Soldier Girl (6 page)

Bert’s foul breath reached her nostrils, his snarling face close to hers.

‘What d’yer think you’re up to, sis?’

‘Get off me, you vile little bastard!’ Full of rage she tried to shove him off her, but though he was only an inch taller than her, he was full of wiry strength.

‘I don’t like this – you going off, without a by your leave . . .’ He gave a nasty grin and she had a grim view of his yellow teeth. ‘
I
like to say what happens around at our place. After all – I’m the only real man of the house.’

‘You’re too late,’ Molly said, grappling with him as he shoved her harder and harder against the slimy bricks. ‘Just cowing well get off me – you’re wrecking my coat. I’m going, and that’s that. You can’t bully me. You’re a waster, Bert. You’re just a lowlife . . .’ She trailed off, unable to command words strong enough to express her disgust.

‘Shut it, little sis.’ His hand shot under her coat and grasped her right breast, squeezing it hard, and he pressed himself against her. To her horror she realized he was dangerously aroused. ‘How about it, for old times’ sake, eh Moll?’ he wheedled. ‘You gunna let me have it this time – let me ’ave yer proper like, before yer go?’

His greasy hair was close to her face, his shiny, pitted skin, his body lunging at her.

‘I said,
get off me.’
She pointed her finger and jabbed it as hard as she could into his left eye, and he backed off from her shrieking with pain. ‘You bitch . . . you bloody bitch.’

‘Get lost, Bert . . .’

She picked up her case and tore away from him, trying to straighten her hat with her free hand. Passers-by stared curiously as she ran along the road, until, looking back, she was sure that he was not following. Shaken, she slowed and walked with more composure to her stop, her breathing slowing gradually. But it was as if she could smell him on her, had his foulness in her nostrils. How long would it take to fade? How long before she could wash away from her the stench and stain of the whole lot of them?

The burning excitement that had filled her ever since she had made her decision to join up, that had bubbled in her all through Christmas, had been seeping away all morning. It was the first time in her life that Molly had travelled more than a couple of miles away from her home streets, and now she was leaving all of Birmingham behind. For the first time she asked herself what the hell she was playing at. It was a day heavy with cloud and the promise of more snow as the train wound its way between the coal-blackened walls of factories and ranks of chimneys, offering brief glimpses of black canals with boats moving along them and slices of snow-covered parkland between the rows of cramped suburban houses with washing strung across their yards. Everything was in black and white. Then the buildings gave out and they were flanked each side by fields and hedges.

Sitting in a corner of the compartment, Molly kept her head turned to the window, listening to all the chatter around her. There were the two posh girls who had boarded with her, and opposite Molly, a middle-aged couple in black, who hunched close to each other with bereft expressions, talking in very quiet voices. They seemed to have a veil of grief around them, and everyone left them alone. At the first stop, a whoosh of cold air let some passengers off and a band of servicemen got on, three of them squeezing into the compartment. Molly, still facing the window, felt one of them sit down by her. Within moments, the three of them were in conversation with the two posh girls. After a while she heard one of the girls, she couldn’t tell which, say, ‘Yes, we’ve done our bit and joined up as well. We’re off to our basic training somewhere in darkest Northampton!’

Molly shrank inside, all her optimism and certainty ebbing away. What on earth was she doing here, little Molly Fox, the one no one ever wanted to play with, among these posh, alien people? With every glance at the two girls, especially the one adorned with lipstick and fox furs, chatting peppily to the soldiers, Molly became acutely aware of the threadbare shabbiness of her brown and white coat, which had looked so promising in the rag market but now seemed hopelessly worn and dowdy. She feared there were green stains on the back, after Bert pushed her up against the wall like that. Her shoes were drab and scuffed. But she did have a hat she was proud of, even though that had also been a bargain from the rag market. It was a pertly shaped little number in chocolate brown with an upturned brim and a crimson band round it, into which was tucked a jaunty feather. She knew how to wear it at an angle on her wavy blonde hair and she knew it looked good, whatever the state of her shoes. But she did feel rough and ignorant set against these other girls, even though neither of them was what you’d call a looker, not by any means. The fox-fur girl had a narrow, shrewish face. But they were well-heeled and confident. It was frightening to discover that they were heading for the same place as she was.

