Most evenings, once they were free, they went out. The trip invariably took in the pub, beers quickly drunk down so that they could go out into the country lanes and be alone. Sometimes they bought an extra bottle to take away with them and spent the evening in a laughing, kissing haze. Though they held back from it, Molly knew that both of them could easily tilt over into drinking too much, that Tony was like her in that way.
One evening they had sneaked over the gate into a pasture and hidden themselves near the hedge, lying on Tony’s jacket. The sun was going down fast and midges hung in a fidgeting cloud above their heads.
‘We could go down to the sea one day,’ Molly said muzzily. She felt warm, half-drunk and contented.
Tony, resting back on one elbow, tilted his head back, swigging from a bottle. He swallowed, then said, ‘Can you swim?’
‘No – course not. Why – can you?’ She sat up, excited. ‘You could teach me! Some of the beaches are open round here – little coves . . .’
‘No – I can’t either.’ He turned to look at her, and in their tipsy state this seemed so funny that they lay together cackling with laughter.
‘We’re ’opeless,’ Molly laughed. ‘We can’t do anything, neither of us!’
‘You can cook porridge – well, after a fashion!’
‘Huh – you cheeky so-and-so!’ She tickled him, giggling. ‘And you can fire an ack-ack gun, Mr God Almighty, Royal Artillery!’
‘That’s me.’ He pulled her closer. ‘Give us a kiss.’
They lay twined together. It had been the same every night for a while now, each time longing for each other more and more.
‘Tell you what else I wish I could do,’ he said. ‘And no mucking about.’
The laughter left Molly’s face. She knew he was serious, and she knew she wanted him too, not like the others she had always pushed off once they’d got excited. But she was afraid all the same.
‘Have you ever . . . ?’ She could see he found it difficult to ask.
‘No.’ She looked down, shame washing through her in a blush she hoped he wouldn’t notice in the half light. She hadn’t, had she? She had never given herself fully to a man – course she hadn’t! Even her grandfather’s fumblings, messing with her, groping at himself, had never involved the full thing, not as she understood it. But she didn’t feel like a virgin. She felt used, soiled.
‘Have you?’ She raised her eyes to him.
‘Nah. Not – you know, all the way . . . Too risky. And Catholic girls – well, they won’t, least, not the ones round our way.’
For a moment they heard voices in the lane the other side of the hedge – another couple, chatting and laughing – and they both froze. But the couple passed.
‘Phew!’ Molly said.
‘I love you, Moll.’ He pulled her close to him, his eyes imploring. ‘And I’ll be gone soon. I want you, girl.’
‘I know,’ she said. It was all easier when she’d been drinking, she knew – it always had been. And she knew her eyes had said yes.
The sky was already sunset pink when they set off that evening. Molly slipped out of the cookhouse, leaving the washing-up fatigues to finish off. She and Tony stopped to pick up bottles of beer, which they started on as they set off into the fields.
‘Well, I’m glamorous as ever,’ Molly observed, looking ruefully down at her ATS uniform and flat shoes. She was very nervous, her palms sweating, and hoped Tony couldn’t tell.
He squeezed her round the waist. ‘Stuff the clothes. You’re gorgeous, girl.’
Molly giggled. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Up here – shhh.’ A bit further along the country road he swung her up a lane. ‘Up the end here there’s a place . . . Look – quick – run!’
He snatched at her hand and they were tearing along the rutted track, Molly gasping with laughter.
‘Stop, you mad sod, stop, I’m gunna trip up! Tony – where’re we going – slow down!’
‘Shhh, you noisy great thing – you’ll have all the farmers on our tails!’
They came to a low building of blackened corrugated iron.
‘Is it a barn?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘More of a feed store for the cows. It should be all right.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘I don’t – I’m hoping for the best. Come on – there’s not much hay in here but we’ll be all right if we go right to the back.’
The store was open along one side and there were some bales stacked just inside. Tony disappeared behind them.
‘Where are yer?’ Giggles were still fizzing out of her. ‘It’s
dark.’
