Dymphna had asked Molly if she would like to borrow a frock for the day, so that she didn’t have to stay in uniform. Hesitantly Molly agreed, not liking to offend her, though after the odd hand-me-downs Iris had dressed her in, she wondered what she was in for. At least her ATS uniform didn’t make her stand out as strange, and it often commanded respect. But to her surprise, Tony’s mother came to her with a very pretty pink-and-white floral dress.
‘I can’t fit into it any more,’ she said wistfully. ‘Geraldine says it’s old-fashioned, but I can’t quite bear to part with it.’
‘Oh, it’s ever so pretty!’ Molly exclaimed, fingering the soft folds of the skirt. She felt honoured to be offered such a lovely thing. ‘But I don’t know if I’ll fit into it either.’
‘I should think you will,’ Dymphna said, looking her up and down. ‘It might be a shade short on you, that’s all. But that’s more the fashion these days.’
Molly, who had never had the luxury of being able to take any notice of what the fashion was, slipped into the cotton frock in the bedroom and found that it not only fitted her, but it showed off her curving figure beautifully. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror, excited at how nice it looked. After brushing out her hair and pinning it back, she went self-consciously downstairs. Tony whistled appreciatively and Dymphna beamed with pleasure.
‘You’re a picture,’ she said softly. ‘Oh, I don’t think I ever did look as lovely as you in it!’
‘I s’pect you did,’ Molly said, overwhelmed by all this attention. She could see the pride in Tony’s eyes.
‘You can wear it to Mass tomorrow as well, dear – in fact, you can keep it. It’s no good to me any more and it’s a joy to see you in it. Oh now – you can’t go out in those great army shoes, can you? Here – you and I are much of a size. Would these fit now?’ She held out a pair of white sandals.
Molly was delighted. ‘What – you’d really lend them to me?’
‘Go on with you – you’ll look a picture.’
They were a little bit tight, but Molly wasn’t going to let that stand in her way. She thanked Dymphna, overwhelmed by her kindness.
After their lovely day in town, Molly’s feet were blistered with the heat and all the walking, but it had been worth it, to feel prettily dressed. She soaked her feet luxuriously in a bucket of cold water. Then they settled down for a cosy evening in with the family. Everyone sat round talking and drinking tea, the girls nagging Tony and Molly to play cards and hangman with them, Fred teasing them, all laughing, and someone remarking several times, as they did every evening, how strange and marvellous it was not to have air raids.
‘Those buggers can stay in Russia,’ Fred said.
‘Fred, language now!’ Dymphna said, tutting. Fred lit a cigarette and sat back, blowing smoke to the ceiling with a mischievous grin. ‘Good bloody riddance to ’em. You all right there, Molly? Another drop of tea?’
She woke the next morning, aware of Tony slipping away to his bed on the floor downstairs before his mother came down. They were to go to Mass early, keeping to the Sunday fast, and soon everyone was ready and walking out, past the rubble of bombed-out houses at the end of the road and round the corner to the parish church. The morning was hazy with cloud that would burn off later.
Molly found Dymphna beside her and realized she had come up next to her because she wanted to talk. She felt extremely smart and proud in the dress Dymphna had given her and Dymphna looked very fresh and nice in a pale blue shirtwaister. Geraldine and Josephine were ahead in their frocks and socks and Tony had fallen into conversation with his father. Molly heard them laughing. She thought for a moment of Bert, and for the first time, felt sorry for him. When had Bert ever had a decent bloke in his life who he could laugh with, a father figure to show him a decent way to be a man?
‘I’m glad you’ve come to be with us,’ Dymphna said, kindly. ‘You’ve made our Tony very happy – it’s written all over him. He hasn’t always been a happy soul. You’ve done wonders for him.’
‘Well, he’s made me very happy,’ Molly replied. ‘And . . . and all of you. I don’t really know what to say. It’s lovely – my family’s not, well, not up to much really, to tell yer the truth.’
Dymphna reached out and took Molly’s hand between both of hers, holding it gently.
