Molly laughed, which felt strange, but she liked it. Despite the turmoil of the past 24 hour, she was feeling a tremor of excitement at embarking on an adventure to parts unknown with her slightly scary New Yorker aunt.
Finding Tom Connor was just what she needed.
‘Ms Brown? Ms Connor?’ The lounge hostess was behind them. ‘Your flight to London is boarding now. Please make your way to the gate.’
Molly grabbed her rucksack, which contained a week’s supply of knickers and bras and a pared-down supply of Bobs’ toiletries, and followed her aunt out of the lounge and down the escalator.
They handed their boarding passes to the flight attendant and entered the air bridge.
‘There’s just one question I have for you before we go any further, Molly,’ Viv said, stopping her niece in her tracks.
‘What is it?’
‘If it’s Jack’s card that’s flying us to Dublin, what was wrong with first class?’
Without waiting around for Molly to see whether she was joking or not, Viv swept off towards the open door of the plane and disappeared inside. Shaking her head, Molly Brown followed.
The flight attendant took one look at her and positively twinkled with excitement.
‘And to what do we owe the honour of being able to transport someone as gorgeous as yourself, Mrs—’ he looked at her boarding pass. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Brown. So many people dress down for business-class travel these days but I am thrilled you’re not one of them. This way, please. You’re travelling with Ms Connor? Dom Perignon for two, then.’
And he bustled off, leaving Molly and Viv to settle themselves.
‘Molly? Little Miss Molly Brown — is that you?’ Molly felt a big hand on her bare shoulder and looked up to see Royce Jardyne, a former colleague of Jack’s, beaming down at her.
The two had worked together at the agency Jack had ditched in favour of setting up his own company and Molly had really enjoyed never seeing Royce Jardyne again. He was a loud, arrogant pig who treated his wife like dog dirt and anything else in a skirt as if every moment they had lived so far in their lives had been leading up to the one where they met him.
As usual, his nasal hair supply was flourishing.
‘Aren’t you two kids tying the knot some day soon? Or have I missed the big day? Already flown the sheet out the window, eh? Where is the big lug anyway? I gotta pass on my commiserations.’
Royce craned his neck around searching for Jack. Molly’s mouth was open but whatever words would have been appropriate failed her.
Leaning forward, Vivienne held out her hand across her niece.
‘Vivienne Connor,’ she said by way of introducing herself. ‘Molly’s aunt. I’m terribly sorry to tell you this but Jack White was killed last night in a tragic back-waxing incident and my niece is far too distraught to talk about it. I hope you will respect her need for privacy.’
Jardyne looked stricken.
‘Killed? Jack? Oh, my God, I didn’t know. Yeah, sure, of course. Back waxing, you say? Jesus. What went wrong? My God, you’ve gotta tell me what went wrong.’
‘Privacy,’ whispered Viv holding her finger to her mouth in a silencing motion. ‘Please. The grieving bride. Remember?’
At that moment the flight attendant squeezed past Royce with two glasses of bubbly on a tray.
‘Excuse me, Mr Jardyne,’ he said. ‘Misses Brown and Connor, the captain has just advised me that in the circumstances you are to be upgraded to first class. Can you please follow me and I will settle you up the front. Excuse us, Mr Jardyne.’
In a split-second Viv was on her feet and pulling Molly to hers.
‘Yes, excuse us,’ Viv said as they slipped past the still stunned businessman, pushing Molly in front of her.
Up ahead, their new friend, ‘Felix’ according to his name badge, was beaming at them, tray in one hand as the other arm swept out in a lavish gesture to display their new seats.
‘You looked like damsels in distress,’ he grinned, ‘and as it’s a quiet day in the pointy end I was in a position to help.’
‘You’re good people, Felix,’ Viv told him as she settled herself in the comfort of her first-class seat.
Molly slid in beside her, smiling vaguely at Felix as she did so. She was oblivious to his delivering her champagne. She was oblivious to just about everything except what had happened with Royce Jardyne.
‘Back-waxing incident?’ she eventually said to her aunt once Felix had disappeared into the galley.
‘Killed in a back-waxing incident?’
