Molly's War (30 page)

Then, when she had had the good news, she had told Joan Pendle to tell Molly and to give her the letter Jackson had sent. Well, Joan saw her at work, didn’t she? Surely the girl would have done it? She wasn’t as spiteful as all that, was she?

If in the back of her mind Maggie had wondered why Molly hadn’t come straight back to Eden Hope to wait for Jackson, she hadn’t had time to do much about it, she had been so busy turning the house out, getting ready for his return. She’d even saved the precious fat and meat rations so that she could make him a real old-fashioned steak and kidney pie. And now he wasn’t eating it. It lay ignored on the table while he went on about Molly Mason. Maggie felt a niggle of jealousy. It was enough to make a saint swear, it really was.

Jackson had picked up his letters to Molly, two of them, both unopened. ‘If I had her address, I’d go through. But I only have a few days, I have to report to the hospital on Monday.’

Maggie felt a pang of disappointment and dismay. Monday! And it was already Thursday evening. And if he was going to spend the little time he had chasing after the lass, what time did that leave for his mother and father?

‘You’re not going to rush off straight away, lad, surely not?’ she protested.

‘No, of course I’m not,’ he said quickly, noticing the hurt expression his mother wore. ‘But I’ll have to try tomorrow. I’ll go to the factory, I think. After all, the weekend is coming up and she won’t be there then.’

He couldn’t understand why Molly had gone off without even leaving her address. Of course, she hadn’t known he had survived and got back from France. But still, Harry might have been coming home on leave and she wouldn’t
have
wanted to miss him. Though perhaps she had written to her brother? Goodness knows, he thought unhappily. Harry was off somewhere on a ‘hush-hush’ operation he had been told, when his friend didn’t come back to see him at the hospital. There was no way he could get in touch with Harry just at the present. Poor Molly, she must think that she had no one at all. What good were he and Harry to her, always away at war?

‘Howay, lad, eat up the pie. Your mother made it especially for you,’ said Frank. He wheeled his chair up to the table next to his son. ‘Don’t blame her, lad,’ he said in a soft undertone. ‘She was at her wit’s end about you, she was.’

Jackson smiled at him, tried to throw off his melancholy mood. ‘No, Dad, I’m not blaming her,’ he replied and looked across at his mother. He smiled at her and suddenly his face lit up, eyes crinkling at the corners, twinkling at her. And Maggie saw she had her lad back again and felt again the joy she had known when the news of his miraculous return from the dead reached her.

‘Aye, lad, tuck in now,’ was all she said, however. ‘There’s the best part of a week’s ration of meat in that lot.’

Of course, Jackson couldn’t get into the factory when he went in search of Molly. He couldn’t get past the gate.

‘But I want to see the manager,’ he protested to the guard. ‘I only have a couple of days before I have to go back to my unit. I must get in.’

‘Not without a pass you don’t,’ the guard said stolidly.

‘Well, ring the manager and ask him to come down here, will you?’

‘No, I can’t do that, not if it isn’t urgent,’ the guard replied.

‘But it
is
urgent! I told you it was.’

‘You told me nothing, Sergeant,’ said the guard.

‘It’s my girl, she’s in there … she thinks I’m dead.’

‘If I did it for you, I’d have to do it for every soldier as comes looking for his lass, wouldn’t I? Write a note and I’ll give it to her when she comes out.’

‘But it’s only eleven o’clock in the morning. She won’t be coming out until the end of the day, will she?’

‘No, likely not,’ the guard conceded. ‘But you don’t expect her to come out when she’s supposed to be working, do you? The work here’s important, like. There’s a war on, you know.’

‘Aye, I do,’ said Jackson in exasperation. ‘I’m a soldier or haven’t you noticed?’

The guard bristled. ‘I see you’re wearing a uniform, but then any fifth columnist could get hold of a uniform, couldn’t he?’

Jackson controlled his rising temper and dug into the breast pocket of his battledress for his identity card. ‘There! Now will you get her?’

The guard took his time about examining the card then handed it back. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Well, all right, you’re a soldier on sick leave. Wounded in France, were
you
? Whereabouts?’ The guard saw Jackson’s look of exasperation and his voice hardened again. ‘But like I said, I still can’t bring her from her work. What’s the lass’s name, any road? I’ll see where she’s working and try to get a message to her. I can do no more.’

