Molly's War by Maggie Hope Page B

attitude. By, she wished she hadn’t come back, wished she were anywhere but here.
    ‘I don’t know if it would be wise to take you on again.’
    ‘But I’m a good worker, you know I am, I always kept my production up!’
    ‘Aye, I know that. I wouldn’t be seeing you otherwise.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk, the first and second stained brown with nicotine. She was a bonny lass, he thought, and wondered if there had been hanky-panky in that house when she was alone with her landlord. Maybe he had given her the bangle for favours received and then said she’d stolen it when she would no longer perform.
    Molly rose to her feet. ‘Well, if you don’t want me, I’ll be on my way,’ she said. She had had enough humiliation, she wasn’t going to beg him, not Bolton.
    ‘Hold your horses, woman, I never said I didn’t want you.’
    Molly paused on her way to the door and looked back at him.
    ‘Where would you live if I did take you back?’ he asked. ‘No one round here would have you, I’m certain of that.’
    ‘I have a room in Bishop,’ said Molly. She was so filled with a mixture of embarrassment and humiliation, she could hardly see straight.
    Mr Bolton studied her for a moment. A bonny lass she was. There was no doubt she was a good worker, had always earned her bonuses in the past. And he didn’t think the other workers would care that she had been in prison. At least most of them would not. And what would it matter if they did? None of them would want to lose their job. There was the added advantage that she would probably work harder than anyone to prove herself, and keep her head down too. She was just the sort of experienced machinist he needed to fill the government orders. He came to a decision.
    ‘Righto. You can start tomorrow. But mind, you’ll have to keep yourself out of trouble.’ He stood up and came round the desk to pat her on the shoulder, a move which caused her to jump and back towards the door.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Bolton,’ she managed to say, her cheeks flushed yet again. ‘I’ll be here at eight o’clock.’
    Outside she took a deep breath of air, laden with the scent of new-mown grass where the gardener was trimming the lawn in front of the building. She couldn’t believe her luck in being taken on again at the factory, had shrunk initially from trying there where she was known. But now she felt as though a load had rolled off her shoulders. She would be able to keep herself, no more hated dole office.
    The afternoon sun was shining along Manor Road. She walked along in the opposite direction to Bishop Auckland with a fancy to see the house in West Auckland where she would have been living now if it weren’t for Mr Jones. She felt the familiar twinge of hatred and despair as she thought of him but put it firmly from her mind. This was turning into a good day, the best for ages, and she wasn’t going to spoil it. She walked past the entrance to Adelaide Street without even looking down it.
    Cathy’s house was still there, its windows dusty in the sun. She wondered about her. What had she thought when she’d heard about Molly? That she’d had a lucky escape, could have had a thief in the house? As Molly watched the house from across the street the little boy, Jimmy, came out and picked up the bicycle which had been laid down on the cobbles. He glanced across at Molly and she smiled tentatively but he simply looked at her and pedalled off along the street. Of course, she thought sadly, he had only met her for a few minutes that night.
    So had Cathy. Molly had thought of knocking at the door, maybe apologising for not being able to take up the room, telling her the true story. But no, Cathy didn’t know her either, it might just embarrass her. Molly walked back the way she had come with a sense of loss which dimmed the happiness of getting her job back.
    Next day as she went into work it felt as though she had hardly been away, at least for the first few minutes. She