Outside, Jack leaned against the wall and wondered what his reception might be. After all, he’d been gone a long time on his latest spree, and for all Molly knew, he might be dead and buried. Of a sudden he was pierced by a stab of conscience, but like always, it was only momentary. ‘Molly knew what she were tekking on… I never lied to her about the gypsy in me, never once,’ he murmured to himself. Ah, but he had lied about other things, he reminded himself. Things that were just as precious to him as having his freedom when the wild blue yonder called; things like his insatiable appetite for a bawdy woman, and the need of a man to sow his wild oats before Old Father Time caught up with him. There was something else too, which he had never told Molly. One of the rare things in life that he was ashamed of. He hadn’t the courage to tell her. Not yet anyway. All these things he had deliberately kept from Molly, because, trusting, genuine article that she was, Molly would neither understand nor forgive him. By! He trembled in his boots at the thought of her ever finding out how he had bedded one floozy after another; sometimes two at a time when he’d been too drunk to know any different. What! Molly might be an adoring and gentle soul, but she had one hell of a temper and would rip his eyes out if she knew how he was doing her down behind her back. He had only ever seen Molly’s temper once, and that was enough. He remembered the occasion well and the remembering sent shivers down his spine. It was in that very boozer where he’d just sent the floozy. Him and Molly were not long wed, and he’d taken her into the bar to show her off to his drinking cronies, when in came a brazen hussy he’d been foolish enough to have a bit of a fling with, not two weeks before. The silly cow made a beeline for him. Thank Gawd for the fact that the floozy was legless drunk and couldn’t remember his name, or the fur would really have flown, and no mistake! As it was, he managed to convince Molly that he was innocent as the day were long, and he had ‘never clapped eyes on the silly bitch afore’.

Molly had never since broached the subject and he often wondered whether she believed his story, or whether she might just harbour a deal of suspicion towards him. However, she never showed it, and he made it his business to reassure her constantly of his undying love for her. Funny thing was, he did love Molly. He loved and respected her a great deal. She was a good woman, a good mother, and had always been exceptionally loyal to him. If the truth be told, Molly was the most beautiful creature he’d ever come across. If she had any faults at all, they were the strength of her love for him, and the way she trusted his word. Yes, Molly was good, while he was a waster, a womanizer, and too much of a bloody coward to face a man’s responsibility towards his family. He was a useless wretch, no good at all, a Jack-the-Lad if ever there was one.