‘I ain’t seen hide nor hair of the fellow answering this Jack’s description,’ the big man told her in hushed, fatherly tones, ‘but I reckon a man who could leave a pretty little thing such as yourself ain’t worth salt.’ He rammed a forkful of red meat into his mouth, before adding kindly, ‘Go home and wait for him there, why don’t you? It ain’t right that you should be working in a place where fellows congregate… not a young, good-looking girl like you.’ He indicated a nearby table, where a group of young seamen appeared to be taking a little too much interest in Molly’s slim, shapely figure. ‘This is dockland, Molly. I’ve got a daughter myself… not much younger than you, and I wouldn’t want her within ten miles of this place.’ He smiled and nodded his greying head. ‘Look… you take yourself off home and I promise you… if I do clap eyes on that husband of yours, I’ll send him back to you with a swift kick in the breeches.’ Molly gave no answer, other than to smile at him and turn away. ‘You think on what I said, Molly girl,’ he urged, ‘think on it real good.’ His warning duly given, the man returned his noisy attention to the food on his plate.

For the rest of the day, Molly continued to search the faces that frequented Bill Craig’s café; there were faces that had grown familiar to her, new faces both hostile and friendly, old faces and young ones. But none of them belonged to Jack. For all Molly knew, he could be miles away and she had been looking in the wrong direction. ‘Go home and wait for him there,’ the big man had told her. Molly smiled at the irony of his remark. She could have explained that she had no home. She could have told him that in the outhouse behind the café were three children belonging to her and Jack – whom the big man had said was ‘not worth salt’. Three adorable bairns who deserved something better: a crippled boy aged one year and a half, a mischievous girl going on three, and little Sal, not yet seven years old, but made to grow up before her time.

Here, Molly paused to think how very much she had come to rely on Sal, a darling little creature who took care of her brother and sister during the hours when Molly worked in the café. At first, Mr Craig, the owner, had insisted that Molly work both mornings and evenings, to cover the busiest times serving breakfasts and suppers. When she protested that she would have to leave, he relented, getting someone else in to do the breakfasts. His motive was purely selfish.

Molly was one of the best workers Bill Craig had ever employed at the café; the pay was not so handsome and most waitresses spent too much time chatting up the customers. Molly, however, preferred to just serve their meals and get on with her duties. He considered Molly to be well worth keeping for as long as possible – in spite of the fact that she came with three brats on her coat-tail and was not as friendly to himself as he would have liked. When all was said and done, she was a tasty little article, and in view of the fact that she had no man to satisfy her needs, Bill Craig fancied she might come to enjoy his company between the sheets.