Josephine Cox - Lonely Girl

‘So if and when you do get your hands on Tanner’s Farm and everything, what plans do you have for the child?’

‘Oh, that’s easy!’ Molly replied. ‘I’ve got it all worked out. I have no motherly feelings for the girl, but my sister, Kathleen, positively dotes on her, so it should be easy enough to dump her on Kathleen, especially as she’s so unbelievably trusting. Even when it comes to choosing men, she has no idea. She chose to marry a widower who is also a good eight or nine years older than her. Patrick’s not the best-looking fella in the world either, but for reasons I will never understand she worships the ground he walks on. Mind you, to be fair, I must admit he looks after her very well. While he’s not a wealthy man, he makes good money from his two successful tack shops, selling horsey stuff to the local hunt and the many riding schools hereabouts.’

Tom was impressed. ‘Well, successful business or not, your sister obviously loves him. Good luck to them, that’s what I say. He sounds like a decent sort.’

For a fleeting moment, Molly felt the teeniest twinge of jealousy. ‘He’s OK, I suppose. He seems to make Kathleen happy, but he’s not my cup of tea. Also, he came with baggage in the shape of Harry, the teenage son who now works on the farm with John. For my money, Patrick fell on his feet when he met Kathleen.’ She gave a disapproving grunt. ‘She’s so happy it makes me cringe! Like I said, my sister is far too easy to please. So turning the girl over to her should not be a problem.’ She smiled. ‘My sister is a fool to herself, but her soft nature might well work in my favour.’

Silently congratulating herself, she then remarked grandly, ‘Trust me, Tom. It will all work out for the best, you see if it doesn’t.’ Threading her arm through his, she kissed him soundly on the cheek. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get in the warm, eh?’

‘Lead on, my dear,’ he said, thinking the child would have a good life with her doting aunt. He snuggled up to Molly. ‘I forget where we’re going. The booze must have addled my brain.’

‘Don’t be daft! You didn’t forget,’ she laughed. ‘I just never actually told you, so you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? Relax. You’ll know when we get there, and I promise we’ll be safe enough … even from John Tanner. All right?’

Tom nodded. ‘Yeah, all right … if you say so.’

‘I do. So stop your moaning, and trust me.’

While Molly and her man hurried to their destination, John Tanner hurried through the backstreets towards the Magpie.

Keenly aware of how late it was, he remained vigilant, hoping to catch sound or sight of his wayward wife.

What the devil was she playing at staying out so late? When he heard the market hall clock chiming midnight his concern heightened. Where are you, Molly? he asked himself, looking about him. Surely the pub must be closed by now, so she couldn’t still be there. Nevertheless, he decided to check.

Within minutes he was at the door of the Magpie. As he had guessed, the pub was closed and in darkness except for the small, flickering outside light over the door. With the flat of his hand he pushed hard on the door but it was obviously locked from within.

He tried the handle several times, with no luck. With no other ideas, and increasingly worried, he rapped his knuckles on the wooden panelling; all to no avail.

Lifting the cover of the letter box, he peered through. The inner door to the saloon was closed and there was no evidence of anyone inside: no laughter or chatter, and no rattling of glasses.

Stepping back, he looked up at the bedroom windows. Disappointingly, the curtains were drawn.

Hesitating, he wondered if he should shout up but he knew the publican wouldn’t thank him for waking him and his wife if they were asleep. But he was frantic to know Molly’s whereabouts, so he decided to call anyway. He was aware that the landlord might occasionally organise lock-ins, when he would invite a chosen party of friends to have a quiet drink outside of normal hours.

First he rattled the letter box again, but there was still no response from inside. Desperate, he leaned forward to call through the aperture. ‘Hello,’ he yelled, ‘it’s John Tanner. I’m sorry, but I need to know if my wife is in there with you.’

When there was still no answer, he raised his voice and shouted up for a second time: ‘It’s John Tanner, Molly’s husband. She hasn’t come home yet, and I’m worried about her. Is she in there? Hello?’

He listened for a moment but the silence thickened, so this time he pressed his face even closer to the letter box, yelling as loud as he dared: ‘I’m sorry to disturb you when it’s so late, but I’m really worried. Molly hasn’t come home, and I don’t know where she is. I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

Upstairs, Peggy Benson and her husband, Roger, woke with a start.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ Leaning up on one elbow, Roger looked a sorry sight with his wild, ginger hair standing on end, and his eyes like two sunken holes in his features.

‘Dammit! Can’t a person get a decent night’s sleep after a long working day?’ Peggy grumbled. When her husband fell back and seemed to be nodding off again, she shook him violently. ‘Roger, wake up!’

He groaned as though in agony. ‘Aw, dammit! Leave me alone. It’s probably some drunk lost his way. He’ll soon get fed up if we ignore him.’

‘How the hell can we ignore him? We’d best get rid of him, or he’ll wake the entire street.’

Roger lazily opened one eye. ‘I said leave him. He’ll soon get the message. Go back to sleep, woman.’

‘I can’t!’ She shook Roger again. ‘Listen! He’s causing a commotion out there.’ She gave a long yawn. ‘Please, Roger. It’s all right for you; you’ve been out for most of the day, while I’ve been stuck behind the bar. I’m bone tired. Please, Roger! Just go down and chase the bugger off, whoever he is!’ Frustrated when he didn’t move, she gave him a hard dig with her elbow. ‘Go on then!’

‘Why can’t you “chase the bugger off”?’

‘’Cause I’m a woman, and you’re a man … or you should be.’

‘Like I say, ignore him. He’ll get fed up when he realises we’re closed.’

The shouting stopped and they lay back to catch up on their much-needed sleep. But after a few minutes the peace was broken yet again.

This time the voice was even louder. ‘It’s John Tanner. I’m looking for Molly … my wife. She hasn’t come home yet. Is she in there?’

‘Well, I never,’ Peggy said, hearing clearly this time. ‘It’s Molly Tanner’s husband. He’s asking after Molly. He says she hasn’t come home yet.’

‘Damn and bugger it, woman!’ Bleary-eyed, Roger sat up again. ‘What makes him think she’s still here? For pity’s sake, get down there and tell him we need our sleep, and that his wife left ages since.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I didn’t see her leave but she must have gone while I was fixing the light in the cellar. But do I recall you saying she left with some bloke?’

‘That’s right. They went off ages ago, both of ’em the worse for the drink.’ Now Peggy was concerned. ‘You don’t think something’s happened to them, do you? I mean, they were more than a bit jolly. What if they wandered into the road and got run over, or fell into a ditch or something?’

‘Don’t be so dramatic, woman. She’s probably gone back to her friend’s house for a good old time – lucky beggars! And there’s us, can’t even get a decent night’s sleep, let alone enjoy a bit o’ slap and tickle.’

‘Aw, you poor thing. Well, unlike you, I’ve been up since five this morning, and I need my sleep more than you do. So get down them stairs and get rid of him. Oh, and you’d best not mention how Molly left with a man on her arm.’