Fic: Salt Water (Malory Towers)
Title: Salt Water
Author: lefaym
Betas: Sparkly things for used_songs and smirnoffmule.
Fandom: Enid Blyton -- Malory Towers
Pairing(s): Mary-Lou/Darrell
Summary: The taste of salt water always reminded Mary-Lou to be brave, even after all these years.
Rating: PG, for war-related themes.
Disclaimer: Enid Blyton's estate owns Malory Towers and associated characters. How smashing!
Word Count: Approx 2,650 words.
Salt Water
The taste of salt water always reminded Mary-Lou to be brave, even after all these years. It was silly, she supposed, to still think about something that had happened when she was twelve -- water in her mouth, in her nose, her soaked tunic pulling her down, their legs tangled awkwardly as she held Darrell above the surface as best she could -- but it reminded her that she could find courage if she needed to. Even after Alicia had carelessly revealed, when they were in the fifth form, that it had all been set up, Mary-Lou clung to the memory, held it close. Sometimes it was all that kept her going.
It kept her going when she’d been afraid of the dark, and when she’d been lost in that terrible storm; when she’d had to stand on stage, singing and acting the words that Darrell had written for her, in front of the whole school, and when she’d been sure that she’d fail her exams because she could never be as clever as everybody else. And it was all she had to cling to during her first week of training at Great Ormond Street, the first time she saw a little boy die before the doctors could save him. She’d cried in her bed that night, because it had all been so horrible, but when she’d tasted the salt of her tears on her tongue, she’d known that she’d be able to go back the next day; she’d known that she was strong enough.
And she really had been strong enough -- she’d made it through the four years of training, the long days on her feet, the lectures and the study, early in the morning and late at night - days so long that she barely had any time to keep in contact with people from dear old Malory Towers. Daphne’s letters had become infrequent after she’d married, only one year after they’d finished school, and as for the others... well, Mary-Lou had written to Darrell for a while, and received bright, cheerful letters in response -- letters that grew shorter every time, until they stopped altogether. They lived in different worlds now, Mary-Lou supposed.
Even so, Mary-Lou remembered the gift that Darrell had given her every time she needed that bit of extra pluck to make it through. She had needed it often when the war broke out, and she was sent to Horton Hospital in Epsom, which took the wounded from the battlefield at Dunkirk, and then casualties from the Blitz in London. Mary-Lou dreaded the days and the nights on the Emergency Ward when the ambulances would arrive seemingly without end, bringing young men with haunted eyes, scared and wounded, or women and old people with broken limbs and burnt skin, or sometimes children who hadn’t been sent to the country. And when it all felt like it was becoming too much -- when she felt like she couldn’t sit beside the bed of another dying soldier and smile all the time, to ease his pain -- she’d swallow her salt water tears, and her fear disappeared with them.
Darrell had become such an abstract figure to her, over the years -- a symbol who lived more in her mind than in the real world. Mary-Lou hardly expected that she would ever see her again. Those old days at school seemed almost like a pleasant dream to her now. She had become so used to thinking of them in that way that she was caught completely by surprise by the hearty shout of, “I say, is that Mary-Lou?” that came from the driver’s seat of the makeshift ARP ambulance from London one day.
And suddenly, there was Darrell clapping her on the shoulder, beaming brightly at her, real and solid as anything, nothing abstract or dream-like about her. Mary-Lou felt her mouth going dry, even as she smiled back. In her shock, she could only manage to stammer something about seeing to the patient, a woman who’d been caught in the blast of a German bomb the night before. She hoped that Darrell couldn’t see her cheeks flushing red as she hurried inside the hospital, beside the patient’s stretcher.
Mary-Lou wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that Darrell had left long before she’d been able to find a free minute, late in the afternoon. Of course she’d had to leave -- Darrell couldn’t wait around for an old school chum, not when she had such important work to do. Still, she couldn’t stop a small sigh of regret from escaping her lips later that night -- it would have been nice to catch up, to relive old memories. It would be a long time, she supposed, before she saw Darrell again -- there were lots of hospitals that took patients from London, after all.
