An Ordinary Life

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘Would you like to walk after this, Molly? I do like a stroll on a Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ she said, sipping her tea. ‘Hyde Park would be nice.’ She mentioned the closest spot, anything other than risk him suggesting the Embankment.

  ‘Yes, Hyde Park would be nice,’ Rex agreed, taking her plate to offer her a delicious sandwich.

  ‘Well?’ Mr Kendall grabbed her arm almost the second she stepped inside her office. ‘I want to hear all about it – all the juicy details!’ he demanded, waving his hand in the air.

  ‘It was nice,’ she said with a coy smile, shaking off her coat and pushing her silk scarf down into the empty sleeve before placing it on her personal hanger on the hooks outside in the corridor leading to the X-ray department.

  ‘Nice?’ He grimaced. ‘Oh please, Miss Collway! “Nice” is for a decent macaroon or good weather. Nice is not passion! It’s not lust!’ he declared. ‘Nice is a day out with your grandmother!’

  ‘Well.’ She swallowed, wishing he would keep his voice down and wary of Janice arriving any moment and joining in the badgering. ‘There was certainly no passion or lust, not in the middle of Claridge’s.’

  ‘More’s the pity!’ he cut in.

  ‘But,’ she giggled, ‘I am going to see him again next Sunday and we’re going to Kew to look at the plants and walk in the gardens.’ She had informed Joyce of their plans down the telephone yesterday.

  ‘Oh my goodness! Richmond is only a hop, skip and a jump from Kew – I bet he’s planning on taking you back to his place after for a bit of rumpy pumpy!’

  ‘Joyce, first of all, he is not like that—’

  ‘All men are like that!’ her sister had interjected.

  ‘And secondly,’ Molly had said, ignoring her sister, ‘I don’t think anyone actually uses the words “rumpy pumpy”!’ She had laughed.

  ‘Apart from me.’

  ‘Apart from you.’

  ‘A second date!’ Mr Kendall clapped his hands, pulling her back into the present. ‘Well, this is progress indeed. Right, what are you going to wear?’

  ‘Good Lord, I haven’t given it a moment’s thought!’ she lied, knowing she was going to wear her wine-coloured jersey shirt dress, pair it with some knee-high boots and had already decided to get her hair set on her day off. Not that she was about to share that level of detail with Mr Kendall.

  ‘Well?’ Both turned to see Janice racing across the floor towards them, her heels clicking on the parquet floor in her haste. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘They’re going out again!’ Mr Kendall stole the punchline.

  ‘A second date!’ Janice looked just as delighted as Mr Kendall and Molly had to admit that their level of interest in her well-being was quite lovely.

  ‘Well, we haven’t used the word “date” exactly,’ Molly said in an effort to quell their excitement, ‘but it will certainly be nice to see him again.’ It was as much as she was prepared to give away. ‘Anyway, I can’t stand here gossiping with the two of you all day – I have a department to run. Come along, Janice!’

  ‘I would say she has a definite spring in her step and a smile on her face, wouldn’t you, Janice dear?’ Mr Kendall made out to whisper, but loud enough for Molly to hear.

  ‘I would, Mr Kendall, I really would!’

  And despite herself Molly laughed, really quite taken by the whole turn of events.

  Sunday came around quickly. Molly stood in front of the iconic Palm House, where they had agreed to meet. It was a cold day, but the sun was shining and the world looked beautiful.

  ‘Molly!’ She heard him call out and it was her turn to wave as he trotted along the path in his navy mackintosh.

  ‘Am I late?’ he asked, breathing heavily.

  ‘No, I’m early – always am. Force of habit.’

  The Église Saint-Martin.

  Right on cue the church bells rang out.

  One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . She was in place and on time. Four o’clock . . .

  ‘It’s so nice to see you. I’ve been thinking about it all week.’ His openness was as surprising as it was welcome.

  ‘Well, that’s such a nice thing to say to me.’ She meant it, and when he took her hand and linked it through his crooked arm, she nuzzled in.

  ‘This makes it two Sundays in a row; people will start to talk,’ he joked.

