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It was just a short step to Mollie's, and although it was only eleven o'clock in the morning I expected to find her in for she had been off work for the past fortnight. She was having a well-earned rest she said. Anyway, Mollie could live quite well without an eight to six job. I was no longer shocked by this fact, nor was I put off going to her house knowing that my visits there did not enhance my reputation.

I went in calling, "Oo! oo!" my usual way of making my presence known.

But there was no answer. There was no one in the sitting-room, and the bed room door, wide open, showed me the unmade bed, and I saw there was no one there either. The kitchen, too, was empty except for a pile of washing up, but on the table was a note, which said simply, "Be back in half an hour." That would be for Jackie; Jaclde was a long-distance lorry driver and his times were erratic.

I did not admit to myself that the primary motive of my visit was to learn if Mollie had heard anything of Ted. Mollie's many pals formed a sort of private telephone exchange, and she would hear things when nobody else would. Having decided to wait I thought I might as well make myself useful. I put my shopping bag and coat on the only chair the kitchen held, which was behind the door, and, rolling up my sleeves, I started on the dishes. When I had finished them and tidied the kitchen and there was still no sign of Mollie, I went to pick up my coat. It was then that I heard her step on the stairs, but what arrested me was the sound of a man's voice, and as the door opened and I heard it more clearly I straightened up, the coat in my hands, and said to myself, "Oh!" What kept me where I was, hidden in the triangle of the joining walls and the open door, I'm not quite sure. Inherent shyness? or suspicion? or something that I was already aware of? - I dont know, but I stayed where I was, giving no indication of my presence, even when Mollie, for some reason that wasn't evident to me at that moment, cried, "Anybody there?" I heard her move towards the bedroom then come towards the kitchen, and when she pressed her hand on the door my hiding-place became even more secure, for nobody coming right into the kitchen would have known I was there unless they went to shut the door from the inside or wanted to get the chair.

"Look, Mollie, have a heart." Ted's voice was quiet and persuasive.

"I think it's a bloody dirty trick if you ask me. You've led her up the garden."

"What! Me led her up the garden?" His voice had risen and sounded indignant.

"I like that, that's rich that is. Me led her her up the garden? Aw, Mollie."

"Well, you've made her think you're on the level, writin' and all that.

What did you go up to the house for? Real first stage of a courtin'

job that was, going to the house and meeting her dad. You knew she had the hairn?"

"Yes I knew she had one baim and was quite prepared to accept that.

But I didn't know she'd had two, and what's more had her card stamped into the bargain, and you dont pick that up, Mollie, from going with Boy Scouts. She must have been around some to get that. "

"That's a bloody lie, a downright bloody lie, she's as dean as a pin.

You tell me the sod that said that and I'll. "

"O.K. O.K. Don't bawl, but you're not going to deny she's had two kids, are you ?"

"It was from the same fellow."

"Oh, you can't tell me. And it's good of you to stick up for her.

She's lucky to have somebody like you. But I've heard a thing or two lately. "

"Well you can take it from me they're all bloody lies."

"No, Mollie, I can't take it from you, for some bloke even wrote to me."

My hand was at my throat, checking all sound, trying to throttle down the pain.

"Then there's another thing. You know yourself she's got the makings of a soaker."

"Well, you knew she was like that when you started the courtin'

business, didn't you?"

"Aye, I did, Mollie, I admit it, but I thought I could cure that. But I didn't know all this other and I'm not a bloody fool altogether.

I've seen too many blokes let in these last few years and it's not going to happen to me. "

"You'll go further and fare worse, I'm tellin' you that, Ted.

Christine's all right. She's had a dirty deal. Her only trouble was she was too damn innocent; she was bound to be caught by some bugger.

"

There came a silence, and I kept my eyes tightly dosed as I wondered what I should do. Then Ted was speaking again.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mollie, because you're a wise bird and not likely to be taken in, but I think she's so damned clever that she's taken you for a ride an' all."

"What do you mean ?"

"The virgin stuff. You didn't know she'd been carrying on with her brother, did you ?"

