The Butlins Girls Read online

  Harriet leaned over to the wireless and turned it off. ‘It’s early yet, Molly. Simon was thinking of taking you out for the evening. Weren’t you, Simon?’

  He looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and raised an eyebrow in Molly’s direction. ‘I thought a drink down the Prince of Wales would be in order.’

  An alcoholic drink was the last thing Molly was interested in, but she feared Simon’s anger. She’d witnessed how quickly his face turned red, and one morning she’d seen him clench his fists when berating the milkman for rattling milk bottles too loudly after a night spent sleeping on the sofa, his drunken state having stopped him from climbing the stairs to his bedroom. When in the presence of her relative, she often found herself treading on eggshells. She could see an empty whisky glass on a side table. No doubt he’d been partaking of her dad’s best whisky yet again. It seemed to be a nightly habit.

  ‘A drink would be nice, thank you. I’ll get my coat.’

  Simon gave her a glance and sneered. ‘Perhaps change into something a little more becoming. I prefer not to have a Girl Guide on my arm when I enter a public house.’

  Molly bit her lip rather than say what was on her mind. ‘Give me five minutes.’ She dashed upstairs to her bedroom and flung open the door of her wardrobe. She wasn’t prepared to look ‘becoming’ for Simon and instead opted for a flower-patterned dress with rows of pearl buttons down the front. The green background to the pink flowers suited her complexion and complemented the auburn highlights in her hair. Dabbing a little lavender water behind her ears and checking her lipstick, she went downstairs to join her relatives.

  ‘I thought Harriet would be coming with us,’ Molly said as she looked around the empty room.

  ‘Mother’s taken your lead and is having an early night,’ Simon said. ‘I suggest we make a move before they start to shout last orders.’

  Molly was grateful that the pub was just a short walk down the avenue, as she felt uncomfortable holding on to Simon’s arm. He’d taken her hand as they’d left the house and tucked it through his arm in a possessive manner. She had wanted to snatch her hand back but thought it might have caused a scene.

  Entering the busy pub, Simon headed straight for the bar, indicating a free table where Molly should sit. He hadn’t asked what drink she preferred, which worried her somewhat.

  Returning with a tray, Molly was pleased to see what looked like a glass of lemonade beside a tankard of beer and a whisky short.

  ‘Drink up. There’s plenty more where that came from.’

  Molly sipped her drink and shuddered. ‘It’s gin!’

  ‘A drop of mother’s ruin won’t hurt you. You must have had more than that when you were in the Land Army,’ he said with a knowing wink.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. We had to work long hours on the farm. There wasn’t much time for drinking,’ Molly added, feeling hurt at his insinuation. She had enjoyed a good social life but didn’t feel that it was Simon’s business to know what she did during the war.

  ‘Don’t get all uppity with me. Lots of things happened during the war that women don’t wish to talk about now. Drink up and I’ll get another round in.’

  Molly took a gulp of her drink. It was preferable to arguing with Simon. So what if some girls were over-friendly with men during wartime? It didn’t mean that she had been. Molly respected herself too much to take things too far. For now, she’d try to be friendly with Simon and let him see she was a decent girl.

  Molly had sipped three drinks by the time the landlord rang the bell for last orders. Standing to pull on her coat, she felt a little light-headed. It had been a long day, what with working at the shop and then running the busy Brownie pack meeting. Simon’s hands lingered a little too long on her shoulders as he stood behind, helping her on with her coat.

  ‘Thank you, Simon. I can manage now,’ Molly said, stepping away from his grasp and heading towards the door.

  ‘Night, Doreen,’ Simon called to the barmaid as he followed Molly out into the night. Molly looked back to see the barmaid who’d been serving Simon all night blow a kiss in his direction.

  Simon again took her hand and tucked it through his arm, but this time Molly was grateful for something to hold on to, as the night air made her feel even more dizzy than she had inside the pub. He set out at a brisk pace that made her need to hurry to keep up with him. At this pace, she felt worse, and just a little sick. They were soon indoors. Hanging up her coat on the hall stand, Molly moved towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea before I retire for the night.’