  She laughed and thought of her two nosey colleagues and her sister, who were already talking.

  ‘So, Rex, you know all about my job; I want to know about life as a cardiologist!’

  ‘Oh, you really don’t!’ he laughed. ‘It’s not as interesting as it might sound.’

  ‘Try me.’ She liked walking along by his side, liked the height of him, the solidity of him and his scent, which was woody and clean.

  ‘I became quite fascinated with hearts during my time in theatre, how they functioned, how they went wrong and how I could fix them. I knew I wanted to specialise in it if I ever’ – he swallowed – ‘if I ever got home again.’

  ‘Did you have a terrible war?’ She hardly dared ask.

  ‘Didn’t everyone?’ he jested, but she caught the flash of naked fear in his eyes.

  ‘I don’t talk about it much,’ she admitted.

  ‘Nor me. It feels as though everyone who was there has their own story, and mine is no different. And those who were lucky enough not to be there don’t want to be reminded or simply can’t imagine what it was like.’

  ‘Yes, and that’s why we fought, of course, so those who came after would not know what it’s like to see their blood or that of their friends running into the earth of which they will forever be a part.’ She knew Johan’s words by rote and the two stopped walking.

  ‘That is beautiful. Is it a poem?’ he asked sincerely.

  ‘In a way.’ She squeezed his arm.

  ‘I like it very much.’ He looked into the middle distance, took his time. ‘I was a prisoner of war.’

  ‘Oh, Rex!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said truthfully, ‘apart from how truly appalled I am to hear that.’

  ‘You ask if I had a terrible war and I suppose it’s fair to say I saw terrible things and I did terrible things. Sometimes you have to, just to survive.’ He blinked.

  ‘Yes, you do.’ Molly knew that the experiences she had heard from the men she had worked with and the pictures she had seen herself would stay with her always. She believed everyone should see and hear them – a way to make sure that nothing like it would ever be allowed to happen again. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I was initially in Stalag Luft I, Western Pomerania, Germany. Made myself a bit of a nuisance escaping, and then from a few other places, and finally ended up in Colditz.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I don’t tell people usually. I don’t know why I’ve told you. I suppose I wanted to.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you felt able to.’ Molly felt the conversation bring them closer together, in the way that an exchange of secrets often did, and was thrilled at the deeper connection this shared experience had forged between them.

  The two walked on in silence for a moment until Rex turned to her. ‘Would you like to come to my house? It’s only a hop, skip and a jump from here.’

  Molly bit her lip to stifle a laugh and nodded vigorously.

  ‘We can grab a taxi,’ he smiled, pulling her towards him. She felt a bit dizzy and really rather excited.

  He lived in a neat and sturdy red-brick house, very similar to Joyce and Albert’s place, but without the homely atmosphere and smart decor. If anything, it felt a little cold, sad even. It felt like somewhere in which Rex ate and slept, rather than lived. Molly was reminded for the first time in years of her digs in St Pancras, which had merely been somewhere to lay her head, functional and quite brutal, which, with her head and heart broken, was the very last thing she had on her mind. It felt odd for Molly to be here among all the personal things treasured by Rex’
s dead wife: another woman’s choice of crockery, a set of what looked like ‘best’ china in a glass-fronted display cabinet and framed tapestries on the walls. She stood a little awkwardly in the rather sparse kitchen.

  He laughed a touch nervously as he shook off his mackintosh. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Molly?’ he offered. ‘Can’t promise the level of service we had last week, though.’

  Molly liked the way he moved and studied the definition of his muscled back beneath his shirt. There was an intense burn of desire in the pit of her stomach. ‘I don’t want tea, Rex.’

  ‘Well, what do you want?’

  She took a step closer, let her handbag fall to the floor and reached up to kiss him hard on the mouth.

  The two lay on the rug in front of the coal fire with a floral counterpane pulled over their naked forms. She ran her toes along his shin and tried not to think of Johan, tried not to dilute thoughts of Rex with those of the only other man she had slept with.

  ‘What do you think of the phrase “rumpy pumpy”, Rex? Are those words you would ever use?’ She hid her laughter.