Yet, less than three weeks later, when Mary-Lou was again working on the Emergency Ward, Darrell appeared a second time, late at night. This time they managed to catch up for a bit, after the patient had been seen to. Darrell told her of finishing university in Scotland, and working for a while with a publishing house in London before the war broke out -- and then, of course, they’d all volunteered to do their bit: Sally was working as a mechanic while her financé was away with the RAF, and Alicia and Betty were having a fine time in the Women’s Royal Naval Service. Mary-Lou felt rather insignificant telling Darrell about her work as a simple nurse, but Darrell just grinned and said, “How marvellous!”
This time, Mary-Lou knew that Darrell could see her blush.
“Well,” said Darrell, finally. “I’d best be going now.”
“Yes,” said Mary-Lou. “It’s getting rather late, I suppose.”
Darrell smiled at her, and to Mary-Lou’s surprise, Darrell’s arms locked around her shoulders in a brief hug. “No doubt I’ll be seeing you again soon, Mary-Lou!”
And Darrell did turn up again, a week later, and then two weeks after that, and then yet another time, until it became quite common, it seemed, for Mary-Lou to catch a glimpse of her standing in the drive beside her ambulance, even though it was really only once or twice a month. There wasn’t always time to stop and chat -- often, they missed each other altogether, and most of the time, when they did see each other, they could only manage a brief “Hallo!” before they both had to hurry back to work. Once, their shifts both finished at midday, and they went into town and had ham sandwiches at the local tea-rooms as a treat. Darrell laughed brightly the entire time, reminiscing about midnight feasts and chocolate biscuits, and Mary-Lou marvelled at her strength.
Darrell, Mary-Lou was sure, would never need to rely on schoolgirl memories to find her courage, and she squirmed uncomfortably, thinking about it -- how silly Darrell would think her, if she knew! Looking at Darrell across the table, Mary-Lou couldn’t help but feel twelve years old again, intimidated by Darrell’s natural bravery. Darrell would never need to trick herself out of her fear, like Mary-Lou did.
Still, it was no good worrying about it, and instead, Mary-Lou shyly told Darrell about the dance that some of the nurses were organising, in three weeks time. There would be some soldiers in town on leave, and some RAF pilots, and a few of the Land Girls from nearby farms would join them. When Darrell said she would try to get the time off work, so she could join them, Mary-Lou felt her heart beat faster.
But as the day of the dance drew closer, Mary-Lou began to fear that it might not happen. There were so many casualties from France that they were all working double shifts, and then the night before the dance was planned, just when they thought there might be some respite, London sustained heavy bombing, bringing in yet more patients in need of urgent care. It wasn’t until dawn that things began to ease off a bit, and Mary-Lou was given ten minutes to refresh herself after the long night on duty. She took herself out to the front of the hospital for a moment, breathing in the crisp cold air that hadn’t yet been warmed by the rising sun.
A lone ambulance pulled into the drive, and Mary-Lou felt her breath catch when she saw Darrell jump out of the driver’s seat and hurry to the back of the vehicle, where she was met by Dr. Gregory. Mary-Lou began to walk across the drive to join them, and she knew, before she got there, that something was wrong. Darrell’s cheeks, usually so warm and rosy, were pale as she looked down at the small form on the stretcher. As Mary-Lou drew closer she saw that it was a girl, her hair in two long plaits. Her lifeless eyes stared up at the morning sky.
“She’ll be about twelve,” said Darrell quietly, her voice uncannily steady as Dr. Gregory pulled a blanket over her, covering the girl’s face. “Same as Sally’s little sister.”
