Bree shrugged. ‘Frenemies. People who pretend to look out for you.’
Molly understood it must be difficult to trust anyone in Bree’s situation.
‘But there’s Stan…’
Molly noticed Bree smile as she mentioned his name.
‘He looks out for me. He’s been a regular at the shelter since I’ve been there and he won’t have anyone taking advantage of me. He’s taught me how to be streetwise. He’s my friend with no hidden costs.’
‘I’m glad you have Stan looking out for you.’
‘He also taught me to play cards, but I’m not too keen on that whisky stuff he drinks.’ Bree stuck out her tongue. ‘Yuk, it tastes disgusting.’ She paused. ‘But I’ve never met anyone yet who hasn’t wanted anything from me, except Stan and Sam.’
It saddened Molly to hear those words. ‘Sometimes people can be kind without a hidden agenda.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ replied Bree.
Molly pulled up outside The Old Bakehouse and cut the engine. The top window at the front of the house was in darkness, which indicated that George was tucked up in bed. Next door, the lights were on in Bumblebee Cottage and Dixie could be seen through the window sat in her armchair watching the TV.
‘Let’s get into the warmth, I can’t feel my feet,’ said Molly, opening the van door and stepping onto the snowy ground. She unlocked the shop door, and the toasty warmth inside welcomed her. Molly slipped off her coat and Bree followed suit, pulling the hat from her head.
‘Cam?’ Molly called out. She was feeling a little apprehensive but there was no answer. After they had both hung up their coats and taken off their boots, Bree followed Molly along the hallway towards the living room. The door was slightly ajar and the TV was blasting out loudly. The logs were still burning away on the fire and the room was warm. As she pushed open the door, she saw an empty mug and plate on the table, and then Cam, stretched out on the settee, fast asleep. She reached for the remote control and switched off the TV before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.
‘We’ll let him sleep, he must be shattered.’ Molly’s voice was low, careful not to wake him, and she was relieved to know that she had some time to perfect the explanation of why she’d brought Bree home. ‘Would you like to have a bath whilst I check the stew and make you a drink?’
Bree hesitated. ‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here though?’ She was looking towards the living-room door.
‘I’m sure, stop worrying.’ Even though Molly was still worried about Cam’s initial reaction, she was confident that once she explained the situation all would be okay.
‘In that case, yes, please.’
‘This way.’
Molly led the way down another narrow hallway. ‘The bathroom is just here.’ Most old cottages had their bathrooms downstairs and when Molly moved into The Old Bakehouse it took a lot of getting used to. On many occasions, she’d wandered upstairs to use the bathroom before she remembered.
Pushing open the bathroom door, Molly switched on the light to reveal a room that wouldn’t look out of place in a country living magazine. It was modern elegance with its minimalist design but complemented The Old Bakehouse’s rustic theme with its free-standing bath, wooden panels and traditional fittings. Original oak beams ran across the ceiling, and the white tiles in the shower subtly accentuated the cottage style. The colour scheme was light and bright, giving the whole room a fresh, clean look.
‘Wow, it feels like I’m in a countryside hotel. Not that I’ve been in any hotels, of course. It’s just how I’ve imagined it.’ Bree stepped into the room and looked all around.
‘Feel free to use any of the soaps and products. I’ll just get you some clean towels.’ Molly walked over to a free-standing oak cupboard in the corner, took out two large fluffy white towels and placed them on the wooden stool next to the bath. ‘If you want to give me your pyjamas, I’ll warm them over the Aga and bring them back in about twenty minutes.’
Bree looked down at the clothes she was wearing. ‘These are the only clothes I have other than a spare jumper and underwear in here.’ She placed her bag down on the rug at the side of the bath. ‘When you are living on the streets, you kind of don’t get changed for bed. It’s not like you whip out your PJs and settle yourself down for the night. I stay in the same clothes and when they need to be washed, Sam will put them through the washing machine at the shelter – or there’s the laundrette, if I’m feeling flush.’
It had never occurred to Molly what the night routine of a homeless person might be and now she felt a little silly. After placing the plug in the bath and switching on the taps, Molly told Bree to wait there whilst she disappeared upstairs. She returned holding clean fluffy pyjamas and a bathrobe. ‘Here, take these. I’m a little too big for these now anyway.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Get changed into those and if you leave your clothes outside the door, I can run them through the washing machine for you.’
Bree hesitated. ‘Why are you being kind to me?’ Her tone was little suspicious and Molly realised that under the circumstances Bree was right to have her wits about her and be careful who she trusted. It was survival of the fittest out on the streets.
‘Because it’s in my nature, and that’s what us village folk do,’ replied Molly with a warm smile. ‘Now enjoy your bath and I’ll make you a drink and some food. When you’ve finished I’ll be in the kitchen.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bree, pulling her jumper over her head to reveal an off-white T-shirt that had seen better days. Molly couldn’t help but notice how undernourished Bree looked. Her arms were skin and bones.
As Molly closed the bathroom door behind her, she peeped back into the living room, where Cam was snoring lightly. She watched him sleep for a moment before quietly walking into the kitchen and looking all around. Just what she needed; the place was a bombsite. The empty plates and cutlery were still left on the table from Cam and George’s dinner and there were spilt juice and breadcrumbs on the table too. Molly sighed. She knew that Cam was tired and sometimes it was a hard task trying to get George into bed when he had other ideas, but it didn’t take two minutes to load the dishwasher and wipe down the table. Checking the stew in the slow cooker and seeing there was enough left for her and Bree, she switched on the kettle and, while that was boiling, tided round and then made up George’s packed lunch for the following day.
After re-setting the table and making a cup of tea, Molly noticed a notepad on the worktop and glanced over it. She smiled. Cam had been writing out a job advert for an apprentice. She was thankful he was coming around to her way of thinking. Cam would enjoy training a young, enthusiastic baker and, once they were trained, it would take the pressure off him a little. The invitation for this year’s Best Bake Competition was now pinned to the cork-board in the kitchen. With a warm mug of tea in her hand, she reread it, hoping that there was still time to persuade Cam to take part.
Hearing the creak of the kitchen door, Molly looked up to see Cam stretching his arms with a warm smile on his face. ‘There you are, I must have fallen asleep in front of the fire. You’ve been ages.’ He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her in close. ‘Aw, and you’ve cleaned up. I was coming back in to do this after putting George to bed.’ He placed a soft, grateful kiss on the top of her head.
‘Of course you were,’ said Molly, giving him a look that meant she didn’t believe him.
