That was a summer not to be forgotten. As May became June and June, July there were other outings, usually with some or all of the family, occasionally – and these were the highlights of Molly’s life – alone with Harry. They went to Southend and ate cockles in the rain, took the train to Brighton where red-headed Annie got sunburned to a cinder. They often took the steamferry across the river at Woolwich and spent the day wandering the Kentish lanes, arriving home tired and famished and feeling as if their feet were worn down to their ankles. Bill and his cart took them to Epping again, though for Molly no other trip to the forest ever quite came up to that first one. Charley and Annie were with them on almost every trip. Nancy and Joe occasionally joined them, as did Jack, Edward and Sarah. It had been tacitly accepted in the family since that day in the forest that Molly and Harry were ‘walking out’, though no one – including Harry – ever put it into so many words. As for Molly, there were times when her growing infatuation for Harry almost frightened her: it was the lodestone of her life. When they quarrelled, which they did – not frequently but with sometimes quite destructive passion – her misery infected every aspect of life; when they were happy together nothing could disgruntle her; the world was a rainbow. By the middle of the summer she was going to the Bentons’ straight from work on Saturday, returning to Linsey Grove on Sunday evening. Ellen Alden’s insistence upon doors locked at ten was too much of a stricture when there were music halls and circuses to visit, parks to walk in, hung with shadows on a warm summer’s night. At last Molly’s lovely silk saw the light of day; how had she guessed that the shimmering material would be just the colour of Harry’s eyes? Sometimes their Saturday evenings would be spent at home with Sarah and Jack playing cribbage for ha’pennies and with a glass of port to enliven the proceedings; though these were evenings in which Nancy and Joe never took part, for Joe, it was apparent, strongly disapproved of such activities as unbecoming to a Christian family, and more and more Nancy was being drawn into his world: a world of good works and relentless rectitude, ruled by a strict if commendable code of behaviour that seemed to Molly to take no account at all of human failing. Nancy’s relationship with her undoubtedly worthy young man intrigued Molly but she could not for her life discover the common bond that held these two together. They hardly ever touched, never held hands, nor looked at each other as Molly considered that lovers should. That Nancy truly loved this oddly cold, sparely handsome young man was in no doubt; the efforts she made to please him spoke volumes in proof of that. Yet they never laughed, as Molly did with Harry, as Charley did with his Annie, never bought silly, affectionate gifts nor shared a private joke. And sometimes Molly thought that she caught a look in Nancy’s eyes that did not become a twenty-year-old girl in love; an odd, haunted, unhappy look which verged sometimes on desperation.
But nothing during those happy months could worry Molly for long. As the talk of war in South Africa grew more persistent she ignored it; if Owen Jenkins were particularly unpleasant she shrugged, smiled like summer sunshine and thought about something else. At Linsey Grove she sang in her room, smiled a lot, skipped through the house like a child. Ellen Alden softened a little, since she too approved of Harry Benton, though nothing would have made her admit it. Sam, his Christmas row with his cousin Lucy patched up, his cough eased by the summer sun, moved like a shadow through a life that seemed to belong to everybody but him. In a drawer in his room, buried beneath his winter pyjamas, was an ugly little statuette of a boy and a dog.
As August approached the paving stones burned through thin-soled shoes, doors and windows were opened to street and garden, the trains were uncomfortably hot.
One Saturday afternoon Harry declared his intention of allowing Molly to decide what she wanted them to do for the rest of the day. He laughed at the way her great shining eyes lit.
“Within reason, mind, lass,” he said, wagging a finger. “Visits to the palace are out My best suit’s at the cleaners.”
“Oh, Harry. Could we go to the West End? To look at the shops?” Not since her arrival in London had she been back to Regent Street. “Just to look.”
“What a smashing idea.” Annie was on her feet, reaching for her hat. “Moll, you’re a bloody genius. Why didn’t I think of that? Not—” she added, hauling lazy Charley to his feet with a wide grin, “—that I go along with this ‘just looking’ lark.”
They strolled, arm in arm, from Piccadilly to Oxford Circus and back again, Annie on top of her form, the young men delighted to have what they considered to be the two prettiest girls in the street on their arms, Molly somewhat preoccupied. Everywhere she looked she saw a forlorn figure in too-big boots and a patched and ragged skirt She had felt badly enough then; looking back now she knew in mortification how pathetic she must have appeared.
They stopped for tea and cakes in a large tea shop; and Molly was perfectly aware of the special attention Harry received from the pretty waitress, and was equally aware of his flattered reaction. She kicked him under the table, to Annie’s uncurbed amusement. They visited one of the larger departmental stores and wandered from floor to floor inspecting with a casual air goods that would have cost all their earnings collectively for a year. Charley bought Annie an emerald green scarf and Harry picked for Molly a pretty lace handkerchief to go, he said, in the pocket of her blue silk shirt.
“—you can wear it tonight, Moll,” said Annie enthusiastically.
Molly looked at her blankly. “Tonight?”
“Tonight. Me sister’s do. —Oh, Charley!” she groaned, turning on him, almost stamping her foot in exasperation, “you didn’t tell them!”
“I did!”
“You didn’t,” Molly and Harry said in one breath. “What do?” added Molly.
“It’s me sister’s birthday. Her twenty-first. She’s havin’ a party and you’re all invited. Oh, damn it, Charley, you should have remembered.” Annie’s face was colouring to match her fiery hair. “You promised you’d tell them.”