Dr. Gregory said something about internal bleeding, and shook his head, but Mary-Lou’s eyes were fixed on Darrell’s unmoving face, which was still turned towards the girl’s covered form. Mary-Lou took a step towards her, reaching a hand out to her shoulder, but then Dr. Gregory was calling her name, instructing her to move the body, and she had to turn away, leaving Darrell standing there, motionless.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. There were living patients to tend to, who needed a soft word or a kind smile as she changed their dressings or took their temperature, so she closed her eyes and imagined the salt water of the old tidal pool from school, and found, as she always did, that she could go on. Later, Dr. Gregory told her that it hadn’t even been a bomb -- the girl had hit her head in a fall, in her hurry to reach a bomb shelter, and no one had realised that anything was wrong until she’d drifted off to sleep during the air-raid, and couldn’t be woken after. Mary-Lou guessed that Darrell must have told him what had happened.
She wished she’d been able to spend a moment with Darrell before she’d left. It was always harder when it was children; Mary-Lou’s long years at Great Ormond Street hadn’t hardened her to that. And although Mary-Lou thought that the girl must have attended a day-school in London, it was so easy to imagine her wearing the brown and orange Malory Towers uniform, laughing with her friends, going to lessons and playing tricks on the Mistresses; surely Darrell had felt the same. But then, Darrell was probably far more sensible than Mary-Lou about these things -- Mary Lou, who still had to pretend she was a first form schoolgirl when she needed courage.
As Mary-Lou’s shift came to an end, one of the other nurses told her that the dance was going ahead after all, because they certainly weren’t going to let the Germans stop them having a bit of fun, and Mary-Lou determined that she would try to have a good time, regardless, for Darrell’s sake, as well as her own. She spent the afternoon resting, glad for the chance to sleep after her over-long shift. In the end, she slept longer than she had meant to; it was almost time for the dance when she woke.
Mary-Lou washed and made herself ready quickly, but she was still late -- by the time she reached the dance hall, music was playing and there were already half a dozen couples out on the floor. For a moment, Mary-Lou feared that Darrell hadn’t come after all -- but, no, there she was, over in the corner, talking to an American volunteer. She didn’t seem to see Mary-Lou, and Mary-Lou wondered if she dared interrupt them.
As she gradually made her way across the room, keeping close to the walls to avoid the dancing couples, she heard Darrell laugh in response to some comment from the American -- and though it was loud and hearty, somehow it didn’t sound like Darrell’s normal laugh at all.
Darrell didn’t notice Mary-Lou until Mary-Lou was almost standing next to her. For a moment, Mary-Lou saw the smile disappear from Darrell’s face, but an instant later it appeared again, just a little too bright and a little too wide. She introduced her American friend, who seemed rather terrifying to Mary-Lou, with his toothy grin and broad shoulders. Mary-Lou was relieved when he went to greet a friend of his across the room.
“Darrell, are -- are you feeling all right?” Mary-Lou asked, before she could lose her nerve.
Darrell’s smile seemed to freeze on her face. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“Well -- this morning --”
“I’m fine.”
“But -- ”
“I don’t need you fussing over me, Mary-Lou,” said Darrell stiffly. “I never could stand it when you did that at school.”
“I just thought --”
“Well, don’t think it!” Darrell snapped, her eyes flashing. “I’m perfectly all right. And I don’t need a little ninny like you worrying over me!”
Before Mary-Lou could respond, Darrell was pushing past her, making her way across the room, to the American and his friend. For a moment, Mary-Lou felt tears prick at her eyes, and she thought about running off -- but no, she’d stopped being the type of person who ran away that day at the pool, and she wouldn’t start again now. She stood against the wall, and before too long, a young soldier in khakis -- probably only nineteen years old -- was asking her to dance.
Mary-Lou danced with him until the song ended, and then excused herself, saying that she needed to sit and catch her breath. She scanned the room for Darrell, but she couldn’t see her anywhere. Mary-Lou felt someone tap her on the shoulder, and was surprised to see Darrell’s American officer standing beside her chair.
“Your friend went outside,” he drawled, pointing at a small side-door. “I think maybe you should go and see her.”
Mary-Lou didn’t waste any time -- less than a minute later, she was slipping out the narrow door and down the steps. Sure enough, there was Darrell’s moonlit silhouette, leaning against the fence.
“Darrell?”