She decided to try and avoid all conversation and pretended to go to sleep. But the lad beside her was not to be put off. She sensed that he kept turning and looking curiously at her. Men always looked at her. Her striking appearance – tall, with a full figure and thick golden hair – brought her endless male attention. And she was used to responding. When she had reached a certain age, fifteen or sixteen, she had begun to discover that she was alluring to men. She had been tall for her age then, had a pretty face, and was past the worst of her physical problems. And her hair, so abundant and blonde, always drew stares. Suddenly, everywhere she went, blokes appeared at her side and chatted her up. It was a heady experience, confusing; she didn’t know how to behave, but it was a revelation. For the first time in her life she knew she had power! And she liked to play with it.

‘Where’re you off to then?’ the young man asked, when she risked opening her eyes for a few seconds.

She couldn’t resist turning to glance at him. All right, she couldn’t compete with those other girls, but she had something they didn’t. And he seemed to be of her class. In a loud, arch voice she said, ‘The army – joined up, ain’t I?’

The lad grinned. He was definitely more like her, she could tell by his face, his slicked-back hair. ‘You an’ all, eh? ’Ere, girls’ – he turned to the others – ‘ ’ere’s another one going where you’re going.’

‘Oh –
really?’
Lipstick lips leaned forward enthusiastically. ‘You’re ATS, are you?’

Molly nodded. She felt insecure and prickly in the face of these foreign, superior creatures.

‘Well how marvellous. Are you from Birmingham? That’s where we’ve travelled from.’

Does she think I’m blind?
Molly thought.
I saw them get on the train.
‘Yeah – I’m from Brum, can’t yer tell?’ She laughed loudly and the lad joined in. ‘What’s yer name, soldier boy?’ she asked. She wanted to shut the other girls out of the conversation, because she felt so uncomfortable with them.

‘Billy – yours?’

‘I’m Molly.’

‘Nice to meet you, Molly,’ Lipstick Lips said. Molly gave her a look which said, I wasn’t talking to
you.
‘My name’s Marguerite Dunne, and this is Ruth Chambers.’

‘Oh,’ Molly said. She knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t think what else to say. Ruth, the other woman, was dressed more drably in an old camel coat, her black hair in a plait which snaked out from under her hat. She looked across haughtily and didn’t smile. Molly turned back to Billy.

‘So – how long’ve you been a soldier, Billy boy?’

‘Only a few months,’ he said. She could see it working already, feel herself reeling him in, by the way she looked at him, talked to him all intimately. God, it never took much.

The other two girls soon gave up and fell into conversation with the two lads closer to them. Molly spent the rest of the journey talking and flirting with Billy, who was a sweet-natured lad whose family lived in Winson Green. He seemed flattered by Molly’s attention. She laughed loudly at his jokes and told him stories about the factories she’d worked in. Every so often, when she was loud, she saw the other girls glance at her as they might at some strange animal in a zoo and it made her want to laugh even louder. Billy, however, although looking a bit uncertain at first, as if he wasn’t used to girls telling saucy stories, was soon laughing raucously along with her.

‘Any chance of keeping the noise down a bit?’ one of the other lads asked, not unkindly, but Molly was immediately riled.

‘Sorry, Yer Honour,’ she said with all the sarcasm she could muster, and she and Billy giggled again. ‘Christ—’ She leaned closer to him and brushed his thigh with her hand. ‘I wish we had a drop of summat worth drinking in ’ere – and the place to ourselves.’ She looked up at him through her lashes.

‘’Fraid I haven’t got anything,’ he said, blushing. ‘But we’ll be there soon. Fancy meeting up sometime, Molly?’

