Molly knew she was right, but still childishly resented being told so.

‘I’ll try,’ she said, resentfully.

She really did try. All the rest of that day she was frightened enough of losing her job to stay away from her room, even though she was almost desperate at times to run upstairs for the comforting liquor, which helped to dull her unhappy, restless feelings.

‘I’ll do it gradually,’ she thought as she mopped a bathroom floor. ‘I’m not throwing away the rest of the bottle – it cost a lot of my wages! I’ll have a little drink tonight, then one tomorrow, then it’ll almost be gone . . .’

By the time she got up to her room that evening, closing the door and tearing to the cupboard, her hands were trembling so much that she could hardly get the bottle open. Even in her agitation, the lonely emptiness of the room seemed to echo round her. Was this her life – is this how it would be now for ever and ever? She sank down on the bed, taking a deep slug from the bottle and closed her eyes with the old, familiar relief of feeling it burn down inside her.

‘Oh, thank God,’ she murmured, then gave a little giggle at the thought of what Mr Lester would think of her giving thanks for the devil’s brew. But she wasn’t having him telling her what she could and could not do: if she wanted a drink, she’d damn well have one! And there she’d be in the morning, standing beside him singing hymns! She lay back with a cackle of laughter and cradled the bottle against her. One more mouthful, then she’d put it away.

By the end of the night the bottle was empty. The next day she managed to sneak out and buy another one.

Winter closed in fast. Molly’s army training in Clacton had been during the summer months, and though she had heard about the east-coast winter, she was still not prepared for the grey bleakness of it, as the days grew colder and Siberia-born winds whipped across the water. She also knew that Jane Lester was watching her like a hawk. Molly tried to contain her drinking to the evening, and to times when she knew there was no one about. But she found herself caught in the old tussle between wanting to be obliging and gain approval, so that much of the time she did her job very well, and wanting childishly to rebel and behave badly, to lash out and destroy any good thing that she had created.

She still hardly knew anyone in Clacton, other than shopkeepers, just by sight. The only other person who could just about be called a friend was a girl called Liza, a Londoner who worked as a chambermaid in one of the bigger hotels. Occasionally the two of them had time off together or met for a drink.

One such October day, Molly was due to meet Liza in the evening. All that gloomy day the sky seemed to be sitting on the tops of the houses. Molly went out to do some shopping and pulled her coat around her, looking at the cheerless streets. The holiday season was mostly over, very few guests arriving now, though Jane Lester had decided to keep Molly on more or less as a home help for herself. She supposed she was lucky to have a job really. Though Molly was glad to be relieved of her singing duties, she missed having other people passing through the house, where now the puritanical habits of the Lesters and their fellow evangelicals were unrelieved by anyone more joyful.