  A rough hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. ‘A cup of tea is not what I want at this moment,’ Simon said as he pushed Molly roughly to the wall. Holding her by her hair, he forced his lips onto hers, probing her mouth with his tongue. ‘This is more like it,’ he said as he leaned away and wiped his mouth.

  Molly wanted to scream, but who was there to help her? If Harriet heard a commotion, Simon would be sure to make an excuse. Besides, she didn’t want the elderly woman to see she’d had a little too much to drink. Molly knew she needed to escape before it was too late. But was it already too late? She could hear his laboured breathing and tasted blood where he’d caught her lip with his rough kiss.

  With his tight hold on her hair, Simon reached for the front of Molly’s dress and cursed as he found it hard to undo the small pearl buttons with one hand. Swearing loudly, he tore at the fabric, the buttons bursting under the force. Both hands at once started to explore Molly’s breasts, and try as she might, she could not push the heavily built man away from her. ‘Please . . . Simon . . . don’t hurt me.’

  Simon just grunted and started to tear at the flimsy fabric beneath her dress, his mouth taking command of her now naked breast.

  Molly willed herself not to panic. She thought back to what the older women in the Land Army had told her when they’d sat chatting about their amorous encounters and also the unwanted attention they sometimes encountered when walking home in the blackout with soldiers they met at dances. Taking a deep breath, she pushed Simon’s shoulders. As he took a step back, she raised her knee with as much force as possible. Simon groaned in pain, stumbling backwards and knocking her parents’ photograph from the hall stand as she fled towards the living room. It would have been ideal to head for the front door, but it meant passing her cousin. Dashing into the room, she reached for the brass door handle and attempted to close it on Simon, but already he was coming to his senses and heading in her direction. As the heavy door closed, he put his shoulder forward, shoving it open. Such was the force that Molly staggered against a small side table and fell onto a rug close to the fire. Whatever should I do next? she thought. If only she’d had time to reach the large bay windows, Molly could have escaped into the street and called to one of the neighbours for help. Now it was too late and Simon was towering over her, his face red with anger.

  ‘You can’t escape me, little cousin,’ he growled as he knelt down, unbuttoning his trousers as he did so.

  Molly looked from left to right. There was no escape. Even in his drunken state Simon was in control of the situation. It was then she noticed the brass poker lying on the hearth. If only she could reach it. But how, with Simon so close? He would be sure to notice. It took her just a second to decide.

  ‘You’ve come to your senses.’ Simon smiled as Molly reached for him and pulled him down. She felt bile burn her throat and resisted the urge to gag. As his attention focused on sliding his hand up her thigh, Molly reached slowly for the heavy poker. Gripping the handle, she swung it with as much strength as she could muster across Simon’s back. It made contact with his right shoulder and he screamed in pain before slumping like a sack of coal on top of her.

  Fearing for her life, she pushed the heavy weight from her and fled the room. All thought of leaving the house left her mind as she ran upstairs to her bedroom and locked herself in. Had she killed him?

  Molly sat on her bed for a while
to gather her thoughts. There was no sound in the house. Harriet must have slept through the noise. Removing her torn dress, she threw it into the corner of the room. Tomorrow, it would go in the dustbin. Even if the dress could be repaired, Molly would never be able to wear it again without thinking of what happened. She poured a little cold water into a bowl from a matching jug sat on a marble-topped washstand, then splashed her hot face with the cool water, scrubbing the taste of alcohol and Simon from her mouth before pulling on a nightdress and dressing gown, tying the belt tightly round her waist, all the time listening for any sound from downstairs.

  Molly couldn’t climb into bed without knowing what had happened to Simon. She might have killed him. Who would believe her side of the story if that was the case? She quietly turned the lock in her bedroom door and pulled the door open, gasping in shock as she came face to face with her second cousin.

