Molly's War (14 page)

‘Jackson! Jackson!’

But the redcap who had spoken to her closed the door of the truck. It was moving away, turning smartly and going off down the road. Molly was left gazing after it, the euphoria which had been with her all morning draining away. Tears rolled down her face unheeded. Jackson was gone.

‘He didn’t do anything,’ she said to the gatekeeper, who was standing just inside the gates from where he had been following the proceedings with interest.

‘He should have been in barracks,’ snapped the man. ‘Absent without leave – it’s just another name for desertion. In my day they shot deserters.’

‘He’s not a deserter! Any road, there isn’t even a war on yet!’ Molly shouted at him.

‘Not yet mebbe,’ said the gatekeeper. ‘Any day now, though. An’ if my lad had to go, so should that one. Just trying to get out of it … scared to death likely.’

Molly turned to him furiously. ‘He’s not! He’s not!’ But the gatekeeper grinned and went inside his hut, well satisfied with the results of his telephone call.

Chapter Thirteen

MOLLY WENT ON
looking for somewhere to live, preferably near the factory, in a sort of daze where everything seemed unreal. She trailed about the surrounding villages all afternoon, gazing in newsagents’ windows, chasing after the few notices which said ‘rooms to let’. She couldn’t allow herself to think of anything else. Not Harry, not Jackson. She used her search for a room as a buffer against such thoughts.

‘Nay, it went last week, love,’ was the usual reply she got as she stood on yet another doorstep. Or sometimes a man was wanted or the rent was far too high. There was a hostel but it was full to bursting.

It was hopeless, she knew it was hopeless; making her way to the train station Molly tried to think logically. What was she going to do? But somehow the fact that she had found Jackson only to have him snatched away before she had even found out where he and Harry were stationed was an agony which insisted on filling her mind, making even the necessity of finding a bed for the night seem of little importance.

The day was already turning to twilight and the trials and emotions of it had wearied her so much she sat in a stupor on the platform, moving like an automaton on to the train when it finally came.

She had bought a ticket for Bishop Auckland though she had no idea where she was going to sleep in the town; her money was practically gone. But what did it matter? Nothing was going to go right for her, she knew it now. She must have offended God somehow, Molly thought dully.

At Shildon a young mother came into the compartment with two children, a tiny boy sucking a lollipop and a girl of about six, holding him tightly by the hand, her face anxious. The woman was heavily pregnant, her abdomen sticking out in front of her, forcing open her cheap coat to reveal a cotton smock.

The boy sucked on his lollipop, staring gravely at Molly with big blue eyes. His nose began to run, the mucus shining in the light of the dying sun. Molly watched as it ran down his upper lip to meet the lollipop.

‘Wipe Eddie’s nose, Alice,’ the mother said, noticing Molly’s stare. She herself sat listlessly, legs apart, hands curved under her belly, as the little girl pulled out a grubby rag and wiped it across the boy’s face. Eddie took the lollipop out of his mouth to protest loudly.

‘Noaw, noaw, noooaw!’ he screamed.

Suddenly Molly jumped to her feet. She had to get out into the fresh air. Nausea rose in her. Gagging, she flung
herself
on to the platform just as the station master came along, banging the doors closed.

‘Hey, you want to watch it, miss,’ he shouted, but she didn’t hear. She was running to the side, gagging, gulping air. Gradually the nausea subsided, her vision cleared, her heartbeat slowed.

‘Are you all right, lass?’ the station master asked and Molly nodded, forced herself to smile, he looked so concerned.

‘I … I just forgot I wanted to be off here,’ she lied.

‘Well, be a bit more careful in future,’ he warned, clicking his teeth in disapproval. ‘You could have had a nasty accident, you know.’ He stumped off towards the barrier and looked expectantly back at her. She walked over and handed him her ticket. ‘This is for Bishop, there’s no refunds, you know,’ he remarked.

Molly nodded without really registering what he had said and walked off up the path which led to Shildon town. She would just walk home from here, she thought, it wasn’t all that far. She felt calm and peaceful now, going home. As the twilight turned to black night she trudged along, turning off at the stile which was the beginning of the shortcut to Eden Hope Colliery. The dark didn’t matter, she knew all the footpaths around. She was thinking of nothing now, nothing at all, it was better that way. She was simply going home.

‘Eeh, Mrs, will you come round our house a minute?
There’s
somebody says she lives there. She asked me what I was doing in their house, the cheeky monkey!’

