Molly's War (24 page)

‘We’ll stop here, I think. I don’t want to waste too much petrol,’ said Gary. He pulled into the side along a winding track. They were past the fields now, close by huge swathes of heather, some of it still purple with summer flowers.

He sat there, not moving, and the tiny frisson of alarm which Molly had felt faded away. He didn’t mean anything, he wouldn’t do anything, no, of course he wouldn’t. Anyway, she could look after herself, couldn’t she? She was a woman now, an experienced woman.

She made herself relax too, staring out over the fells, wondering what it would be like to live in a remote place like the tiny farm she could see half hidden in a fold of the moor some distance from the road. Gary offered her a cigarette from a gunmetal holder, lighting one for himself when she refused. He wound down his window and the sharp air came into the car, the muted baa-ing of sheep audible amongst the heather.

Molly relaxed into her seat, put her head back and
closed
her eyes. She let the evening sun play on her eyelids. Just for a moment, she told herself, just for a moment she would pretend it was Jackson sitting beside her in the little car, Jackson’s warmth she could feel beside her.

‘Molly?’

Her eyes flew open as Gary flung the cigarette end out of the car and turned to her. He put a hand to the nape of her neck and stroked it gently. She stiffened, didn’t move. She could feel his fingers on her neck. She lifted her head to protest but his arm slid around her shoulders and he drew her towards him.

He kissed her on the lips, a soft, gentle kiss, becoming more insistent. Molly sat there, feeling the warmth of his lips, not thinking, just feeling.

‘I love you, Molly,’ he murmured against her ear, and her eyes flew open. She struggled upright. What was she doing?

‘Gary,’ she said, against his restraining arm. ‘Gary! Let me up!’

‘Why? Don’t you like it?’

‘You know I’m engaged to a soldier – he’s away in France, I can’t do this.’

Gary sat up and lit another cigarette. He shook the match out, threw it out of the window. ‘I’ve heard all about it. So he’s away in France, is he? Molly, the soldiers are all back from France – all those who are coming, any road. The man’s dead, he has to be. If he was in a POW camp
you’d
have heard by now, you know that, don’t you?’

She stared at him. She wanted to shout, to tell him it wasn’t true, Jackson
would
be coming back, there could be a letter any day now. What was she doing sitting beside this horrible, self-important little man on the moor where nothing else moved but sheep, where the sky was already darkening to night and they were miles from home? She fumbled with the door catch, managed to get it open, fling herself out of the car and to begin walking back towards Woodlands, the last village they had come through. The road was pot-holed and stony and she stumbled once or twice but kept on, tears streaming down her face, his words echoing in her mind.

For it was true, everything he’d said, she knew it. Jackson wasn’t coming home, she wasn’t going to feel the sweetness of his love-making ever again, never again, no. Blinded with tears she stumbled once more, fell against a snow pole and clung on to it as she lifted her foot and rubbed her ankle. It wasn’t really hurt, the pain was lessening already, she could make it down into the village. Maybe there was a bus.

‘Molly, don’t be silly, pet.’

Gary had turned the car round. He pulled up beside her, got out and came to her. ‘Are you all right? Have you hurt yourself?’

‘Just turned my ankle, it’s OK,’ she managed to mumble, keeping her head down. She felt so foolish now, he sounded concerned and kind. Why on earth had she run
away
from him, thought she could get home on her own when she didn’t even know if there was a bus? She turned to him, allowed him to put his arm around her, take her back to the car. She felt so confused.

‘Sit in the back, pet,’ he said, ‘then you can put your foot up. It’ll be better.’

There you see, she told herself, he was only concerned for your welfare. He
was
a nice man, no matter if all the girls scoffed at him. She was safe with him, he hadn’t any dark designs on her, of course he hadn’t. All men weren’t like that horrible Bart Jones. And it did feel better to put her foot up.

‘Comfortable?’ He smiled at her, patted her arm as he bent over her. It was quite accidental that his hand brushed across her breast as he straightened up, she was sure.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, and managed a small smile.

‘I’m sorry about your lad, Molly,’ he said softly. ‘But it’s best you face facts.’

This almost started the tears again but she managed to hold them back. What a fool she was being!

