth showed a furred-up tongue. Iris’s face was pink and slack, her red nose clashing with the coppery dye in her hair, which was tousled into a mess, almost half an inch of grey showing at the roots. The covers were pulled high over her belly and chest but her shoulders were bare and white as pork fat. One arm lay outside the covers and Molly saw rings on her fingers set with big colourful stones. The hairs on her forearm and a large mole at the top of her left shoulder stood out darkly against her white skin. Anger and revulsion swelled in Molly until she was ready to explode.

  ‘You stupid, disgusting old cow,’ she hissed. ‘You never change do yer? Never do anything – nothing good in yer whole life. You don’t care about anyone or anything except pouring booze down yer neck!’ She was shaking with anger. What the hell had she bothered coming all the way back here for? Some romantic idea of ‘mother’ that she had conjured up when she was far away? Of what a mother should be? When had Iris ever shown a single sign that she was a real mother?

  As she stared down at this woman, her closest blood relative, with her head so close to this strange man, both of them drunk, both oblivious to anything, for a moment she imagined plunging a knife into her mother’s bloated body. Her arm twitched, lips curling at her thoughts. God, I’ll end up in the nick with Bert if I go on like this!

  But by Christ, you’ve asked for it enough times, she thought. You wicked, cruel, drunken old whore. The last shreds of her connection to her family died inside her. After all, what was family? What had she had in the way of relatives who mattered to her? The old man, her foul grandfather, who had sired her, and her broken stand-in father, Joe Fox. Iris had never shown an ounce of maternal feeling. Molly’s elder brother Tom had been a pasty, sullen character who had vanished years ago, as soon as he could get out. And there was Bert – rotting in the Green now. The girls with her in the ATS felt more like her family. Standing looking down with loathing at the mother who had brought her into the world, she knew the only thing she could do was to go away and stay away. That was how she would survive. Turn her back on all of it and slam the door.

  On a gust of Iris’s snores she turned away without a breath of a goodbye and left the house. Her step felt lighter and lighter the further she moved away.

  She went to find Em at Mr Perry’s shop.

  ‘Someone to see yer!’ he called through to the back.

  Em came in clutching an armful of cauliflowers. ‘Molly!’ she almost dropped them in astonishment. ‘For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Molly said. ‘Only it was last minute. I daint know either. I got them to give me leave.’

  ‘Very nice uniform,’ Mr Perry said admiringly. ‘Very nice, I must say. Suits you, wench.’

  Em grinned. ‘She looks lovely, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Ta,’ Molly said, blushing with pleasure. She had already pushed Lupin Street far away in her mind.

  ‘You knock off early, Em,’ Mr Perry said. ‘It’s only a quarter of an hour to go.’

  Em protested but he insisted, and soon the two of them were walking back to Kenilworth Street together, just as they used to walk to school when they were kids.

  ‘He’s ever so kind to me, he is,’ Em said. ‘You’d never find a better employer.’

  ‘Why’s his tongue that funny colour?’ Molly asked.

  ‘Oh – it’s the pencil he uses for the ration books,’ Em laughed. ‘The kids get an orange on the ration, and the little monkeys were coming it with him – rubbing out where he’d marked it in their ration books and coming back for another share. So he’s had to get an indelible pencil – he licks the end every time to make it work!’

  Once again Molly was brought up against the complications of civilian life. For her, food was just laid on and that was that – and at least now she didn’t have to cook it herself!

  ‘You’ve come because of Bert?’ Em asked, looking round at her.

  ‘I saw it in the paper, just by chance,’ Molly said. There was a pause as they walked on, before she said, ‘I don’t feel as if he’s my brother.’

  Em seemed suddenly agitated. ‘Thing is, Molly – I feel bad about it. I saw them, him and that Agnes – Aggie he called her – a few weeks back. It was New Year. I was with Violet and Robbie, going home, and he was with her. Vi and me, we heard them – they were in an entry – off Rupert Street I think. We just heard these funny noises, and then they came out, right near us, and went off down the road. It was dark but I knew it was him. The thing was, it sounded . . . Well, he was being horrible to her, hurting her somehow I think . . . I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it – maybe I should’ve done summat then . . .’