Mrs Hardy had knocked on her neighbour’s door and walked straight in. The Pendles were having their tea. Ann had made a meat pudding and the gravy oozing from the suet crust gave off a wonderful smell, rich and meaty. She put down her knife and fork and got to her feet.

‘Sit down, Mam, it can’t be that urgent,’ said Joan sharply. ‘Eat your dinner first!’

‘No, lass, I’ll go now,’ she replied mildly. Jim, her husband, looked up but went on eating his tea calmly. ‘I’ll put it in the oven, it’ll keep hot,’ Ann decided.

Molly was standing just inside the door of the house in which she had been brought up, looking around her in bewilderment. She must have made a mistake was her first thought, this must be the wrong house. Where was her mother’s press, the marble clock? She felt as though she was in the middle of a nightmare. She swayed with tiredness, slumped, pulled herself together as the door opened behind her and Ann Pendle and the woman who had been in the house when she arrived came in.

‘Eeh, Molly pet, what’s the matter?’ asked Ann. Somehow she was not surprised. She had heard from Joan how Molly had lost her job yet again and as usual had felt a twinge of guilt.

‘Hello, Mrs Pendle,’ said Molly. Memory was flooding back to her. What a fool she had been! How could she have thought she still lived here? Was she going out of her
mind
? She had to take a hold of herself, had to. That woman behind Ann was gazing at her as though she were a candidate for Sedgefield Asylum. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’ll go –’

‘Howay along o’ me, Molly,’ said Ann. ‘Mrs Hardy did the right thing coming for me. I bet you haven’t had your tea neither? There’s a bit of meat pudding left, we’re just having ours. Come on, pet.’ She put an arm around Molly’s shoulders and drew her to the door.

‘I’m all right now, I am,’ said Molly. Looking over her shoulder, she apologised to Mrs Hardy, who was standing open-mouthed. ‘I’m sorry, I was so tired, I just forgot –’

‘Howay now,’ said Ann.

Next door Jim Pendle had finished his meal and was sitting by the fire in the act of lighting a cigarette. He paused, the piece of paper which he had torn from the edge of his newspaper and lit from the fire still black and smoking in his hand. He raised his eyebrows at his wife.

‘What’s this? Young Molly Mason?’

‘Mam!’ Joan snapped. ‘What’s
she
doing here?’

‘Aw, shut up, will you, the pair of you,’ said Ann. ‘Can’t you see the lass is at the end of her tether? I’m just going to give her a bite to eat, that’s all.’

‘You know she got the sack again the day? I told you, didn’t I?’

‘Aye, you did. Strikes me you took a delight in telling me an’ all,’ said Ann.

She took a clean plate from the press and spooned on vegetables from the pans still standing on the fender then scraped the last of the meat pudding on too. ‘Come on, love,’ she said to Molly, ‘get that down you.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Pendle,’ said Molly, blushing bright red as she caught the venomous look which Joan was giving her. ‘Really, I’m not hungry.’ But the smell was wonderful. Her stomach rumbled as if in direct contradiction of her words.

‘Don’t be daft, pet,’ said Ann. She took her own out of the oven and picked up her knife and fork. ‘Come on, tuck in.’

Molly sat at the table and began to eat. The meat was tasty and tender, the suet crust delicious. Though she hadn’t felt hungry before, she now realised she was. After all, she had had practically nothing to eat all day. She cleared her plate, wiping the last piece of pudding around it to mop up the gravy.

‘Eat the plate, why don’t you?’ said Joan. Molly looked up, startled, to see the other girl glaring at her with open animosity. Molly blushed yet again and put down her knife and fork.

‘Thank you, Mrs Pendle,’ she said quietly, ‘I enjoyed that.’

‘That’s all right, pet,’ said Ann. ‘I’ll make a nice cup of tea now. Then we can sit on the settee and have a long talk about what you’ve been doing all this while.’

‘Huh, we know what she’s been doing! Probably spent
the
day thieving, gaolbird that she is,’ Joan commented.

‘That’s enough of that,’ Ann said sharply. ‘Leave the lass alone. Do you not think she’s had enough to put up with?’

‘Leave her alone after what she did?’ Joan demanded, her voice rising so that Jim Pendle, who had been buried in his newspaper and appeared to be taking no notice of the women, suddenly flung it down and jumped to his feet.

‘If there’s to be no peace in this house, I’m off out!’ he roared. Striding to the door, he took his coat from the hook and pulled it on. ‘I’m away down the club,’ he snapped over his shoulder.

