‘Oh, and so are you, Jack. SO ARE YOU!’ Molly sobbed. There had risen in her a terrible rage as she read the letter. Now the rage became a cold, hostile sensation, and pulling herself up by the arms of the chair, she went on slow, painful steps to the fireplace. There she screwed the letter into a hard, round ball and threw it into the flames. ‘You’re so right,’ she said in a contemptuous whisper, and with bitterness in her heart such as she had never known before. ‘You are a bastard, Jack… and a coward! And I don’t care if I never see you again!’ She watched the letter blacken and curl. ‘I hate you. Don’t come back. Don’t ever come back!’ She thought of the good times they had known in the early days, and that special way he had of making her laugh. In her mind she pictured his wayward fair hair and those dark brown eyes that twinkled. She recalled how passionate he was in lovemaking, yet so tender and thoughtful. He loved her. Molly knew that without any doubt, because it was not something that could be faked or hidden. And, God help her, she loved him. Enough to wait, she wondered. Enough to give him the one last chance he was asking? She tried to imagine what it would be like if she were never to see him again. Never to look into those laughing brown eyes, and never to have his arms embrace her. She weighed that pain against the pain he had caused her today, and which he caused her every time he left them. There was a greater pain now, because of their son, because of the children who might have had a proper Christmas, because he was too much of a coward to face life head on. Oh yes, there was pain and heartache, and bitterness. Yet beneath it all remained Molly’s steadfast loyalty and love for Jack. Steadfast and deep-rooted. She couldn’t deny it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Of a sudden, there was so much noise and confusion outside the room that Molly’s turbulent thoughts were shattered. Above the din sailed little Sal’s excited voice. ‘Mammy…! Mammy…! See what we’ve got!’

Molly turned her head as the child ran into the parlour, and following behind was Tilly Watson with Peggy in her arms. ‘Here’s something to buck you up,’ she laughed, putting the child to the floor and pulling her to one side as all eyes turned on the door.

Molly was astonished when the figure of a man began pushing its way in. For a moment she couldn’t see his face, because he was weighed down with a Christmas tree in one arm and a plump hen in the other. Her first thought was that Jack had come back to mend his ways and her heart warmed with gladness. She laughed out loud, the tumult at the door turning into a blur through her tears of joy.