𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 - 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞

twenty-three

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"𝙒𝙀𝙇𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙇𝙀𝙔 𝘽𝙍𝙄𝘿𝙂𝙀."

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𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘, and Mollie Wilson pulled closer the hoodie that she'd thrown over her outfit in an attempt to protect her from the biting winter air. It was the depressing kind of coldness, or so Mollie thought anyway. When Christmas had been and gone, and yet the chill remained in the air. The grass remained white and frosty, frozen solid, and you could still see your breath float in the air every time you breathed out, almost like a misty cloud of cigarette smoke. To cut a long story short, it was bloody freezing.

Mollie grumbled a little to herself as she walked, wishing that she hadn't promised her last night of freedom before going back to school to her uncle and his corner shop. It's not that she didn't like working for her uncle, because that couldn't be further from the truth. Stew's News had that quintessential kind of corner-shop-charm about it, and the locals that shopped there were always lovely enough. But a small part of Mollie wished that she could spend her last night of the holidays with her two best friends, gossiping about school and drinking cheap cider until one of them (probably Missy) got sick. Instead, Mollie had to make do with an evening of stacking shelves and making smalltalk with the Ackley residents who seemingly always had to make a Sunday evening run for the bread and milk they needed for the week ahead.

Still, money was money. As positive as the girl tried to be, things weren't the best for her small family unit, and she knew sacrifices had to be made.

The familiar tinkle of the door bell rang out as Mollie arrived, stepping out of the cold outdoors and into the ever so slightly less cold indoors of her uncle's shop. She sent a chipper smile to her uncle who was behind the counter, but only received a half hearted nod from him as she started to slip off her coat.

"Woah, Stew, what's with the mardy face?" She furrowed her eyebrows.

Before the man could answer, a tall teenaged boy with a cardboard box in his hands emerged from the back room of the shop. With the same dark brown eyes as the shopkeeper, it was easy to see the resemblance between the father and son.

"Dad's pissed off because these two girls in burqas bought a load of cider off him and ran off before he could ask for their I.D.s." Lewis Wilson smirked, starting to fill up one of the shelves by the till as he answered his cousin's question. "Thinks he's gonna lose his job."

"Oh come on, everyone drinks when they're underage in this town. In fact, I'd be out with my best mates right now if I didn't have to be here." She rolled her eyes dramatically, though of course she didn't actually mind working. "Plus, no one would sack the best shopkeeper in Ackley Bridge."

"Well, I'm sorry for making your life such a misery, Mollie." Stewart said playfully, more than used to his niece's sense of humour. "But I think you'll be the one that gets sacked if you don't start stacking these shelves."

"Alright, keep your bloody knickers on, Stew." Mollie threw her hands up defensively before starting to do her work. After a while, she walked into the back room to pick up another box to sort out only to find Lewis already in there.

"Alright, Lew?" She smiled. "Excited for your first day at Ackley Bridge tomorrow?"

"Yeah I actually am, thanks." He grinned.