‘There now, look what you’ve done,’ said Ann. ‘If he comes in with a skinful I’ll never get him up for fore shift then me wages’ll be short again. I don’t know, our Joan –’

‘Oh, aye, it’s all my fault, it always is,’ she said while Molly sat embarrassed, studying her empty plate. ‘I suppose you’ll want the gaolbird to stay an’ all, share my room? Why don’t you give her my bed an’ be done with it?’

Molly got to her feet. ‘No, I can’t stay. I have to go now. Thank you very much for having me, Mrs Pendle.’ She moved towards the door. ‘And for the supper, it was really good. Me mam always said you made the best meat puddings and she was right.’

‘You don’t have to go, Molly,’ said Ann, but she
glanced
at Joan as she said it and Molly, intercepting the glance, thought she saw a touch of relief in it.

‘Yes, I must. I only came to Eden Hope to … to see Jackson’s mother.’ It was said on the spur of the moment but, as Molly said goodbye again and walked down the yard and out on to the street, she realised that that was what she was going to do. Oh, not to stay, she wouldn’t impose on Mrs Morley for the world, but just to look in, enquire after Mr Morley. Now she had eaten she felt better. She could visit Jackson’s parents and not be too ashamed, for hadn’t he and Harry been home and spoken for her?

‘Eeh, lass, I’m that glad to see you! Father! Father! Will you look who’s here!’ Maggie called through to Frank.

It was heartening to stand at the door of the Morleys’ house and be ushered in by Jackson’s mother, her face wreathed in smiles. Molly allowed herself to be divested of her coat, to sit in a chair by the fire. It was such a luxurious novelty to be made a fuss of, to accept a cup of tea from the pot which stood on the hearth. It was black, strong, and laced with sweet condensed milk. So reminiscent of the tea her mother used to make that Molly almost broke down. She watched as Mr Morley was wheeled through to the kitchen in one of those long carriages she remembered seeing occasionally in her childhood, the ones which carried men who had had their backs broken in pit accidents, and her heart went out to the couple. But Mr Morley was smiling broadly, alert and happy to see her.

‘You’ve just missed our Jackson and Harry, they’ve been on leave. Eeh, what a shame! Just by a day or two,’ Maggie said, full of regret for what might have been.

‘I saw Jackson, Mrs Morley, this –’ Molly broke off. She couldn’t tell his mother of the circumstances in which she had last seen him. It would worry her to death to think that he had been carted off by the military police because he had overstayed his leave. ‘I saw him just before he went back,’ she said instead.

‘Did you? In Bishop? An’ did you not see Harry?’

‘No, he was already on the train, but I had a quick word with Jackson.’ Molly looked down at the cup in her hand. She moved it slightly on the saucer, embarrassed that she’d had to lie, and not very convincingly either. It was her fault Jackson was in trouble, she thought guiltily, and she couldn’t tell his mother that.

‘Aye, well, that would relieve their minds any road.’ Mrs Morley looked puzzled for a minute though she didn’t question the tale.

‘Now then, lass, we’ve heard all about your trouble,’ said Mr Morley. ‘You got yourself into a right pickle, didn’t you?’

Molly’s eyes prickled. He sounded so kindly, so concerned for her. ‘I didn’t do it, you know. I didn’t rob that man.’

‘No, we never thought you did,’ Mrs Morley put in quickly. ‘Not for a minute. But I wish you’d come to us,
lass
. I couldn’t come looking for you, not with Frank the way he was, It must have been hell on earth for you in that prison. I’ve heard tales …’ She broke off as she saw the expression of acute distress on Molly’s face. ‘Never mind, you’re here now,’ she said. ‘I’m right glad you came an’ all. So tell us what you’re doing now?’

Molly almost lost her composure as a picture of the prison rose in her mind. She pulled herself together, back from the horror. ‘I’ve got a job at the munitions factory. I start Monday.’

‘Well, that’s all right then, if you’re working,’ said Frank. Like a lot of pit folk after such a long depression he thought that to be working at least was halfway to paradise.

‘Where are you staying?’ Maggie asked. ‘In Bishop, is it?’

‘I was. Down by the Wear. But my room was flooded when it rained last night, and I can’t go back there.’

‘You mean, you haven’t got a place?’ Maggie glanced at her husband and he nodded slightly. ‘Well then, you’ll have to stay here. No, don’t say a word, I insist. You can have our Jackson’s room.’