‘Here – come on—’ He popped his head out and held out his hand to lead her in. ‘And I’ve got a torch – it’s not really dark – not yet, anyhow.’
Molly stepped inside, smelling the sweet, musty hay. The giggles subsided. She shivered suddenly.
Tony busied himself lifting bales, making a nest at the back. Then he picked up one of the bottles and swigged. He offered it to her and she took it, gratefully, drinking down as much as she could. The time had come – she had promised him, sort of – and she felt cold and closed. Now her eyes had got used to it, it wasn’t yet dark. Everything was black and grey, like an engraving. She could see him watching her. He took the bottle from her and set it down, then put his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.
‘Molly Fox, I love you and I want to be with you – for always. Will you be my wife?’
‘What?’ Molly was so startled she set off giggling again, and immediately regretted it because Tony was completely serious. ‘You mean . . . get married?’
‘Course that’s what I mean. Make it proper. Will you?’
‘Well . . . yes! Course I will – yes!’ She jumped with excitement. ‘D’you mean it? I love yer, Tony, I truly do. I want to be your wife. And I’ll be a Catholic if you want.’
‘God, yes – I should’ve said. You’d have to. I mean, my mum . . . We’ll have to see a priest – that’d be the best thing.’ He closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss her. ‘It doesn’t matter to me – I just want you.’
‘Oh Tony – my Tony!’ She was so happy that tears began to run down her cheeks. ‘All I want is to be with you. I’ve never had anyone want me before!’
Startled, he drew back and looked at her eager face, moved. ‘Oh girl,’ he said tenderly. ‘That can’t be true – it can’t. But
I
want you.’
Gently he unfastened her jacket, fumbling with the buttons. She watched his furrowed eyebrows as he tried to see in the dusk, loving the way he looked when he was serous like that. It made her feel very tender in return.
‘We’ll make a bed with our clothes,’ he said. Soon the hay was a patchwork of garments. When he undressed she was afraid of the sight of him, his thin white body, taut and aroused, his maleness. A moment of panic filled her. How could she do this? It was all so strange, yet so horribly familiar.
Just keep calm,
she told herself.
This is Tony, your Tony. He loves you – he doesn’t want to harm you.
‘My God, look at you—’ He ran his hands down her arms, over her generous hips, gently touched her breasts. ‘You’re magnificent . . .’
Hysterical giggles rose in her again but she pushed them down. She couldn’t seem to look at him, or speak, although she wanted to say something loving to him.
‘Don’t be scared.’ He seemed moved by the timid thing she had become. He held her close, hands gently moving down her back, stroking her buttocks. Molly closed her eyes, her head pressed against his shoulder. Moving her fingers up and down she explored the long, warm dip of his spine, the taut muscles on either side of it. The skin of his lower back felt marked with ridges. She frowned, tracing them with her fingertips. Tony’s breathing was fast and excited. He kissed her hair, nuzzled for her lips. Sensations poured in, overwhelming her: the tense hardness of his body, his smell, sweat and salt, his man’s thing pressed insistently against her stomach, the realization that he, too, was trembling.
‘Come and lie down,’ he said, his breathing short. Molly obeyed, lying back on the scratchy khaki clothes, and he, a lithe shadow, came down beside her. He caught her ribs with his elbow.
‘Sorry . . . Oh girl—’ She felt his tongue brush her left nipple. A mixture of desire and panic surged through her.
Stop,
she wanted to cry.
Please – just wait. Slow down!
She longed to love him, to give him everything, but as soon as he began touching her she knew it had all gone wrong. Already he was immersed in his need, could not hold back, but she froze and could not lose herself in it. Every touch brought back that poking, black-fingernailed touch from before. She could even smell William Rathbone, the unwashed mix of sweat, of urine-soiled clothes, her foul grandfather –
father!
She could not stay here, not in her head, being touched like that, like
he
touched her, even though Tony explored her gently and with love.
No one should touch you there . . .
She could not tolerate it. It was as if in her head she had disappeared somewhere else entirely.
