All the Days of Our Lives (31 page)

Whatever was the time? The house seemed to be completely quiet. Molly crept down to the hall and switched on the light to look at the clock. It was a quarter to one in the morning. She had slept through all the serving of dinner! She would dearly have loved a cup of tea, but there was no chance of that now, so she crept back up and crawled into bed again, feeling doubly ashamed.

‘I told Mr Lester that you were ill,’ Mrs Lester said the next morning. She was up in time for breakfast, looking pale and strained, and Molly realized that she had dragged herself out of bed in case Molly hadn’t made an appearance. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with Mrs Lester: she realized it was probably mostly in her mind. ‘Well, I wasn’t feeling too well,’ Molly admitted. ‘I never meant to just sleep the evening away, though. I’m ever so sorry.’ Molly had managed to get down and carry out her breakfast duties, including singing, with a throbbing head, the smell of powdered egg making her feel even more sick.

Jane Lester went and closed the kitchen door, careful to check that her husband was nowhere within earshot.

‘Molly,’ she said sternly, ‘I came up to look for you. The smell of drink was overpowering. You might have been sleeping in a distillery. If Bernard had smelt it . . .’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He’s very strong on temperance – oh, you’ve no idea.’

Molly did have some idea, because Mr Lester seemed to be strong on everything. But she was ashamed. Blushing, she hung her head, trying to think what to say.

‘We cannot have strong drink in this house!’ Mrs Lester declared with a passion. ‘Do you understand? I had no idea that you . . . You never seemed that kind of person!’

Molly bit back a bitter reply.
Well, that’s what you think – but I am, so there!

‘I’m not really – I just . . . I can’t really explain.’

‘You must pray for strength against temptation.’ Mrs Lester’s face took on a zealous shine, but Molly could see that she was also frightened of her husband. ‘We can’t have this here, Molly – and if Bernard finds out, you’ll be sacked immediately. Pray to the Lord, and don’t ever let it happen again!’

It was easier said than done. Just those few drinks had started Molly off again and it felt as if her body craved a drink – even that next morning. It developed a taste for it all over again, and so quickly.

I can’t start off doing all that again, she thought, frightened of herself and what she might do. She remembered some of the more humiliating times she’d had as a result of drink – in the army and before it. The thought made her feel even more lonely. Everything was slipping away from her.

She tried desperately hard in those following days to pull herself together. Though at times she was almost screaming for a drink, Jane Lester kept her very busy and she didn’t have much free time. She managed not to do anything she would regret. But it did not stop the craving. And as the days passed, her mood sunk lower. At night, when she finished work, feeling utterly worn down by the task of keeping going, she fell into bed only to find her mind full of terrible thoughts: memories of the past and her own jeering voice telling her she was no good, that anything that might have worked out well for her was all over now, and there was nothing left to look forward to. The past pulled at her, sucking her down like a foul, bony hand, and the present didn’t seem to offer her anything of hope to pull her up against it. She was a prisoner of all the bad things of the past, and that was that. And it was unbearable.

She sneaked out one afternoon when she knew Jane Lester was resting and bought a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Just a drop every night – I won’t have much. It’ll just help me sleep. The nights had become restless, full of uneasy dreams.

Carrying the bottle home in a shopping basket, she crept back into the house and almost jumped out of her skin when she saw Bernard Lester standing at the other end of the long hall, watching her.

‘Oh my goodness, you made me jump!’ she said, laughing to cover up how much her heart was thumping. Suppose he looked in the basket. She had covered the bottle with her cardigan, but wasn’t it obvious what she had been doing? He watched her climb the stairs.

Hands shaking as she reached the room, her resolve to have only a nip from the bottle last thing at night went straight out of the window. She closed her door and, without even sitting down, opened the bottle and took a long swig. God, seeing that creeping Jesus down there had given her a start!