Charley looked uncomfortable. Harry grinned.
“Sure, it doesn’t matter,” said Molly soothingly. “It isn’t too late. We know now. And we’ll come, won’t we Harry?”
Harry nodded.
They were back out on the hot pavement now.
“I’ll have to go home first,” said Molly, looking down at her Saturday clothes. “I’m going to no party dressed like this. Not when I’ve my best hanging in a wardrobe in Linsey Grove.”
“Right.” Harry was brisk. “Here’s what we do. Charley, you and Annie get on home. I’ll take Moll home from here; she can get changed and we’ll come straight on to you from there. How’s that?”
“Fine.” Annie already had hold of Charley’s hand and was towing him into the crowds, “See you later, about eight.”
They reached Linsey Grove just after six; the evening sun was full on the closed door and firmly shut windows. As Molly opened the door a blast of hot air hit them. Molly stopped short. “They must be out,” she said awkwardly. “I didn’t know…”
Harry shut the door and the slanting golden sun filled the hall with prisms of coloured light; amber rose and green splashed upon the walls. “That’s no problem,” he said. “I’ll wait in the kitchen. Mrs Alden won’t mind. And if she does,” he said, grinning suddenly, “I’ll smile nicely and she’ll forgive me.”
“One of these days,” said Molly, already swinging around the stairpost and up two stairs, “you’ll rely on that once too often and get the shock of your life.” Laughing, she leaned across the banisters to kiss him lightly. He lifted a light-limned face, his swift-moving hand catching her hair and forcing her head down hard. She felt sharp teeth and tongue, tried to pull back and was held. The dazzling sunlight was liquid gold. She closed her eyes, drove her mouth from her position above him hard down onto his. His free hand lifted to her breast, his fingers moving unerringly to her nipple, strong through the thin material of her blouse, and her mouth opened helplessly to the shock. It was Harry who finally, letting go of her hair, stepped back with a jerky movement.
“You’d – best get changed,” he said in a voice nothing like his own, looking into eyes that blindly begged and took no count of hurt. The wall was at his back, the light stabbed into his head.
The girl on the stairs straightened, the wild look dying; he saw the fingers of her small hand grip firmly the smooth wood of the banisters. Then she turned without a word and ran swiftly up the stairs.
She entered a room aflame with sunshine, the hot silence of the house humming in her ears. She leaned for a moment on the door after she’d closed it behind her; head back, eyes closed, breathing deeply, she was fighting herself. She could still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers, his hand violent in her hair, on her breast. She pushed herself to her feet and marched with a semblance of anger to the wardrobe. She was appalled at her image in the mirror; her cheeks flamed; her eyes were lit as if by a lamp. She threw the blue outfit onto the bed, still fighting the unreasoning anger, flung the curtains across the window, scrambled feverishly from her clothes, and in drawers and camisole top – fashion or no she had discarded corsets during the heatwave – hurried to the washstand. The water that was left in her jug was lukewarm but nevertheless refreshing. She splashed her face and neck and reached for a towel; she did not hear the door open. As she turned, water dripping, towel in hand, Harry stood in the shadowed doorway, a strange, oddly helpless expression on his face. Sunshine fell across the carpet in a bright slash where the carelessly drawn curtains did not meet; the rest of the room was filled with warm rose darkness. She did not move as he came into the room, shut the door behind him and leant on it just as she had herself a few moments before. Neither spoke. She watched him: like a stalking cat he crossed the room, unsmiling. Her hands loose by her side, she remained where she was, perfectly still, the towel dropping to the floor. He reached for her shoulders and with some force he drew her to him and kissed her.
“Let me see you?” he said, softly. “Just let me see you. I won’t touch you, I swear.”
The warm silence rushed around them. She watched the muscle throbbing in his jaw.
“Please?” he said. But neither his eyes nor the tone of his voice pleaded. She battled him in silence, begging him to go; obdurately and just as wordlessly he refused. “I just want to see you,” he said again, the words a breath on the heavy air.
She bent her head, drawing slowly at the ribbon in the low neck of the camisole. Unlaced, it hung open; she could do no more. He pushed it aside with one long, brown, careful finger. She traced the pattern of the carpet with her eyes, unable to lift her head. With firm hands he slipped the top from her shoulders and she stood naked to the waist, her breasts painful beneath his eyes. Still she could not look at him.
“Please.” This time the pleading was there in his voice.
She stood like a doll as he slipped the drawers over her narrow hips and down to her feet, his hands never once touching her skin. He knelt back on his heels.
“Look at me.”
She would not.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her eyes; shame and fear and unbearable excitement shadowed her face.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Bloody beautiful.”
She shook her head.
His vivid eyes ran over her slowly from head to foot; she felt them as she would have felt his hands.
“I love you,” he said. The first time he had ever mentioned the word. “Christ, I really think I love you.”
He came up onto his knees as she stepped to him; his face was in her soft belly, her hands buried in his thick, feathered hair.
From the street came voices, the impatient click of the gate. Molly had never seen anyone move so fast. Harry was on his feet and noiselessly across the room almost before her own mind had registered what she had heard. He did not look back from the door. She heard his swift flight down the stairs, heard too a fraction of a second before she heard Ellen s front door key in the lock, the kitchen door click quietly shut.
By the time she heard Ellen’s and Sam’s voices, surprised, as they walked into the kitchen and found Harry there, she was almost dressed.