Without a Trace

  ‘To try and make people turn to the Church?’

  ‘To introduce them to God’s love is how I see it. Some of the people I’ve met over the years have been right down in the gutter, as far down as it’s possible to be. They might have a drink problem, be a criminal, have some terrible medical condition, or just be desperately poor, with absolutely no one to turn to. If I can make them see that God loves them, too, that their life is important to him, often that raises them up and gives them the inner strength to improve their situation.’

  ‘But you don’t preach to people,’ Molly said, puzzled how this evangelical thing worked. ‘Well, at least not to any of the people I’ve met.’

  ‘The simplest way to get the message across is by example.’ Constance shrugged. ‘They know I have as little as them, but they also see my contentment. Over the years I’ve been a friend to half the people in Whitechapel while they went through a tough period. For some, it was being bombed out in the war or having their husband brought home badly injured. Some have lost a child; others have a serious medical problem. Ordinary people encounter countless different hurdles but, mostly, they can cope if they have someone to talk to about it. I give them myself and God.’

  Molly privately thought that Constance being willing to listen and sympathize was what worked, but if it was her faith that motivated her to do that, then just maybe God was there, too.

  The morning after Constance had told Molly how she came to join the Church Army, she got a letter. She’d picked it up from the door mat with a couple of letters for Constance, and stood in the hall looking at the handwriting, which she didn’t recognize for some time, before finally opening the envelope.

  When she did, she gave a little shriek of joy and ran in to Constance. ‘It’s from Dilys, my friend at Bourne & Hollingsworth,’ she said excitedly. ‘How on earth did she get this address?’

  ‘Go on and read it then,’ Constance urged her, and wheeled her chair over to the stove, because the kettle was boiling for their tea.

  Dear Molly [she read]. I was so very relieved and happy to get a letter from your friend, because I just knew you hadn’t stolen anything, I know that wicked Miss Stow made it up. But I didn’t know how to find you, and I was really sad because I missed you so much and I was afraid you’d have to go home and face your dad.

  I spent the whole of Christmas Day crying. All those plans we had, the stockings and meeting those blokes at the Empire. It was just miserable. I never even wore my new dress.

  None of the other girls believe you’d done anything either. All of them thought it was a terrible thing to do to you. I hope that makes you feel better.

  I’ve got a new girl in with me now. Her name is Janice, and she’s the most boring person I’ve ever met. She sits and knits, like that Madame Defarge in A Tale of Two Cities. Even the jumper she’s knitting is brown. Only really dull people wear that colour! I’m almost tempted to invite her out one night and then push her onto the tube line.

  I’ll phone you on Thursday evening, and I hope we can arrange to meet up somewhere. I never wanted to lose touch with you. I thought we’d still be mates when we were old ladies. You thank Constance for me, tell her I said she is an angel for writing to me.

  Your loving chum, Dilys

  ‘Oh, Constance,’ Molly sighed as she finished the letter. She wiped a stray tear from her eye. ‘Thank you so much for writing to her. She doesn’t believe I did it.’

  ‘Would anyone believe that if they really knew you?’ Constance smiled and poured tea into two cups. ‘So, when are you going to see her?’

  ‘She said she’ll phone on Thursday,’ Molly said, her eyes shining. ‘I’m so excited.’

  It was on Thursday that Charles Sanderson came into the café.

  The man might have had a dirty face and been covered in brick dust, but he had the biggest, softest brown eyes Molly had ever seen and a smile that would light up the whole of Whitechapel.

  ‘What’s a pretty little doll like you doing in a Whitechapel caff?’ he said, leaning on the counter and looking right into her eyes. Molly found herself opening and closing her mouth like a fish at the question.

  ‘Did you say an egg-and-bacon sandwich?’ she said, unable to think of any clever response.

  ‘I certainly did, and is that a West Country accent I hear?’

  She nodded, because he was looking at her so intently she couldn’t speak.

  ‘I went to the West Country once, but it was closed,’ he said.

