All the Days of Our Lives

by Annie Murray

  The days stayed fine, and Ruth – sometimes with Molly, sometimes without – visited some of the old haunts: their billets and the Butlin’s camp. They met up when Molly had finished, in the evenings, went out for a drink and then sat curled up on the bed in Ruth’s room, sipping cocoa and talking over old times. Molly told Ruth that she heard on and off from Cath, who was in Holland and seemed very happy.

  ‘Oh – I forgot, how silly of me! You’ll never guess who I ran into on the way here,’ Ruth told her the first night. ‘Win!’

  Win had been with them in basic training, a bright girl with a natural gift of leadership.

  ‘She’s at King’s, London, doing her degree in history. She seems quite happy,’ Ruth told her. ‘I met her at King’s Cross – she said she was on her way home. But the point was, guess who she’s seen, working not far away?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Gorgon!’

  ‘No – has she?’ Molly felt her heart beat faster. The Gorgon was the name they had given to their first Lance Corporal, Phoebe Morrison. Though she was a gruff, prickly character, she had developed a soft spot for Molly, even though Molly had given her all sorts of trouble. Molly – who, given the right encouragement, was always eager to please – and Ruth had in the end found Phoebe Morrison an inspiration. By the time she volunteered to be posted to Belgium in 1944, she had been promoted to their Subaltern and went with them.

  ‘Yes! The Gorgon’s back in Civvy Street, working in some admin role in the Civil Service apparently. Sounds pretty dull. Win said she met her in the Strand, and the Gorgon was smoking her head off as usual. Win didn’t seem to think she was overly thrilled with her peacetime occupation.’

  ‘Well,’ Molly said lightly, ‘is anyone?’

  Ruth’s stay at The Laurels felt like a lifeline to Molly, literally. It was as if she was suddenly connected back to herself, to the real self that had flourished nowhere else as it had in the army.

  During those days she felt no need to resort to drink. Before, she had been relying more and more on alcohol to see her through, even though she hated herself for it. She had tried not to let it get out of hand and, above all, not to get caught. She hid her habit by deviousness, and peppermints to veil the taste on her breath, especially if she had secretly run to her room in the daytime for a sip to keep her going.

  Since Ruth had been here, she hadn’t felt the same desperate need to drink to fill her emptiness. But the time flew by. On the third day, Molly’s day off, they could at last spend all of it together. The day dawned fair, and the girls decided to spend the time on the beach.

  ‘We can take some sarnies and buy a few other bits on the way,’ Molly said.

  ‘I’ve got my sweet ration coupons still,’ Ruth said with a giggle.

  ‘Me too!’

  ‘We can get sherbet lemons . . .’

  ‘And toffees!’

  They were like children.

  They set off with their towels and rations, in the Jaywick direction, and found their place to settle on the pale sand amid the other holidaymakers. It was quite crowded as so many people were celebrating the freedom of the end of the war by coming to the sea at last. There was a constant playing of games and children screaming and splashing, and that was all part of the pleasure. The sun came out hot and strong and the two of them alternated between paddling and lounging back lazily in the heat.

  ‘Aah, this is blissful,’ Ruth said, as they strolled back over the warm sand from another toe-tingling visit to the sea and settled on their towels, drinking in the heat.

  Molly looked across at Ruth’s slender limbs, her quaint, rather severe face with its closed eyes, the lids a pale mauve. She smiled faintly, remembering how much she and Ruth had antagonized each other when they first met. How odd it was that they should be here now, as friends! The day passed all too quickly. They ate their picnic and sunbathed. Ruth went and bought ice creams from a passing barrow and they licked them, staring out at the blue. Ruth made a face.

  ‘Ugh – evap! And what on earth else is it made of? It feels at if it’s got porridge in it!’

  ‘Probably has,’ Molly said. It really was a very odd ice cream.

  As the afternoon waned and some of the families started to pack up, Ruth said, ‘Shall we go for a wander along? It’s been heaven lazing about, but I could do with a walk and it’d be nice to see a bit more. It still feels so astounding, even being allowed on the beach!’

