Molly kicks her heels together in too-small pumps. Shards of glass scatter around her as she looks at the church clock and sighs. Still not midnight. She walks to the pub window and presses her face to the glass. There’s the vicar, neck bulging over his collar, and Gilly’s ma behind the bar laughing so hard her tonsils show. Molly spots her dad, one arm draped around Tina from the shop, the other clutching a near-empty glass. Molly breathes on the window and writes her name in a loopy scrawl, practising. The church clock rings out to mark the hour; finally.
‘There she is – my little girl!’ Her dad stumbles out the door and pulls her into a bear-hug. Her face is smushed against his soft belly and she holds her breath, not wanting to inhale familiar sickly-sour fumes.
‘Come on, we’ll do follow the yellow brick road all the way home.’ He grabs her hand and slurs the words, dragging her across the cobble-stoned path. They zig-zag through the dark streets, her dad’s voice bouncing between the houses, as Molly tries to glimpse the people behind their warmly-lit windows.
Later, as Molly’s dad lies snoring on their threadbare sofa, she kicks her heels together again, and waits.
Author bio:Â
Sophie is from the Cotswolds and is currently working on her first novel, a psychological thriller. She earns a living as a copywriter whilst studying for an MA in Creative Writing at Oxford Brookes. She has recently had stories published by The Cabinet of Heed and The Drabble.
Cover image copyright @thomasbormans via unsplash.com