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some of the stories countless times before.
    He was chatting away happily when Jenny came puffing in with a tray of tea and buns.
    ‘There yer go, bab – and there’s a finger of Chelsea for yer to keep yer going.’
    She sat down with a whoosh of exhaled breath.
    ‘So, bab – how’s everything?’
    ‘All right,’ Molly said lightly. God, she thought. Her mind recoiled again from Iris’s words the other night, from the foul burden of knowledge she now carried. If they only knew. Or did they? Again, a dizzy feeling passed through her, as if the ground was moving under her feet. Perhaps they all knew everything? Perhaps her secret had never been secret after all? But if so, they showed no sign of it.
    As she ate the cake, Wally the dog sat scrutinizing her every move, panting heavily with his pink tongue lolling to one side. Molly laughed.
    ‘He’s trying to mesmerize me!’
    ‘He’ll ignore yer, soon as you’ve finished,’ Jenny said, and she was right – Wally did then lie down by the fire with a long-suffering sigh.
    Molly chatted to them about work, recounting some of Gladys’s funny stories, and about going to see the Browns.
    ‘Cynthia seems quite good at the moment,’ Jenny said. ‘I saw Dot pop in to visit yesterday – that’ll have cheered her up.’
    ‘I’d’ve liked to see her,’ Molly said. Dot Wiggin, Cynthia Brown’s old friend, had been a tower of strength to her in her hardest times. Though Dot had been a war widow, she had now remarried, a widower called Lou Alberello who had three grown-up children. She’d moved over to the Italian quarter in Duddesdon to be with him, but she popped in from time to time.
    ‘Oh, she’s thriving on it by the looks of it. Filling out – must be all that spaghetti!’
    Molly laughed. She was very fond of Dot. ‘I’m glad she’s all right then. She’s a good sort.’
    There was a lull in the conversation and Molly had almost finished her tea. She was also growing so hot and sweaty she could hardly stand it, her cheeks glowing pinker by the minute. It was time to get it over with. Putting her cup down, she took a deep breath, her heart pounding.
    ‘I’ve come to tell you both summat.’
    ‘Oh ar,’ Stanley said. They were both staring expectantly at her.
    ‘Thing is . . .’ Molly stared down at her scuffed brown shoes. She had eased her left foot out at the back to relieve her sore heel. ‘Well – I’ve come to a decision. I s’pose it may be a bit stupid . . .’ The burning confidence which had come over her seemed to be leaking away.
    ‘Oh I don’t s’pose it is,’ Stanley said encouragingly.
    She glanced up at him with a grateful smile.
    ‘Only – things at home . . . Well, it ain’t just that – it’s me an’ all. Anyroad, I’ve decided – I’m going to join up.’
    There, she’d said it! She looked up at them, ever so worried about what the reaction would be – disappointment? Ridicule?
    Jenny Button was half way through a mouthful of cake, so it fell to Stanley to say, ‘Join up? How d’yer mean?’
    Molly drew herself up straighter. Sweat was trickling down her back. ‘I’m going to go – you know – and join up. The army, I think. That’s if they’ll ’ave me.’
    Jenny swallowed. ‘Well I never,’ she said.
    The silence went on so long that Molly was beginning to feel really bad, until Jenny turned to her husband. Looking at him, Molly was overwhelmed to see that he had tears in his eyes.
    ‘What d’you think about it, Stanley?’
    ‘Well, bab—’ Stanley wiped his eyes on a corner of the eiderdown. ‘I think it’s a terrible thing that a lovely wench like you should have to go and join up. But if you think that’s what you should do – I think it’s marvellous. They ought to be grateful to have you. I’m as proud of you as could be.’
    Tears filled Molly’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. No one in her life had ever said anything half as nice as that to her before.
    ‘You don’t mind,