Free Molly's War by Maggie Hope Page A

light came on in the bedroom of the next-door house, the window opened and a man stuck his head out.
    ‘What the hell is all the racket about?’ he shouted. ‘I have to go to work the morn!’
    ‘I’m sorry, Joe, really I am,’ said Mr Jones, and Molly was amazed at his change of tone. He sounded conciliatory now. ‘It won’t happen again. It’s this thieving lass I took in off the streets. She’s been pinching the wife’s things!’
    ‘I have not!’ Molly cried, shock and disbelief making her shout. ‘I haven’t touched anything –’
    ‘What’s this then?’
    Mr Jones was bending over the open suitcase. When he stood up he had a bangle in his hand. It sparkled in the light from the open door.
    ‘Do you see this, Joe? Do you see it?’ He held it up and Joe nodded.
    ‘Aye, I see it. It’s that gold bangle your wife was so proud of, isn’t it? Why, the thieving little bitch!’ He leaned further out of the window and glared at Molly.
    ‘I didn’t take it, really I didn’t,’ she said. She looked from the neighbour’s face to that of Mr Jones. He had a nasty little smile playing round his lips; his eyes were filled with vindictive glee.
    ‘You’re my witness, Joe. You saw me take it out of the case, didn’t you? I knew she had it somewhere, I missed it out of the dressing-table drawer tonight so I tackled her about it. If she’d give it me back I’d have let her off, but she’s a hard-faced little slut, you know. Will you watch her, Joe, while I go for the polis?’
    Molly was struck dumb. She stood there, her open case at her feet, the marble clock under her arm. She looked down at it. It was one o’clock in the morning. Surely this was just a bad dream? It couldn’t really be happening, of course it couldn’t. She closed her eyes tight, prayed that she should wake up then opened them again.
    Someone had taken a firm hold on her arm. She almost dropped the clock. It was the man from next door.
    ‘Now then, don’t you think you can get away,’ he snapped. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d done this before, arriving here out of nowhere and trying to take honest folk down.’
    ‘I didn’t – I haven’t!’ moaned Molly. Up the street other windows were opening. Some front doors even had people peering round them.
    ‘What’s going on, Joe?’ someone shouted.
    ‘It’s this lass that was lodging with Bart,’ he explained, speaking loudly so everyone could hear. Molly felt herself shrinking inside with the shame of it. ‘She’s been pinching stuff from him, that’s what’s going on.’ His fingers dug painfully into her arm again.
    ‘I haven’t! I didn’t!’ cried Molly, but hopelessly now.
    ‘May the Lord save your lying little soul,’ someone shouted piously. ‘Make you see the error of your ways.’
    ‘I did nothing!’ she screamed, beside herself now with an anger which rose up inside her and burst out. ‘It was him! He got into my bed … he …’
    ‘Eeh, I tell you what …’ said a woman from up the street. She came walking down towards Molly, a coat on over her nightie, old shoes thrust on her feet and her hair done up in steel curling pins. ‘I tell you what … folk like her’ll say owt but their prayers. An’ who would’ve believed it? She looked a meek little thing, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Aye, but you’ve been found out, haven’t you?’ The woman thrust her face close to Molly’s. ‘You didn’t think you would, did you? Lasses like you should have their fingers chopped off, that’s what I think!’ She folded her arms across her enormous chest and nodded her head to emphasise her words.
    ‘I didn’t do it! It was him, he got into my bed!’ shouted Molly, and a growl went up amongst the crowd which was now gathering round.
    ‘Will you listen to her? Will you?’ one man cried. ‘Isn’t that what they all say when they’re caught? Blame it on the fella. Oh, aye, it must have been
his
fault. Tried to take you down, did he?