  ‘I don’t think so!’ He kissed her head. ‘But if you want me to . . .’ He let this hang.

  ‘No, that’s fine. Aren’t we the daring young things?’ She leaned on her elbow and gazed at his handsome outline. ‘Sex on a Sunday afternoon! Although I suppose it is the sixties.’

  ‘I want you to know that I don’t make a habit of this, Molly.’

  ‘I didn’t think you did.’ She liked his honesty, his slight hesitance and shy diffidence, when he had every reason to be bold and self-assured. ‘I feel honoured that you shared your war story with me today, Rex, I really do. It means a lot.’

  He kissed her again.

  She took a deep breath. ‘My war was an adventure.’ She laughed drily at the understatement. ‘Wonderful in some ways,’ she said, as she remembered dancing with Johan to the sound of Billie Holiday . . . ‘But it was what came after that was very . . .’ She stopped talking.

  ‘Very what?’ He leaned up to face her and asked with such intensity that it felt like the most natural thing in the world to confide in this man.

  ‘Very difficult.’ She gulped nervously.

  Rex ran his fingers over the side of her neck and it sent a glorious shiver down her spine.

  ‘I lost the man I loved – he was killed – and I then spent some time working in France, all terribly hush-hush.’ She shook her head, hearing the sounds Violet had made. ‘And afterwards, things certainly overwhelmed me and I lost my mind for a while. I had a breakdown.’ She looked up briefly and his expression was listening and intense. ‘So I went into hospital, a place in Lowestoft for the mentally ill. I had given up entirely and I was very fragile. I hoped it would be a quick thing – you know, a spot of sea air, clear my head – and I’d be brand new, but it wasn’t quite like that.’ She paused for a beat to order her words. ‘I spent a few months dosed up on a cocktail of sedatives and tranquillisers. Much of it is a blur, as you can imagine, but certain days and certain events are still sharp.’

  ‘Oh, Molly, you poor thing.’ He took her hand in his and it helped.

  ‘I’ve told no one about this either, not outside my family, but it feels good to tell someone.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ He gripped her hand and the two settled back on the rug, her head on his chest, looking up at the swirly pattern on the ceiling. Rex was quiet and she took this as her cue to continue. It felt cathartic, just talking about it.

  ‘It was like sleeping among the damned.’ Molly swallowed. She looked up at Rex, expecting comment, but instead he held her tightly. She thought of the day David had driven her to Winterhill Lodge.

  ‘It has wide sandy beaches. It all sounds rather nice . . .’

  But it hadn’t been rather nice.

  ‘The other residents were poor souls, all suffering from mental breakdowns, the effects of war, people reliving their own personal horrors, crying out in the night.’ She swallowed. ‘Along with some elderly people who were just senile. They tended to wail during the day, so it was always noisy. I got attacked a couple of times. Violence was common. I remember cowering from the blows of one particular patient called Big Betty – a huge woman.’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘They removed all her teeth to stop her biting staff and patients, but Betty found another sport: she liked to thump unsuspecting targets on the back of the head, creeping up quietly behind them and watching them fall like coconuts at a shy. And then the odd staff member was just quite disinterested – as though they didn’t think we were people. I thought I might stay there for ever at first, and actually, in the grip of my illness, the prospect didn’t bother me too much. It was a truly dismal place: no birds to be seen on the grass outside or in the air and with bars on the windows.’

  ‘How did you leave?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I got better is the simple answer.’ She smiled at him. ‘I woke one day and felt more present, more aware and knew I was emerging from something. I didn’t know what, but I knew that I wanted to leave and that was the start of my recovery.’

  Molly looked up at Rex. The memory was hard for her, but she took a deep breath and carried on with an edited version. ‘So yes, I spent time at Winterhill and then returned to my little cottage in the Chelmsford suburbs, and then bit by bit I began gardening and going outside a little more, and slowly, gradually, I felt able to see people, talk to people, and I went back to work, and pretty much put it behind me, as far as you’re ever able. But that’s not what defines me, because I don’t let it.’

  ‘I think you’re incredibly strong,’ he said reassuringly.