  They strolled along the water’s edge in the mellow afternoon light, talking once more about the old times. But after the jokes about army food and some of the characters they’d known, Ruth – as if she had been needing to say it for some time – came out with one of her sudden bursts of forthrightness.

  ‘You know, Molly, my family think it’s marvellous, my being at Cambridge and doing science. My mother would have loved to have had the same chance. And it is such a privilege – there’s no more beautiful place, and it’s so old and scholarly. There’s that powerful feeling of all the people who’ve been there racking their brains over things before you. I mean, at Girton, where I am, there’ve been all those brave, pioneering women – so inspiring. Except that thinking about them makes me feel all the more ordinary and inadequate. I’m so grateful for it all, I am . . . But there’s hardly a day when I don’t wish in some ways that I was back with all you ATS girls. Ridiculous, isn’t it? But d’you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes,’ Molly said faintly. She couldn’t begin to explain just how much she understood, and how lost she felt now. How she had had a life where every fibre of her felt challenged and involved and useful, whereas now everything felt empty, bewildering and without purpose.

  Now Ruth had started, it was like the floodgates opening.

  ‘Gosh, I hope you don’t mind me banging on like this, Molly. The thing is, I can talk to you. If you’re at Cambridge, especially if you’re a woman, you’re expected to be so grateful all the time. And I am, of course . . . But I can’t seem to communicate properly with anyone. There are other ex-service girls, of course – quite a few Wrens and WAAFs. But somehow we all seem to be on our own as to how we feel about things. Perhaps I’m just – I don’t know . . .’ She made a frustrated movement with her hands. ‘I expect it’s just me. I’ve always felt like a misfit: at school, then in the army and now in Cambridge, as if I’m outside looking in through a window, and everyone inside knows what’s going on and how to behave. Just for a while, a blissful while towards the end of the war, I began to feel I fitted in a little bit, but now . . .’ she ended desolately. ‘My goodness, we’ve got victory and peacetime and so much of what we were supposed to be fighting for. So why does everything feel so flat? I say, Molly – gosh, are you all right? I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Molly’s shoulders had begun to heave and she was full of a bursting tightness, as if a great howl of anguish were trying to escape from her. She began to sob.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Molly dear – what is it?’ Ruth took her hand and gently pulled her closer to the waterline, away from other people. ‘I thought you were looking a bit strained and peaky, not like your blooming self at all. But I didn’t like to ask.’

  For a few moments Molly could only cry, and Ruth slipped an arm round her back, squeezing comfortingly.

  ‘You know Molly,’ she said with a gentleness that made Molly weep all the more. ‘You’ve never told me much about yourself. Why don’t we just keep walking and you can tell me about things – um?’

  Molly shook her head, ‘You don’t want to know, Ruth,’ she sniffed. ‘Honest – you wouldn’t want to know me if I told you.’

  Ruth stopped and turned to Molly to face her, her expression very solemn. ‘You think I’m just a sheltered, namby-pamby girl with all the privileges, don’t you? Well, you’re right, I am. I’ve had a sheltered, comfortable life and we’re not short of money. I’ve had a good schooling and a nice house, and one brother who I get on reasonably well with, but the truth is, even if we were pulling each othe
r’s heads off, it wouldn’t make much difference . . .’ Her voice was rising. ‘Because neither of our parents would pay the slightest attention anyway; they don’t even take any notice of each other because they’re so busy being hard-working and worthy and charitable . . . And yes, on the surface it’s all very polite and civilized . . .’ Ruth shrugged. ‘You might think you’re going to shock me – and perhaps you will. But what if I am shocked? Some things are shocking. But I can hear you out, that’s all. I’m your friend.’

  ‘That’s nice of yer.’ Molly wiped her eyes. She felt ashamed, as if she didn’t deserve this.

  ‘Nice?’ Ruth was almost shouting. ‘I’m not being nice. Just speak to me, Molly – don’t be another of those people I always seem to be surrounded by, who never say anything, until I think I’m going insane!’ Molly was touched to see that Ruth was actually trembling with emotion.

  ‘All right.’ Molly felt shaky herself. ‘I’ll try.’