‘Molly, the guy looked like someone had shoved a toilet brush up his nose — he was a dead certainty for hair issues,’ Vivienne said crisply. ‘Did I get rid of him or did I get rid of him? Now drink,’ at which she took a sip from her own crystal glass.
Lost for words, Molly followed suit.
After one glass of champagne Vivienne, the consummate long-haul traveller, repaired to the bathroom to start her hygiene and beautification ritual while Molly sipped at a second tipple and scanned the airline magazines for anything that would take her attention off her newly single status and keep misery at bay.
When Vivienne returned, she promptly donned her gel eye mask, swallowed a Halcyon and went to sleep.
The vague excitement Molly had earlier felt about her adventure dissipated.
She felt lonely.
She missed Jack. Actually, slightly more than that, she missed Jess, who was the girlfriend you always wanted to sit next to during anything boring because she saw the fun in everything.
Compared with me, anyway, Molly thought. Miss Hall Rug 1999.
‘I can swing you a bottle if you fancy,’ Felix suddenly whispered in her ear. ‘You look like you could do with some cheering up.’
‘Actually, I think I have drunk more in the past 24 hours than I have in the past 24 years,’ said Molly gloomily. ‘The hangover is killing me.’
‘Did you drink much water?’ asked Felix helpfully.
‘Yes, I did, so I don’t know why I feel so bad.’
‘On the contrary, there’s your problem,’ Felix said triumphantly. ‘You mixed your drinks. It’ll get you every time.’
For the second time since boarding the plane, Molly laughed.
‘Do you want a bit of company?’ asked Felix. ‘I’ve got all the time in the world. As you can see, it is only you and your, um, Ms Connor in first class for the whole flight so your every wish is my command.’
Molly moved across the aisle from her sleeping aunt and patted the empty seat next to her. Practically before her hand had had a chance to make its way back to her lap, Felix’s snakelike hips were planted next to her.
‘I’m Felix, by the way, although you probably gathered that by the badge. Actually I wanted to make it read King Felix but my employers were against it.’
‘Of course, how rude of me,’ Molly said. ‘I’m Molly. Molly Brown.’
‘So what’s the story, Molly?’ Felix said, looking straight at her. ‘You can tell me to mind my own business if you want to but what is it with the frock?’
For reasons she couldn’t explain, Molly felt like telling him.
‘I was trying it on because I was supposed to get married on Saturday to my boyfriend of the past two years when I saw a pair of slut’s shoes from under the cubicle which turned out to belong to the stinking little strumpet who my so-called fiancé was bonking up the road in an apartment I didn’t even know he had.’
Felix’s eyes were like saucers.
‘My bridesmaid and so-called best friend then revealed that she had been biblical with him herself, along with any female in matching colours living on this side of the Equator. At that point I lost my marbles and took a taxi to the airport where I attempted to drench half the concourse with the contents of a yellow plastic bucket but succeeded only in humiliating myself even further.’
Felix grabbed her champagne glass and drained it himself.
‘Go on, Molly,’ he said. ‘Go on.’
>
‘Then my scary auntie who lives in New York and makes me feel like something Ma and Pa Kettle threw up arrives and I find out that she and my mum have a brother they didn’t know about living somewhere in Ireland so in a drunken torpor in the middle of the night I booked us all on a flight to go and find him. Only Mum burned her passport when she was having a thing with a teenage boy and so now I’m going to Dublin with Vivienne despite the fact that we have only ever been together alone in the same room once before and that time I wet my pants. I was four.’
Felix had both hands up holding his cheeks in horror by this stage.
‘Oh, and did I mention I have the personality of a hall rug?’ Molly added dryly.
‘Girlfriend, anyone who has had that much shit dumped on them in just one day is so not a hall rug. We’re talking a piece of upright furniture — antique — at least.’
The two were silent for a moment.
‘You so did the right thing to keep the dress on,’ said Felix eventually. ‘And I’m thinking that the drinking must help too.’
‘Well, I’m going to Ireland so hopefully drinking will feature there as well. If I can manage it,’ said Molly.
