by Lucy Hepburn
She wanted to finish up with ‘and unexpectedly sparkly’ but decided not to.
“…and wedding dressy.”
Pascal had fished a handkerchief from his pocket and was mopping his brow.
Caitlin could be heard blowing her nose, hard. “Right. Right. Okay. Right. Well…”
“You stopped crying?”
“I have. And I’m, well, I’m kind of late for my pedicure.”
“Oh, well then you must flee! Go on, little princess, go beautify your extremities!”
She heard Caitlin give a little snort of amusement.
“We’ll see you later,” Molly went on. “Save some champagne for us, won’t you? Believe it or not, I think we deserve it.”
“Yeah, well, okay then. See you later. Hurry up, okay? Hurry up carefully?”
“Always do.”
Molly hung up and exhaled loudly.
Simon, with some difficulty in the cramped space, wriggled out of the knitted sweater.
“At last!” Molly cheered, then blushed furiously as she again caught Simon’s eye in the mirror. “You must have been boiling in that thing,” she added feebly, trying not to stare at his muscular shoulders, taut beneath his white t-shirt.
“Yeah,” he said. He folded the sweater and used it as a pillow, leaning his head against the car window. Then he closed his eyes and in a very short time it became obvious, from his relaxed shoulders and measured breathing, that he had fallen fast asleep.
Molly no longer knew what to think. Late, late, late. Caitlin would be beside herself. Molly wondered whether to call and advise her of the latest delay, but she just couldn’t face it. Hopefully her pedicure would keep her occupied for a while, and she’d lose track of time. Okay, she admitted to herself, there wasn’t much chance of that. Caitlin would be counting down every minute, and if they weren’t pulling up in front of her in precisely three and a half hours…well, she didn’t like to contemplate what her reaction would be.
“My little girl,” Molly’s mum sighed to herself.
Molly smiled at her. She hadn’t been called that for a long time. Outside, the rolling hills and picturesque farmyards slipped by in the afternoon sunlight. Pascal was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to some internal, Latin rhythm as he drove expertly—if rather slowly, along the busy motorway.
“Getting married tomorrow,” her mother went on. “How can that be?”
Deflated, Molly found her hackles rising.
“Aren’t I your little girl?” she asked, surprised by how childish she sounded.
“Oh, of course you are.” She reached across and gave her a squeeze. “But children grow so fast. You know, everyone said when you were both tiny that the years would fly past, and I didn’t believe it back then. Life was so busy, so hard. It’s sheer drudgery a lot of the time, bringing up babies. Every day seemed endless, never mind every year.”
“Sorry about that.” Molly had stuck her bottom lip out.
“Oh, it’s wonderful drudgery, don’t get me wrong.”
“Hmm. Not sure I believe you.”
“It is! I wouldn’t swap a single moment of it—well, apart from the sleepless nights.” She winked at Molly. “I’d swap them in a heartbeat. But you just wait until you have children of your own.”
Molly thought of Reggie. It wasn’t an ‘until.’ Right now it’s a very big ‘if.’
“The bond is…incredible,” her mum continued. “Doesn’t matter where I am in the world, or where you are in the world…it’s just…so hard to describe. There is nothing like it. Nothing.”
Molly thought she could see tears in her mother’s eyes, but there was something she desperately wanted to say to her. She took a deep breath.
“You’ve always been closer to Caitlin than to me.”
There. She’d finally said it.
A silence. Her mother’s brow furrowed, and then she looked slowly across at her daughter.
“That is not true.”
“So why do I feel like it is? There’s always been something different in how you’ve treated the two of us. I remember feeling so left out such a lot of the time—you and Caitlin used to talk for hours and I was…I was always the one who got given things to do to keep me out of mischief, or I seemed to be always getting told off for breaking things.”
Her mother sighed. “Are you thinking about the music box?”
“Partly, yes. It was like the end of the world when I broke that. I actually thought Caitlin might kill me. I was ten years old, mum! And you know what? She actually brought it up when I was in Paris offering to collect the dress for her, as though it proved how useless I was at looking after things!”
“It is funny how that silly thing stayed with you both.”
“It wasn’t silly at the time,” Molly growled. “I was so miserable!”
“You need to let go of stuff like that, Molly,” her mum said. “It was a childish accident.”
“Mum?”
“Yes?”
“I broke it on purpose.”
Molly could feel tears stinging her eyes.
“You did?” A flicker of emotion from her mother. Was she angry? However she felt, her mum suppressed it.
“It was so beautiful,” Molly said, “and shiny, and elegant! All I had to store my beads and bangles in was that old ice cream tub!” This was the admission that had taken years to come.
“I didn’t know you did it on purpose,” her mother admitted quietly. “But it’s all in the past.” She patted Molly’s knee. “It’s normal to be envious of your sibling’s things. The oldest jealousy in history probably!”
“That’s not really why I broke it though.” Molly felt dangerously close to tears. Molly could envisage it perfectly now: the most beautiful thing in the world. With that little ballerina that twirled on top of the mirror. Three sets of tiny drawers and the little sparkly clasp. “I did it because dad gave it to her. He gave it to her and not me.”