"What! Who the hell said that ?"

"It was in this letter I got."

"And you believed it?"

"When I found out all the rest was true, aye. Mind I didn't take it as read at first, I made inquiries, but when all the rest tied up with the letter why should I disbelieve that?"

"Whoever sent you that letter is a dirty bastard."

"It's all the way you look at it. He was likely trying to do me a good turn, and he has, you've got to admit that, although she's a pal of yours."

Scarcely breathing, I lowered myself silently into the chair. There was a buzzing sound in my ears now and I dropped my head, terrified that I was going to faint. I heard Mollie still talking, I heard Ted still protesting, then Mollie's steps came towards the kitchen. Just within the doorway I heard her stop. It must have dawned on her that I had been there I was the only one since Doddy had gone who washed up for her. I heard her moving again, and when I judged she was at the sink I pressed the door slightly ajar and made a desperate motion with my hand for her to get rid of Ted. The sight of me startled her, and the flush of concern and pity on her face was too much for me and I had to ram my handkerchief into my mouth to stop the sound of my crying.

What she said to Ted to make him go I dont know, but within a few minutes the door was pulled open and her hands came to me and lifted me up. And when I was on my feet she held me and comforted me, saying,

"Don't, dont. You're the unluckiest bugger alive. Anyway, you're well rid of him. There now, there now. Come and sit down and I'll get you a drop of something. There now, there now ... oh, dont give way like that. I tell you he's not worth it. None of the sods are worth it."

A few minutes later she handed me a glass of whisky, and when I had gulped it I gasped and muttered, "Le... let me have another, Mollie."

And she let me have another.

"I didn't ask him for it."

"You must have."

"I tell you I didn't." As Constance flung round and left the front room I looked at her indignant back. She appeared like a boy from behind, with her jeans and jersey and short-cropped hair. She was now fifteen and had left school two months and had a job in the electric component factory. I turned my gaze back to the piano standing ludicrously out of place in the corner of the front room. It was a second-hand one but it wasn't an old thing with fretwork and candle brackets, but looked quite up-to-date. I looked from it to Sam, and he, too, was staring at it.

"I thought you had brought it for her or I'd never have let it inside the house," I said under my breath.

Sam put his fist to his mouth and bit sharply on one knuckle before saying, "If I'd known she wanted one so much I would have got one. She never mentioned piano to me."

"Whatwillldo? Send it next door?"

"That won't be any good. Knowing him, he'll leave it stand- in' in the street, and it will only upset her. In the long run it would be you who'd get the blame."

Yes, it would be me who would get the blame, as always. Not that I hadn't deserved it during these past ten years, but that was my business. I was always telling myself these days that it was my business and mine alone. What I drank I paid for. I worked hard for the money and, strangely, my labour was in demand. Years ago if you were fitted only for domestic service you weren't of much account, but now domestic servants were no longer domestic servants, but home helps, and so scarce were they around these parts you could demand as much an hour for cooking in a kitchen as for working in a factory. But most of the girls preferred factory work, so I made good money, money to pay for my drink. But in spite of my drinking I rarely neglected the house and had never, since the end of the war, neglected Constance, except perhaps on a Saturday night. No matter how I whipped my will to obey me during the week, Saturday night and the Crown back room were a weakness that I could not overcome. Nor did I want to over come it, for this weakness was my only pleasure, and I looked forward to it from one week-end to the next. So I went on telling myself I did nobody any harm. In fact, I reiterated that most girls having had my experience would have gone to the bad altogether. I was well aware that most of the town considered I had already done this. The general opinion was that I was living with Sam, not openly, of course, but on the quiet, and who was to prove them wrong? He might sleep at Mrs.

Patterson's and eat there, but he was never out of our house. And Sam, though no taller than myself, had grown into a very mannish looking man. He was attractive in a big-boned sort of way and had a pleasant face, and a voice that went with it.

Why hadn't I married Sam? For the simple reason that I was afraid to.

It's all right saying that I should have gone ahead, that once married to him Don could have done nothing about it. But you see I knew Don.

