‘Did she tell you she liked to write poetry?’ Constance asked.

‘She did mention it once. She had a diary – it looked a bit like this notebook – she said she wrote her thoughts in it. It wasn’t found in her home after she died.’

‘Sounds like the geezer who killed ’er took it, then,’ Sheila said. ‘Tell us, Molly, were she ’appy down in Somerset?’

‘Yes, I’d say so. People in the village were a bit mean to her, but she seemed to accept that was just the way it was. As long as they weren’t nasty to Petal, she didn’t seem troubled.’

‘Were there a man in her life?’

Molly wasn’t sure how to reply to that. She didn’t want to tell the truth and shock Constance.

‘I think she had a couple of admirers,’ she replied hesitantly. ‘But they were ruled out as her killer, and I never met them.’

‘Sounds like she hadn’t changed much,’ Sheila said with a smile. ‘She were always cagey about that stuff when she were ’ere. But I knowed there was a couple of blokes sniffin’ around.’

‘Oh, Sheila, you always like to add a bit of drama to everything!’ Constance said with a little chuckle.

Molly talked to the two women for a little longer, but sensing that Sheila had come to see Constance for more than just a social call, she told them she had to go.

‘Come back and see me again once you’ve moved to London,’ Constance urged her. ‘If I hear anything more about Cassie, I’ll pass it on to you.’

‘Don’t let those snotty women at your new job grind you down,’ Sheila added. ‘Remember you’ve got chums ’ere.’

When Molly walked back down Myrdle Street to Whitechapel Road, it didn’t look as grim as it had earlier. If the two women she’d met today were representative of the neighbourhood, she was beginning to understand why Cassie had been happy here.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Molly had enjoyed her brief stay in London, seeing the big shops, Hyde Park and Piccadilly, but the time went too fast and, as soon as she got on the train at Paddington to go home, fear set in.

She knew her father was going to hit the roof because she had gone without his permission, and he’d be even angrier that she was going back to London to work, because that would mean he’d lose the person who did the lion’s share of the work in the shop.

Molly tried to blot out what the homecoming would be like by reading Cassie’s journal. But most of what she read was puzzling.

It was part diary, part a record of her state of mind, and part poems and prose, but there were no dates at all. One page she read at random said, ‘Caught the bus, so many gloomy faces. Trapped by their family? Anxiety about money? Lack of love? I wonder how I look to others? Do my worries show in my face?’

It was a strange thing to record, yet it seemed appropriate, because when Molly looked around the railway carriage she saw lots of gloomy faces and wondered if her own anxiety about the reception she would get at home showed in her face.

George had said that he wouldn’t be able to pick her up on her return, so she caught the bus home and nodded off on it, only waking when she was approaching Sawbridge. It was nearly seven in the evening, so the shop was closed.

She approached the side door with trepidation, let herself in and, hearing the television on upstairs, hoped her father would be so engrossed in the programme he wouldn’t want to miss it by having a row with her.

As she walked up the stairs she reminded herself that she wasn’t going to be meek any more. She’d got to stick up for herself and show him she wasn’t afraid of him.

But as she reached the landing he came out of the sitting room and glowered at her. He was wearing his usual grey flannels held up by braces, a white shirt and a cardigan. He wore a tie in the shop, but he’d taken it off now and, as always, he smelled of pipe tobacco.

‘Well, where do you think you’ve been, young lady?’ he growled.

‘To London, for a job interview,’ she said, trying hard not to shake with fear and to sound confident. ‘I got the job. I start next Monday but go to the hostel on Saturday.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ he said, his voice rasping with anger. ‘This is where you live and work. I’m not having you gallivanting around London getting yourself into trouble.’

‘Sorry, Dad, but it’s all arranged,’ she said, more boldly than she felt. ‘I want a decent career and a life of my own. I’m twenty-five, more than old enough to make my own decisions, but I hoped to get your blessing.’

‘Blessing! I’ll give you the back of my hand! You leave this house and you can never come back!’ he roared out at Molly.

She could see by his flushed face that he was likely to attack her but, although that scared her, her indignation at him using terror tactics to control her gave her the courage to oppose him.

‘Why would I want to come back?’ she retorted. ‘All you’ve ever done is belittle me, use me and hit me. I don’t ever want to see you again.’

She didn’t move out of his reach fast enough and his fist hammered into her cheek, knocking her back against the kitchen door.

‘Jack!’ her mother yelled as she came rushing out of the sitting room. ‘Have you learned nothing? Why can’t you be a real man and admit you’ll miss your daughter? You’ve already driven Emily away and now Molly will never come near us again.’

Molly stood up straight. Her cheek stung and she guessed she’d have a black eye by the following morning. Not the best way to celebrate getting a new job.

‘You aren’t going to get away with it this time,’ she said, looking right at her father, daring him to hit her again. ‘I’m going across to the police station now to report an assault. Let’s see how you like being arrested!’

Jack made a move to grab her, but her mother caught his arm and held him back. ‘No, Jack! Don’t make it any worse. Or I’ll be going over there with her.’

He made a snarling sound and wheeled round, going into the sitting room and slamming the door behind him.

‘Come with me, love,’ Mary said, and drew her daughter into the kitchen. She soaked a cloth under the cold tap and, after wringing it out, held it to Molly’s cheek. ‘He doesn’t really mean it,’ she said weakly. ‘He’s upset that you’re leaving.’

‘When are you going to stop defending him?’ Molly said, pushing the cloth away. ‘He’s an out-of-control brute, and I shudder to think what he’ll do to you once I’m not here. I’m going over to the police now, if only so that they’ll keep an eye on you while I’m away. But if you’ve got any sense, you’ll leave him, Mum. If you don’t, he might just kill you.’

‘I made my marriage vows in church before God, and “For better or worse” was part of it,’ Mary said quietly. ‘It breaks my heart to know he’s driven you and Emily away, but I have to stay. I’m his wife.’

Molly shook her head in despair. She’d already said everything there was to be said dozens of times, and she knew her mother would never be shaken from what she considered to be her duty. But before leaving for London she was going to have her father charged with assault. She had to make a stand.

‘Then I’ll take my case and go now. I’ll ask George if I can stay at his house tonight, and I’ll go back to the guest house in Paddington till Saturday,’ Molly said. ‘I’ll give you my address and telephone number at the hostel. You know I’ll always help you, and meet you anywhere you like. But I won’t come back to this house while he’s still alive.’

Mary stepped forward and put her arms around her daughter, hugging her tightly and rocking her to and fro. Molly knew her mother was crying silently, and her whole being wanted to relent, to say she wouldn’t take the job in London and she’d stay here. But as much as she loved her mother and feared for her, she couldn’t back down to her father. To do so would mean a lifetime of kowtowing to him.