A moment later, naked and wanting each other, they made love, right there on the rug, without shame or guilt. In their hearts, they were innocents, snatching at life with both hands. And, for whatever reason, at that moment in time, life was good to them.

They didn’t mind what tomorrow brought, or whether their contentment would go on for ever. They accepted the gift of each other and, for as long as it lasted, they enjoyed the moment.

Because, more than most, these two lonely souls knew how fleeting a moment could be.

Chapter Thirteen

It had snowed all day yesterday, all through the night, and now, at six in the morning, it was still coming down. ‘When in God’s name will it stop?’

Molly’s gaze followed the constant flurry of snowflakes as they rained down on the windowsill. She thought how beautiful it all was; the solitary tree at the top of the street was hanging low, its branches silvered by the snow, its long arms outstretched like a woman about to cradle her child. The lamp post had a collar of snow round its lumpy neck, and where the snow had settled in between the cobbles, a curious criss-cross pattern was beginning to emerge.

Every house had a white roof, the chimney-pots like little people swathed against the cold. Snow had settled on the windowsills, thick and whipped by the wind, like froth on milk. Some way down, old Jimmy Tuppence, wrapped up in long coat, flat cap and a scarf, was shovelling the snow from his path.

Molly chuckled. ‘You might be going on eighty,’ she muttered, pressing her nose to the window, ‘but you could show the young ’uns a thing or two – eh, Jimmy boy?’

Suddenly, a small hand stole into hers. ‘Can we make a snowman?’

Having crept out of bed and down the stairs like a ghost so as not to wake anyone, Molly was surprised to see Bertha standing beside her, shivering in her nightgown. ‘Well, well, what have we here?’ Lifting the bairn into her arms, she said, ‘When I looked in on you just now, you were fast asleep. What woke you, sweetheart?’

Bertha put her arms round her big sister’s neck. ‘I saw the snow come tumbling down.’ And she wiggled her fingers to demonstrate.

Molly showed her the snow on the ground outside the window. ‘Only three days to Christmas,’ she told the child. ‘If it snows on Christmas Day it’s supposed to be magical. What do you think?’

‘I think Father Christmas throws it out of his sleigh, so he can land easy.’

Molly laughed at that. ‘Well then, it really is magical.’

‘Can we make a snowman?’ Bertha asked again.

‘We’ll see. Maybe when you’ve had your breakfast.’

‘Georgie said he once made a snowman, and its head fell off.’

Molly remembered. ‘He’s right, it did.’

She recalled the very morning; it was the end of November, some three years since. The snow had come early. The children had gone out into the yard and scooped all the snow into the centre. Everyone had helped make the biggest snowman ever… Mam and Lottie, and Molly, and Georgie with Milly and wee Bertha. Eddie hadn’t been born then.