‘Oh – I expect so,’ she said, withdrawing again. Better not seem too keen. That was when they’d lose interest. ‘We’ll ’ave to see, won’t we?’

The train slowed, as if running out of breath, and finally shuddered to a halt in the station.

‘Northampton!’ Voices took up the cry along the carriages.

The posh one, Marguerite, opened the compartment door, letting in a rush of cold air and flakes of snow. She poked her head out, then turned to inform the rest of them, ‘Yes, it
is
Northampton, apparently – we’re here!’

‘I say – finally!’ said Ruth in her odd, tight voice. She had unfortunate protruding teeth and a rather old-fashioned way with her.

‘Could be anywhere really, couldn’t we?’ Marguerite said, yanking on her large case. ‘Oh drat! I knew I shouldn’t have brought this hulking great thing!’

All the signs had been taken down to flummox the enemy in the event of invasion, so Molly was grateful for all the shouting. There was a surge of movement all round her. The noisy group of servicemen who had been squatting in the corridor were now all hoiking kitbags on to their shoulders, and most of the other passengers in the compartment also got up, reached for cases and bags on the luggage rack, hauled packages out from between their legs and generally made plain their intention to get off.

Amid the hubbub of disembarkation, Molly called out loudly to Billy, feeling she somehow had to stay connected to him. ‘Don’t forget to come and see me, will yer Billy, there’s a darlin’!’ She gave him a wink.

As he called a cheerful reply, she saw Ruth and Marguerite roll their eyes at each other.

‘Stupid bitches,’ Molly murmured, and leaned down to pick up her case. She could see what they thought of her. She was already cast in the role of rough, mouthy Brummie, and the worst of it was, it was mostly her own fault.

She followed the throng of travellers from the platform out to the front of the station, which was a scene of great busyness. Small flakes of snow were falling slowly and there was plenty on the ground and rooftops. The crowd consisted mainly of servicemen and a number of young civilian women on their way to the training camp, and there were army vehicles coming and going. The women were ushered towards two army trucks, parked one behind the other, with open backs. There was no sign of any seats inside.

She longed to see a familiar face. If only Em was here and they’d joined up together! In the crowd she saw Marguerite and Ruth again, Marguerite nattering away, though Ruth looked cold and intimidated. The commanding voices of some of the other young women around her made her shrivel inside. They were going to the camp as well! Would they all be like that? How on earth was she, Molly, ever going to fit in? She cursed herself for being so loud and offish on the journey. What the hell must they have thought of her? Still, she rallied haughtily, holding her head up and looking round as if she had all the confidence in the world, what the hell did she care? It was her the blokes would go for, not some of those odd-looking toffs!

Holding her brown case, comforted by the soft feel of its handle, she took her place amid the group of young women. Some of the girls were chatting in animated voices, while others were silent and nervous. Molly felt small and very frightened, and at that moment she wished from the bottom of her heart that she could get on a return train and head straight home again

They worked up quite a fug in the truck, all crowded in together, clinging to the sides and to each other as the vehicle swerved round corners, making their insides lurch as well.

‘I say,’ a voice remarked, to scattered laughter, ‘who-ever’s driving must be keen to get back in time for lunch!’

Molly recognized the voice. She could see Lipstick Lips beside the more frumpy girl, Ruth, and although they were packed in quite close to Molly, neither of them turned to her or acknowledged her existence. The chatter was among the more confident ones. None of the girls close to Molly said much, all seeming shy and muted by cold and queasiness, and Molly stood silently, her feet so frozen she couldn’t feel them.

It was not too long, though, before they piled out, to find themselves facing a bleak, snow-covered open space at the edge of the town, fenced off and laid out with rows of wooden huts. Between these, men and women in khaki uniform were hurrying purposefully, some saluting as they went. The wind was bitter, and the new recruits stood huddled and uncertain with their cases at their feet. Molly felt her nose beginning to run and reached into a pocket for her one, stained handkerchief.