  And Molly smiled, wondering what he might think when she told him her full story, which could wait for now . . . She felt unburdened by the sharing of part of her history and the fact that he had not run for the hills.

  Rex drew his arm from her shoulders and rose to his feet, reaching for his shirt and underwear. ‘I think we both deserve that cup of tea now, Molly, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. A cup of tea would be lovely.’ She pulled the cover up to her chin and lay back in this unfamiliar room, enjoying the sense of peace.

  With their clothes restored and tea drunk, they sat together at the kitchen table. The atmosphere was oddly formal, considering how intimate they had been, in every sense.

  ‘It’s been quite a day. I think the next time we meet we should only do and talk about fun things!’ Rex asserted.

  ‘That’s a deal.’ She smiled, already very much looking forward to the next time.

  Rex waved her off at the railway station. It was late when she got home, but still she kept her word and phoned her sister.

  ‘Right, I want all the details!’

  ‘What is it with people and details?’ She giggled, still feeling gloriously languid, her muscles soft, her guard down.

  ‘This is so thrilling, Moll! I’ve been beside myself all afternoon! Tell me everything.’

  ‘Well, his name is Rex and he’s quite fancy – got a bit of the Tom Jones about him.’

  ‘How absolutely glorious!’ Joyce squeaked. ‘And did you go back to his?’

  ‘Joyce, I am not that kind of woman.’ Molly laughed.

  ‘Oh crikey! You did – I can tell by your voice! You dark horse, Molly! How wonderful! And do you want to see him again?’ Joyce pushed, her tone as eager as that of a child.

  Molly smiled down the line. ‘Yes, I rather think I do.’ The two women squealed like girls who were still very excited about boys.

  ‘So should I be looking at hats? And the big question is, are you going to beat Joe and Estelle up the aisle?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous!’ Molly laughed, but didn’t say no . . .

  On Monday morning, as was now the pattern, Mr Kendall was waiting for her, keen to hear all about her time with the rather handsome Dr Rex.

  ‘So come on, Miss Collway, tell me all about Kew! It’s been an age since I was there.’

  ‘Well, it was lov
ely, of course.’

  ‘Of course. And how is Dr Bradford?’ he asked with a wink.

  ‘He’s quite lovely too.’ She looked around and, confident the coast was clear, whispered to her friend, ‘I must admit, I like him, Mr Kendall, I do. “Like” is a good word for it. We had a smashing day and a very good chat.’

  ‘Well, this is marvellous!’ he said, clapping his hands in delight. ‘Should I be looking at new hats?’ He patted his coiffed hair.

  ‘Oh dear God, no!’ Molly scoffed. ‘That’s exactly what my sister said! But we were very open with each other about our past, which was surprising for me. I told him things I usually keep to myself. All a bit unnerving in hindsight, like . . .’

  ‘Like letting someone in? Like giving permission for someone to get close? And yes, Miss Collway, that is a fearsomely brave thing.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about brave.’ Molly thought again of Violet. ‘Although I suppose making the leap does feel risky,’ she confided.

  ‘I think, sweet lady, that if you’re not ready now, then you never will be and that would be fine too. But you know—’

  ‘Miss Collway!’ Janice came running up the corridor, cutting Mr Kendall short and with what looked like post in her hand. ‘This was in the pigeonhole for our department – a letter!’ She waved it in the air before setting it in Molly’s palm.

  ‘Well, yes, Janice, I think even I could have deduced that!’

  ‘It’s a love letter!’ Janice squealed. ‘I can tell.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous! Who would send me a love letter?’ Molly tutted, as Mr Kendall and Janice exchanged a knowing look.

  ‘I cannot think for the life of me!’ Mr Kendall drummed his fingers on his chin as if in deep thought. The three of them laughed out loud in a rare giddy moment in the corridor. It was unusual, to say the least, receiving a letter at work, and Molly felt her heart race in anticipation as she opened the envelope and scanned the contents.

  Molly,

  I do not have your home address and so please forgive me sending this to your department. You are more than I hoped for – a warm, kind and intelligent soul.