Her mother nodded slowly. “You were a little young to have something like that. That’s probably why he gave it to her.”
“It was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen!”
It was red and gold. Molly couldn’t believe how badly it fell apart when she’d thrown it onto the bathroom floor. She’d cried out, so shocked by what she’d done. But nobody heard her. Molly had just run away. When Caitlin finally found it, she pleaded that it was an accident. It was the opposite of an accident.
“So, you really didn’t just drop it,” her mother sighed.
“Hurled it with all my might, mum.”
“Ah.”
“I was so angry. And then so upset, and then so scared…”
“It was a long time ago,” her mum said, patting her leg. “You were a baby.”
“I don’t think I’ll never forget it. And neither, clearly, will Caitlin.” She shook her head. “I was just jealous. That’s a hard thing to admit because I felt so hard done by—I thought you all hated me.”
“Oh, darling, that couldn’t be further from the truth!” Her mother paused, choosing her words with care. “I do remember that time clearly. Your father had just run off with—that woman—and, well, I guess I did turn to Caitlin a lot. She was full of questions, and I think it helped my own adjustment processes to sit her down and try to answer them.”
“You two used to talk for hours.”
Her mother nodded. “We did, didn’t we?” Then she looked at her. “And you didn’t. You kept it all inside. I told myself that you were too young to be too badly affected by the…break-up.”
“Seriously?”
Another nod. “Without a doubt. You were eight, Molly, and you got on with things, drawing your little outfits, dressing your dolls and yourself—getting my make-up everywhere.”
“I used to pretend I was a grown-up lady with a dress shop,” Molly interrupted. “At least then I didn’t have to think about being clumsy Molly Wright.”
; “Well, that breaks my heart to hear,” she looked Molly right in the eye. “A bad call on my part. I’m so very sorry.”
They were silent for a while, listening to the roar of the overworked car’s engine, and the sound of Simon’s gentle snores. Pascal said nothing as they edged towards Venice.
Molly didn’t cry. But she felt lighter after telling her mother her most troubling thoughts. And there it was. Her mother was just a human being in a bad situation who’d watched her younger daughter throw herself into play and decided that she was content and should be left to herself. It couldn’t be that simple, could it?
“Mum?”
“Yes?”
“What do you think about tomorrow?”
“In what way?”
“The whole thing. Well…Francesco, mainly.”
Her mother looked at her carefully. “Why do you ask?”
Molly exhaled. “Don’t you think it’s a bit…fast? They’ve only been together for five months.”
Her mother frowned, looking thoughtful.
“And he’s so…different from what we’re used to.”
“Is he?”
Molly looked at her mother impatiently. Was she being stupid on purpose? “He’s a flipping millionaire! And he’s older than her.”
A small smile from her mother. “Neither of these things are crimes as far as I can see.”
“Don’t you think she’s just been, oh, I don’t know, dazzled into all this? Or even flattered into it? Who’d have thought, you know, my sister, the Yorkshire lass—”
“Molly,” her mother interrupted gently, “Caitlin is thirty years old. She’s a grown-up, however little I like to think so at times. She knows her own mind, and she loves him very much.”
Molly felt a small victory: her mum hadn’t answered her question. “So… what do you think about it all?”
She sighed. “I’ve met Francesco several times. He is charming—”
Molly snorted. “He’s Italian! They’re all charming”
“As I was saying, he’s charming, clever, and funny.”
“That’s not everything, you know.”
Her mother laughed at that. “It’s a damn good start! But I’ve seen them together. He adores her.” She shifted a little in her seat until she was facing Molly. “Be fair, darling. I’ve met him and he seems lovely. He loves her. What’s your problem with that?”
The question hung in the air, the implication obvious. She thinks I’m jealous of her man, just like I was jealous of the music box…
She felt herself stick her chin out and speak almost petulantly. “You don’t think he’s just, oh, I don’t know…amused by her because she’s different from the supermodels and film stars he probably hangs about with usually? I’ve Googled him—he’s always at these telly parties, and they’re full of beautiful people.”
Her mum gave her a stern look. “And Caitlin? Isn’t she a beautiful person?”
“Not always.” Molly folded her arms and felt the onset of a sulk.
“Listen, darling, Caitlin and Francesco are in love, and you and I are going to celebrate their marriage tomorrow.”
“He’s a hard businessman.”
Her mother gave her a quizzical look.
“Google again,” Molly admitted. She wasn’t prepared to let her sister’s fiancé off the hook just yet.
“He’s a businessman, yes. A successful one. Give him a break!”
Molly sighed. “Must I?”
“No, of course not. But I must disagree with you.”
“Caitlin’s always enjoyed…nice things.”
Now her mother fixed her with a stern look. “Molly, listen to yourself! Caitlin is not marrying Francesco because he’s got money! How dare you think that of your sister!” Mum was really angry now. “She’s marrying him because she loves him, and they want to spend their lives together.”
“If you say so.” Molly’s bottom lip stuck resolutely out again.
Her mother shook her head in exasperation. “You know what? I give up. You love Caitlin, I love Caitlin, and this is just how it is. It’s her wedding day tomorrow and I’m not going to let you spoil it by going into a strop!”
