Closing her eyes, Nelly cast her mind back over the long, eventful years, to when she and Emma had first come across each other in that rat-infested prison cell. So many years. So much had happened since that fateful day, when the two of them were little more than children; afraid and friendless, not knowing what the future held, or whether they might ever see another day. ‘Oh, but we did, didn’t we, Emma, gal?’ Nelly chuckled. ‘We ain’t so easy put down, are we, eh?’ She blessed the day when she and Emma were flung together, because it had brought her the very best friend any woman could have. Suddenly Nelly’s heart was filled with love for that darling woman who had suffered so much in her life, and yet had emerged all the stronger for it. ‘Bless yer, Emma,’ she said softly, the tears rolling down her lined face. ‘Bless yer heart, Emma darling.’ She clambered from the chair and went to the sideboard. From here she took out a bottle of gin which she quickly opened and, with her feet doing a little jig, she tipped it to her mouth and gulped down a sizeable measure. Afterwards, returning to the rocking-chair with the bottle clutched to her lap, she closed her eyes and fell into a delightful slumber.

The last impression on Nelly’s mind was that of Marlow and the children, who had all been ecstatic when Mick Darcy had returned with Molly that very morning. All six of them had gone to the church to reunite Molly with her mother. Too emotional to be patient, Emma had made her way there as soon as the news had come through that Molly had been found and would shortly be brought home.

The priest gazed on Emma from a discreet place at the back of the church, his face wreathed in smiles as she knelt at the altar, her eyes raised to the crucifix, and her lips murmuring a prayer of heartfelt thanks for her new-found grandchildren, and for Molly’s safe return.

Silently the priest moved away, having already given his own prayer of gratitude and being overjoyed at the news that Molly was being returned from London this very morning. It was a miracle that Emma’s grandchildren were also safely recovered from a derelict warehouse along Bank Top. These were wondrous tidings. As was Emma’s return to the Church – which she had so bitterly denounced on the tragic death of her son.

Seeing a group of people approaching, and at once recognizing Marlow, he hurried forward, eager to make the acquaintance of the new additions to the Tanner family.

Emma sensed that there was someone behind her. Suddenly, even in the heat of a blazing June morning, her every limb was trembling. When at last she was compelled to turn round, her heart almost stopped. ‘Molly,’ she whispered, the name warm and loving on her lips. As she gazed at her daughter, the slim figure wrapped in a tattered shawl, her hair so rich and black, and those dark, beseeching eyes intent on her, Emma could not stem her tears. Through a bitter-sweet mist she continued to gaze on this girl, this young woman, who was her own flesh and blood – hers and Marlow’s. Dear God above!