Free Without a Trace by Lesley Pearse

somewhere must have seen her, she’s a distinctive-looking child. They should be putting up posters of her face everywhere and running the story again in the newspapers to keep it fresh in people’s minds.’
    All at once her father appeared in the doorway through to the shop, his face flushed with anger. ‘If I hear another word about that dead tart and her darkie kid, I’ll throttle you!’ he yelled out.
    Molly quaked. Normally, she would’ve said nothing; anything to keep the peace. But this time she had to speak out.
    ‘She was my friend, and I was very fond of Petal,’ she said, trying not to show her father how scared she was of him. ‘Besides, I was talking to Mum, not you.’
    ‘How dare you!’ he roared, stepping forward and striking her hard across her face. ‘You’ve been hanging around with that uppity tart so long you’re becoming just like her.’
    Molly reeled, but did what she always did when he hit her: curled her arms over her head to protect herself and looked for the best way to run to escape him, because she was terrified. But when she looked towards the door at the end of the stock room which led to the outer side door, she saw her mother cowering against the shelves, shaking with fright.
    Molly’s cheek stung from the blow. She knew there would be more unless she got out, but she couldn’t leave her mother to take the brunt of her father’s violence.
    ‘No father should hit their daughter for voicing her opinion,’ she said, biting back tears and aware her voice was shaking. ‘If you don’t apologize right now, I’ll leave. And it will be for good, too.’
    ‘You’ll never leave home,’ he sneered at her. ‘You wouldn’t last a day without your mother fussing over you. You’re pathetic and weak, like her.’
    Something snapped inside Molly. All her life she’d lived with his sarcasm, violence and sheer nastiness. She’d had more slaps from him than she could count, but enough was enough. He had no right to treat her and her mother this way.
    ‘The only pathetic thing about Mum is that she’s stayed with you all these years,’ she said, standing up straight to face up to her father. ‘Not through weakness, but because she truly believes that marriage is for better or worse. And she did get worse, didn’t she? You are a lazy, whining bully withno joy in you at all, and I’m ashamed to be your daughter.’
    He stood still, staring at her open-mouthed while she made her impassioned speech, and she thought when he turned from her that he was going to skulk away with his tail between his legs.
    But he didn’t. He picked up the long, metal pincher-like gadget they used for reaching packets on high shelves and, before she could move away, he brought it crashing down on her head.
    ‘You dare to oppose and insult me!’ he snarled, while raining blows down on her. ‘I am the head of this household and you will do as I say.’
    The first blow had felt like she was being branded with a red-hot poker, and was quickly followed by more, and Molly screamed at the top of her lungs. Mary yelled at him to stop and tried to catch hold of his arm, but he pushed her away, sending her crashing into a shelf unit and sliding down to the floor.
    ‘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