“I’m not in a strop!” Molly fumed.
“So what’s this all about then?” her mother’s tone was challenging. “Reggie?”
Molly hadn’t expected that. “Mum, I told you…” There was a huge lump in her throat.
Her mother’s tone instantly softened. “Come on, sweetie. Why is he not with you?”
Molly stared out of the window. They were passing a pretty little town which lay surrounded by neat vineyards. The church tower was gleaming, spotlit by a shard of sunlight that sliced through the low clouds overhead. Below the church, some tiny children were playing football, watched by a row of mums and dads.
The tranquil sight was soothing. It was time to tell her mother the truth.
“He broke up with me,” Molly said. “In Paris. Two days ago.”
She felt her mother’s arms go around her, and then she was being enfolded in a tight hug. Her mother’s body seemed small and frail—she almost felt like a different woman. But the hug was comforting and wonderful, and gradually she felt a tiny part of her begin to heal in the warmth of the embrace.
And then, at last, Molly began to cry. Big, aching sobs, which she tried hard to muffle so as not to wake Simon, but it was hard.
“I can’t…” she sobbed. “I don’t know…” Her own thoughts wouldn’t finish themselves.
“Take all the time you need,” her mother soothed. “It’s all right. I’m here.”
Eventually, a good few minutes later, the sobs began to subside. Molly looked at her mother. “He really has gone to Los Angeles. He’s got some last-minute glamorous photo assignment—thinks this’ll turn him into the Next Big Thing. He’s going to stay out there, try and get an agent, move a bit, shake a bit, you know.”
“He has always dreamed of that, hasn’t he?”
“I guess.”
“And how are you?”
“Me?” Molly thought hard. How exactly was she? “I have no idea. I haven’t had time to process it. I know when I get back I’m going to have so many adjustments to make, stupid stuff, like what on earth to do on Sundays, who will fix the Wi-Fi when it goes down. That sort of thing—I just can’t fathom out the big picture yet.”
Her mum rubbed her back. “You think you’re in shock?”
“No. I think I’m in limbo. Not quite the same thing.” Molly managed a smile. “Just hope it doesn’t all come crashing down on me in the middle of the wedding tomorrow, and I have to be carried, wailing and beating my fists, from the church.”
“Be kind to yourself.”
“I don’t have time,” Molly said with a sigh. “But I will… When I get a minute.”
“This Reggie is a fool,” Pascal hissed, taking both women by surprise. Pascal gave her a sympathetic look in the rear-view mirror, rummaged in his pocket, and passed back a spotless Irish linen handkerchief.
“Excuse me?” Molly replied. Pascal had probably been listening to every word. She didn’t know how she felt about sharing her innermost thoughts to a man she had only known for two days. But then, she knew already that Pascal was someone she could trust.
Pascal shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Well, thank you, I guess,” said Molly. “I’m just starting to think… maybe I wasn’t enough for him.”
“Don’t you dare think that!” said her mum and pulled her in for another hug.
“I do not understand,” Pascal went on, “why you are concerned about someone who can just drop you for the sake of chasing bright lights somewhere. It is all an illusion.”
“You think?” said Molly, sniffing back her tears.
“I know it.”
“But Pascal,” said Molly, “don’t you spend your life chasing that illusion with couture clothes? This idea of glamour and success?” M
olly even surprised herself with the thought. She wasn’t even sure she believed it.
Pascal shook his head so violently that the little car swerved toward the verge, and he had to make a quick adjustment to right it again, causing Simon to stir, mutter something, and fall back to sleep.
“Beauty. That is what I do. Beauty and art and perfection. I strive for perfect quality—not fame and fortune.”
Molly smiled. Pascal had summed up not only himself, but her also. At least, not her exactly, not right now, but maybe, in the future when she had made a name for herself, she would be able to make lofty statements just like these and have the track record to back them up. Well, a girl could dream…
“But Reggie.” Pascal seemed reluctant to let Reggie drop. “He has shown you his worth, has he not?”
Molly thought about it. “I…guess…so…”
“And there is someone else who has done the same over the past two days.” He indicated exhausted Simon, still deeply asleep. “He has shown what he’s made of.”
“Pascal!” Molly was scandalized. Or was she?
“I mean it! You two are cute together.”
Molly began to blush. “Don’t be…ridiculous!” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “He’s a good guy, for sure…”
“And very handsome?”
“He is,” said Molly’s mum eagerly.
“Shhh!” Her blush deepened. “But hold on just a minute—think about it, Pascal. What have you just been saying about Reggie and fame and fortune? Hello? Isn’t Simon on the way to showcase his fancy movie at the Venice Film Festival? What’s that if not seeking the very same thing?”
Molly felt engulfed by gloom. All the men she knew were after the big time and nothing else. It was depressing to think that the simple life was not good enough for anyone any more.
It silenced Pascal anyway. With another shrug, he seemed to turn all of his attention back to the traffic.
“Besides,” she couldn’t help adding. “There’s something else.”
“Oh yes?” Pascal glanced at her in the rear-view mirror.
“And her name is Yvonne.”