“I -- I’m sorry I snapped at you before,” said Darrell softly, without turning. “It’s just -- this terrible war. It feels like it won’t end.”
“I know,” said Mary-Lou, stepping closer, so she stood only a foot behind her.
“I was beastly. Forgive me?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know how -- how you manage to be so calm all the time.”
Mary-Lou couldn’t think of a way to respond, and Darrell turned around to face her. She noticed, with a shock, that there were tears on Darrell’s face -- brave, beautiful Darrell, trembling now, looking at Mary-Lou with fear and grief in her eyes.
“Sometimes -- I feel as though -- as though I’m drowning,” Darrell whispered. “Can you save me again, Mary-Lou?”
For a moment, Mary-Lou felt a stab of panic, because Darrell seemed so afraid, but in the next second Mary-Lou felt something strong rise up inside her, and she knew that she could do as Darrell asked.
Without thinking about it further, she leaned forward and kissed Darrell, first on one cheek, then the other, and as she tasted Darrell’s tears on her lips, Mary-Lou felt certain that she would never need to pretend that she was twelve years old again. She pulled back for a moment, and raised a hand to Darrell’s neck, then leaned forward and kissed her mouth -- kissed her until she felt Darrell respond, until there was nothing but the feel of their lips pressed together, and the warmth of their arms twining around each other’s shoulders, and the taste of salt water mingled on their tongues.
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Author's Note 1: First Term at Malory Towers was published in 1946, but the actual time-frame for the novels was never specified. Winston Churchill is mentioned in the first book, but as he had a political career that began in 1900, I feel justified in suggesting here that the novels were set in the 1930s.
Author's Note 2: In writing this fic, I drew on personal accounts from women who lived and worked in Britain during WWII: A Nurse's Story by Elizabeth McDonnell (nee Keogh), Life as an Ambulance Driver in Medway by Edith Myra Taylor (nee Messenger), and Land Army Girl at Horton Farm, Epsom by Pearl Bourhill. The latter two are taken from the BBC WWII People's War Archive -- brilliant stuff, I highly recommend checking it out.
Author: lefaym
Betas: Sparkly things for used_songs and smirnoffmule.
Fandom: Enid Blyton -- Malory Towers
Pairing(s): Mary-Lou/Darrell
Summary: The taste of salt water always reminded Mary-Lou to be brave, even after all these years.
Rating: PG, for war-related themes.
Disclaimer: Enid Blyton's estate owns Malory Towers and associated characters. How smashing!
Word Count: Approx 2,650 words.
Salt Water
The taste of salt water always reminded Mary-Lou to be brave, even after all these years. It was silly, she supposed, to still think about something that had happened when she was twelve -- water in her mouth, in her nose, her soaked tunic pulling her down, their legs tangled awkwardly as she held Darrell above the surface as best she could -- but it reminded her that she could find courage if she needed to. Even after Alicia had carelessly revealed, when they were in the fifth form, that it had all been set up, Mary-Lou clung to the memory, held it close. Sometimes it was all that kept her going.
It kept her going when she’d been afraid of the dark, and when she’d been lost in that terrible storm; when she’d had to stand on stage, singing and acting the words that Darrell had written for her, in front of the whole school, and when she’d been sure that she’d fail her exams because she could never be as clever as everybody else. And it was all she had to cling to during her first week of training at Great Ormond Street, the first time she saw a little boy die before the doctors could save him. She’d cried in her bed that night, because it had all been so horrible, but when she’d tasted the salt of her tears on her tongue, she’d known that she’d be able to go back the next day; she’d known that she was strong enough.
And she really had been strong enough -- she’d made it through the four years of training, the long days on her feet, the lectures and the study, early in the morning and late at night - days so long that she barely had any time to keep in contact with people from dear old Malory Towers. Daphne’s letters had become infrequent after she’d married, only one year after they’d finished school, and as for the others... well, Mary-Lou had written to Darrell for a while, and received bright, cheerful letters in response -- letters that grew shorter every time, until they stopped altogether. They lived in different worlds now, Mary-Lou supposed.