  Molly thought again of the cold barrel of the gun against her neck. She was the one who should have done something.

  ‘You couldn’t have done anything,’ she told Em. ‘Bert’s a bad ’un through and through. Summat would’ve happened sooner or later.’

  Forty-Two

  When they opened the Browns’ front door, Molly found herself smiling at the sight that met them. Sid was in the front room playing with Robbie, swinging him up in the air, and Robbie’s happy giggles spilled out to the street.

  ‘Go on – up yer go. Yer gunna stand on the roof!’ Sid was teasing. ‘Shall I throw yer up through the window?’

  From the back room came the sound of the wireless, and voices. There was washing everywhere, the air a mixture of steam, soap and cooking.

  ‘ ’Ello – who’s this!’ Sid suddenly noticed them. ‘Oh-oh – it’s yer mom, Robbie. Now there’ll be trouble!’

  Robbie was far too caught up in the game even to notice Em. ‘’Gain! Do it ’gain!’ he shouted, pummelling Sid’s chest.

  ‘Oh – ’ello Molly!’ Sid said in surprise. ‘Almost daint recognize yer there!’

  ‘Hello, son!’ Em said to Robbie. ‘I’ve got a little treat for you – you can have the bit of cake they gave me to make up the weight!’ But Robbie ignored her and begged Sid again to carry on with the game. ‘Well – his uncle’s more interesting than my makeweight cake,’ Em joked, trying to pretend she didn’t mind. ‘Come on through, Molly.’

  ‘That you, Em?’ The wireless was clicked off in the back room.

  ‘Yeah – I’ve brought a visitor.’ They went through to the back, where Cynthia was at the table, cutting up potatoes.

  ‘Who is it? Oh – hello, Molly love! Back again then?’ Cynthia gave a warm smile. She seemed well, Molly thought, and it suited her. Bob was at the table with a paper and Violet was doing sums there too. They looked up and smiled.

  ‘All right, are yer?’ Bob said.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Brown, Mr Brown. I’ve just come home for a couple of days’ leave because – well, you know . . . Bert, and everything.’

  Cynthia’s face fell. ‘Oh love – of course. I almost forgot – how could I? What a terrible thing. We couldn’t get over it when we heard. I mean, d’you think it might be a mistake, like – that they’ve got the wrong person?’

  Molly shook her head, ‘No. I doubt it. He’s a nasty piece of work and always has been.’

  ‘Oh,’ Cynthia said, looking taken aback at Molly’s bald judgement of her brother. ‘I see.’

  Violet was watching, listening intently, and Molly realized she was thinking of the night she and Em had seen Bert with Agnes. Violet was quite a quiet sort, but she took things in deeply. Molly wondered what the girl thought about it all.

  ‘Here, Em – get yer pal a cuppa tea. You stopping with us tonight?’ Cynthia said.r />
  ‘Well – I don’t know . . . Can I?’

  ‘You’re all right, love – course you can. We’ll squeeze you in. Sid can sleep down here.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Sid came in from the front. ‘Why’s it always me?’

  ‘Oh stop complaining,’ his mother said, unsympathetically.

  ‘You’d complain an’ all, if you had to sleep on that cowing couch!’

  ‘I’ll sleep down ’ere,’ Molly said. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘No!’ Cynth protested. ‘Let this gentleman here give up his bed!’

  ‘No really – I don’t mind,’ Molly said. ‘I can sleep anywhere.’

  ‘There yer go!’ Sid said, grinning. ‘That’s what the army does for yer. And I can sleep safe in my bed!’

  Cynthia tutted. ‘I don’t like having a guest down on the couch . . .’

  ‘It’s all right, honestly. Em and I’ll probably sit up nattering anyway so that way we shan’t keep anyone awake.’

  ‘Well if you’re sure, Molly,’ Cynthia said. ‘Have a seat, anyway . . .’ Bob and Violet shuffled round a bit, and Molly sat, warmed by the welcome, thinking how nice it was to be here again, part of the family. Em handed her a cup of tea.