‘Well, you’re welcome in ours, dear. I can see you’ve a good heart.’ There was a pause, and then she said, ‘Now, today we can have a little talk with Father Callaghan.’
‘Yes, all right,’ Molly agreed, though the thought made her a little nervous.
‘Did your family really not give you any religious instruction?’
‘No, not at all.’
Nor any other sort much either
, Molly thought bitterly. ‘But I’d like to’ – she struggled for the right words – ‘to go into being a Catholic – I mean, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course it’s all right,’ Dymphna said. ‘Bless you dear, it’s more than all right, it’s what we’d expect.’
‘I’d want to be the same as him. It seems the right thing.’ Molly was so eager to please, to be part of this family, that being a Catholic now seemed a rather glamorous thing and certainly the least she could do, especially if it meant gaining their approval.
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ Dymphna patted her hand, seeming reassured. ‘You’re a good girl. We’ll speak to Father after Mass.’
Molly sat between Tony and Josephine in the dark church with its musky smell of polish and incense, seeing the dark-suited men, the lace veils shrouding the women, including herself, as Dymphna had provided her with one. All of it was mysterious to her, the priest’s robes, the Latin, which everyone but her knew as second nature, the strange ritual going on in the far distance at the altar, with the altar boys flanking the priest, none of which she could see very much, but which seemed to move everyone.
She followed what everyone else did, as well as she could, trying to make out the way to cross herself. Now and then, Tony took her hand and squeezed it. His face was solemn throughout. Molly felt a little foolish and shut out. She had such a lot to learn! But sitting there in a row with all the Belhams, as if she was already part of the family, was satisfaction in itself.
This will be my family
, she thought, and a warm feeling filled her. This was the greatest prize of all. She dared to imagine herself in the future, married to Tony, already a Catholic, perhaps with their first baby, sitting there among them. What more could she ever want?
Afterwards, a lot of people were pleased to see Tony, and the family was evidently very well known. Molly found a lot of curious looks directed at her. Tony proudly introduced her as his fiancée and Molly basked in being welcomed and congratulated with him. One elderly lady, called Mrs O’Malley, with a very crinkly face, beckoned her close.
‘Come down here, darlin’, and give me a kiss. I’ve known this young fella since the day he was born. I was a midwife, see – in fact Tony here was one of the last babies I ever helped bring into the world before I retired from it, so he has a special place in my heart.’
Molly bent to kiss her soft skin while Tony grinned rather sheepishly.
‘Perhaps you can help us one day,’ he said cheekily.
‘Ah, go on with you – I’m well past all that now,’ she said, giving a cracked but delighted chuckle. She gripped both their hands with her cold, bony ones and asked all sorts of questions about the army and what they were doing and how they had met. Molly basked in all this attention, proud to see how much affection everyone had for Tony.
Dymphna was hovering close to them. ‘Father Callaghan will have a word with you now,’ she said, ushering them towards the priest, a small, sharp-eyed man. The matter was soon settled.
‘As your time’s so limited, perhaps you could come and see me later – let’s say four o’clock?’ he suggested. ‘We are having to do things a little differently in these unsettled times.’
Molly agreed gladly, wondering what she was supposed to see him for.
‘He’ll take you through the basics, I expect,’ Tony said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Come on now, son,’ Fred Belham said, appearing to lay his hand on Tony’s shoulder. ‘Time for a quick one.’
Tony looked apologetically at Molly. ‘I usually go with the old man for a quick one after Mass.’
‘They won’t be long,’ Dymphna said, appearing beside them. ‘Molly, you can come back with me and the girls and help with the dinner.’
Tony made a comical face. ‘Careful what you let her loose on,’ he said.
Dymphna tutted. ‘You cheeky boy – I’m sure Molly can cook very well. Now you won’t mind will you, Molly?’
‘No – it’s OK,’ Molly said. She didn’t mind at all. In fact, almost as much as being with Tony, she loved the warm, all-embracing company of his mother. The thought of being with her and cooking together was blissful.