‘Well, thank God for that,’ breathed Jackson, who was getting to the stage where he was ready to punch the man in the nose. And that, he well knew, would get him nowhere.

‘Molly Mason.’

The guard went back into his cubbyhole and began sifting through lists. He came back out, shaking his head. ‘She’s not here the day,’ he said. ‘Not any Molly Mason on this list. Mind, she might be on night shift.’

Jackson groaned. He hadn’t thought of that. There was more time wasted until the night shift came on. After leaving a note for the guard to hand over to Molly, he walked back to the station and caught a train back to Bishop Auckland.

He was back at the factory gates when the night shift was going in. There was no sign of Molly though he was sure he hadn’t missed anyone. He saw Joan Pendle coming along in the crowd from the station and managed to push his way through the throng to her. She turned as she heard him calling her name.

‘Jackson Morley! Well, fancy meeting you here. I heard you were back.’ She looked over his shoulder. ‘Is Harry with you?’

‘No, sorry. He’s in the paratroopers now, I don’t know where he was sent.’

Joan’s face dropped. She started to walk towards the factory gate. ‘Any road,’ she said, ‘where’ve you been? We all thought you’d been killed.’

He fell into step beside her. ‘Well, as you can see, I wasn’t. I was injured but I’m all right now. Is Molly on this shift? Did you give her Mam’s letter?’

‘How could I? She hasn’t worked here for months,’ said Joan. Jackson stopped and stared at her. The disappointment was shattering. For a minute he could think of nothing else and Joan walked on, almost disappearing into the crowd. He ran after her, caught hold of her arm.

‘She doesn’t work here?’ he asked incredulously. ‘But where’s she gone? And why didn’t you tell my mother?’

Joan shook her arm free. ‘How the heck do I know where’s she gone? She’s no friend of mine. Do you think I keep company with gaolbirds, like?’

Jackson grabbed hold of her again. ‘Don’t you speak of Molly like that,’ he growled, glaring down at her menacingly. ‘What about the letter Mam gave you? I said. What did you do with it?’

‘Aw, I can’t remember now. Do you think I’ve nowt else to do but run messages for your mother?’ But Joan’s voice was rising; she felt a tremor of fear.

‘Hey, you, leave that lass alone!’

It was the gatekeeper, a different one from the morning. Jackson looked up, realising they were right by the gate
and
the streams of workers had slowed to a trickle.

‘He’s hurting my arm,’ cried Joan, appealing to the gatekeeper over her shoulder.

‘Leave her alone, I said,’ shouted the man. He even left his post and came out the few yards to where they stood. Jackson stared at him, his lips a thin line in his angry face. He had never hit a woman in his life but he realised he had come very close to doing that. His grip reluctantly relaxed and Joan pulled herself free once again.

‘Don’t you ever touch me again!’ she shouted, retreating through the gate. ‘I’ll have the law on you, I will.’

‘Get along then, Sergeant,’ said the gatekeeper. ‘You’d best be off.’ Now the girl had gone he felt quite sorry for the young soldier. Some of these lasses got up to all sorts of devilry while their men were away fighting for their country, he knew that. He’d seen them throwing themselves at the Canadian airmen who were stationed out Darlington way.

‘You’re better off without her, lad,’ he said kindly.

Jackson stared at him a moment or two before comprehension dawned. ‘She’s not …’ he began and stopped. No point in trying to explain, he thought. In any case he hadn’t the time. He might as well catch the train back to Bishop. He turned on his heel and strode off to the station.

‘Cheerio, then,’ called the gatekeeper. ‘Watch theeself, mind.’

Jackson half-turned and waved. ‘Thanks. Cheerio.’

*

Back home in Eden Hope he sat around the house for the rest of the weekend, trying to think how he could get in touch with Molly, or at least find out what was happening to her.

‘She’ll be all right, lad. Likely she just got transferred somewhere else,’ Frank said. He watched Jackson’s pale face with the livid scar just showing under his hairline.

‘I don’t know whether the lad’s so out of sorts because he cannot find Molly or because he still feels badly,’ he confided to his wife.

She sighed. ‘Aye, well, time will tell. Eeh, we were that glad when we found out he was alive and coming home, weren’t we? I tell you, there’s always summat to worry about. At least he’s going to get a transfer to that convalescent hospital near Sunderland. We’ll be able to go and see him there, won’t we? And looking on the bright side, the war might be over before he has to go back, mightn’t it?’

