Soldier Girl by Annie Murray Page A

one?’ He patted his pocket.
    ‘Ta—’ She took one and he lit it for her. The smoke felt nice, rough in her throat, part of the excitement. ‘Let’s just get away from here,’ she said. ‘Somewhere we can be alone – just you and me, Billy?’
    To her disappointment, Billy stalled. ‘We’d best not, you know. You’ll only end up spending half the night in the guard room. T’ain’t worth it. It’s only a day or two more and then you can go out anyway.’
    ‘Oh but, Billy – it’s Friday night! You chicken?’
    ‘No – it just ain’t worth it,’ he said firmly, as if to a child. ‘You’re bound to get caught – take my word for it. Come on – we can go in ’ere and have a sit down together. I’ll take you out next week.’
    ‘Promise?’ she wheedled. She wanted booze, excitement, and to show what she was made of.
    ‘Course – come on.’
    ‘Take my arm, Billy.’
    He seemed a bit surprised by this, but Molly pushed her arm through his. She wanted to make sure everyone knew she’d made a killing as they walked into the canteen – the tea-sipping types like Win and Ruth if they were in there. After all, she might not be a goody-goody like them, but she knew how to get a man all right!
    The air inside was heavy with smells of cabbage, stew and the singed jam in the roly-poly pudding, mixed with smoke and the fug from lots of warm young bodies in uniform – which had its own musty smell. The place was crowded with young people drinking from beer bottles and sipping mugs of tea and chatting together. Molly saw a couple of the new recruits from her hut, Doris and Lily from Nottingham, and she waved at them, but there was no sign of Win or Ruth.
    ‘Most of our lot are in the hut darning their stockings,’ she said scornfully, as she and Billy found a space at the end of a table where they could squeeze in.
    ‘I see that one from on the train’s here,’ Billy said, nodding along the table. Molly saw Lipstick Lips Marguerite at the far end, in animated conversation with a young officer, and rolled her eyes at Billy. To her surprise, halfway along the table she spotted Honor, seated with two young men, one on each side of her, both of whom seemed to be paying her rapt attention.
    ‘Blimey,’ she said to Billy, ‘there’s old Blarting Beak – see the blonde there. Hardly knows her arse from ’er elbow, that one.’ She felt a bit disloyal saying this. Honor was all right really. She just said it for effect.
    Billy glanced along at Honor and to Molly’s surprise said, ‘Looks a bit of all right though. But a bit posh for me.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Molly said, affronted. What on earth was it about Honor that men found attractive? ‘She’s right out of your league, sunshine.’
    ‘Want a cuppa tea?’
    ‘No – get us a beer, will yer?’
    Billy went over to the counter and brought back two bottles and glasses. There were screams of laughter coming from that end of the room. The cook, a male in this case, had an apparently endless supply of disgusting puns for almost every item of food, and some of the girls were enjoying this, including Doris and Mary. Others sat looking po-faced.
    ‘So – how’re you settling in?’ Billy asked.
    ‘Oh, it’s all right, I s’pose,’ Molly said. She couldn’t describe her true mixed feelings, how much she wanted to please, to do well, and at the same time, every time she was given an order she immediately wanted to do the opposite. She felt as if she was possessed by a two-year-old infant who wanted to scream ‘NO’ each time she was asked to do anything, then resented being told off.
    ‘I’ve had enough of all that polishing buttons and cap badges and that . . .’ This was not true, either. She liked it. ‘And you should see the state of my feet! All blisters!’
    ‘Oh, those’ll soon go,’ Billy said easily.
    ‘How long’ve you been in, Billy?’
    ‘A few months. I was Reserved Occ – munitions factory – but I kept on until they let me