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asked. She had a strange, high-pitched voice, like a little girl’s, that was at odds with her matronly appearance.
    Lorna nodded. Molly put her magazine down on her lap.
    â€œAll right,” she said. “We was outside The Monico, you know, on Piccadilly Circus, ’bout half-past ten last night. Business was slack and we was starting to get royally pissed off with these Canadian soldiers hanging about being all mouth and no trousers. Lorn was just saying to me, if they can’t afford the merchandise then move along, this ain’t Madame Tussauds.”
    â€œI should cocoa,” said Lil, unable to nod now that Gladys was brushing back her hair.
    â€œThen these other geezers came along, like Lorn said, RAF blokes in uniform. Aha, we thought, that’s more like it. Surely our boys’ll know the score? We start shining our torches and one of ’em, this strapping great tall fella – looks a bit like Douglas Fairbanks Jr, I thought – comes up to Lorn. He had this funny little white slip sticking out of his cap. She asks him what it is, and he says it means he’s training to be an officer. Right plummy voice he had to go with it, and one of them little moustaches. So, we thought ooh , we are going up in the world.
    â€œHe said his name was Gordon and his mate, the one I got talking to, was Felix. Felix had a slip in his hat an’ all, only not such a posh voice, reckon he was more local. And he weren’t like them Canadians, this one got straight down to business. Well,” Molly looked down at her toes as Angie moved onto the next foot, “my room’s closer than Lorn’s, so I said I’d show him the way back after to wait for his friend.
    â€œBut he never showed up. Felix weren’t bothered, he went off to get pissed, and I s’pose it ain’t all that unusual, but I suddenly come over all queer, thought I’d better just go over to Lorn’s, see how she was getting on. Good job I did an’ all. She was in a right state.” Molly looked over at Lorna to make sure it was all right to go on. Lorna gave the flicker of a nod.
    â€œWhat happened was, this Gordon couldn’t get it up. Lorn said he was half-cut anyway, stank of booze, so she starts to get worried about what’s gonna happen next, you know, is he gonna take it out on her? First of all, it seems like he’s all right, he laughs it off and gives it another try. This don’t work neither, and now she’s starting to get annoyed with him, wasting her time.
    â€œShe tells him to get off and he does, still sort of bashful like, apologetic. So Lorn takes pity on the geezer, tells him to come and sit with her by the fire. He likes this idea, starts stroking away at her hair, telling her how much he likes it, and she can see he’s coming round again, so she sticks another French letter on him quick as you like, don’t want him making a mess all over her carpet.
    â€œSoon as she does it, he starts getting rough. Winds all her hair up into his fist and starts pulling her head back, going on and on about how much he loves her hair and how he could tell she was a dirty bitch when he saw her, how he can always tell. He puts his hand around her throat and starts squeezing, really hard.”
    Little Angie, sitting at Molly’s feet, stopped painting and sat up, staring at the storyteller with her huge brown eyes. “My godfathers,” she whispered.
    â€œWhat happened then?” straining against Glad’s rollering hands, Lil was on the edge of her seat.
    â€œWell,” said Molly, flicking her glance around all the women in the room, “thank God, at that moment he manages to get himself off. He drops her like a stone, puts his head in his hands and starts rocking back and forth like a baby. Stays there for a while, moaning to himself, like he’s not even in the same world as she is. Then he snaps out of it, tells her he’s sorry for