‘You’re in first class with Felix, honey. Trust me, if I can’t get you in training, nobody can. All the best people drink to forget. Look at Hollywood.’
At that point Felix’s watch alarm started buzzing and he popped up out of his seat and disappeared into the kitchen, promising to return with more bubbles and the most edible airline food she was ever likely to eat.
‘No, really,’ he insisted. ‘The chicken actually tastes different from the fish. And it comes on a plate.’
Molly put on her headphones and prepared to relax in front of her own personal television screen but every movie she flicked on to reminded her of Jack or Jess, or Jack and Jess, or Jack and Tiffini or anybody and anybody else. Together. Happily.
She looked across the aisle at her sleeping aunt.
Even in slumber the woman did not have a hair out of place. There she was stretched out in her Chanel, her auburn hair cut by Frederick of New York still perfectly coiffured, her only concession to being in the air rather than at a cocktail party were her shoes: she had swapped the Feragamo stilettos for a pair of no doubt Italian suede pumps with a mere 5 centimetre heel.
How did she do it? Molly marvelled.
When you thought about it, Vivienne had had just as much thrown at her in the past 24 hours as Molly had, yet she still looked like a sophisticated Manhattan magazine editor. While Molly had sunk from being a happy and confident former-businesswoman-soon-to-be-wife to a bug-eyed, ratty-looking sloth in a spangly dress and cardie.
She flopped her head back on the headrest and sputtered out a sigh. This was how Vivienne always made her feel.
‘So,’ came a voice from across the aisle, ‘exactly how long have you been afraid to be alone in a room with me?’
Molly froze.
The perfectly coiffured apparition was apparently conscious.
‘I asked you a question, Molly,’ it said, as she turned her head to look at it.
‘Oh, God, I thought you were asleep, Vivienne. I am so sorry, I—’
Her aunt slipped her eye mask carefully over her hair and turned her head to look icily at her niece.
‘I am divorced. I am from New York, Molly,’ Vivienne said. ‘It takes more than one pill to send me to sleep.’
Her aunt would not drop her gaze. ‘Exactly how long have you been afraid to be alone in a room with me? Answer me.’
Molly had not won the Nicest Girl in the School award by confronting difficult issues. She didn’t do confrontation. Not without a bucket in hand, anyway. She preferred avoidance and diversion. She was good at them.
But, like everything else she had taken for granted up until now, her aversion skills escaped her.
‘Since I first met you, I guess,’ she said, horrified by the words as they escaped her mouth and feeling her chin wobble in a precursor to blubbing.
‘Come back over here,’ her aunt said, as kindly as she could, indicating the seat Molly had evacuated to talk to Felix.
Reluctantly, Molly moved closer to the source of the questioning.
‘Why are you scared of me?’ Vivienne asked, genuinely interested but lacking emotion, which Molly realised, as she thought it, pretty much summed the woman up.
‘Why, Molly?’ her aunt repeated.
‘It’s just that you make me feel like a country bumpkin,’ she said finally. ‘In fact, not even as good as a country bumpkin. You make me feel like someone the Country Bumpkins’ Club would not accept as a member for reasons of, of—’ she struggled to find the right words but her aunt held up her hand to stop her.
‘I get the picture on the bumpkin front,’ she said, ‘but I still don’t understand why I would make you feel that way.’
Molly took a deep breath.
‘I can see the way you look at Mum — that you think she’s an idiot,’ she said. ‘It’s obvious. It’s great to see you and everything, really it is, but every time Bobs catches up with you she goes into a tailspin afterwards. Last time I thought she was going to crack up completely. She had her hair done just like yours practically the second you left and nearly killed herself staggering around in high heels for a week. Then she locked herself in her room avec gin bottle and cried for two days.’
Vivienne was still staring at her, but Molly was looking down at her lap.
‘You swan in with your stories of the high life in Manhattan and holidaying in the south of France and turning up at the Vanity Fair party in the same Armani as Kiri Te Kanawa and it makes us feel — I don’t know …’
‘Bumpkin-ish?’ Vivienne offered dryly.
