Goodnight Sweetheart (20 page)

‘I don’t know how I can bear it,’ Molly told him. ‘I don’t want to bear it … Oh, Dad, Dad …’

He took her in his arms, comforting her as best he could.

March was dying into April, the days turning with agonising emptiness. Molly had grown accustomed to the uncertain sideways glances of the other girls at the factory, the guilty indrawn breaths whenever they forgot and talked in her earshot about their own loves and lives. But the truth was that she could feel barely anything through the numbness of her grief. It filled every hour of her life, her days and her nights, with its cold relentless ache that somehow had become so familiar that she was now afraid to be without it.

June’s pregnancy had already begun to show, and she was spending more and more time with Sally. The two of them had more in common now than she and June did.
They
were both married, both carrying, both waiting impatiently for the war to end and their husbands to come home to them, in between talking excitedly about the long-awaited arrival of the film
Gone with the Wind
.

Sometimes Molly felt that she couldn’t bear to be anywhere near them, their futures contrasted so sharply with her own, and yet she knew that they were doing their best to comfort her and she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

She was alone in the house, June and Sally having taken advantage of the sunny Saturday morning to go shopping. They had invited Molly to join them but she had refused. Her father was down at his allotment and when the doorbell rang she tensed, hesitating before reluctantly going to answer it.

The sight of Anne standing on the front doorstep brought a fresh shadow to cloud her thoughts, although she wasn’t really surprised to see her friend, the fresh spring breeze tangling Anne’s honey-blonde curls.

‘I’ve just come from the church hall,’ Anne informed Molly, determinedly stepping into the hallway without waiting for an invitation. ‘Mrs Wesley keeps asking where you are.’

Molly made no reply, turning her face away.

‘Molly, I know how you must feel,’ Anne told her gently, closing the front door.

‘No, you don’t. How can you? Your Philip isn’t dead. He’s still alive.’

‘Oh, Molly.’ Dropping her handbag, Anne put her arms round Molly and hugged her tightly. ‘I’m so very, very sorry. It must hurt dreadfully badly. I know how much you loved Eddie, and I can imagine how I would feel if I lost Philip.
I can’t bring Eddie back for you, Molly, but please don’t shut me out. I thought you and me were friends, but when I came round to see you earlier, June told me that you didn’t want to see me.’

The tears Molly had been holding back overwhelmed her. She hadn’t wanted to see Anne because she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of Anne talking about Philip and their love, and their plans for their future together.

‘You can’t go on like this, Molly, shutting yourself away from everyone.’

‘Why not?’ Molly demanded, pushing her friend away and digging in her pocket for her handkerchief so that she could dry her tears.

‘Because when you and me joined the WVS, Molly, we made a commitment to do our bit, just like your Eddie and my Philip, that’s why not. I never took you for the kind of girl who would go and let others down, Molly, and that’s what you will be doing if you stop coming to WVS. And what about your driving? You were so proud after Christmas when Mrs Wesley said that she was going to put you forward for special emergency vehicle driving training on account of you being so good.’

‘That was before I lost Eddie.’ Molly felt a small pang of guilt. It was true that she had been thrilled by Mrs Wesley’s decision. ‘Anyway, it’s too late for that now.’

‘No, it isn’t. Mrs Wesley said to tell you that
there’s an Air Raid Precautions ambulance driver course starting the week after next and that you’re to report to the ARP headquarters on Monday night to enrol for it. She said to tell you as well that she’s spoken to Mr Harding and he’s agreed that you can have time off to go on it.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Oh, Molly, how can you say that? It’s such an honour. I wish I’d been chosen but my driving isn’t good enough. Just think how proud your Eddie would have been.’

Fresh tears prickled Molly’s eyes. She didn’t want Eddie to be proud of her. She wanted him to be here with her.

‘I’m not leaving this house until you promise me that you’ll go. I’ll come with you, if you like,’ Anne offered coaxingly.

Molly felt too tired to argue with her any longer. What was the point? ‘Very well, I’ll go,’ she gave in dully.

‘Oh, Molly.’ Anne smiled in relief, giving her another hug. ‘Just wait until I write and tell Philip. He will—’ Anne’s face went pink and she bit her lip, suddenly aware of how much it must be hurting Molly to hear her talk about Philip when Eddie was dead.