  As they walked, paddling in the shallows, she talked about Iris and Joe, and tried to explain what life with them had been like. She told Ruth about Em, and what had happened to her mom after she’d had Violet, and how she and Em had become friends; and about Jenny and Stanley Button and their deaths. One thing she couldn’t just come out with was about Old Man Rathbone and his filthy habits, but she hinted at it and Ruth didn’t pry. Molly explained it by saying that was why she had had infections and problems with her waterworks.

  ‘I’ve never been so well as I was in the army,’ she said. ‘They really looked after us.’

  She could feel Ruth’s quiet attentiveness.

  She told her about Tony and how he had died, and finally about Bert, his crooked dealings and what had happened with Aggie, the girl he murdered. I might as well, she thought. Just go the whole hog.

  ‘When we were posted to Dover, remember? I saw it in the paper. My brother’s name, Albert Fox, there in black-and-white. They hanged him, last July while we were still in Belgium.’ She shuddered. ‘He was never nice – not that I remember. Always cruel and mean. I suppose he didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘But you’re not cruel and mean,’ Ruth said.

  ‘I s’pose I had other people who were kind to me. I had Jenny and Stanley, and Em’s family. Bert never had any of that. Anyroad, everyone’s dead now, except Mom. Well, and Tom, my other brother, but he might just as well be. I’m not going back there again, for all the tea in China.

  Ruth was silent for several paces, then quietly she just said, ‘My God.’

  ‘Not pretty, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not – but, Molly, you’re truly remarkable.’

  ‘Not really,’ Molly said dully. ‘I thought for a while I might’ve made summat of myself. When the Gorgon promoted me and we went to Belgium – it was the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  ‘You were a Lance Corporal!’

  ‘Yes.’ She was pleased that Ruth remembered. ‘It felt like the beginning of something. As if it was meant. Then the war ended and now . . .’ She shrugged again. ‘It’s all gone. I don’t feel as if there’s anything for me now, as if I’ll just be stuck down here forever.’ More tears of bereavement ran down her cheeks.

  ‘But, Molly,’ Ruth said urgently, ‘you can’t just let yourself get stuck. You’re so intelligent – honestly, I’m not flattering you. You could be doing something more than being a cook or a chambermaid, I’m sure you could.’

  Molly sighed. ‘But what? I’ve got nothing, and no money.’

  ‘What about night school? You could get qualifications – shorthand, typing or bookkeeping, that sort of thing. I don’t know if you could do it in Clacton, but . . .’

  Molly was shaking her head. She felt almost angry at hearing these possibilities put before her.

  ‘No, that sort of thing’s not for me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It just isn’t. Anyway, I work evenings. I couldn’t get out.’

  Ruth looked at her uncomprehendingly. ‘Don’t you want to get out of here and do something else, Molly?’

  ‘Well, yes . . .’ But she couldn’t explain. Ruth came from another world, no matter how much she was trying to help. The army had been one thing; it had given her a false confidence. Doing something better sounded nice in theory, but thinking of who she was, where she’d come from – it didn’t seem like a real possibility. She felt her time had passed. Better things were not for her.

  Ruth didn’t insist. She seemed to sense that she wasn’t getting anywhere.

  They turned back, facing into the sun, which was about to disappear behind the land, and wandered along.

  ‘You know,’ Ruth said, ‘something’ll turn up, Molly. It has a way of doing that – don’t be downcast.’ She touched Molly’s arm. ‘In the meantime, let me treat you to fish and chips, can I?’

  Molly smiled, glad to change the subject. ‘Go on then – let’s be devils, shall we?’

  Thirty-Five

  ‘Did you have a nice time with your friend?’ Jane Lester asked the next day, after Ruth had left on a morning train. ‘She seemed ever such a nice girl.’

  ‘She is,’ Molly said. ‘It was very nice, thank you.’

  Ruth’s visit lifted Molly’s spirits for days, especially Ruth’s parting words: ‘Do keep in touch, won’t you, Molly? It means a lot to me.’

  And though Molly found it hard to believe it of herself, Ruth thought she was intelligent and capable. She had said so, hadn’t she?