‘They’ll not be long,’ Dymphna assured her as they turned back towards the house. ‘The pub’s only at the end of the road. We’ll go back and have a nice cup of tea and a biscuit to break our fast – we’ll not be doing it on ale, like them!’
Molly suddenly realized she was extremely hungry. She’d forgotten they hadn’t had any breakfast!
‘Everyone was delighted to meet you,’ Dymphna said, as they strolled along, the sun just beginning to ease through the clouds. ‘That lady you met, Mrs O’Malley – she brought Tony into the world – not the girls, mind, but she’s been like a grandmother to them all, so she has. She’s a marvellous lady, you know. Her husband was . . .’
An immense, crumpling explosion stopped her and they felt the vibration of it pass all through them. Everyone turned to see a thick pall of dust rise lazily into the air from the next street, from where they’d just come. There were shouts, screams, sounds of falling masonry.
‘Holy Mother . . .’ Dymphna’s hand went to her mouth, her face instantly pale. ‘That’s down . . . Oh dear God, what’s happened?’
‘Mam, Mam!’ Geraldine shouted. ‘That’s down the end of Stanley Street.’
‘Oh please God . . .’ Dymphna started to run back towards the church and they all followed. Molly, catching the acute sense of dread from Tony’s mother, tore along with her.
Whatever it was, not Tony, please God, not him
. . .
Round the corner, a terrible sight met them. Further on, past the church, the road was a mass of smoke and dust and rubble. Someone was crying hysterically and there were people rushing about in confusion.
‘What is it, what’s happened?’ Dymphna shouted at a boy who came running towards them, his eyes wide with fear.
‘Dunno – think it was a bomb, got lodged somewhere. Mrs Flynn’s house blew up . . .’ He tore on past.
All Molly could think was,
Tony, where are you, where are you?
She waited for him to appear out of the whorls of dust, the wreckage, the confusion.
And then Dymphna screamed, ‘Fred, Fred!’
A familiar burly shape, shoulders hunched, was silhouetted against the chaos, the smoke and licking flames. They reached him in seconds. For the first time Molly saw his face without a smile. His hair and moustache were grey with dust, which had caked the lines of his face. He seemed too stunned to speak.
‘Fred, oh my God, you’re all right!’ Dymphna and the girls flung themselves at him.
‘Daddy, Daddy!’ Josephine was crying.
‘Where’s Tony?’ Dymphna was shouting in his face. She shook him by the shoulders, seeing how shocked he was. ‘Where is he? You were together, remember?’
‘I dunno. He was here, right beside me . . .’ Fred held out his arm, completely bewildered.
In the distance they could hear the sound of bells, fire engines, ambulances. Through the dust and smoke, Molly caught sight of the pub a few houses up, people spilling out, talking, shouting. Now there was a jagged gap in the row of houses, its wreckage blocking the street.
‘Tony!’ She leapt into life suddenly, running closer to look. He had to be here. He’d be helping, dashing about in his usual energetic way. ‘Tony – where are you?’ she cried, then stopped. Dread, disbelief took over. All they could do was stand and stare, and wait.
Fire engines revved up, unravelling hoses, damping down the flames. Lifting crews arrived, and the neighbours pitched in and helped as the dust gradually settled. As the air cleared of smoke, everything became starkly visible. Two houses had come down, exploding out into the street, leaving the jagged arms of the supporting ones beside them, their walls covered in visible stripes of green and raspberry pink, a brass bedstead hanging as if it might topple down any moment. Everyone fell silent.
It didn’t take long. Not long enough. They brought out two bodies – Mrs Flynn, in whose attic, it seemed, the unexploded bomb had nestled unnoticed, and Tony. Though Molly recognized him instantly, achingly familiar with every tiny part of him, he looked strange to her. He was pumice-coloured, except for the blood on his face. He seemed longer, thinner. After the cries of recognition, the sobs of horror, the five of them, too numb for words, silently linked hands and stood round his crumpled body.
Molly could scarcely remember anything about those days later on. The army had to be informed, compassionate leave applied for, a funeral arranged. Somehow these things were done, somehow they lived, breathed, ate – did they? Somehow.