Molly had been directed to a munitions factory nearer Ferryhill. It was easier for her to get home now. Her life was centred round Beth, her little daughter, and work. Because she had a child she wasn’t allowed to work where the bombs were filled or anywhere near explosives.

‘I wouldn’t anyway,’ she said. She was sitting watching Dora bathe the baby, her own hands itching to take over.
In
fact she had already offered to but Dora had shrugged it away casually.

‘You’re tired after work, I’ll do it,’ she had insisted.

Molly watched as Dora lifted the tiny, plump and perfect little figure from the water, laughing and talking baby talk to her, Beth gurgling and laughing back. Dora had been the first one to see Beth smile; she had met Molly at the door to tell her. Beth followed Dora everywhere with her eyes, her smile disappearing when Dora went out of her line of vision.

‘Let me hold her,’ Molly said suddenly. ‘I’ll dry her and get her ready for bed.’

‘No, it’s all …’ Dora stopped as she saw Molly’s stubborn expression. ‘Righto, then,’ she said, and handed the baby over with obvious reluctance. Immediately Beth started to whimper.

‘It’s all right, baby. Look, it’s your mammy,’ Molly said softly, trying hard to smile though anxiety lurked in her eyes. If only Beth wouldn’t cry, if only she would smile back at her then everything would be fine, of course it would. Beth was
her
baby, wasn’t she?

Dora had got to her feet and picked up the kettle to fill it for the tea and Beth’s bottle. But she was hovering about, watching Molly and Beth anxiously, making Molly more nervous. The baby sensed it and her whimpers turned into full-blown crying. She arched her back and yelled at the top of her lungs with rage.

‘Don’t cry, Beth. Please, please, don’t cry,’ Molly
whispered
. Dora put down the kettle and bent over Molly’s shoulder and clucked and chattered to the child. Beth wriggled more than ever, and being still wet was slippery so that Molly had to grasp her firmly. The baby was screaming loudly now, her little face red, the eyes screwed up, her fists waving in the air with frustration.

‘Go on then,’ said Molly, defeated. ‘Take her, she likes you the best.’ Dora stepped forward eagerly and held out her arms and Molly put the child into them.

‘Howay, my bairn,’ said Dora fondly, and gently patted Beth dry. The baby stopped crying immediately and leaned against her, snuffling now with just the occasional hiccup. ‘You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you?’ said Dora in a tone of voice which implied the exact opposite of what she was saying. ‘Now just wait until Auntie Dora has your clean nappy on and your nightie and then you can have your bottle, can’t you? Are you hungry, my flower? Of course you are, petal.’ Her tone changed to a normal one as she turned to Molly. ‘Put the kettle on, will you? This one will be shouting for her bottle next.’

Molly picked up the kettle and took it to the tap in the pantry. She felt like crying herself, she was so tired and frustrated and filled with resentment of Dora because the baby obviously preferred her to her own mother. It wasn’t natural, really it wasn’t. She settled the kettle on the fire and brought out the tin of National Dried Milk and sugar and began preparing it for the baby’s evening feed.

‘Put a bit more sugar in, Molly,’ Dora ordered.

‘No, I don’t think she needs extra sugar.’

‘Go on, she’s growing that fast she needs it for energy,’ said Dora. ‘If you’re thinking about the ration, I’ll do without mine.’

‘Of course I’m not thinking about the ration!’ Molly exploded, tears pricking the back of her eyes. ‘I –’

‘Shh, never mind, you’ll upset the bairn,’ said Dora.

‘Anyway, I always put a bit of extra sugar in, she’s used to it now.’

‘I should have been breast feeding her,’ said Molly fretfully. ‘It’s more natural.’

‘Well, you can’t, can you? Not when you have to go to work at all hours an’ all. No, it was much better to start bottle feeding her.’

Molly sighed and made up the bottle as the kettle boiled. She cooled it under the tap and brought it back into the kitchen.

‘I’ll feed her now.’

‘Best not disturb her,’ said Dora comfortably. ‘She’ll be asleep as soon as she’s finished her milk and then we can have ours. There’s a nice hotpot in the oven.’

Chapter Twenty-eight

‘AT LEAST IT’S
more money at the munitions factory,’ said Dora. She had a proprietorial hand on the pram as though Molly couldn’t really be trusted with pushing it, not when it held the baby. The bubble of resentment that seemed always to be present in her these days swelled a little more. Dora glanced up at her.