Cam looked at Molly then back at Bree. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Okay, but you tell her that if this happens again…’ he said, taking the key out of his pocket and handing it to Molly.
Molly watched Cam leave by the back door and soon he was at the front of the bakery. She caught his eye as he climbed into the van and saw disapproval etched all over his face as they exchanged uncomfortable looks. She knew he wasn’t happy, but once he calmed down and thought about it, he would understand that all Bree needed was a break. She didn’t need the police to be adding to her troubles.
As he drove off, Molly decided she would do the decent thing. ‘Come on,’ she said as she gestured towards the door that led through to the main cottage.
Bree looked a little startled and began to walk backwards towards the shop door and bumped into the window. ‘What are you going to do to me?’
Molly held her hands up, causing Bree to flinch. ‘Oh my gosh, I was just going to make you a hot drink and maybe something to eat. Honestly, that’s all. Please don’t be scared.’ Holding out the key towards her, Molly said gently, ‘Here, you can go if you want to. It was just the offer of a drink.’
There was a look of uncertainty on Bree’s face, but she didn’t take the key. They just stared at each other for a second and once again some sort of familiarity was triggered inside Molly. She was beginning to wonder if they’d met before, but she had a good memory for faces and when she racked her brain nothing came to light.
‘Do you have somewhere to be? You must be hungry; let me get you something to eat,’ Molly offered. She noticed Bree relax her shoulders and her grip loosened on her rucksack.
‘Funnily enough, my diary is quite empty this morning.’ Bree’s mouth hitched into a slight smile.
‘A hot drink and breakfast it is then. This way.’ Molly slowly headed out of the bakery, trusting that Bree would follow. Cautiously looking all around her, Bree did.
‘Why are you being nice to me? And don’t you need to open up?’
‘Because I am nice,’ replied Molly, noticing that Bree had stopped walking. ‘And the shop can wait.’
Bree placed her bag on the counter then unzipped it. Taking out all the items she stole from the van, she sheepishly looked towards Molly.
‘Wow, you can really fit a lot in that bag,’ observed Molly.
Bree didn’t say a word but pushed the items over towards Molly, who grabbed some white paper bags from underneath the counter. Molly wrapped them one by one and pushed them back towards Bree.
‘Put them back in your bag, save them for later,’ she said, giving Bree a warm smile. ‘Honestly, it’s fine.’
‘And what about your husband?’
‘Don’t you worry about him, he’s a big softy really.’
Bree hesitated for a moment then speedily stuffed the items back in her bag. ‘And you’re not going to ring the police?’
Molly shook her head. ‘I’m not going to ring the police. Let’s get you a warm drink and something to eat. Hot chocolate, tea or coffee?’
Bree’s smile was wide. ‘Hot chocolate is my favourite. Sam from the shelter sometimes makes me one as a special treat.’
‘Good choice,’ replied Molly, thinking that it was always her go-to, as she led the way on the red flagstone floor down a dinky hallway from the bakery to the cottage. The black oak beams ran across the length of the low ceilings and the hallway was cramped. Molly stepped over the array of George’s shoes and the pieces of Lego that were scattered all over the floor and wondered for a moment how she was going to manage with another child when she had trouble tidying up after the first. She led Bree past coat hooks that were overflowing with coats and hats for every season, and a number of umbrellas that had toppled sidewards onto the floor. The walls were lined with paintings of dogs and foxes and Molly could see Bree looking over them as she walked past.
Opening the door to the living room, whose windows showcased the impressive snow-covered gardens of The Old Bakehouse, Molly ushered Bree into the tiny yet cosy space. Orange flames danced in the open fire giving a welcoming warmth to the room. The living room housed a dresser spilling over with books and framed photographs, a little navy two-seater settee with tapestry cushions that matched the curtains, and two wingback chairs huddled around the coffee table in front of the fire. Molly watched Bree as she took in her surroundings.
‘Take a seat.’ Molly gestured to the chair nearest the fire before poking it and throwing a couple more logs on to keep it burning.
‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here? I don’t want to cause any trouble.’ Bree settled in the wingback chair but Molly could see she was apprehensive, her gaze shifting towards the door every few moments.
‘Yes, of course, you have nothing to worry about,’ reassured Molly. ‘Give me your coat so I can hang it up to dry. It must be sodden with the snow. You were up and out of the shelter early doors.’
‘Couldn’t sleep.’
Molly didn’t need to ask why. Sam had often mentioned that a night time at the shelter reminded her of when she was midwife on the labour wards in the hospital. The wails and people shouting through the night gave the place an eerie feel but the alternative was sleeping out in a shop doorway with no real shelter from the blizzard.
As she took the coat from Bree, the first thing Molly noticed was the stench along with the torn pockets and the missing buttons. ‘I’ll hang this up in the kitchen whilst I make you a drink. Take off your boots and warm up your feet.’