  ‘We don’t allow cocky cockneys in,’ she retorted.

  He laughed, and his lovely brown eyes crinkled up. ‘So what made you come to the Big Smoke?’ he asked, leaning even further over the counter, as if he might reach out and grab her.

  ‘It’s a long, dull story,’ she said. ‘Let’s just say I didn’t expect to end up making bacon-and-egg sandwiches.’

  She turned away from him to the stove, put the bacon in the pan and began to butter the bread. ‘A cup of tea?’ she asked, turning back to him.

  Two other men had come in behind him and he glanced round at them. ‘Wish I could talk to you,’ he said. ‘When does it get quiet?’

  ‘When I go home at three,’ she said.

  ‘Right, I’ll meet you then.’ He grinned.

  He watched silently as Molly got his sandwich ready, served the two newcomers with sausages and chips, poured cups of tea for them all and rang up the money.

  ‘You’re very efficient,’ he said as she handed him his sandwich. ‘Along with being very pretty,’ he added.

  Molly couldn’t help but laugh. He had such a cheeky grin, and his voice was deep and musical. ‘You’ve got rather a lot to say for yourself, for a man covered in brick dust.’

  All at once, eight or nine people came through the door and the man was forced to take his sandwich and cup of tea and go and sit down. Molly was too busy even to check what he was doing, and when she finally got a moment to go and clear the tables he had gone.

  There was no sign of him when she left the café and, though she was a bit disappointed, she wasn’t surprised. Men often said cheeky or flattering things to her; two or three had even asked her out. She thought it was merely showing off in front of their mates. In any case, she was expecting Dilys to phone tonight, and that would be more than enough excitement for one day.

  She was just turning into Myrdle Street when she heard the sound of someone running. She glanced around, and it was him. He’d washed his face and he was out of breath.

  ‘I couldn’t get away,’ he gasped out. ‘Glad I caught up with you.’

  Molly’s heart leapt. He wasn’t matinee-idol kind of handsome, but he had such a nice face and she was flattered that he was interested enough in her to chase her down the road.

  ‘Are you doing some building work nearby?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, we’ve been clearing that bomb site just around the corner from the caff. We start digging the foundations for a block of flats next week.’

  She couldn’t help but be glad he was going to be around for a few more weeks. ‘Do you live round here?’ she asked.

  ‘In Bethnal Green,’ he said. ‘But what made you come here? You’re far too posh for Whitechapel.’

  Molly giggled. ‘I’m just the same as loads of other people who end up here. I just didn’t have anywhere else to go.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he insisted, taking her hand and tucking it under his arm as they walked along the street.

  ‘I’m nearly home now, and I can’t ask you in, as I live with an elderly lady who is in the Church Army,’ she said. ‘Also, I don’t even know your name!’

  ‘It’s Charley,’ he said. ‘Charles Sanderson of Bethnal Green, age twenty-seven, still got all me own teeth and, luckily, I was too young to join up in the war but did me National Service when it ended and got sent to Germany.’

  ‘I like the potted history, but you still can’t come in,’ Molly said, grinning at him. ‘I’m Molly Heywood, grocer’s daughter from
Somerset. I was working at Bourne & Hollingsworth but got the sack for something I didn’t do. That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘They said you nicked something?’

  Molly explained briefly. ‘I really didn’t do it, as God is my witness.’

  ‘I believe you, but I’d like you just as much if you had done it,’ he said. ‘Those posh shops are right slave drivers, anyway. Treat their staff bad.’

  ‘I really liked it there, and I loved living in their hostel. Constance was the only person I knew in London, so I kind of threw myself on her mercy. That was back on Christmas Eve, and now here we are at the end of February and I’m hoping to find a job in a hotel in Kent or Sussex.’

  She stopped outside number ninety-two. ‘This is me now,’ she said.

  ‘Come out to the flicks with me tonight?’ he said. ‘Genevieve is on. Do you like John Gregson?’

  ‘Yes, I do, and I’d like to see it, but I can’t go tonight,’ she said. Apart from Dilys phoning, she thought she should play hard to get, and she needed time to tell Constance about him.

