‘Stop this, Mr Heywood!’

The deep male voice took them all by surprise, and they turned to see PC George Walsh standing in the small passageway which led to the shop. He was in civilian clothes, had clearly come into the shop to buy something and, hearing a commotion coming from beyond the door which led to the stock room, had decided to investigate. To Molly and Mary’s good fortune, he was in the nick of time, and before Jack could move or speak George lunged forward, caught hold of the older man’s arm and shook it till he dropped his weapon. ‘By rights I ought to give you a taste of your own medicine,’ he growled, pushing Jack away from Molly and towards the wall at the back of the store room. ‘Men who hit women disgust me.’

‘You don’t know what she said to me,’ Jack said plaintively, but he was already shrinking under the look of revulsion on the face of the young policeman. And Walsh had manhandled him as if he was capable of doing him serious damage.

‘I wouldn’t care if you told me she’d stolen a week’s takings or burned your shop down; there is no justification for any man hitting a woman.’ George went over to Mary, who was still on the floor, and helped her to her feet, then he turned to Molly and put his arm around her protectively. ‘You come home with me,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk about pressing charges while I see to your injuries.’

Molly wanted to go with him. She couldn’t think of anywhere safer than being with George, and she hurt all over, but she couldn’t leave her mother alone with her father.

‘Thank you for the offer, George, but I can’t leave my mum,’ she said, as tears of shock began to run down her cheeks. ‘But I promise you, if Dad takes one further step towards either of us, I’ll ring the police station immediately.’

They all looked towards Jack. He had slumped down on to a chair in the corner and was holding his head in his hands as if he was very aware he’d gone far too far.

‘He might be sorry now, but I’m still going to report what I’ve just witnessed,’ George said forcefully. He went over to Jack and prodded his shoulder. ‘You lay just one finger on either of them ever again and I’ll see you get locked up. Like I said, I’m off to report you now.’

‘I didn’t mean to hit her, but she got my goat,’ Jack whined. ‘You don’t know what I have to put up with.’

‘You should be down on your knees thanking God for such a devoted wife, and a daughter who has made your business so successful.’ George’s lips curled back in scorn. ‘If Molly had any sense at all, she’d leave home right now. She deserves so much better than this.’

George left, then, slamming the shop door so hard the bell jangled furiously. Jack scuttled into the shop, not even glancing at his wife or daughter.

Mary and Molly looked at one another fearfully. ‘He’ll put the “CLOSED” sign on the door now and probably go off to the pub,’ Mary whispered. ‘I can’t imagine what he’ll be like when he comes back. Maybe you should’ve gone with George.’

Molly was shaky and nauseous with shock and hurting from the beating her father had given her, but George’s intervention had dispelled her fear. ‘I meant what I said, Mum: I’ll ring the police if he does anything more to either of us, and I’ll press charges. He’s got away with stuff for far too long. We have to stand up to him. Now, let’s go upstairs. He can go and hang himself for all I care.’

Upstairs, Mary got Molly to sit down while she put a cold compress on to the red weals on her head and neck. One had caught her on the side of her face and drawn blood, and the skin around her eye was already swelling up.

‘You’re going to have a real bruiser in the morning,’ Mary murmured, and when Molly looked up she saw that her mother was crying silently.

‘Don’t, Mum. I can’t bear to see you cry,’ she said.

Mary hugged her daughter close to her breast. ‘Oh, my darling. I think George was right – you should leave. This is no life for you, and I can’t even promise things will get better after today.’

‘I’d leave if you came with me,’ Molly said, moving her head slightly so her voice wasn’t muffled. ‘We could get a little flat in Bristol and I could work in one of the big shops, I’m sure you could get some part-time work, too.’

Mary shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do that. It would mean I’d be dependent on you, and that isn’t fair to you either. You couldn’t look after us both, and I wouldn’t let you try. I’d just ruin your life.’

Molly thought that was the saddest thing she’d ever heard. How could her mother believe that she’d ruin her own daughter’s life?’

‘I can’t leave you here alone with Dad. You’re already a bag of nerves. Even if he doesn’t hit you, he’ll make you do all the work I do now, and he’ll be on at you constantly.’

‘I just won’t do all the work,’ she replied. ‘I’ll ignore him. He’ll have to get someone else to help, or the shop will go under. Maybe I can persuade him to sell it and retire.’

Molly thought that retirement would be even worse for her mother: her father would have nothing at all to do, and he’d grumble, demand and find fault even more. But she couldn’t say that. Her poor mother had to be left with some hope for the future.

Mary Heywood knew what her daughter was thinking as she hugged her to her breast. Molly was right in believing Jack wouldn’t change; he couldn’t, he was too set in his ways. But she had to find a way to make her daughter see that she wasn’t responsible for either of her parents and that she was entitled to choose her own path in life.

Of course, Mary knew she was partly to blame for this state of affairs. She should’ve put her foot down with Jack long ago, at the first sign of violence and nastiness, instead of caving in and allowing him to do it. Maybe if she’d walked out years ago he would’ve come to heel when he realized what he stood to lose. But, instead, she’d just kept quiet, and that had added more fuel to his fire.

It might be too late now to change Jack, but it wasn’t too late for Molly to start out afresh. Emily had made the break and got away; Molly could, too. Mary knew she had to be a real mother now and protect her child, whatever the cost to herself.

She moved back slightly from Molly and, putting one hand on each side of her daughter’s face, she lifted it to look at her. Such a sweet face, wistful blue eyes, a neat, up-tilted nose and a generous mouth. She would never be a beauty queen, but the warmth of her personality and the way she cared about people meant she would always be liked and admired. Mary hoped she’d find love soon with a man who really deserved her.

‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘You are leaving home, Molly. Not today or tomorrow, but as soon as we can make the arrangements without your father finding out. I won’t sit back any longer and watch you working without being appreciated or being given a fair wage. I want you to have fun, to make new friends and be happy. So please don’t refuse.’

‘But I’ll need money –’

Mary cut her short by putting a finger on her daughter’s lips. ‘I’ll get you the money, and in the next few days we’ll work out together where you’re going to go. Now, I suggest you go and have a lie down for a bit. You’ve had a nasty shock.’

After two days of lying around nursing her wounds and trying hard to think of where she could go if she did leave home, on the afternoon of the third day Molly decided to go and see Simon. She might hardly know him, but he seemed to be a man of the world, he’d liked Cassie, too, and she thought he would give her good advice.

She put make-up over her bruised eye, hoping he wouldn’t notice it, and, taking a pot of local honey and a few buns her mother had made as a little present, she walked down the high street to his flat, which she knew to be over Weston’s, the funeral directors.

There was a concrete staircase up to his flat, reached from the back of the building. Molly remembered that when she and her friend Christine had been about seven they came round here to find out where Mr Weston kept the dead bodies. He had caught them trying to peer in a window of an outhouse, and he’d taken them back to Heywood’s grocery shop, holding each of them by the ear.