Goodbye, my boy, my son. Thank you for coming into my life, and thank you for shaping it in the most wonderful way. Goodbye, my darling . . .
With the sound of his words in her ear, Molly decided to close her eyes, just for a minute . . .
She wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but now opened her eyes slowly and stretched her arms above her head before twisting her neck to the left and right. Joe had clearly left and things felt . . . different and, as she tried to put her finger on what exactly, she spoke.
‘I must have nodded off. I wonder what the time is.’
These words were immediately followed by a gasp – her voice! Molly ran her fingers along her throat. She had said the words out loud and they were clear and smooth and rounded – the voice she had not heard at all for the last few days and had not heard with this velvety clarity for years!
‘What on earth?’ she laughed, delighted by the sound. Even her laughter was light and gay.
She became aware of a fluttering sound and looked towards the window, surprised to see a small bird sitting on the windowsill.
‘Well, where have you come from, little chap?’
Only as she swung her legs to the side of the bed and looked down at the full red skirt she was wearing did she realise she was no longer broken.
‘Oh! Oh my goodness!’
This was what was different! This was what was missing – the pain. Gone were her aches and grumbles, all of it, gone! She looked at the back of her hands, where the skin was smooth and creamy, unblemished by distended veins and liver spots. Flexing her fingers, she ran her palm up her forearm and over her décolletage towards her sharp jawline.
Leaping now from the bed, Molly ran to the window and opened it wide, watching as the little bird flew out of the room and soared high into the inky blue sky of approaching dusk.
‘Be free, little bird!’ she called after him, watching until she could see him no more and then gazing down over the dismal car park before smiling at her reflection in the window. Running the tip of her finger beneath her full bottom lip, she checked to make sure her lipstick was pristine. She felt absolutely brand new. Her focus was sharp, her hearing clear and her muscles sat snugly attached to strong bones – feeling like this, she could climb a mountain or chop a log! She loved the sensation of the full red silk skirt beneath her fingertips and very much liked the white shirt tied at her slender waist. Her hair was neatly coiffed and so delighted was she with her appearance that she jumped up and down on the spot.
There was a knock at the door. Molly turned and watched as it slowly opened. She wondered who it might be and couldn’t wait to show them the transformation – Frances? The sweet nurse? Joe? But it was none of them.
First she saw the buttons of his uniform, shiny brass with their naval crest and knot of rope.
‘Johan!’ The word was as sweet in her mouth as honey and her heart swelled to see the man she loved, handsome and . . . and somehow here! Here in this room!
‘Marvellous Molly! My darling M.’
The two collided as they met, holding each other fast in a tight embrace with as much of their bodies touching as was possible, hip to hip, cheek to cheek, thigh to thigh, as if nothing less would do. Molly felt the heat from his hands and it warmed a place deep inside her that had been cold since the moment he left her.
‘Oh, how I have missed you!’ She whispered the understatement with her eyes tight shut for fear of opening them and he not being there. ‘I have missed you every single moment of every single day.’
‘And I you, my love. Every single day.’ Johan tipped her chin with his finger and tilted her face to his before kissing her firmly on the mouth.
‘Don’t ever leave me again, Johan. Please don’t ever leave me again!’
‘I shan’t. I promise.’
He stepped back and held out her hand, safe and warm within his. ‘You look beautiful.’
Molly beamed. She felt beautiful.
‘Listen!’ Johan put his finger to his ear and cocked his head slightly, and there it was, quiet at first, but unmistakably the strains of their song . . . ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ – the deep melodic tones of Billie Holiday masking the crackles and scratches of the record.
‘You know, Marvellous Molly, I should tell you now that if you don’t immediately say no to a dance, I will always assume it’s a yes.’
‘It is a yes – it will always be a yes!’ She twirled inside his arms, as he suddenly dipped her backwards, one strong arm beneath to hold her, and there she stayed, staring up into the face of her handsome love. A love that had endured beyond life. Her very ordinary life . . .
EPILOGUE
Joe put the key in the lock and pushed open the front door. The cottage still smelled like Aunt Molly and it made him miss her. It was her scent and her fondness for all things lavender that lingered. Standing in the hallway, he shook his head; it seemed unbelievable that she had left him her house, and he was more than happy to pass it on to Adam and Roz, who could not quite believe it. He wished more than anything that he had been able to thank her for this most extraordinary gift. It wasn’t only the bricks and mortar and their value, or the fact that Adam and Roz would finally have space and a garden of their own! It was also a piece of their family history. Joe had loved coming here since he was small.