Even so, Mary-Lou remembered the gift that Darrell had given her every time she needed that bit of extra pluck to make it through. She had needed it often when the war broke out, and she was sent to Horton Hospital in Epsom, which took the wounded from the battlefield at Dunkirk, and then casualties from the Blitz in London. Mary-Lou dreaded the days and the nights on the Emergency Ward when the ambulances would arrive seemingly without end, bringing young men with haunted eyes, scared and wounded, or women and old people with broken limbs and burnt skin, or sometimes children who hadn’t been sent to the country. And when it all felt like it was becoming too much -- when she felt like she couldn’t sit beside the bed of another dying soldier and smile all the time, to ease his pain -- she’d swallow her salt water tears, and her fear disappeared with them.
Darrell had become such an abstract figure to her, over the years -- a symbol who lived more in her mind than in the real world. Mary-Lou hardly expected that she would ever see her again. Those old days at school seemed almost like a pleasant dream to her now. She had become so used to thinking of them in that way that she was caught completely by surprise by the hearty shout of, “I say, is that Mary-Lou?” that came from the driver’s seat of the makeshift ARP ambulance from London one day.
And suddenly, there was Darrell clapping her on the shoulder, beaming brightly at her, real and solid as anything, nothing abstract or dream-like about her. Mary-Lou felt her mouth going dry, even as she smiled back. In her shock, she could only manage to stammer something about seeing to the patient, a woman who’d been caught in the blast of a German bomb the night before. She hoped that Darrell couldn’t see her cheeks flushing red as she hurried inside the hospital, beside the patient’s stretcher.
Mary-Lou wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that Darrell had left long before she’d been able to find a free minute, late in the afternoon. Of course she’d had to leave -- Darrell couldn’t wait around for an old school chum, not when she had such important work to do. Still, she couldn’t stop a small sigh of regret from escaping her lips later that night -- it would have been nice to catch up, to relive old memories. It would be a long time, she supposed, before she saw Darrell again -- there were lots of hospitals that took patients from London, after all.
Yet, less than three weeks later, when Mary-Lou was again working on the Emergency Ward, Darrell appeared a second time, late at night. This time they managed to catch up for a bit, after the patient had been seen to. Darrell told her of finishing university in Scotland, and working for a while with a publishing house in London before the war broke out -- and then, of course, they’d all volunteered to do their bit: Sally was working as a mechanic while her financé was away with the RAF, and Alicia and Betty were having a fine time in the Women’s Royal Naval Service. Mary-Lou felt rather insignificant telling Darrell about her work as a simple nurse, but Darrell just grinned and said, “How marvellous!”
This time, Mary-Lou knew that Darrell could see her blush.
“Well,” said Darrell, finally. “I’d best be going now.”
“Yes,” said Mary-Lou. “It’s getting rather late, I suppose.”
Darrell smiled at her, and to Mary-Lou’s surprise, Darrell’s arms locked around her shoulders in a brief hug. “No doubt I’ll be seeing you again soon, Mary-Lou!”
And Darrell did turn up again, a week later, and then two weeks after that, and then yet another time, until it became quite common, it seemed, for Mary-Lou to catch a glimpse of her standing in the drive beside her ambulance, even though it was really only once or twice a month. There wasn’t always time to stop and chat -- often, they missed each other altogether, and most of the time, when they did see each other, they could only manage a brief “Hallo!” before they both had to hurry back to work. Once, their shifts both finished at midday, and they went into town and had ham sandwiches at the local tea-rooms as a treat. Darrell laughed brightly the entire time, reminiscing about midnight feasts and chocolate biscuits, and Mary-Lou marvelled at her strength.
Darrell, Mary-Lou was sure, would never need to rely on schoolgirl memories to find her courage, and she squirmed uncomfortably, thinking about it -- how silly Darrell would think her, if she knew! Looking at Darrell across the table, Mary-Lou couldn’t help but feel twelve years old again, intimidated by Darrell’s natural bravery. Darrell would never need to trick herself out of her fear, like Mary-Lou did.
