‘Good night, God bless, sunshine,’ Molly replied, bending to place a kiss on the smooth, tear-stained face. After satisfying herself that Peggy and Tom were sound asleep, she went to the window and looked out at the gathering darkness. The gas-lamps in the street below threw out eerie yellow haloes, whose lights flickered in the shadows and brought the darkening corners to life.

For a while, Molly was held entranced, her face pressed hard against the cold, stiff window and the glow from the candle in her hand creating a strange image of herself in the window-pane. She gazed at the reflection for a long, curious moment, being both shocked and comforted by what she saw there. Shocked because of the gauntness of her features and the weariness in those dark eyes that stared back at her; comforted because, in spite of the gaunt features and the weariness, the image was her! It was her face, her eyes, herself. None of that had changed, only the outside. Inside she was still Molly. She had her wits and her strength. She had her children. With God’s help she could go on.

Up to this point, Molly had been deluding herself that perhaps Jack might come along looking for them. Maybe, wherever he was, he might wake up one morning and remember that he had a wife and children who needed him. Now though, Molly had stopped deluding herself. Jack was not coming in search of them. He never would. Stranger still to Molly was the realization that she was glad; she never again wanted to set eyes on him! But her love had not turned to hate. Worse still, it had become a cold indifference.

Just now Molly had told little Sal they would have their own place when Jack came home. It was a lie. Molly hoped the good Lord would forgive her. She had known for some long time now that, if she and the young ’uns were ever again to have a place of their own, it would be by her own efforts. There was no other way. But how? How? She had lost count of the long, lonely nights when she had sat on the scullery steps, searching for a way, agonizing over what to do, which way to go, or how she might earn enough money to secure and keep a roof over their heads. As it was, life was difficult enough. Tilly had been good enough to take them in when they had arrived here, tired and afraid. But it was a situation that could not last for much longer – ‘Only temporary, mind… just till yer get fixed up. Two weeks at the most,’ Tilly had said.

Tilly had already extended that ‘two weeks’ to four. Though she never made an issue of it, it was clear that her patience was wearing thin. After all, she had her own troubles, and this little house was bursting at the seams.