He got into the driver’s seat, switched on the blue-shaded headlights and drove carefully downhill to where a small bridge led over a stream. Then he pulled off the road on to a patch of gravel and took a clean handkerchief out of his pocket.

‘I’ll just wet this in the water,’ he said. ‘That’s what they teach us at the First Aid post at work, isn’t it? Cold compresses for sprains.’

‘Oh, I don’t think it’s much of a sprain,’ said Molly, startled. ‘Why don’t we just get on home?’ But he was already scrambling down the little bank and dipping the hankie in the water.

The cool wet cloth against her skin was soothing, she had to admit when he came back and climbed on to the seat next to her and laid it against her ankle. She sighed, laid back against the window. Yes, he was a nice man really, thoughtful too. The feel of his fingers against her leg was pleasant. It was almost completely dark in the car now. He leaned over to her and kissed her on the lips and for some reason it felt like … it could almost have been Jackson. Oh, Jackson! Gary kissed her so gently, his lips fluttering over her eyelids, his hands touching her breasts, cupping them in turn, easing her blouse from her waist band, finding the warm flesh beneath.

Suddenly Molly was kissing him back, her body responding to his, remembering that other time.

‘Oh, Jackson, my love,’ she breathed, and Gary’s hands stilled but only for a moment. The next minute he was pulling her cami-knickers aside, adjusting his position in the cramped back of the car, thrusting into her. And her treacherous body responded to every sensation. The pain in her ankle forgotten, she clung on to him and breathed her lover’s name.

Chapter Twenty-two

AFTERWARDS MOLLY COULDN’T
believe it had happened, that she had acted like that. What sort of a girl was she? Were those who had called her terrible names after that night in West Auckland right? She remembered how she had felt only too well: the excitement in her blood, being swept along on it, helpless to stop. She couldn’t bear to think of it.
Gary Dowson
? Dear God, it had to be just a terrible nightmare.

Afterwards she sat beside him as he drove down the dale. There were no twinkling lights from the villages along the banks of the Wear, only a slight glow from the chimney of Townhead colliery, a gust of sparks now and then to show that the black bulk further down was the town. Into it and out again, she sat looking dumbly out of the window. Even if there had been anything to see she would not have seen it. It was cold and Molly shivered involuntarily.

‘You cold, pet?’ asked Gary Dowson. Even now she couldn’t think of him as Gary without giving him his surname, even after doing the most intimate things with
him
. Her mind shied away from the thought. He put a hand on her thigh, squeezing the flesh with a proprietorial air. Molly pulled away from him as far as the seat allowed.

‘I’m fine!’ she snapped.

He glanced across at her but of course there was nothing to see but the outline of her head. Perhaps he had imagined it. He didn’t think she could be turning hoity-toity on him now, not after what she had let him do.

‘You can let me out at the bus stop,’ said Molly.

‘Don’t be daft, lass,’ he said easily. ‘I might as well take you all the way, it’s practically on my own way home.’ She opened her mouth to demur but he was accelerating out of Newgate Street, sailing past the bus stop, ignoring her desperate need to get out of the car and away from him. For how could he not feel it? The need was so strong she had to restrain herself from opening the door and jumping out while the car was moving.

The car drew up in Eden Hope, right on the end of the rows. At last she could get out and run up the back street to the gate.

‘See you, pet,’ Gary called after her, and Molly mumbled something in reply. She was never so thankful as when she had the back gate closed behind her and could lean against it, panting heavily as though she had run all the way from Weardale. After a moment she managed to gain some control over herself and walked up the yard and in at the back door.

‘Mind, you’ve been a long time, lass,’ said Maggie. But
she
didn’t ask where Molly had been, why she was late. Maggie and Frank were still in a world of their own. There was no room for curiosity about anyone or anything, they were mourning their son still.

‘I … I don’t want anything to eat,’ said Molly. ‘I think I’ll go straight up, if you don’t mind?’

‘Aye, lass,’ Maggie answered, the tiny spark of interest she had shown dying away as she turned to stare into the fire as she had been doing when Molly came in. Frank hadn’t even looked up.