Still, it was no good worrying about it, and instead, Mary-Lou shyly told Darrell about the dance that some of the nurses were organising, in three weeks time. There would be some soldiers in town on leave, and some RAF pilots, and a few of the Land Girls from nearby farms would join them. When Darrell said she would try to get the time off work, so she could join them, Mary-Lou felt her heart beat faster.
But as the day of the dance drew closer, Mary-Lou began to fear that it might not happen. There were so many casualties from France that they were all working double shifts, and then the night before the dance was planned, just when they thought there might be some respite, London sustained heavy bombing, bringing in yet more patients in need of urgent care. It wasn’t until dawn that things began to ease off a bit, and Mary-Lou was given ten minutes to refresh herself after the long night on duty. She took herself out to the front of the hospital for a moment, breathing in the crisp cold air that hadn’t yet been warmed by the rising sun.
A lone ambulance pulled into the drive, and Mary-Lou felt her breath catch when she saw Darrell jump out of the driver’s seat and hurry to the back of the vehicle, where she was met by Dr. Gregory. Mary-Lou began to walk across the drive to join them, and she knew, before she got there, that something was wrong. Darrell’s cheeks, usually so warm and rosy, were pale as she looked down at the small form on the stretcher. As Mary-Lou drew closer she saw that it was a girl, her hair in two long plaits. Her lifeless eyes stared up at the morning sky.
“She’ll be about twelve,” said Darrell quietly, her voice uncannily steady as Dr. Gregory pulled a blanket over her, covering the girl’s face. “Same as Sally’s little sister.”
Dr. Gregory said something about internal bleeding, and shook his head, but Mary-Lou’s eyes were fixed on Darrell’s unmoving face, which was still turned towards the girl’s covered form. Mary-Lou took a step towards her, reaching a hand out to her shoulder, but then Dr. Gregory was calling her name, instructing her to move the body, and she had to turn away, leaving Darrell standing there, motionless.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. There were living patients to tend to, who needed a soft word or a kind smile as she changed their dressings or took their temperature, so she closed her eyes and imagined the salt water of the old tidal pool from school, and found, as she always did, that she could go on. Later, Dr. Gregory told her that it hadn’t even been a bomb -- the girl had hit her head in a fall, in her hurry to reach a bomb shelter, and no one had realised that anything was wrong until she’d drifted off to sleep during the air-raid, and couldn’t be woken after. Mary-Lou guessed that Darrell must have told him what had happened.
She wished she’d been able to spend a moment with Darrell before she’d left. It was always harder when it was children; Mary-Lou’s long years at Great Ormond Street hadn’t hardened her to that. And although Mary-Lou thought that the girl must have attended a day-school in London, it was so easy to imagine her wearing the brown and orange Malory Towers uniform, laughing with her friends, going to lessons and playing tricks on the Mistresses; surely Darrell had felt the same. But then, Darrell was probably far more sensible than Mary-Lou about these things -- Mary Lou, who still had to pretend she was a first form schoolgirl when she needed courage.
As Mary-Lou’s shift came to an end, one of the other nurses told her that the dance was going ahead after all, because they certainly weren’t going to let the Germans stop them having a bit of fun, and Mary-Lou determined that she would try to have a good time, regardless, for Darrell’s sake, as well as her own. She spent the afternoon resting, glad for the chance to sleep after her over-long shift. In the end, she slept longer than she had meant to; it was almost time for the dance when she woke.
Mary-Lou washed and made herself ready quickly, but she was still late -- by the time she reached the dance hall, music was playing and there were already half a dozen couples out on the floor. For a moment, Mary-Lou feared that Darrell hadn’t come after all -- but, no, there she was, over in the corner, talking to an American volunteer. She didn’t seem to see Mary-Lou, and Mary-Lou wondered if she dared interrupt them.
As she gradually made her way across the room, keeping close to the walls to avoid the dancing couples, she heard Darrell laugh in response to some comment from the American -- and though it was loud and hearty, somehow it didn’t sound like Darrell’s normal laugh at all.