‘Why don’t we go and see a matinée, Molly? It’s only just gone dinner time, and the main film doesn’t start until two.’

‘I’d just as soon not do, thanks all the same, Anne.’ The thought of having to sit through
newsreels that could include scenes of merchant shipping putting safely into England’s ports was more than Molly could bear.

Under normal circumstances the thought of what lay ahead of her would have had her shaking in her shoes, feeling both proud and a little bit scared, Molly admitted as she stood with the other women who had been selected to train as voluntary emergency services drivers, in the yard of the ARP headquarters at the Police Training School in Mather Avenue. But Eddie’s death had left her feeling as though nothing really mattered to her any more. The only reason she was even here was because of the fuss Mr Harding had made when he had insisted on telling everyone how proud he was that one of his employees had been selected for such important work.

‘And you never said so much as a word to me,’ June had complained when they had walked home together.

‘It didn’t seem that important,’ Molly had defended herself, tempted to add that nothing could be important to her any more.

But then when they had got home, June had insisted on going round to Elsie’s and telling her all about it, and then Elsie had burst into tears and told Molly how proud she was of her and how proud Eddie would have been, and after that Molly hadn’t been able to bring herself to say she didn’t want to do the training.

So now here she was, feeling slightly sick as a very stern-looking uniformed policeman strode up and down in front of them.

Several feet away, on the other side of the yard, a row of ambulances and lorries was drawn up facing them, a driver standing beside each one.

‘We’ve been told that all of you have the makings of first-class drivers, but first-class drivers and first-class emergency drivers are two very different things,’ the fierce-looking police officer announced warningly. ‘Those of you that succeed in completing this course will be first-class emergency drivers, and your responsibility will be a heavy one. People’s lives will depend on your driving skills, and on your knowledge of this city. If a bomb drops in the street ahead of you when you’re on your way to hospital or driving one of the rescue detail lorries, then you need to know how best to divert to make sure you get there safely and speedily. Therefore part of your course will involve learning by heart the road map of the city of Liverpool. There’s no place for slackers or time-wasters on this course. Anyone missing a lesson will be dismissed. Those of you who complete the course successfully will be given official recognition as trained emergency services drivers and your names will be placed on a rota of available drivers.’

Molly could feel a tremor of uncertainty and dismay running through her, and it was obvious the other women felt the same. But oddly, instead
of leaving her daunted, for the first time since Eddie’s death she felt a small prickle of interest and an unexpected surge of determination.

Two hours later, having driven one of the ambulances under the watchful eye of its regular driver, and won his approval of her neat three-point turns, as well as having collected the city map she had to learn and listened to a lecture detailing an imaginary emergency situation, she returned home feeling both exhausted and yet more alive than she had felt since she had received the news of Eddie’s death.

‘So how did it go then?’ June asked her when she got home.

‘There’s so much to learn, June. We’ve got to know every street in Liverpool off by heart, for a start, and not just their names, but where they are, where they go and if they’re wide enough to drive down or turn round in. It’s like the inspector told us – us knowing the quickest way to the nearest hospital could mean the difference between life and death for those we’ve got in an ambulance.’

‘So it’s ambulances you’re going to be driving then, is it?’

‘Maybe, but we’ve got to practise on lorries as well because they’ll be used for transporting men and equipment to bomb sites.’

‘I’d have thought they’d be using men for dangerous work like that,’ June protested.

‘There aren’t enough men who can drive,’ Molly told her, ‘and a lot of the older ones want to do
their bit but they don’t want to learn to drive. Mrs Wesley says that she’ll be putting my name down to drive the WVS mobile canteen vans as well, when I’m not on duty for emergency services driving.’

June shook her head but didn’t say anything. She didn’t entirely approve of what Molly was doing but at least it seemed to be bringing her back to life again.

Since she was now taking the emergency services driving course, Molly couldn’t think of any plausible reason for not attending her WVS meetings, so reluctantly on Wednesday evening she put on her uniform and set off for the church hall.

Mrs Wesley acknowledged her presence with a brief nod of her head, and to Molly’s relief didn’t say anything about either her absence or Eddie’s death.

