This is set after Molly's return from Afghan, a few months down the line. Timelines might be a bit skew-whiff, but I was interested in exploring her thoughts on what happened- especially given the time of year.

For anyone who has served, or lost someone who served. Thinking of you all tomorrow and on Sunday.

LOE.

Molly tore off another strip of bread, throwing it over the side of the bridge to the gathered ducks below. The birds argued noisily with one another over the morsel, throwing up splashes of the murky water as they fought. Molly carefully shredded the last bit of the bread into the scrumpled Warburton's bag. Turning, she walked along the bridge, followed below by the quacking crowd of ducks. Taking handfuls from the bag, she tossed the bread over the rail, scattering crumbs along the river. Scrunching the now empty bag into her pocket, she reached the end of the bridge and started along the bank. The grass was muddy, churned up by families doing exactly what she had been there to do. She watched as a little girl shrieked in fear, running back to the arms of her father as a large male mallard got rather too close. Stifling a smile, Molly tucked her chin back inside her scarf and buried her hands deeply into the pockets of her coat against the chilly air. Along the bank, the trees blazed with burning colours; under her feet the fallen leaves crunched satisfyingly. Her breath clouded in front of her face, misted by the frigid air. November was here, and tomorrow was Remembrance Day.

Against her fingertips, her mobile buzzed. Pulling it out, she typed in the security code and opened the messages. Pausing for a moment, she let her thumb hover over the newest message from the Boss Man. Her heart tightened as she read the opening line; "What's the plan tomorrow?"

Spotting a bench, she sank down onto the cold metal and opened the rest of the message.

"What's the plan tomorrow? Are you coming through to Bath? No pressure, let me know.x"

Molly pressed the lock button and shoved her phone back into her pocket. Leaning back on the bench, she stared moodily out over the river. Since their return from Afghanistan, she'd made regular trips to Bath to see the Boss. Her parents had initially been confused- after all, she'd had something going with Smurf, hadn't she?

After one weekend away, her mum had tentatively broached the subject while she was doing the ironing. Her mum always did that- talked about the important stuff while doing housework. Molly had learned about her period over the roar of the hoover.

'So, you and Captain James...?' she'd said, vanishing momentarily behind a cloud of steam as she slid the iron over Jade's school shirt. 'Woss that about?'

Molly had tightened her grip on her mug of tea, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. 'What'dya mean?'

Her mother had shot her a look- the kind of look every daughter knows and fears. 'Leave it, Mum,' Molly said warningly.

'It's just-,' More steam. 'We thought you and Smurf...?'

'No, Mum!' Molly said with exasperation. 'Not me an' Smurf.' Even saying his name still hurt. He'd been dead for six months and every day still felt like a raw wound... but not like that.

'We were mates, Mum,' she said sadly. 'Nothin' else.' Apart from one night around the back of an Indian takeaway, and Molly had firmly closed the lid on that sordid little box. 'You know what I'm sick of?' she'd snapped suddenly. Belinda Dawes put the iron on the rest, leaning back against the sink. This infuriated Molly, who knew her mother was preparing for an outburst, and she didn't want to prove her right. The words tumbled out anyway; 'Everyone treating me like a..a widow! I'm not a widow! I didn't love Smurf like that! We weren't together. For fuck's sake, everyone is walking on eggshells around me and it wasn't like that!' She'd ended the sentence shouting, furious tears blurring her eyes and reddening her cheeks.

'But Molls... you never said.'

That had shut her up. Because she hadn't said, had she? When Kinders sat on the beach during decompression and brought it up she didn't correct him. Mrs. Smurf had let her cry on her shoulder outside the Queen Elizabeth, let her keep her ring... all under the impression that Molly loved her son with more than friendship. The boys from the unit- all sweet under the scrubby squaddie humour, had been in touch to check on her and not one of them knew where her heart really lay.