  ‘Tomorrow, then? If you’re planning to run away from Whitechapel I’ve only got a short while to talk you out of it.’

  She looked into his soft, brown eyes and her stomach did a kind of somersault.

  ‘You won’t talk me out of it, but tomorrow is fine,’ she said, wondering if her face showed what she’d just felt inside.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ he said with a wide grin. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’

  Molly watched him as he walked away. He was tall, over six foot, with wide shoulders and slim hips. His brown hair needed a cut, the donkey jacket he was wearing looked worn out, yet still he had style and grace. She liked the way he walked: straight backed, head up, with a bounce in his step. He turned back to wave at her and she blushed, because he knew she’d been watching him. She waved back, anyway, and a bubble of excitement fizzed inside her.

  ‘So, poor George back home will be cast aside?’ Constance said, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

  Molly had rushed in to tell her friend about Charley and, as always, Constance seemed to read her mind and see into the future.

  ‘If George and I were meant for one another, surely it would have erupted years ago?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Constance said. ‘But you be careful with Charley. London boys are a lot pushier than country ones. Don’t give him an inch. But if he does manage to persuade you to stay here, then he’ll have my undying love.’

  Dilys telephoned on the dot of half past seven. ‘Oh, Molly, I’ve missed you!’ she said, and the lovely Welsh lilt in her voice made Molly smile.

  ‘I bet I missed you more,’ Molly responded. ‘I was quite resigned to never seeing you again. I didn’t dare write to you in case they checked your post. Miss Jackson was probably in the Gestapo. Constance didn’t tell me she’d written to you, and it was such a wonderful surprise.’

  They chatted for some little time, Dilys telling her the gossip from the hostel and Molly telling her about her job in the café.

  ‘Are you still looking for Petal?’ Dilys asked.

  ‘Yes, still asking around to see if I can get any leads on who might have taken her and why. Lots of people remember Cassie and her here, and really liked them, so they would tell me if they knew something, but they don’t. But I think Cassie came from Kent or Sussex, by the sea. I’m going to try and get work down that way, then I can carry on searching and maybe find some family members.’

  ‘You’re certainly a loyal friend,’ Dilys said. ‘Most people would’ve given up by now.’

  ‘I can’t give up. I think of Petal’s pretty little face, remember how much Cassie loved her, and I feel it’s my duty to solve the mystery.’

  ‘Will your sense of duty allow you to meet me on Saturday night?’ Dilys asked. ‘Dancing at the Empire? I could meet you outside at eight.’

  Molly began to laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Dilys asked.

  ‘You, me, dancing at the Empire. Because I’m so happy you phoned. Is that enough reasons?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Two weeks after meeting Charley, Molly woke up to see her room bathed in a murky grey light. She groaned, as she knew that meant it had snowed again overnight.

  She snuggled further under the covers, dreading the moment she’d have to get up.

  It was March now, and she’d started to think that spring was just around the corner. But it seemed it intended to strike more blows before it slipped away. Molly was so tired of being cold, of the lack of sunshine, of hearing coughing and spluttering all around her and seeing small children with sore, red noses. It took away the joy she ought to be feeling.

  She ought to be ecstatic that, just yesterday, Constance had said that friends of hers with a small hotel in Rye on the south coast would like to interview her for a job. If she got the job, she could live in warmth and comfort, and when spring eventually came she’d be in a beautiful part of England, having said goodbye to the slums of Whitechapel.

  But she wasn’t ecstatic. She was scared.

  Not scared of the job – that sounded perfect. It was for an all-round assistant, barmaid, receptionist and chambermaid, which was ideal for gaining valuable experience. It would also be wonderful to get to know new people who weren’t downtrodden, like they were around here.

  There were two flies in the ointment. One was Charley. Molly didn’t want to move away from him. The other was Dilys. Having only just got in touch with her friend again, she didn’t want to lose her either. Both of them were very special to her. She knew Dilys would write and keep in touch, maybe even come down for a holiday, but Charley might lose interest if it was too hard to see her often.

