by Lucy Hepburn
“What are we going to do? It’s mum!”
“You have to remember,” Molly urged, “that the doctors are hopeful she’s going to be just fine! The woman she saw this morning’s some kind of expert apparently, and she’s said it too—”
“Of course they’re going to say that! They’re not exactly going to say she’s going to…to…”
“Caitlin, I actually think they would—why would they lie? Come on, you have to be strong right now. It’s your wedding day.”
“Oh, Molly…” Caitlin started to cry again.
Molly took some deep breaths. “Listen, do you want me to call you back in a few minutes once you’ve had a chance to get your head round it all?”
“No!” Then, in a small voice, “Please stay with me.”
“Okay, okay, I’m right here.”
Molly sat on her bed waiting on the line while Caitlin composed herself. She couldn’t imagine how miserable her sister must be feeling.
“Caitlin?”
“Y…yes?”
“Pascal will bring the dress to you. I’ve told him the directions and everything, and he’s all ready to leave. You’re getting married today, and you’re going to look perfect.”
On the other end of the line Caitlin sniffed.
“He’ll be with you in no time,” Molly told her. “I’ll stay here with mum to make sure she’s okay. She told me to tell you she’ll be with you in spirit, but you know that, don’t you? And I will be too.” Molly realized for the first time that she was going to be really upset to miss her sister’s big day. “I’ll bring mum over as soon as she’s got her strength back. And you can tell us all about the ceremony later on tonight—that sound okay?
“Molly—”
“Oh, and don’t for get photos! From what you’ve told me, there’ll be hundreds to choose from, what with all the paparazzi you’re going to wow in that amazing dress—”
“I’m not sure,” Caitlin cut in.
“You are!” Molly didn’t want Caitlin to lose it now with just hours before the big moment. “If you like, Pascal could stay with mum, and I could come and be with you.”
“No,” Caitlin said softly.
“Fine, your call, sweetie.” It’s what Molly expected her to say, but it still hurt to hear it.
“I meant,” Caitlin said again, “no I would not like.”
“Sorry?”
Caitlin sighed. “The wedding’s not important anymore.”
“Caitlin Wright,” Molly scolded. “Are you out of your tiny mind? Of course the wedding’s important!”
“Not without you and mum there.”
“Oh…”
Molly began to cry. She had no words to respond to her sister. Perhaps she should have kept up her blustering, organizing tone, but her heart wasn’t in it. Because if it had been her own wedding day, she’d have felt exactly the same as her big sister.
But then she had a brainwave and had one last try. “Go on, Cait, go and get married. We can have a family celebration later, can’t we? There’s no law against that sort of thing? A…a blessing or something.”
“No,” Caitlin sobbed. “No, thank you. Mum’s got cancer. That changes everything.”
“Yeah,” Molly whispered, “I know.” And however optimistic the doctors were, even the very best prognosis for the next few months—or even years, would involve sleepless nights, worry, uncertainty, and lots of anxious trips to Italy.
“I must find Francesco,” Caitlin cried. “I need to get to Bologna.”
“Oh, Caitlin. I’ve got it covered here—”
“I know,” her sister said, “but I want to be with you both. Nothing else matters.”
Molly hadn’t expected this, but realized she should have. But it seemed like such a big thing to call off. “Speak to Francesco before you do anything rash, won’t you?”
“He’ll understand.”
Molly wasn’t so sure. She guessed that millionaire businessmen didn’t take too kindly to having their plans ruined. But she gave Caitlin the address of the hotel without arguing. Caitlin wouldn’t have listened to her anyhow.
“Right, I’ll text you when I leave. There’ll probably be some stuff to do here first, cancelling the ceremony, telling the caterers, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay, Caitlin. Drive carefully. Remember you’re upset.”
“I can’t exactly forget. And Molly?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks. For all you’ve done.”
If Molly wasn’t sitting on the bed, she would have fallen over. “Oh…don’t…I haven’t…”
“I mean it,” Caitlin went on. “I’m kind of guessing you’ve had a nightmare these past few days?”
“Well…” Molly admitted.
“Thank you, Molly. You really are the best.”
It was the first time her sister had voluntarily thanked her for anything in as long as she could remember. Even in Paris, when Molly had agreed to collect the dress, she had had to remind her to show some gratitude. It felt weird; she’d craved moments like this probably all her life, and now it had happened, she brushed it away.
“Forget it,” she whispered. “That’s what family is for.”
Pascal was sitting with a book in the downstairs lounge. Although he looked every inch the suave Parisian gent, he was clearly agitated, hurling the book to his lap, sighing heavily, rubbing his forehead. He leapt to his feet as Molly approached.
“How is she?” he asked, his face full of concern.
“Resting,” Molly answered. “I’ve rung Caitlin, and, well, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”
“Mon dieu, not more!” Pascal seemed to have grown more French this morning as he fanned himself extravagantly with his novel and sank gracefully back down onto his chair, shaking his head. “I cannot take more bad news!”
“Pascal, Caitlin can’t bear to go through with the wedding without mum.”
Pascal became perfectly still as Molly waited for a reaction.