‘Aah.’ Molly sank down on the bed, cradling the bottle. ‘That’s better!’ She took one last swig and put the top back on. Then she hid the bottle under her mattress at the head of the bed and sat down with her eyes closed for a moment, to let the drink really take hold. She was warmer, suddenly, and comforted. Now she could face the rest of the day.

And that was how it was the next day, and the next.

‘Molly – over here!’

Molly had caught a glimpse of Ruth’s long, pale face and dark hair behind the glass as the train pulled in, and it made her even more jittery. She’d already had a nip of her secret supply of the hard stuff to ease her butterflies. Ruth Chambers, whom she had known in the ATS, was coming to stay for three days – they were like chalk and cheese. Writing letters was one thing, but what on earth was she going to say to her?

But seeing Ruth here, Molly felt a sudden great rush of fondness for her. She was in civvies of course, some rather sludgy-coloured slacks and a short-sleeved white blouse, her long hair tied back in a schoolgirlish pony-tail, just as she always had, and giving her buck-toothed smile. For a second the two of them stood in front of each other, uncertainly, then Ruth held out her arms and they embraced.

‘Well, well,’ Molly joked to cover her nerves. ‘Fancy seeing you!’

Ruth pulled back with a grin, picking up her case. ‘It’s so nice to see you, Molly.’

She looked closely into Molly’s face and seemed about to say something, but held back. As they moved towards the exit Molly said, ‘So – back here in Clacton.’

‘I know,’ Ruth said, excited. ‘It feels so strange. I suppose you’ve got used to it, but I’ve never seen it except with the army all over it.’

Molly smiled at hearing Ruth’s distinctive voice, well spoken and somehow always sounding rather strangulated, as if her throat was tight. But it was truly lovely to see her – one of the people she had shared that intense time of her life in the army with, which she could not talk about with anyone else.

‘It’s still quite busy,’ Molly said. ‘There’s a lot down here on holiday. Our place isn’t the most popular, not being on the main parade . . .’

‘And they do sound a bit sent,’ Ruth said.

‘Sent – how d’yer mean?’

‘You know, overly religious. It’s not what everyone wants, especially if they’re on holiday.’ Ruth was only religious in a reserved, Church of England way.

‘You’re telling me!’ Molly laughed. ‘And they have to put up with my singing. It’s really embarrassing at times. But I suppose you have to hand it to him – it takes some guts. And some people seem to come back specially to hear ’im!’

‘Well,’ Ruth said drily. ‘I can hardly wait.’

They had reserved a single room for Ruth on the second floor, as she had come as a normal paying guest.

‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, seeing the small, simple room. ‘It’s our billets all over again, isn’t it?’

Having her there helped Molly feel that same sense of adventure again, of the army, of moving from place to place, with a purpose, a real job to do. It was as if, in those seconds, they could recapture that.

‘You’ll want the window open,’ Molly said, wrestling with the stiff catch. ‘The cooking smells come up, and it gets stuffy. When you’re ready we’ll go and get you a cup of tea.’

She explained to Ruth that she would have to work some of the time, but on Ruth’s last day there she would have the whole day off.

‘Oh, that’s perfectly all right. I’m quite happy to go off and wander round. It’s lovely to see the sea – a change from Cambridge, I can assure you.’

The girls spent the next two days catching up and reminiscing. Because Molly was working for most of the day, she only saw Ruth in snatches. The first morning she felt even more nervous and awkward than usual when facing the breakfast hymn-singing. That morning Harold Lester had chosen ‘Soldiers of Christ, Arise!’ Ruth, who was a little late, hurried in as they reached ‘From strength to strength go on, wrestle and fight and pray!’ and took her seat. Molly felt herself blushing, but gratefully saw Ruth pick up her hymn sheet and, with a calm, polite expression, join in the singing.

‘I see what you mean,’ she laughed afterwards. ‘It takes courage to do that all right! For him, I mean. But you, too – it’s the very last thing I’d ever ’ve imagined seeing you doing! But you’ve got the most lovely voice by the way, Molly.’

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.