‘You all right, darlin’?’ he asked, gasping. He was aware of her withdrawal, but was too excited to make sense of it. He gave a moan, moving over her. ‘Oh God, just let me, will you? You’re too much for me . . . Lift your legs . . .’
She held him as he lost himself urgently inside her, reaching his release in seconds with a strained cry. All she could think was what a strange business, and how detached she was, not being able to feel any emotion, or enter into it. She didn’t hold it against him. His own pleasure pleased her, the sight of his urgent frame moving over her, his sinking into her arms afterwards.
He nuzzled her neck as he came to, his warm breath on her skin.
‘Oh Molly – my Molly.’ He raised himself on one elbow, and was looking down at her. Her face was hidden in shadow, and she was glad. ‘You’re a marvel . . .’ He hesitated. ‘But you . . . ? Was it . . . ?’ He stopped, looking puzzled.
‘It was lovely,’ she reassured him, stroking his back. It wasn’t his fault, that much she knew. ‘First time and everything. I love you – you were lovely.’
When he had withdrawn from her he reached round, looking for the bottles.
‘Damn – dunno where I’ve put them. I’ll get the torch.’ There was a cone of light for a moment. ‘Ah – down here.’
Switching the torch off, he passed her a bottle and Molly drank, then they lay cuddled up in the hay, the last light of day dwindling outside. Tony gave a contented sigh, and Molly was happy now. This warm cuddling and closeness was what she needed. She lay with her head on his chest, her hand stroking his belly, with its thin line of hairs.
‘That’s the only soft bit of you,’ she said.
She felt laughter ripple through him. ‘I should hope so.’
‘When it’s all over . . .’ he began a moment later. So many conversations these days began like that, with dreams of the future, of a normal life.
‘What if we don’t win?’ she interrupted. ‘What if the country’s full of Germans?’
‘Maybe they’ll still need fishermen. Anyway, Churchill won’t let us lose, that’s what my mum says. She think’s Churchill’s up there with St Anthony and the Holy Family.’
‘We don’t seem to be winning much at the moment,’ Molly said. It was always bad news, warships being sunk like the
Hood
and the
Bismarck,
losing Crete and Tobruk.
‘But we’ll still be together, won’t we? Man and wife. We’ll rent us a house down here, and I’ll go fishing, and we’ll have . . . how many kids, eh?’
‘Four,’ Molly said firmly, thinking of Em’s family. When things were good in the Brown household, it was where Molly wished she had grown up. Then a terrifying thought forced her up. ‘You don’t think I could have a babby now – after what we . . . ?’
‘Nah – shouldn’t think so. Takes a while, doesn’t it?’
‘I s’pose . . .’ She had no idea, but lay down, choosing to be comforted. Of course she wasn’t going to have a baby.
They lay talking for a time, about the Blitz, how it had been for each of their families.
‘I still worry about them,’ Tony said. ‘London still gets it off and on. It was bloody terrible, the worst of it. One of those incendiaries came through our roof one night – thank God Mum had got a sand bucket ready. And at least we’ve got a cellar, not like some, all in public shelters and down the Underground. The pits. We could just be family even if it was cramped. Feels very quiet out here in the wilds, doesn’t it, another world? As if it’s not really happening. Where did your family go?’
‘They never bother. Dad can’t walk, see.’ ‘Dad’ – what else could she call Joe?
‘What – they just chanced it?’
‘Yeah. Think so.’ She didn’t want to talk about them. ‘And they weren’t the only ones . . .’ Instead, she told him about Mr and Mrs Button, how kind they had been to her, what had happened, until she was sobbing.
‘She was like a mom to me – she kept an eye on me. My mother’s cruel, she’s no good. But Mrs Button took me in and looked after me.’
Tony held her tightly, stroking her. ‘Blimey.’ She could tell he was shocked, moved. He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll look after you, babe. Promise.’
‘I know you will.’ She kissed his chest, then shivered. Her head was beginning to ache. She wiped her face on her tunic, which she had discarded nearby. ‘It’s getting cold. I s’pose we’ll have to go.’