“I’m so sorry,” she went on. “I know how important it is for the gown to be seen by the world. You will be paid. And I’m sure she’ll reschedule—”
“Are you completely out of your tiny English mind, chèrie?” Pascal inquired, peering up at her.
“I know you’re upset…”
“Of course she will not have the wedding without her mother and her sister! What sort of unfeeling idiot do you take me for, hein? Do you think I am Delametri Chevalier himself?”
Molly flushed. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight. And no, you are definitely not Delametri Chevalier.”
“To hell with the world’s press!” he thundered. “Your beautiful mother is sick. We will wait. And…oof!”
Molly nearly knocked him off his chair under the force of her incoming hug.
“You are lovely,” she said into his neck. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Why would I not? You are all my dear friends now.”
“And you are mine.” Molly disentangled herself, feeling a little guilty that she had ever thought the wedding would go ahead as planned given the force of Pascal’s reaction. She shook her head and looked around the room.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen…”
“Simon?” Pascal finished with a smile. “No, I have not seen him.”
“I must thank him for what he did this morning,” Molly said. “Do you know his room number?”
Pascal didn’t, so Molly dialed his number on her phone, tutting in annoyance as it went straight to voicemail. So she steeled herself to quiz the frosty receptionist.
“Could you tell me Mr. Simon Foss’s room number, please?” she asked.
The receptionist shook her head. “I am afraid I cannot give out details of other guests,” she replied.
Molly narrowed her eyes. Was this some kind of revenge for last night when the receptionist had said her fiancé was on the phone
, just as she was about to kiss Simon?
Then she had a brainwave. “Well, could you dial his room, please, and hand me the phone?”
With only the tiniest flicker of her eyebrows, the receptionist did so. But then, just as she was about to hand the phone over, she tapped at some keys on her computer screen, straightened up, and hung up.
“I see that he has left,” she said.
“I know, you told me that this morning…”
“Yes, but since then he has returned, paid his bill, and checked out.”
Molly was thunderstruck. “Are you sure?”
The look she received in response meant that no words were necessary.
Her mind whirring, she thanked the receptionist and walked back over to Pascal. “He’s gone.”
“Non!” He stood up and laid a hand on her arm. “I think…there is somewhere he needs to be today.”
“The Film Festival,” Molly groaned. “Today’s his screening day, isn’t it?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Molly nodded. “Of course. I didn’t wish him luck.”
Or apologize. Or explain. Or kiss…
“He will know you wish him well.” Pascal was giving her that knowing look again. “And he will wish you well also.”
Overwhelmed with a need to be alone, Molly excused herself and rushed upstairs to her room, throwing herself onto her bed and trying as hard as she could not to start crying again.
Her mum had lung cancer. Surgery, chemo, pain, uncertainty…
And Simon had gone without saying goodbye. Waves of guilt and sadness coursed through her. How could she have forgotten to wish him luck? She didn’t even ask how he was feeling.
He’d forget about her in no time, and quite right too. She hadn’t had the chance to explain about the misunderstanding with Reggie. He must still think she was some sort of two-timing tart!
She shook her head. Oh, sure, one day she’d track him down on Facebook or something and let him know the truth, but that thought was hardly a comfort now. What would it matter a few days, weeks, months down the line? He’d have moved on.
But she’d fallen for him; there was no doubt about it. It didn’t matter that it was so soon after Reggie had ended their relationship—she and Reggie had been cruising on autopilot for, what, years? It felt like Simon was unlocking something long suppressed within her: excitement, a real, proper connection…
…only now he had gone.
Simon was perfect, she realized, and I ruined everything. As usual.
There was nothing to do but wait for Caitlin to arrive and unleash the whirlwind of her misery over her discovery about her mother and her ruined day. It was the calm before the storm, and Molly didn’t know what to do with it.
Their room deal hadn’t included breakfast, and Molly suddenly realized she was starving. She’d noticed a mini-supermarket on the other side of the bustling street and so she strode out into a fresh Bologna morning to buy fruit, bread, and magazines to share with Pascal and her mum.
The tiny, scowling shopkeeper was less than happy to receive her credit card for such a small number of items and objected sulkily in rapid, gesture-filled Italian. Molly couldn’t understand and settled for an apologetic shrug in the style of Pascal and left, bidding the shopkeeper a polite buongiorno on her way out. She would not allow this man to add to her troubles today—lord knows she had enough to contend with already.
But her positive attitude began to waver as she turned back toward the hotel. Squinting up into the sunlight at the ugly, modern structure, she had to fight a wave of fear at the prospect of going into her mother’s room and facing up to the reality of her illness.
If I can’t see her, then it’s not happening…
She sat on the hotel steps and impulsively pulled out her phone and tried Simon’s number again. He’d left; they couldn’t hurt each other now. Surely he’d pick up so that, at the very least, she could explain about last night?
Hi this is Simon Foss, leave a message and I’ll get back to you, cheers…
Miserably, Molly’s finger hovered over the ‘off’ button on her phone. But then, on impulse, she put the phone to her ear.