  Simon raised his hands in surrender. ‘You win this time, Molly, but mark my words – be more friendly towards me in future or you will lose this house and become homeless. Mother intends that we marry, but there are more fish in the sea if you continue to be obstinate.’ His eyes bore into her as he delivered his warning.

  Molly gripped the front of her dressing gown tightly to her breast. She recalled the woman in the pub and how she blew a kiss to Simon. Would she be made homeless because of a barmaid? Watching as Simon headed to his bedroom, rubbing the shoulder that had been struck with the heavy brass poker, Molly knew she had to make plans for her future or goodness knows what would happen.

  The girls were seated in the genteel surroundings of Hedley Mitchell’s tearooms. Even though they were just yards down the road from where they worked, the tearooms were only visited on special occasions.

  Freda wiped crumbs from her mouth. ‘These egg sandwiches are delicious. I know we could make them at home and chat round the kitchen table, but afternoon tea at Mitchell’s is such a treat, isn’t it?’

  Molly sipped her tea and nodded. ‘Just to be away from the house and able to talk without Cousin Harriet asking questions is a treat.’

  ‘What has she been asking you?’

  ‘It’s rather strange. She was looking at Mum and Dad’s wedding photograph the other day and wanted to know where they were married. Then she asked about Dad’s parents. I reminded her that until she wrote to me, I had never known any family. I would have thought she would have known about such things, wouldn’t you?’

  Freda nodded. ‘It does sound rather strange. Did she say how long she lived in South Africa?’

  ‘Yes. It was just after our chat about Mum and Dad’s wedding. She told me how her late husband, Bert, was a missionary and they’d not been home to England these past twenty-five years.’

  ‘All the same, you’d have thought she’d have kept in touch with family back home. Are you sure your parents never mentioned them?’

  Molly shook her head. The curls around the small hat perched on her head bounced in the sunlight that shone through the window of the tearoom. ‘No, we never spoke about family. Apart from my parents saying we were alone in the world, I have no recollection of them even discussing my grandparents. It sounds so strange now I come to think of it, but we were a happy family – life before they came to Kent and set up a home and business was never mentioned.’

  Freda, too, thought it strange, but then, not everyone had a happy family life. Her own family had not been perfect, and apart from an occasional postcard, she seldom heard from her mother these days. If it weren’t for her brother, Lenny, she too would be alone like Molly. Thank goodness for friends, she thought to herself. ‘So what’s all this about marrying Simon?’

  Molly sighed. ‘Cousin Harriet keeps pointing out to me that I must think of my future. She even referred to me as a “spinster”, would you believe? Honestly, you’d think I’d never had the occasional boyfriend or worked away during the war.’

  Freda, who was envious of her friend’s time spent in the Land Army, laughed. ‘From the tales you’ve told me, you were never short of an escort. But why marry Simon?’

  ‘Harriet keeps talking about him settling down and having a family. It was pointedly told to me that she’s left everything to Simon in her will and she’s made it clear that if we marry, I’ll be taken care of and can stay at my parents’ house.’ Her lips trembled as she thought of what happened last night. Molly had left the house early that morning, not wishing to face Harriet or Simon, and only stayed long enough to straighten the living room and pick up glass from the broken frame that held her parents’ photograph. Fortunately, the photograph had not been damaged. It would be repaired and as good as new before too long. The morning had been spent shut away in her dad’s office at the ironmonger’s. Not that much work had been done. Molly didn’t want to explain to George why she was so shaken. What had happened wasn’t something she could talk about with the old man.

  ‘Are you all right, Molly? You look awfully pale. You’ve hardly eaten a thing. Is that a cut on your lip?’ Freda asked as she peered across the small table at the mark on Molly’s bottom lip, which, despite carefully applied lipstick, could still be seen.

  Molly nodded as unshed tears overflowed and cascaded down her cheeks. ‘Can we go somewhere more private and talk? I’m in fear of my life,’ she started to sob.

  Freda quickly paid the waitress before diners and staff spotted Molly’s distress. Picking up Molly’s handbag, she encouraged her friend to pull on her coat and led her out of Mitchell’s and down the High Street towards the River Thames.