It seemed strange to be back amongst the others, as though nothing had happened. It was hard for her, though, to hear them talking about their menfolk, and as though she sensed what she was feeling, Anne deliberately drew her away from the others when they were having their tea break.

Molly saw the local ARP warden hurrying in and going up to Mrs Wesley, but she didn’t think anything of it until their organiser clapped her hands and called for their attention.

‘Ladies, I’d like volunteers, please, to go down to the docks immediately. A convoy on its way to New York has been torpedoed. Two ships were
sunk and another so badly damaged that it has had to turn back with those men who survived. Our help is needed to provide the men who don’t require hospitalising with blankets, hot drinks and whatever other assistance we can.’

‘Come on, Molly, let’s volunteer,’ Anne urged her, already putting up her own hand, but Molly shrank back and shook her head.

‘I can’t.’ Her face was white and she was trembling.

‘Yes, you can,’ Anne told her, grabbing hold of her wrist and lifting Molly’s arm before Molly could stop her.

‘You shouldn’t have done that. I can’t go down to the docks.’ Molly felt sick with shock and anger. How could her friend have been so insensitive? But Anne was ignoring her protests, tugging her with her as Mrs Wesley gathered up all the volunteers. She couldn’t make a scene and refuse to go now, Molly realised, as Mrs Wesley urged them all to hurry, and collect everything they might need.

Willing hands packed blankets into Mrs Wesley’s car whilst the ARP man assured her that a mobile kitchen would be in place by the time they reached the docks.

The dock was already busy with volunteers when Molly and Anne got off the tram. A pilot boat was nursing the dark hulk of the slow-moving merchant ship into its berth. Molly’s stomach churned sickly just looking at it, and then it churned even
more when her eyes adjusted to the darkness and she saw the gaping hole in its side.

How many men who had set out from Liverpool in the convoy would not be coming home? How many on this ship were injured and dying like her Eddie?

A shudder tore through her. She couldn’t bear being here. It was too much. She could see Eddie’s face; she could hear him crying out to her as he died.

‘I can’t do this.’

‘Molly, you’ve got to pull yourself together,’ Anne warned her fiercely.

‘That’s easy for you to say. Your Philip isn’t dead.’ The pain was unbearable. She had to escape it. Dropping the blankets she had been holding, Molly turned to flee, but Anne was suddenly standing in front of her, blocking her escape route.

‘Molly, you can’t leave now. Mrs Wesley will see you.’

‘I don’t care. I can’t bear this,’ Molly wept.

Anne grabbed hold of her and gave her a small shake. ‘Yes, you can and you will. I never thought you would turn out to be a coward, Molly Dearden, but a coward is what you will be if you leave here. What do you think your Eddie would say if he could see you now? He’d be ashamed of you, that’s what – and I’ll be ashamed of you as well. We’ve got a duty to help these poor men, Molly. I know it must be hurting you being here, but running away and feeling sorry for yourself
won’t bring your Eddie back. He’s gone and you’ve got to face up to that, and be proud that you loved him and he loved you.’

Molly had stopped struggling as she listened to her friend, and now she straightened up in Anne’s hold, her eyes brimming with tears. Somehow Anne’s words had reached past her pain, and her self-pity.

‘The men are coming off the ship now,’ Anne told her, releasing her.

Very slowly Molly turned round. Hunched, weary-looking figures moved slowly down the gangplanks, the white flashes of bandages showing up starkly against the darkness of their uniforms, the stretcher bearers coming off first. Through her tears, Molly watched as the injured were taken to the waiting ambulances.

‘Come on,’ Anne urged her, bending down to pick up the blankets they had dropped.

Mechanically, Molly followed her, joining the line of WVS volunteers as they waited to offer hot drinks and hand out blankets to those who needed them.

Any one of these men could have been her own dear Eddie, Molly reflected, as weary faces lightened with relief and gratitude.

‘Ta, duck,’ one sailor thanked Molly as she handed him a cup of tea. ‘Blew out the galley, Hitler did. All we’ve had for the last three days is cold food. Mind you, at least we was alive, unlike so many poor buggers. Didn’t stand a chance, they
didn’t. Bloody Hitler,’ the man swore, his face darkening.