Molly cautiously bent down and picked up Bree’s bag. ‘Have you got everything you need in here?’
‘Yes,’ said Bree, watching Molly slowly take a few steps towards the altar.
‘Come on, it’s going to be okay,’ encouraged Molly and she was relieved to see Bree taking small steps behind her.
Together they walked back towards the magnificent sturdy oak doors and Molly opened one for Bree.
‘Last night, why didn’t you call Sam at the shelter? Why stay in here?’
‘I couldn’t leave; I needed to be here.’
‘Needed?’ queried Molly, pulling the church door shut.
‘It’s Mum’s birthday today. It’s the only place I feel close to her.’
‘Oh, Bree.’ Molly’s heart went out to her. A sixteen-year-old girl all alone in the world. Molly held out her arms and Bree hesitated for a moment then stepped into her warm embrace.
The hug reminded Molly of Cam. Bree was clinging on to her for dear life. There was vulnerability, and a smidgen of hope that someone was interested in helping her.
‘Have you eaten this morning?’
Bree shook her head. ‘Not this morning.’
‘Okay, let’s get you out of the freezing cold. If I remember rightly there’s some sausages in the fridge and I’m sure we can find a loaf of bread. It’s one of the joys of living with a baker.’
Bree smiled.
‘Cam is sorry too and no doubt will apologise.’ Molly pulled her scarf tight then pointed at the path. ‘The snow is very deep in places,’ she said. ‘If I stomp it down and you step in my footprints it might make the walk a little easier. Have you got everything?’
‘My life,’ replied Bree, holding up her bag before staring over at an area of ground just left of the wooden bench.
‘Is that where your mum is buried?’ asked Molly tentatively.
‘Yes.’ Bree’s voice wavered.
‘Is there no headstone?’
Bree shook her head, ‘I couldn’t afford one but I made a promise to myself that as soon as I get my very first job and my very first pay packet, I’ll put some money towards a stone. My mum deserves a lovely grave. I’ll do it, I know I will.’
‘I’m in no doubt and I’m sure we can have it looking lovely soon.’
‘We?’ queried Bree.
‘I’m always here to help,’ replied Molly, pushing open the wrought-iron gate. ‘You ready?’
Bree took a moment to stand by her mother’s grave and Molly watched in silence as Bree uttered the words, ‘I miss you.’ It was breaking Molly’s heart just watching the tender moment. The love Bree had for her mother wasn’t in doubt, they must have had a wonderful bond. When Bree was ready, they made the short walk back to The Old Bakehouse. Molly was relieved to see the smoke spiralling out of the chimney pot and thankful that Cam had kept the fire burning.
As they stepped into the empty bakery, Molly saw that Ash had left and the shop was unmanned. She could see the reluctance on Bree’s face as the bell above the shop door tinkled, and she reassured her that everything was going to be fine.
‘It’s only me,’ shouted Molly, unwinding the scarf from her neck.
Cam’s voice sounded from the bakery kitchen. ‘I can’t master this bread; the chocolate is all lumpy. How Bree got that recipe so spot-on is beyond me.’ Cam appeared in the doorway looking like the victim of a chocolate explosion. There was chocolate smeared on his face, in his hair, splattered on his hat, and his apron needed a damn good wash.
Molly burst out laughing. ‘Very Paul Hollywood!’ she teased. ‘What the hell have you been doing? I thought it would be George’s job to lick the bowl, not yours.’
Cam rolled his eyes whilst smiling. ‘You found her.’
‘I did.’