  Standing by the small pier and breathing in the cold air that blew from the river, Freda turned to her chum. ‘Now, tell me everything.’

  The words poured from Molly’s lips. Once she started talking, she couldn’t stop. She told of the many times Simon had made her feel uncomfortable, and although she could fend off Harriet’s many questions, while her relative managed to ignore anything Molly asked about her dad’s earlier life, she was always conscious of Simon’s eyes on her.

  ‘But why does that make you fear for your life?’ Freda asked. ‘Not that I’m questioning your feelings,’ she added quickly.

  Molly stared out over the river that she’d known all her life. As a child, she’d paddled in the water during hot summers. Trips on the paddle steamer Kentish Queen down to the seaside towns of Southend and Margate had been special treats. Now, there were just ships painted battleship grey anchored off the shore, alongside Thames barges and tugs going about their work. She’d never felt so close to throwing herself into the water and saying goodbye to the predicament she found herself in. She took a deep breath and told Freda what had happened after the Brownie meeting the previous night.

  When she’d finished, she turned to Freda and whispered, ‘Please help me. I don’t know what to do.’

  4

  Freda looked right then left before dashing over busy Pier Road, an excited grin on her face. Erith seemed extra busy today, she thought, as she weaved her way round adults and children out doing their shopping. Nodding to a few of her customers from Woolworths and mouthing, ‘Excuse me,’ and, ‘Thank you,’ in her haste to reach Missons Ironmonger’s, she was aware that she only had twenty minutes left of her lunch hour. If only she’d started to read the Erith Observer before eating her sandwich, she would already have reached Molly and explained her marvellous idea. Five minutes had been wasted signing out of Woolies and changing out of her maroon uniform. Staff were not allowed to wear their work overalls outside the store. Freda would have chanced just pulling on her coat but the store manager was already in a grumpy mood because a new member of staff had dropped a box of biscuits onto the freshly waxed shop floor. She wasn’t about to risk the wrath of Miss Billington if she was caught breaking staff rules. Freda included Betty Billington as a friend, after sharing some special times with her and surviving the war years together at Woolies, but this was work, and friendship was for when they stepped away from the store.

  Reaching the ironmonger’s, she
spotted Molly, feather duster in hand, tidying cans of paint that were part of an impressive display in the large shop window. Freda waved the newspaper aloft as she called out, ‘Molly, I have the answer to your prayers.’

  Molly waved back to Freda. ‘Hello. You’re a welcome sight. I could do with a break. Let’s go and sit down and you can tell me why you are so excited.’ Molly led Freda through the shop to her dad’s office. Moving a pile of price cards from an old bentwood chair, she indicated to Freda to take a seat. Molly sat in the leather-upholstered office chair that had been her dad’s for as long as she could remember. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ she asked, glancing at the clock.

  ‘I have fifteen minutes left, but I spotted this advertisement in the Erith Observer and just couldn’t wait until closing time to tell you about it. What do you think?’ she asked, thrusting the folded newspaper across the desk.

  Molly looked puzzled as she scanned the advertisements in the popular local newspaper. ‘A sale of household goods at Mitchell’s. A day trip to see the bluebells. How will this help my predicament, Freda?’ Molly had spent a long night locked in her bedroom listening to every creak in the old house in case it was Simon seeking her out. She desperately wanted to feel safe again but was confused as to why her friend was so excited.

  Freda let out an exaggerated sigh and turned the newspaper over to where an article extolled the virtues of a holiday at the soon-to-reopen Butlins holiday camp.

  ‘As much as we both said how exciting it would be to have a holiday at Butlins, I don’t think now’s the time—’

  Freda interrupted her friend. ‘No, read the bottom of the article,’ she said, pointing to the page.

  A small furrow crossed Molly’s brow as she concentrated on the words before putting the newspaper down on the desk. ‘A job at Butlins in Skegness? Whatever could I do?’