And how could she tell them? The layers of deception were to protect her and Charles, but sooner or later, someone would find out and then they would hate her. All of them. She'd be a pricktease and a slut. She'd be the monster who led Smurf on and broke his heart. She and the Boss had done it to protect themselves, but at the deception of so many people. The guilt was killing her. Guilt at not loving Smurf, guilt for hurting him. Guilt at lying to people. Guilt for loving a kind, wonderful man who couldn't understand why she was hot and cold.

Guilt for worrying about her reputation in the Army while Smurf lay dead in the ground and his mother, stripped of both her children sat alone in her house in Newport.

And the Boss... well, he didn't understand. Why would he? Technically- very technically, they hadn't done anything wrong. But Molly knew it wouldn't be seen like that. Every time a new female joined a unit the same thing would happen: by teatime everyone knew if she'd shagged someone on basic, if she had a boyfriend- or girlfriend... and most importantly, what the chances were of someone getting their end away in the platoon. In one tour Molly had two declarations of love- only one of which she reciprocated, and if that got out... well. But where did that leave her and Charles now? Stuck in a limbo of secret weekends away and furtive texts. Sooner or later, the truth would come out and what would happen then? That was why she'd never corrected anyone. Better to stay a mystery than be forever labelled a whore.

Her phone buzzing brought her back from her reverie, and it took her a moment to realise she was being called rather than getting a text. A glance at the screen made her stomach flip unpleasantly at the same time as her heart jumped. She slid her thumb across the screen to answer.

'Boss Man,' she said softly.

'Molly.' His voice was almost as soft as hers, laden with careful guardedness. She knew this was because of her and her unusual silence. She knew he was worried.

'You didn't reply and I wanted to hear the sound of your voice, so...' he paused.

'Sorry, I've just had a lot on,' she replied quickly, shuffling uncomfortably on the freezing bench. A moment of silence crackled down the line. Molly could see him in her mind, stood in the palatial hallway of his parents' house, one hand to his ear, the other tucked across himself as he looked at the floor for inspiration. She didn't know why he did that, but it was one of the things that endeared him to her.

'Are you coming?' The question was almost plaintive, and Molly felt her heart twist.

'I want to,' she admitted. 'I'm just... I dunno.' How could she explain? What was the right way to explain other than "I love you but I feel bad for doing it because everyone thinks I was in love with Smurf and I don't want everyone to think I'm a whore for moving on even though this started long before now?"

'Listen, Dawes... if you're having second thoughts..' it hurt him to say it and she could hear it in his voice. 'No! No it's not that,' she gasped. 'No!'

'Aright,' he said quickly. 'I just-'

'I'm coming.' Molly interrupted, firmly. 'I'm coming but there's some stuff we gotta go through, Boss. And I gotta be back at barracks for the Remembrance parade on Sunday.'

'You don't have to call me 'Boss', Molly.'

'I know,' she said with a shrug of her shoulder, 'Sorry.' She heard him sigh with exasperation down the line. 'I'm might gunna get the thirteen ten,' she continued before he could tell her off any further. 'Should get to Bath train station about fifteen-hundred.'

The relief in his voice was heartbreaking; 'Okay, Dawes. I'll pick you up.'

'See you,' she whispered fondly.

'See you back,' he murmured, and hung up. Molly puffed her cheeks out then released the breath, watching it cloud the air. Her first Remembrance Day with someone to remember- and she'd be spending it with Charles. Leaning forward, she searched for the guilt that had lain heavy in her stomach since Smurf's death. It was still there, malevolent and dark... but it was a little less than yesterday, or the day before that.

Maybe that was how it worked? The guilt would get smaller and smaller until eventually, time would do what she couldn't and forgiveness would move into its place.

Glancing at the time on her phone, Molly stood. If she was going to make that train she'd have to get a shift on. Looking down at the poppy on her jacket, she gently ran a finger around the edge of the little paper flower.

'At the going down of the sun and in the morning.. we will remember them,' she murmured. The sunshine had broken through the November clouds and the trees blazed; leaves crunched underfoot and shouting children charged along the banks. Molly took a deep breath, tucked her chin into her scarf and smiled.