  But as the days passed her mood began to slide down again. Throughout the day’s routine of cooking and cleaning, the bottle of Johnnie Walker – still with a couple of inches left at the bottom – which she had pushed away at the back of the cupboard, loomed in her mind until she could think of nothing else. Whenever she could sneak up to her room for a nip of it, she did, more and more. And the next bottle, and the next.

  The worst thing was thinking about what Ruth had said. That she, Molly, could do better than this. Her thoughts raced round and round, but she couldn’t find a way out. She didn’t know how.

  ‘Molly – I need a word with you.’

  Jane Lester’s voice was very solemn. It was a month after Ruth’s visit and summer had ended. The days were already beginning to close in. Mr Lester had just gone out and the two women were in the kitchen. Mrs Lester firmly shut the door. Though only eleven in the morning, Molly had already had several goes at the bottle. Only a sip here and there, she reasoned. It wasn’t much – just a little pick-me-up, like a tonic.

  Jane folded her arms and gave Molly a pitying look.

  ‘I’ve been putting off saying this, hoping things would right themselves, but I’ve got to say something. You may think I haven’t noticed. I’m not that much of an innocent, you know.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Molly asked. She lost her balance for a second – on an uneven bit of lino, she told herself – and swayed back against the table.

  ‘The drink: I can smell it on you now. It’s no good thinking that sucking a mint will cover it up. Look, Molly, I’ve been giving you the benefit of the doubt. I’m not so hard and fast about these things as Mr Lester. After all, my own father enjoyed a little drink now and then, with no harm done. But not at this time of the morning! And Bernard has strong feelings – very strong. If he finds out, you’ll be sacked and no second chances.’

  Oh, very Christian, Molly thought savagely, but said only, ‘I’m sorry’ and hung her head.

  She didn’t want to drink, not really. She just couldn’t seem to help it. It drew her as if it was more powerful than her and as if a strong hand was pulling her towards it. And the more she had, the more she needed it.

  ‘Look, dear, you’ve been a great asset to us here, especially to me. You’re a good, hard-working girl when you put your mind to it. Why must you persist in giving in to the devil’s leadings? You need to renounce it – put it behind you and ask for forgiveness. Tip the rest of it away and begin anew. Otherwise you’ll be out on the street! Bernard
won’t have it – and he’s a man of his word!’

  Molly knew she was right, but still childishly resented being told so.

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said, resentfully.

  She really did try. All the rest of that day she was frightened enough of losing her job to stay away from her room, even though she was almost desperate at times to run upstairs for the comforting liquor, which helped to dull her unhappy, restless feelings.

  ‘I’ll do it gradually,’ she thought as she mopped a bathroom floor. ‘I’m not throwing away the rest of the bottle – it cost a lot of my wages! I’ll have a little drink tonight, then one tomorrow, then it’ll almost be gone . . .’

  By the time she got up to her room that evening, closing the door and tearing to the cupboard, her hands were trembling so much that she could hardly get the bottle open. Even in her agitation, the lonely emptiness of the room seemed to echo round her. Was this her life – is this how it would be now for ever and ever? She sank down on the bed, taking a deep slug from the bottle and closed her eyes with the old, familiar relief of feeling it burn down inside her.

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ she murmured, then gave a little giggle at the thought of what Mr Lester would think of her giving thanks for the devil’s brew. But she wasn’t having him telling her what she could and could not do: if she wanted a drink, she’d damn well have one! And there she’d be in the morning, standing beside him singing hymns! She lay back with a cackle of laughter and cradled the bottle against her. One more mouthful, then she’d put it away.

  By the end of the night the bottle was empty. The next day she managed to sneak out and buy another one.

  Winter closed in fast. Molly’s army training in Clacton had been during the summer months, and though she had heard about the east-coast winter, she was still not prepared for the grey bleakness of it, as the days grew colder and Siberia-born winds whipped across the water. She also knew that Jane Lester was watching her like a hawk. Molly tried to contain her drinking to the evening, and to times when she knew there was no one about. But she found herself caught in the old tussle between wanting to be obliging and gain approval, so that much of the time she did her job very well, and wanting childishly to rebel and behave badly, to lash out and destroy any good thing that she had created.