‘Survival technique?’ queried Molly, scooping more stew into the bowl before sitting back down opposite Bree.
‘The past couple of years I’ve been passed from pillar to post, family to family. Usually, families full of lots of kids. Most of the kids weren’t kind and I didn’t like it much. I never settled; I didn’t belong anywhere.’
Molly could hear the sadness in her voice. She couldn’t imagine not being raised by a loving family. She treasured the life and memories of her childhood, the family dog, the Christmases and birthdays. Her adoptive parents were simply the best – but all that could have been so very different for Molly. Once again, her thoughts turned towards her own birth parents. How would life have turned out if she’d stayed with them? Perhaps she would have been in Bree’s situation.
‘What about school?’ asked Molly. ‘College?’
Bree tore up the bread in her hands and mopped up the remnants of stew still in her bowl. ‘Didn’t like any of them and never made any friends as I changed schools so often. Families usually want younger kids so no one really wanted to keep hold of me for that long.’
The words saddened Molly. Her school life had been so different. She’d attended the same school and built up friendships that she still treasured today. Her teachers were enthusiastic, helped her to achieve her dream of becoming a vet, and the stability was something she cherished and appreciated. Molly couldn’t help herself, she leant across the table and gave Bree’s arm a little squeeze. She couldn’t imagine anyone being so lonely in their early teenage years. Here was a young girl sitting here with her whole life ahead of her. She was beautiful, with impeccable manners. How had her life spiralled out of control at such an early age?
‘You’re wondering where my parents are, aren’t you?’
Bree was beginning to open up and Molly didn’t want to push her.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ replied Molly softly, though she wanted to know anything Bree was willing to share.
Instantly, Bree’s eyes brimmed with tears and she placed her knife and fork in her bowl. ‘My mother … died unexpectedly of a coronary a couple of years ago.’
There was a sadness bleeding through the room and Molly wanted to take Bree and envelop her in the biggest of hugs. ‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry, Bree.’
‘It’s not your fault. It’s just life. I cope. I have to.’ Bree’s tone suddenly turned clinical and she wiped the tears with the back of her hand and shut down any emotion. Molly was amazed to see how quickly Bree composed herself; it was like she was too scared to show any signs of vulnerability.
‘It was just me and Mum and now it’s just me.’ Bree took a breath.
‘And there’s no one else, no other family?’
Bree looked up and held Molly’s gaze. Molly was sure she had more to tell but Bree just shook her head. ‘No other family, just me and an uncertain future.’
‘You have been through a difficult time – more than difficult. I can’t imagine. But the future has a funny way of turning things around.’
‘Not usually for the likes of me. I don’t have anyone to confide in and don’t have the money or opportunity to enjoy the simple things in life, like going for an ice-cream with your mates or even dating a boy. Who wants to date someone who lives on the streets? To be honest, I’m not sure what’s out there for me.’
Molly knew that talking this way was pushing Bree out of her comfort zone but she felt privileged that the girl was confiding in her. ‘How about we become friends then? I just love ice-cream and you can always talk to me.’ Molly’s offer was genuine.
‘I think you are going to have more than enough on your plate.’ Bree gestured towards Molly’s stomach then took a sip of her drink. ‘And if you want me to get out of your hair, I can go. I don’t want to cause any trouble.’
Molly noticed that Bree was already closing down again. She was back to being guarded, defensive. Maybe it was another coping mechanism, changing the conversation and bringing it back to the here and now.
‘You aren’t going anywhere in this storm. Cake?’ she asked. ‘That’s the good thing about owning a baker’s shop, there’s usually cake.’ Molly took a lemon drizzle cake from the tin by the breadbin.
‘My mum’s favourite,’ replied Bree, her face lighting up. She pointed towards the cake. ‘More than her favourite actually. Her favourite colour was yellow, and she was obsessed with lemon. “Squeeze the day,” she would say, every morning, without fail.’
Molly turned around and looked at Bree. There was something about those words that took her right back to being a tiny girl standing in a dark dingy flat. That was that same memory in the forefront of her mind again. She was being led away and her mum was standing behind her. The only difference was that this time her mum was wearing a yellow knitted cardigan. Focusing back on Bree, Molly noticed that the girl was smiling fondly but the tears had crept back into her eyes.
‘What a lovely way to start the day,’ said Molly, meaning every word, but her mind was still firmly on the past. She pushed her memory to try and expand on the image in her mind but there was nothing else.
Bree began to eat the cake, but this time she took her time, devouring every morsel.
‘I’ll take Cam a piece through,’ said Molly, switching on the kettle and looking up at the clock. The time had flown by and Molly knew that Cam would be going to bed soon. He had an earlier start than usual in the morning with the order for Starcross Manor. ‘I won’t be a second.’ Molly walked into the living room but Cam wasn’t there so she placed the cake on the coffee table and walked down the hallway, noticing there was a flicker of light coming from the back of the shop. She stopped in her tracks in the shop doorway, not quite believing her eyes.
At first she was speechless but then the words left her mouth in a hushed whisper. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ She was mortified, and quickly looked back over her shoulder before hurrying towards Cam and yanking Bree’s bag from his hands.
Cam had guilt written all over his face.
‘Well?’ Molly’s heart was racing as she looked behind her again. Thankfully, Bree was still in the kitchen where she’d left her. ‘You can’t go rifling through someone’s bag! What the hell is wrong with you?’
All of the contents – Bree’s whole life – were spilt out over the counter. A hairbrush, a toothbrush, a little make-up that had seen better days, wet wipes, tampons and a purse. There was a pair of dirty tights and underwear and a lightweight thermal sweater.