‘It makes us feel like nobodies and as it happens Mum and I — no matter what — have worked pretty hard over the years to feel like somebodies and most of the time we are pretty bloody successful. We think we’re doing okay until you show up, Vivienne. Then it’s back to being failures again.’
Vivienne was shaking her head in amazement.
‘Bloody Mary, anyone?’ Felix trilled from behind them.
‘Yes, please,’ Molly and Vivienne answered at the same time.
‘Molly, I don’t know what to say to you, apart from the fact that if you are intimidated by what I wear then I can suggest a couple of knock-off stores that you should visit. You’re scared of my Armani?’
‘No, Vivienne. I’m scared of your perfect hair and your wrinkle-free skin and your most successful magazine ever and the fact that you never hug anyone.’
Molly stopped, because her aunt was looking visibly — well, she couldn’t tell what. Visibly something, anyway. That was new.
‘I never hug anyone?’ Vivienne asked, regaining her composure. ‘What is this — Ricki Lake? I’m a monster because I don’t hug?’
‘Well, if it wasn’t for the fact that we had the birth certificates and knew you were Mum’s sister, you could just be a fancy rich American woman coming to visit us every now and then.’
Vivienne sat back stiffly in her seat and smoothed her skirt.
‘Do not make the mistake of thinking, Molly Brown,’ she said coldly, ‘that just because I don’t hug people I don’t have feelings. You and your mother happen to be the only family I have in the world. And just because I’m not crying my eyes out or baring my soul to you every minute of the day and night does not mean I don’t care for you very deeply, because I do. You especially. There are things about me that you will never know that make it hard for me to express myself, Molly, and for that I am truly sorry. But don’t think you can call me a stranger and leave no impact, because that is just plain cruel and you are not a cruel person.’
The guilt bleached Molly’s insides. How could she have been so mean? That wasn’t her. That wasn’t the real Molly Brown. It felt horrible.
‘I am completely barking mad at the moment, Vivienne,’ she said suddenly, grabbing her aunt’s forearms with both hands. ‘I am to
tally deranged and should be institutionalised.’
She let go of Vivienne’s arms and sat back in her seat, staring straight ahead.
‘I must go immediately to the place where Jack Nicholson went to in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and you and Bobs can visit me but must under no circumstances listen to anything I say. I must—’
‘Molly, you hurt my feelings — it’s not a homicide,’ her aunt broke in, unimpressed by the near-hysterics. ‘Listen to me,’ she said more softly. ‘I know I give you the heebies. That’s partly why I agreed to come on this Tom Connor thing. It’s a chance to bond, isn’t it? You and me. I mean it when I say you and your mom are all I have in the world. It may be hard for your mother and I to feel any differently about each other now, but you and I? Let’s try to work it out.’
Felix appeared with two healthy-looking Bloody Maries and Molly wasted no time.
‘Worth breaking the “avoid alcohol” rule,’ Viv complimented Felix. ‘Thank you.’ She took another sip of her drink and smiled.
‘Why would it be so hard for you and Mum to feel any differently about each other now?’ Molly asked.
‘Well, for a start, we both had lifetimes of parents blackening each other’s names. I was four when your mom and I were split up and she was three — you know all this, I know. But I grew up hearing my mother every day tell me what a spineless piece of dirt her no-good layabout of an ex-husband was. She cried every morning and every night for your mother, but the hatred she felt for our father — you think I’m scary?’ Vivienne joked. ‘You ain’t seen nothing. Can you imagine how much they must have detested each other to split up two little sisters and send them to opposite ends of the earth? That’s how I can believe that they would have left Tom behind.’
‘Doesn’t it strike you as a little odd that they never so much as mentioned him, though?’ Molly asked.
‘Molly, my mother came to New York expecting to make it big as an opera singer. This was despite the fact that she had never listened to a note of opera in her life and from what I heard had the voice of a rusty gate. She blamed our father for holding her back in her career but she had no career. She did people’s laundry, for God’s sake. She was delusional. She believed what she wanted to believe. She made up her whole life as she went along. And before we knew it, senile dementia got the better of her and she was gone.’
Finding Tom Connor Page 8