Molly stripped off her clothes and poured cold water from the jug into the china basin which stood on the wash stand. She took the piece of flannel which hung over the rail and rubbed it with Sunlight soap, dipped it in the water. Then she scrubbed at herself, never minding that it was cold and her skin stung with the harsh rubbing. She scrubbed at the sensitive skin of her breasts and between her thighs, rinsed off the flannel and did it again. She pulled on her long flannelette nightie and climbed into bed, lying shivering, filled with self-loathing. She had betrayed Jackson. Her body had betrayed him. She was like a cat on heat, she told herself savagely. She couldn’t understand why she had done it, she could not.

But gradually warmth seeped through her, her mind closed down, she fell asleep to dream of Jackson. He was calling her and she was running after him but somehow she couldn’t reach him, he was too far away. She called after him, ‘Don’t go, please don’t go, I didn’t mean to do
it
!’ But he went anyway and she woke up desolate. And somehow the reality of being awake was worse than the terror of the nightmare.

Molly dreaded going to work the following Monday. All day Sunday she wandered the lanes around Eden Hope avoiding anyone she knew, slipping into the fields if she saw anyone coming. The weather was turning cold but dry and the hedges still afforded some protection from the gaze of anyone on the road, still held some leaves. She ate very little, couldn’t think of it.

‘You’ll be in for your dinner?’ Maggie asked as she was going out of the door.

‘No … I expect to be eating with my friend in Shildon,’ Molly replied.

‘You might as well take your ration card there,’ Maggie said acidly. ‘I mean, how does her mother manage?’

‘Er … we’ll eat in a cafe,’ Molly replied.

‘Aye, well, some folks cannot afford to eat in cafes,’ was Maggie’s parting shot. Their relationship hadn’t been the same since the telegram came about Jackson.

Jackson, Jackson, Jackson. She could still hear his name over and over in her mind. Sometimes she had talked to him there but now she couldn’t. Not after what she had done. On Monday morning Molly went into work, managing to avoid
him
all morning for now she was in the sewing room he was no longer her foreman. But she had to go to the canteen at dinnertime, had to pass the table
where
he sat with the other foremen. As she passed he looked up at her.

‘Now then, pet,’ he said. ‘Will I see you outside when you’ve eaten?’

‘I … I haven’t time today,’ said Molly, and he shrugged and turned to the other men, said something and laughed. The others laughed too, one or two grinning slyly at Molly. She blushed and hurried to catch up with Jenny, holding her tray high as she squeezed past tables in the crush.

‘I said that Gary Dowson liked you,’ Jenny observed as she sat down. ‘You want to watch him.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ said Molly, but she blushed vividly and bent her head over her plate to hide it. The talk turned to other things: how there were hardly any air raids now, the Germans giving them a rest.

‘Me mam does her turn fire watching down at the school,’ one girl was saying. ‘It’s just an excuse to sit in the headmistress’s study and have a natter with her pal, get away from me dad for a bit, have a sleep on the job.’

‘Well, they were kept well awake in the summer, though, weren’t they?’ said Jenny.

Molly listened with half an ear but she was still preoccupied with memories of Saturday. What would she do if Jackson came back now? Could she pretend it hadn’t happened? Many another woman had. She heard the talk in the factory about what some of the married women got up to. But not her, no, never again. She would tell Gary
Dowson
the first time she was able to talk to him alone.

The chance came as she walked back to the station one night the following week, a few yards behind everyone else for she had been last out of the sewing room.

‘What’s the matter with you, Molly?’ Gary asked with no preamble. ‘Why are you keeping out of my way? I thought we were going together, you and me?’

‘Going together? No, we’re not, of course we’re not. You know I was engaged to a soldier.’

‘Aye, I did. But you seemed to forget it that night up on the fells, didn’t you? I didn’t force you, you were willing enough. Any road, the fella’s dead, you can’t hanker after a dead man.’

Molly stopped walking and turned to face him. ‘The telegram said missing, believed killed. It didn’t say he was definitely dead. He could be anywhere – lying injured in a French hospital maybe or perhaps a German camp. He could …’

‘Oh, don’t talk so daft, Molly! We’ve been over all this before. And besides, if you feel like this, why did you go with me? An’ don’t say you didn’t enjoy it, because you did!’