I knew him as well as I knew the dark places in myself. I knew that some part of him, a part that you couldn't put a finger on and define clearly, was mad. And the only protection I could give Sam was not to marry him. Not that I hadn't wanted to once or twice, and not that I hadn't wished he would ask me to live with him. Oh, yes, I had wished that. And it might have eased things for us both and made life more bearable for me; also it may have set up an opposition to the bottle.

But apparently Sam didn't see it like this, and there was enough of the old Christine in me to pre vent me leading up to it.

From the night Don Dowling had done me the service of bringing on a miscarriage we had never exchanged one word. We had passed each other on the road and I dont know whether he looked at me or not for I kept my eyes cast down at his approach. But he had never ceased to talk to, and be guile Constance. Quite early on I found that the more I smacked her and forbade her to go in next door the more she would go. I had talked to her quietly at first, then shouted and ordered, until Dad roared, "This is getting you nowhere, you're driving her in there," and at last I realized that this was true and so forced myself to say less and less. But as she grew older she sensed my feelings and started to hide the things Don gave her, until one day, making an effort to check this, I said casually, "Why dont you show me the things Uncle Don buys you?" From then on she would show me what he had given her. She was about eight at the time, and with each year he bought her gifts to suit her age. And with them he bought her affection, and something more that made me sick at the mere thought of it a kind of love that showed itself in her defence of him.

"Why dont you speak to Uncle Don, Mummie. Other people have rows but they dont keep them up for years like you do?" When she had said this I had asked her quietly, "Do you like your Uncle Sam?" and she had answered, "Of course I do. Of course I like Uncle Sam." Then I had said, "Do you like him better than Uncle Don?" At this she had screwed up her face and said, "They're different, I can't explain. Uncle Sam's so quiet and Uncle Don's jolly. I like them both in different ways."

The question of who her father was must have troubled her from time to time. She was about ten when she first put it to me. She had come straight from school one day and, throwing her satchel on the table and without kissing me as usual, she looked at me and asked point blank,

"Why aren't you married, Mummie?"

The question was so unexpected that I was lost for an answer and my mouth opened without making a sound. Then she said, "Is Uncle Sam my father?"

I made plenty of sound now for, my voice seeming to come out of the top of my head, I cried, "No, no, he's not. Your father died in the war.

He was in the air force."

"What was his name ?"

My mouth hung open again, then I brought out, "Johnson." It was the name advertising flour on the back of a magazine lying on the table, and I added, "Why are you asking all these questions?"

"Because I want to know. What did he look like?"

My voice was quiet now and weary.

"Like you, very like you."

She seemed pleased at this, and she asked no more questions on this subject until two years ago. It was a Saturday night and it was summer. I had sat in the back room of the Crown until closing time.

There was the usual Saturday night crowd and we had laughed and joked until we parted. Mollie wasn't there, Mollie was never there now. I must tell you about Mollie. But this Saturday night I felt particularly carefree and happy. This wasn't always the effect that drink had upon me now. At one time I could rely on it obliterating all my worries and trans forming me, as it were, on to another plane where cares were non-existent and whatever future there was was rosy. Then for no reason for which I could account, every now and again the effect of whisky would be to make me want to argue and to pick a row with somebody, and this feeling would always be accompanied by a spate of swearing in my mind. I would think in swear words Mollie's vocabulary wasn't in it compared with the words that presented themselves to me.

The first time I felt like this I started an argument with one of the regulars, but she took it in good part, and because she took it in good part, I had the desire to lift my hand and smack her across the mouth.

And this aggressive feeling had persisted, even mounted, as I made my way unsteadily in the dark up the hill, and when I got in and Dad greeted me with the look that he always wore on a Saturday night, I turned on him crying, "And what the hell are you lookin' at me like that for? I'm drunk, and what about it? It's the only escape out of this bloody cage. Aye, it's a cage and you're the jailer. I would've been gone from this hole years ago if it hadn't been for you. I could have worked for her and made a home for her, but I was trapped here twixt you and Sam and that bugger next door."