“Simon? Me again. Erm…hi.” Her hands were trembling. There was so much she wanted to say to him, and yet she couldn’t remember any of it. “Thanks again, and safe travels, and stuff, and, well, as I said…just me…saying hi…and thanks…okay? Right…bye then…”
How useless was she? She was once again about to hit the ‘off’ button when mercifully she remembered. “Oh, and good luck, yeah? With…everything…right…bye…”
She hung up, fighting an urge to hurl her phone as far away as she could.
She gazed out across the car park and the street, gazing blankly across the unfamiliar city.
It was such a lot to take in, this new, unsupported status of hers. She realized with a heavy sigh that she was going to have to shift up a gear—go from being the clumsy younger daughter with the hip boyfriend and bossy sister to…just plain old single Molly Wright. With a life to discover for herself which may never include a soul mate to share it with, a career to forge, and a mum who’d never be the same again.
Bologna didn’t seem to be offering her any answers. But Molly knew that she was going to have to be the grown-up, at least until Caitlin arrived and took over like she usually did. So she heaved herself to her feet and finally made her way upstairs toward her mother’s room.
She raised her hand to tap on the door, then stopped, her hand hovering in mid-air. She wondered if she was ready for her new role.
“It’s all right, Molly, you can come in. Door’s on the latch.”
How did she know she was there?
Molly’s mother was smiling as Molly opened the door. She was propped up on four pillows with classical music wafting sweetly from a radio channel she must have found on the hotel’s TV network.
“How come our rooms are identical, but yours is so much nicer than mine?” Molly smiled, taking in the gentle atmosphere. “Maybe it’s just because it’s got you in it. You always manage to nest wherever you are.” She walked over to the bed and hugged her mother tightly. “How are you feeling?”
“Sad,” her mother immediately replied. “And furious about my lousy timing.”
“Hey,” Molly soothed, “this is not your fault! And…” she hesitated, scared to hear the answer. “Physically?”
“Just weary, like there’s this crushing weight all over me. I honestly couldn’t have coped with getting back in the car today.”
“Course not,” Molly told her. “So don’t go adding guilt to your list of troubles. Okay?”
Her mother smiled gratefully. Molly emptied the shopping bag onto the bed.
“You hungry?”
“Oh…how thoughtful…”
Molly knew her mother was humoring her as she hovered her hand over the array of figs, bananas, and ciabatta.
“Be good to have something…uh-oh…” Molly heard familiar footsteps in the corridor. She and her mother exchanged looks. “Tornado, incoming, brace! Brace!”
The sound of staccato footsteps grew louder and louder in the corridor outside.
Caitlin didn’t knock. She threw open the door, rushed in, and hurled herself, sobbing, onto her mother.
Molly leaned away to give her room, taking in her glossily blow-dried chestnut hair and perfectly manicured hands. Despite her sobs, she radiated wedding-day perfection. She’d obviously had a spray-tan, her eyebrows were flawlessly threaded, and despite her obvious misery, her complexion glowed from what Molly guessed to be many expensive facials and skin products. Molly felt tears beginning to prick the backs of her eyes. Caitlin was walking evidence of a wedding that wasn’t to be—not today.
“Mum,” Caitlin sobbed, “I’m so sorry. How long have you known? How are you feeling?”
“Hey, there, it’s you we’re worried about!” her mother soothed, stroking her back ge
ntly. “Here comes the bride!”
Caitlin sat up and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. She looked at Molly for the first time.
Molly didn’t know what to say. She gave a helpless shrug.
“Molly?”
“Hiya.”
“C’mere.”
Molly found herself pulled into a bear hug from Caitlin. She was almost too surprised to respond. Awkwardly, she put her arms around her weeping sister until a tear escaped and plopped onto her shoulder.
“Thank you for all you did,” Caitlin mumbled, pulling away and smiling weakly. “What a time of it you’ve had.”
Molly nodded. “So have you.” Molly could hardly see her through the tears in her eyes. “You look stunning, by the way.”
“Shut up, no I don’t. I’ve been crying for two hours. I look like shit.”
“Shall we have a huge row about whether you look nice or not?”
“Excellent idea. You start.”
“Banana, anyone?” their mother cut in, and they all laughed.
“Where’s Francesco?” Molly asked.
“Oh, he didn’t come up,” Caitlin replied. “He’s giving us a bit of space.”
“He must be devastated,” Molly couldn’t resist the comment.
Caitlin shrugged. “Oh, for sure. He’s really sad for me—for all of us. He’ll be caught up in making calls, making sure everyone knows the plans have changed; that sort of thing. Holding the fort.” She smiled a smile Molly and probably her mother knew was forced. “He’ll come and see you when things settle down, Mum.”
“Lovely,” her mother smiled.
“So, what’s the first move with your treatment?”
This was typical of Caitlin, Molly thought. She hears about a problem, she needs to find a solution. As her mother outlined the treatment plan to Caitlin in clear, matter-of-fact tones, Molly watched the two women as though observing from above. It was like looking at herself. Catlin was curled up in just the same way she herself did when watching TV on the sofa, and her mother was putting her head to one side and furrowing her brow in concentration as she gave Caitlin the details Molly already knew—just as she did when she tried to make sure she was getting her facts right. Same, same, same.
“I got it, by the way,” her mum was saying.