  ‘I’ll do a couple of extra spuds,’ Cynthia said. ‘Anyroad, I don’t know when the trial’ll be. Did you know ’er – the girl?’

  ‘No,’ Molly said. ‘There was a girl there last time but her name was Hilda, so far as I remember. Looked a right little madam.’

  ‘They say the girl, Aggie, had no family – was an orphan. It was some pal of hers put them on to your brother, said she’d been hanging about with him a lot . . .’

  Molly thought about all the other things Bert had been up to. She wanted to get them off the subject. All she could feel about Bert was shame and revulsion.

  ‘D’you ever see your other brother?’ Cynthia was asking. ‘What was his name again?’

  ‘Tom – no. Haven’t seen ’im in years.’ Molly turned to Em. ‘How’s Norm getting on? You heard from ’im?’

  ‘Yes – just a couple of days ago.’ Em’s eyes lit up with amusement. ‘He wrote me a nice letter – said he had time to write because he was in hospital . . .’

  ‘Oh my God – why? Is ’e all right?’

  ‘He’s right as nine pence.’ Em giggled fondly. ‘It’s just typical of Norm. He’s in there with a broken leg – somewhere in Italy. He fell off the back of a truck!’

  ‘Oh ain’t that just like Norm!’ Molly laughed. She had thought Norm was a complete idiot when she first met him – hapless and boring. But she realized he was a nice man really, and his accident-proneness made her feel quite fond of him. After all, when had she been any good at judging men, anyway?

  ‘So how long’s he going to be in there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Em chuckled. ‘I mean, I’m quite glad in a way – at least he’s out of it for a bit – unless they bomb the hospital of course! It’s just like Norm!’

  Molly enjoyed sitting squeezed round the table with the family that evening as they all ate tea. And as it turned out, she was there for a special announcement.

  ‘’Ere – I’ve got summat to tell you all,’ Sid said suddenly. Everyone looked at him.

  ‘Spit it out then, son,’ Bob said.

  ‘Well – I’ve been to see Mr Weston, Con’s dad – and asked for her hand in marriage. And ’e said yes.’

  ‘Yeah, but what did she say?’ Em teased.

  ‘She said yes, course she did. I asked her first, daint I?’ Sid said heatedly. ‘What d’yer take me for?’

  ‘Well – that’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Cynthia said.

  Everyone looked at Bob. He put his fork down. ‘Well, bugger me. I never thought you’d get round to it, lad.’

  Em and Molly stayed down at the table in the back room talking after the rest of the family had turned in. To Molly’s surprise, Robbie was still up, and Em settled him down on her lap.

  ‘He’ll have to stop down with me,’ she said. ‘He’s used to me getting into bed with him. He’ll cry else.’

  Seeing her old friend with her baby son snuggling up to her, Molly felt a pang of mixed emotions. It looked so lovely! Would she ever have a baby herself? There was longing – if Tony had lived, would they have had a nice little family, Dymphna the adoring grandmother? But the thought of having her own child filled her with sudden queasy panic. She longed to love and be loved, but she certainly didn’t find herself full of maternal feelings. After all, what did she have to give a baby? Would she live in some back street, tied to the house, turning to the bottle for escape like her mother? The thought of it made her want to run away, do anything but that. She envied Em her love for her son, but in those moments she realized she had a horror of being like her.

  ‘You heard anything else about Madam O’Neill?’ she asked, reminded by the thought of babies.

  ‘No.’ Em stroked Robbie’s soft hair. Thoughtfully she said, ‘It’s funny isn’t it – that night I saw her . . . I don’t know, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. She looked so . . . bad. Sort of frightened. I don’t know what’s happened to her, obviously, but I can’t help feeling sorry for her.’

  ‘Well, that’s nice of yer. I mean, when I think what a little cow she was to you.’

  ‘She was nasty, wasn’t she?’ Em agreed. ‘Hey – there’s a few biscuits somewhere.’ She got up for the tin and sat down again. ‘The thing is, though, she was my pal once. And when you come down to it, Molly – we were only eight years old. We were just kids – and it was her mom made her do it. It’s in the past now. And it sounds as if she’s had her share of trouble, if what Dot says is true.’

