The two of them began to giggle. Just then, a tousled little Bertha appeared at the doorway, rubbing her eyes and crying, ‘I want my mammy!’

Horrified she might see, Molly swept the little girl into her arms. Closing the door, she hurried up to the bedroom. ‘It’s all right,’ she told the sobbing child. ‘Molly’s here.’ And the way things were, here she must stay.

Exhausted, she cradled the bairn, and fell asleep beside her.

In the morning, the woman was gone, and Frank Tattersall lay slumped across the sofa, snoring loudly. Shaking him until he opened his eyes, Molly told him, ‘It’s half past six. You’d best clean up and look sharp, or you’ll be late for work.’ Disgust trembled in her voice. ‘You stink of beer!’ Throwing open the windows, she let in a blast of cold air that woke him in a minute.

‘Shut that sodding winder, you silly cow!’ Clutching his shirt about him, Frank struggled from the sofa and hobbled across the room, where he took it on himself to slam the window shut again. ‘This is my bloody ’ouse, and I’ll say when the winders are to be opened.’

There followed a heated argument, during which Molly warned him, ‘Bertha almost saw you and that tart last night. What in God’s name were you thinking of?’

Without warning, he swung round and slapped her hard on the face. ‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,’ he yelled. ‘I’m my own boss, and don’t you forget it. I don’t answer to nobody, least of all a snotty-nosed little bugger like you. And yer mam’s not ’ere, is she, eh? Oh no! She’s lying in that ’orspital, being waited on hand and foot, and not giving a sod about what I need!’

Her face burning from the slap, Molly straightened herself to her full height, swung her arm back and hit her father with all her might, almost falling over with the impact. Then, as he stared at her with disbelieving eyes, she warned him in a trembling voice, ‘Don’t you ever raise your hand to me again. I’m not our mam, and I won’t be knocked about, not by you or anybody.’

With that she turned and strode into the scullery. She filled the kettle from the cold tap, and was about to turn towards the stove when she felt herself being grabbed by the shoulders and flung across the room.

Running at her like a madman, Frank pinned her to the wall by her throat, his hand gripping so tight she fought for breath. ‘I’m the man of this ’ouse,’ he growled in her face. ‘Nobody tells me what to do. An’ if that doesn’t suit yer, then get out an’ stay out. There’s plenty o’ women as’ll keep ’ouse for me while yer mam’s pampering herself in that place.’

Leaving her shaken and gasping for air, he grabbed up his belongings and slammed out of the house.

For what seemed an age, Molly leaned against the wall, her hands to her throat, her eyes closed. She imagined her mam away with her fella, laughing and free, not caring about the chaos she had left behind. Suddenly, rage boiled up inside her. Giving a cry of pain, she lunged at the shelves, and with one sweep of her arm sent the entire contents to the floor; cups went crashing, jars of jam splattered open across the scullery floor, and when there was nothing left on the shelves, she thumped them with her bare fists until the skin split open and the blood ran down her arms.