He touched his finger to the newel post and looked up at the steep wooden stairs where his aunt had taken her last tumble. He trod the stairs and came to a halt on the landing, where the door was open to the guest bedroom. An unremarkable room, really, with a small fireplace and walls that had been painted a rich blue for as long as he could remember, but what was remarkable were the six hand-painted balsa-wood planes that had been strung from the ceiling at different heights.
‘Well, aren’t they something!’ Joe looked up at the planes, marvelling at their detail.
‘Hel–lo?’ Adam called from the open front door.
‘Up here, son!’
Adam walked in with excitement in his limbs and a smile on his face. He joined his dad, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Hey! They look old.’
‘I think they are.’ Joe nodded.
‘Have you checked out the other bedrooms yet, Dad?’
‘Not since Auntie passed away. I’ll go and take a look. Why don’t you go and put the kettle on in your new home.’
Adam danced on the spot with childlike excitement. ‘I will. Roz and JJ are just unpacking the car.’
Joe walked along the narrow corridor and made his way into Molly’s old bedroom. He liked her collections of things, the paintings, ornate chairs and ornaments. It reminded him of his childhood. He sat on her bed, where her stack of pillows still carried the dent of her form, and swallowed the emotion that threatened. He had loved her, that was for sure. His eyes were drawn to a heavy book on top of the bedspread, which he gathered into his hands.
‘A Study of Flora.’ He read out the title, before putting it on the floor, where he would pile all the bits and bobs destined for storage or for charity. He’d let Adam and Roz decide, but had been given firm instructions from Estelle not to bring any more clutter into their own house.
‘Tea!’ Roz called up from the kitchen.
Joe made his way downstairs and walked into the cosy sitting room with the two chintz-covered chairs in front of the fireplace. He gazed out over the beautiful garden. Staring out of the French doors, he spied a large dandelion in the very middle of the patio. He bent down and gripped it by the root, before pulling it from the crevice between the slabs. As it came loose, something caught his eye where he had disturbed the moss, something shining in the sunlight. He stuck his finger into the space where mud had gathered and wiggled out a small gold object which he wiped on his jacket sleeve and held up to the sunlight.
‘Ha! A button.’ And there it sat in his palm, a shiny brass button with a naval crest on it and a knot of rope. Joe stared at it, holding it up to the light. There was something about it that was strangely familiar. He couldn�
�t place it, but as ridiculous as it sounded, it seemed somehow that the button was just where it belonged: right there in the palm of his hand.
‘What’s that, Grandad?’ JJ called over his shoulder.
‘I just found it. I’d say it’s pretty old and possibly naval. Treasure, JJ!’
‘What are you going to do with it?’ his grandson asked, munching on shortbread Roz had brought over in her mother-in-law’s old tin.
‘I’m going to keep it, son.’ Joe smiled at the boy. ‘It’s a good-luck charm, I think. I’ll keep it in my wallet.’
It felt like the right thing to do because in that perfect moment with good fortune shining down on them, surrounded by love, and all because of Molly, Joe certainly felt like one of the lucky ones . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2012 Paul Smith www.paulsmithphotography.info
Amanda Prowse likens her own life story to those she writes about in her books. After self-publishing her debut novel Poppy Day in 2011, she has gone on to author twenty-six novels, seven novellas and a memoir about depression co-authored with her son, Josiah Hartley. Her books have been translated into a dozen languages and she regularly tops bestseller charts all over the world. Remaining true to her ethos, Amanda writes stories of ordinary women and their families who find their strength, courage and love tested in ways they never imagined. The most prolific female contemporary fiction writer in the UK, with a legion of loyal readers, she goes from strength to strength. Being crowned ‘queen of domestic drama’ by the Daily Mail was one of her finest moments. Amanda is a regular contributor on TV and radio but her first love is, and always will be, writing. You can find her online at www.amandaprowse.com, on Twitter and Instagram at @MrsAmandaProwse, and on Facebook at AmandaProwseAuthor.
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