  They both speculated for a while on what might have happened to Katie. Who’s was the baby? Was she in fact married or not? And why was she back here suddenly – or had she been here all the time? They had lost touch with her and didn’t know anything about her life.

  They moved on to talk about their own concerns. Molly told Em about life in Dover. As they chatted, she began to itch again. Her skin was always worst in the evening. She struggled not to scratch. It made her feel dirty, like a flea-ridden dog. Inevitably, the conversation soon moved on to Bert.

  ‘It’s a relief to be able to talk about it,’ Molly said. ‘I didn’t want to tell any of the girls down there, even my pals. I don’t want my family spoiling it for me.’

  Em nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Thing is Em . . .’ Molly leaned forward. There was one thing she was longing to pour out to her old friend. It was her turn to try and clear her conscience. ‘When I was here last time . . . when I got to the house, he was . . . well, it was plain he was up to all sorts. Always has been. I mean, I know he dodged the army. He can put on fits, you know – fake them. And he did it for other blokes as well. They paid him to stand in for the medical – down ’e’d go, one of his turns, and they’d class him as unfit . . .’

  Em gasped. ‘He never! That’s wicked!’

  Molly nodded. ‘That’s Bert. When I got there that night there was all sorts going on – stolen stuff, black market. I don’t think there was much he wasn’t getting up to. He had all this knock-off perfume, and he and Mom were bottling it . . . And rations – they’d stolen all sorts of stuff. But that’s just . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I dunno. I know it ain’t legal, but I wouldn’t’ve turned him in for that. He had mates, a gang of ’em, all in it together. But then . . . I’d had a couple of drinks, you see, that’s why – I wasn’t clear in the head. He came up behind me, in the front room, and stuck this cold thing in my neck – it was a gun . . .’

  Em’s mouth fell open, her eyes stretched. ‘God, Molly! What did you do?’

  ‘Well nothing – I mean, I sat still. What else could I do? And he never did anything else – just backed off. But after, when my head was clearer . . . I couldn’t believe it. It didn’t seem real. But I’ve been worried about it ever since. Should I have turned him in? Then he wouldn’t have killed that Agnes.’

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nbsp; ‘Oh Molly . . .’ Em sat back in her chair. She gave a shudder. ‘I mean, I know Bert’s always been a bully. But you’d never’ve thought he was capable of that . . . But your own brother . . . I mean, it doesn’t seem right to turn in your own brother – it’s not as if he’d done anything then . . . Agnes was strangled anyway, not shot.’

  This bald, terrible statement made them look at each other in silent horror. What else was there to be said? But Molly felt such a relief, having poured out everything to Em.

  ‘You know,’ Em said sweetly. ‘With the family you’ve got, I don’t know how you’ve turned out so nice.’

  Molly felt a blush rise through her. She didn’t feel nice, not deep down. But she smiled and said, ‘Well all I can say is, thank God there’s other people about apart from family!’

  Forty-Three

  As the train eased its way out through the southern suburbs of London the next day, Molly found a place to squat on her bag in the corridor by the door, watching through the rain-streaked windows as the soot-coated buildings give way to countryside. With every mile further from Birmingham and nearer Dover, she felt lighter and freer, as if she had cut her family off from her like an unbearably heavy load. She was floating. It had been wonderful to see Em and let out some of her feelings. It didn’t change anything, but it felt like a trouble shared, no longer just whirling round only in her head.

  She thought about what she had said to Em last night, those words that had sprung to her lips. Yes, family was something she would have to make out of the people who were prepared to love and care about her. Blood ties were poisonous in her case – they meant not care but cruelty and betrayal. She would have to look elsewhere. Len’s face swam into her mind. Len still claimed he loved her and wanted her. Why had she told him she wasn’t interested? Didn’t she want to be loved by a good, kind man? Why had she panicked like that and hurt him so badly? Now, with a little distance from him, she was overwhelmed with regret. It was all too late now. Why didn’t she know what was good for her when she had it?