  She and Dilys had so much fun the night they went to the Empire in Leicester Square. Seeing one another again was like a magic potion that made them giggle like schoolgirls and talk as if they’d been in solitary confinement for a month. They danced with anyone who asked them but escaped to get back together again. There was so much to catch up on, and it felt as if there weren’t enough time.

  Dilys said when they parted at the end of the evening, ‘You once said, “We’ll still be chums when we’re old ladies”; it was when we’d had too much to drink. But I believe it’s true. Even if we find our Mr Rights, get married and have lots of kids, we’ll still keep in touch. We’ll look at each other when we’re both sixty, and we’ll think we haven’t changed a bit, and I bet we’ll still be giggling the way we have tonight.’

  Molly felt the same: they might go their separate ways because of husbands or children, but there would always be that invisible chain which either of them could tug on to bring their friend right back.

  It wasn’t that way with men; for them, it had to be all or nothing. Since her first date with Charley, when he took her to the pictures, she’d seen him almost every day. Mostly it was just drinks in a pub, or a cup of tea in the café when she’d finished work, but then, she would’ve stood on a street corner in a howling gale if it meant seeing him. He was bright, caring, funny, generous – everything she’d ever wanted in a boyfriend – and he set her pulse racing, too.

  The cold weather and having nowhere to go to be alone together was perhaps just as well, because one kiss was enough to set her on fire. She was pretty certain that if they had a warm, comfy place to be in, she’d be tempted to go all the way with him.

  One of the very nicest things about Charley was that he behaved like a gentleman. His parents in Bethnal Green were, by his own admission, ‘a bit rough’. He’d been evacuated at the start of the war to Sussex and the family he was billeted with were ‘toffs’, as he put it.

  ‘I couldn’t believe the house when I first saw it,’ he said, his eyes shining as if he were recalling a very magical moment. ‘A huge great pile – I could count twenty windows just on the front! They picked me because they wanted help in the garden and with their horses, and I was about the oldest, strongest boy amongst the evacuees.’
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  ‘Were they kind to you?’ she asked.

  ‘Fair more than kind. No demonstrative stuff, certainly no mollycoddling. But I think they liked me. I was fed far better than at home, I slept in a bed of my own – at home, I’d shared one with two of my brothers. But the best thing for me was learning about how people with money and position live and behave. I soaked it all up and promised myself that, one day, I’d live like that.’

  ‘So what was it like when you went home?’

  ‘Bloody awful.’ He pulled a face. ‘So many bomb sites. Whole rows of houses gone. Mum and Dad were virtual strangers, and they claimed I looked down on them and talked posh.’

  ‘I expect they felt bad that someone else had been able to give you things they couldn’t,’ she said, in sympathy with them.

  He gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Not them – just put out ’cos I’d learned a thing or two while I’d been away, and one of them was that they both liked the booze more than they did any of us kids. They knew right away that when I got a job I wasn’t going to meekly hand my wages over to them. Why would I, when it would only make them drink more?’

  He paused to ruffle Molly’s hair, and smiled at her. ‘That makes me sound hard but, if you ever meet them, you’ll understand. Anyway, I found some digs and got some demolition work while I waited to see if I’d be called up for National Service. I was well past the age then, but the family I was evacuated with didn’t want to lose me, because I was so useful to them. They pulled some strings so I could stay with them, but once I left there and got back to London I knew I was likely to be summoned again. Sure enough, I was. But being called up was the second best thing to being evacuated. I learned to drive and maintain not just cars and trucks but cranes and other machines, too. When I got out I was taken on straight away by Wates.’

  Molly knew that Wates was one of the biggest building companies in London. They had contracts for clearing bomb sites all over the East End and then building flats and houses. One of Charley’s workmates had told her that he’d worked his way up and been made foreman. She’d also observed from the attitude of all the men who worked under his supervision that they respected him and admired his desire to get on in life.