Just as she had suspected, the minute she had gone, he picked up the letter and began reading it, his jaw dropping in disbelief as he took in the words.

Molly was halfway up the stairs when she heard him yelling, ‘Get out of ’ere, you old hag! Get back to the bloody streets where yer belong!’

Pausing, Molly looked down to see her father manhandling the redhead out the front door. When he saw Molly on the stair, he ordered, ‘You! Get back down ’ere this minute.’

Taking her time, she returned to the parlour.

Wild-eyed and furious, Frank flung the offending letter across the table. ‘What’s all this bloody nonsense then? What game does she think she’s playing?’

‘It’s no game.’

Appearing not to have heard, he gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Happen she’s heard rumours about them street-women who keep following me home.’ Pacing up and down, he was like a man demented. ‘Well, I’ll soon put paid to that, ’cos I’m off to the ’orspital right now, and just let the buggers try and throw me out this time!’

‘It’s no good you going there.’ Molly thought it amazing how the shock of that letter seemed to have sobered him up. ‘If you read the letter properly, you’ll know she’s not there.’

‘She’s bloody there all right, but not for long, ’cos I’m fetching her back ’ere, where she belongs.’

‘You’re not listening to me, are you?’ Molly had expected him to go berserk and turn the place upside down. Instead, it seemed like all the stuffing had been knocked out of him.

Looking at Molly, he cocked his head to one side, his eyes too bright, his voice beginning to crack. ‘Aye, that’s what I’ll do. Yer mam’s had time enough now.’ Running his hands frantically through his thinning hair, he said, ‘No wonder she’s writing silly stuff like that. She’ll be going out of her mind in that place. Oh, aye. Once our Amy’s home, this damned house might get back to normal.’

When he grabbed up his coat from the sofa Molly cried out to him, ‘It’s no use you going to the infirmary. She’s not there!’

He paused in the doorway, coat in hand, head bowed and his back to her. ‘Don’t go fooling yourself,’ she told him harshly, hating him. ‘Mam’s gone, thanks to you, and judging by that letter, she’s never coming back.’

For what seemed a lifetime, the silence in the little parlour was unbearable.

Frank remained quite still, head hanging low, coat in hand; neither he nor Molly made a move. In the background the clock ticked and from somewhere upstairs came the creaking of a floorboard.

‘No.’ One solitary word, spoken by a man who had been deserted, and who knew, deep down, that he was the cause of his wife leaving.

In all her life Molly had never felt so alone. ‘Come back inside, Dad.’ Wearily going to him, she put her hand on his shoulder.