Darrell didn’t notice Mary-Lou until Mary-Lou was almost standing next to her. For a moment, Mary-Lou saw the smile disappear from Darrell’s face, but an instant later it appeared again, just a little too bright and a little too wide. She introduced her American friend, who seemed rather terrifying to Mary-Lou, with his toothy grin and broad shoulders. Mary-Lou was relieved when he went to greet a friend of his across the room.
“Darrell, are -- are you feeling all right?” Mary-Lou asked, before she could lose her nerve.
Darrell’s smile seemed to freeze on her face. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”
“Well -- this morning --”
“I’m fine.”
“But -- ”
“I don’t need you fussing over me, Mary-Lou,” said Darrell stiffly. “I never could stand it when you did that at school.”
“I just thought --”
“Well, don’t think it!” Darrell snapped, her eyes flashing. “I’m perfectly all right. And I don’t need a little ninny like you worrying over me!”
Before Mary-Lou could respond, Darrell was pushing past her, making her way across the room, to the American and his friend. For a moment, Mary-Lou felt tears prick at her eyes, and she thought about running off -- but no, she’d stopped being the type of person who ran away that day at the pool, and she wouldn’t start again now. She stood against the wall, and before too long, a young soldier in khakis -- probably only nineteen years old -- was asking her to dance.
Mary-Lou danced with him until the song ended, and then excused herself, saying that she needed to sit and catch her breath. She scanned the room for Darrell, but she couldn’t see her anywhere. Mary-Lou felt someone tap her on the shoulder, and was surprised to see Darrell’s American officer standing beside her chair.
“Your friend went outside,” he drawled, pointing at a small side-door. “I think maybe you should go and see her.”
Mary-Lou didn’t waste any time -- less than a minute later, she was slipping out the narrow door and down the steps. Sure enough, there was Darrell’s moonlit silhouette, leaning against the fence.
“Darrell?”
“I -- I’m sorry I snapped at you before,” said Darrell softly, without turning. “It’s just -- this terrible war. It feels like it won’t end.”
“I know,” said Mary-Lou, stepping closer, so she stood only a foot behind her.
“I was beastly. Forgive me?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know how -- how you manage to be so calm all the time.”
Mary-Lou couldn’t think of a way to respond, and Darrell turned around to face her. She noticed, with a shock, that there were tears on Darrell’s face -- brave, beautiful Darrell, trembling now, looking at Mary-Lou with fear and grief in her eyes.
“Sometimes -- I feel as though -- as though I’m drowning,” Darrell whispered. “Can you save me again, Mary-Lou?”
For a moment, Mary-Lou felt a stab of panic, because Darrell seemed so afraid, but in the next second Mary-Lou felt something strong rise up inside her, and she knew that she could do as Darrell asked.
Without thinking about it further, she leaned forward and kissed Darrell, first on one cheek, then the other, and as she tasted Darrell’s tears on her lips, Mary-Lou felt certain that she would never need to pretend that she was twelve years old again. She pulled back for a moment, and raised a hand to Darrell’s neck, then leaned forward and kissed her mouth -- kissed her until she felt Darrell respond, until there was nothing but the feel of their lips pressed together, and the warmth of their arms twining around each other’s shoulders, and the taste of salt water mingled on their tongues.
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Author's Note 1: First Term at Malory Towers was published in 1946, but the actual time-frame for the novels was never specified. Winston Churchill is mentioned in the first book, but as he had a political career that began in 1900, I feel justified in suggesting here that the novels were set in the 1930s.
Author's Note 2: In writing this fic, I drew on personal accounts from women who lived and worked in Britain during WWII: A Nurse's Story by Elizabeth McDonnell (nee Keogh), Life as an Ambulance Driver in Medway by Edith Myra Taylor (nee Messenger), and Land Army Girl at Horton Farm, Epsom by Pearl Bourhill. The latter two are taken from the BBC WWII People's War Archive -- brilliant stuff, I highly recommend checking it out.