Molly knew that what the sister said was right, but it didn’t stop her feeling like she’d been kicked in the stomach.

Back home and sitting in Constance’s room a little later, Molly felt her heart was breaking. It was such a spartan room, yet she’d never really thought that while Constance was there. She could see now, in the drab, comfortless room, that by giving her life to the Church her friend had turned her back on everything but the basic essentials of life.

Charley called round later and was horrified when she opened the door to him with red, swollen eyes.

‘I’m so very sorry,’ he said when she blurted out that Constance was dead. ‘Such a shame you didn’t get a chance to tell her about your interview. But please let me in and tell me about it.’

It didn’t seem right to take him into Constance’s room, but there was nowhere else, so Molly left the door open, so none of the other tenants in the house would think she was taking liberties. She quickly told Charley all about the job, and how lovely Rye was, but she couldn’t help but switch right back to talking about Constance.

‘Look around this room,’ she said, waving her arm. ‘There’s nothing of any value, not even a wireless. She would sit with her coat on rather than putting another shovelful of coal to the fire. Yet she’d use the coal if a visitor called, and give them the special biscuits or cakes that would have been given to her as a present. She lived her whole life for other people.’

Charley comforted her with a cuddle, and agreed that people as selfless as Constance were as rare as hen’s teeth.

‘And, on top of that, how will I be able to see you if I take this job?’ she sobbed out.

‘We’ll have to do what people did during the war and write to each other,’ he said. ‘I can phone you at the hotel, too, I expect, and I’ll buy a car and come down as often as I can. And later this year, when I’ve finished my night-school classes, I might be able to get work down that way with Wates. They’ve got projects coming up in both Hastings and Ashford.’

Molly brightened a bit at that. It meant that Charley was thinking long term about them. Yet, however much she wanted to be near him, she knew very well she couldn’t bear to stay on in this cold, depressing house without Constance. As for working at Pat’s, she couldn’t wait to hand in her notice. So, unless she miraculously found another job here and somewhere better to live, she had no choice but to go.

‘That would be something to look forward to,’ she said, and, remembering the advice she’d read in magazines about men not liking to be pushed into corners, she realized she’d have to try to sound more positive. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been such a drip, and a bit clingy, too. It’s just the shock of losing Constance. I’ve got to look forward, not back.’

‘So you’ll be leaving next Saturday, then?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow. ‘If you like, I could borrow a motor and take you down there?’

‘That would be wonderful!’ she said, hoping she could hold her emotions in check when he left her there. ‘I can’t wait for you to see how pretty Rye is.’

Charley went home soon after. Molly went upstairs first, to speak to Iris, and then went off to bed. Her room felt even colder than it normally did, and she huddled under the covers and cried.

Iris had spoken to Reverend Adams, and it seemed the funeral would be the following Thursday and he had all the arrangements in hand. He was expecting over a hundred mourners, and he had asked the ladies from the church to lay on a tea afterwards in the parish hall. Iris was as grief-stricken as Molly, and with more reason, as they’d known each other for years. That was a reminder to Molly that she didn’t have exclusive rights to Constance. Molly rang Mrs Bridgenorth to tell her, too. She was very upset, but she said she and her husband would come to the funeral, and she commiserated with Molly on what a shock it was, when they had thought Constance was going to recover.

In the days before the funeral Molly worked at Pat’s and spent the evenings helping Iris sort out Constance’s belongings. She had very little, and nothing of any value, but they put little ornaments, books and such like to one side to give as mementoes to people she was especially fond of.

Despite all the sadness at losing Constance, her funeral was uplifting, something Molly hadn’t expected. The sun put in an appearance, and Molly thought half the population of Whitechapel must be there, crowding into the church, and everyone had something to say about how Constance had helped them in some way.

Reverend Adams spoke of her compassion, generosity and understanding of people. ‘True understanding is a rare gift, to know why people behave in a certain way and yet not judge them for it. I believe it is a gift God only gives to very special people who he knows will use it well. And he couldn’t have found a better person to give that gift to than Sister Constance.

‘I know from brief conversations I’ve had with so many of you in the last few days that all of you have your own little story of what Sister Constance did for you but, as you remember it, and perhaps share it with others, please don’t cry for her, because she wouldn’t want that. Just be glad you knew her and take that special quality she had into your own life.’

Molly bowed her head during the prayers, but she wasn’t praying, only thinking about what Reverend Adams had said. Constance had welcomed her into her home and shared what little she had with someone who was to all intents and purposes a stranger. She vowed then that she would make her friend proud of her, because that was the best way to thank her for everything she’d done for her.

Reverend Adams spoke to Molly later at the tea in the parish hall. ‘Many people here will miss you, Molly, when you move on to your new job. But you take all our good wishes for your future with you, and I know Sister Constance will be watching over you. Rye is a beautiful little town, and I feel sure you will be very happy there.’

A few days later, on Saturday afternoon, Charley bent to kiss Molly goodbye outside the George. ‘Don’t look so forlorn,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon make new friends here and I expect, next time you come up to Whitechapel, you’ll wonder how you could ever have borne to live there.’

He had borrowed a friend’s car to drive her to Rye and, once he’d met Mr and Mrs Bridgenorth, he’d felt satisfied he was leaving his girl in good hands. They were nice people, the kind that understood that happy staff created a happy hotel which guests would come back to. They understood what a blow it was to Molly to lose Constance so suddenly, and he knew they’d be kind to her.

But they’d been nice to him, too, insisting on him and Molly having lunch with them. He’d half expected to be shown the door once he’d brought her suitcase in, but instead they welcomed him.

Earlier, he and Molly had walked around the old town and had tea in a shop, because of the bitter wind.

Charley knew that Constance’s funeral had been very difficult for Molly. She had said that she felt she had no real position there; after all, she was the Johnny Come Lately, many of the dozens of mourners had known her friend forty years or more. She’d also had to witness her friend’s rooms being emptied out, and all she had was that tiny, icy-cold room to retreat to.

Reverend Adams appeared to have been the only person who had an inkling of how Molly felt. He’d given her Constance’s bible, which she’d been given as a prize at school. He told her that whenever she was feeling sad or lonely she was to open it at random and read a passage and there would be a message from Constance there.

Charley wasn’t one for thinking about God and had never so much as opened a Bible since leaving school, but he sensed that the reverend had made Molly feel a little better.