Molly closed her eyes and leaned back in the suds, her broken arm propped up on the side of the bath out of the water, and tried to imagine what Bobs would have been like if she had given her two-week-old baby up for adoption.
But everything she loved about her mother was to do with her being a mother. How she had spent hours playing on the floor with Molly when she was little. Kissed and bandaged her knees and arms and face when she’d fallen and hurt herself. Sat with her for her entire first month at school. Stayed up until four in the morning helping her study for her exams. Lying in bed with cups of tea listening to the story of Molly’s romance with George unfold. Helping her every step of the way to develop her business. Listening to her, loving her. Jumping with joy for her when Jack proposed.
Bobs was the most unselfish woman in the world and Molly had always known how lucky she was to have her for a mother. So maybe, just maybe, Viv could have been the same with her little girl, Bernadette.
Molly sat up in the bath and wiped her face with a flannel. Maybe Viv just hadn’t been given the opportunity to be nice. God, what a terrible thought. How unbelievably sad. Maybe her niceness had been trapped inside all these years trying to get out but not able.
Stepping out of the bath and wrapping herself in the huge fluffy towel heating on the towel rail, she turned to the mirror and rubbed a clear space in the fog.
‘Be nice, Molly Brown,’ she told herself. ‘Be nice.’
The girl in the mirror looked back at her and for a fleeting moment Molly didn’t recognise herself. Letting the towel fall to expose her shoulders, she took a good look.
The hair looked stringy because it was wet and the black eye was a little distracting but apart from that, she had to admit she liked what she saw, which came as a surprise.
It seemed remarkable to her that she still looked anywhere near the same. Encouraging even. That a person could be ditched by a fiancé, whisked across the world, trampled on in nightclubs and rejected by handsome strangers and still look the same. She leaned towards the mirror and inspected her eye. The swelling had gone down but the angry red mark where the corner of the suitcase had hit her was still clearly evident and the black and blueness still formed a pretty obvious surround.
The brown eyes themselves looked in good shape despite the drinking spree, although she should really borrow Viv’s tweezers and have a bit of a pluck. A few more weeks and she’d be talking monobrow.
‘Molly, dear.’ There was a knock on the door. ‘I’ll put your dress on the bed. It’s come up beautifully, dear, I’m sure you will be pleased. It’s after five now and I think your aunt would like to leave about quarter to six. How does that sound?’
‘Sounds fine, Nell. Thanks so much. I’ll see you downstairs.’
Molly dried herself off and slipped into fresh, clean underwear. Even the fact that Jack had bought it for her last Valentine’s Day did not dampen her mood. She did, however, look in the mirror and think that it wasn’t really the sort of underwear that she liked. For a start, Jack might have been keen on G-string knickers but personally, they drove her nuts. Why would anybody design knickers specifically to go up your bum, she thought, as she pinged the elastic, when most women spend half their lives picking their knickers out of that very orifice?
She turned and looked at her rear in the mirror. Nearly a week of not going to the gym and living solely on fatty foods and alcohol was already taking its toll. Molly grabbed a handful of butt and inspected the cellulite. It didn’t depress her to see it there; it depressed her that she had spent 27 years fighting it and one week with her eye off the ball and wham, there it was.
Really, what was the point?
Wrapping her bruised and battered cellulite in the silk robe Nell had left for her, Molly went back to her bedroom to inspect her dress. It seemed that for the first time in how ever many days it had been, she had her marbles back.
She could see that still wearing her wedding dress was a bit mad, and if she’d brought anything else with her she probably would have put it on, but looking at the dress again, cleaned God knows how by Nell, she felt happy enough that it was her only option.
Poking out from underneath the bed were her boots and even from a distance Molly could tell that Nell or — was it Jonty? — had cleaned them up for her.
A little warm glow started in her tummy and for the first time in days it wasn’t fuelled by drink. She felt at home in this toasty warm cottage by the sea. She felt as close to being happy, in the circumstances, as she could imagine. And hopefully she and Viv were on their way to meet Tom Connor.
She put on some makeup, covering the eye as well as she could. Her hair, she decided, could have looked better but blow-drying with one broken arm was definitely adding to the lopsided look. But it was clean and shiny and she certainly looked better than she had since — well, probably since the life-changing shoe incident.
Slipping out of her robe, Molly stepped into her dress and pulled it up, fitting her bosoms into the bodice and adjusting the bra straps so that Jack’s tacky lingerie didn’t show.
Something, however, was not right.
Looking at her feet, Molly realised that either the dress was at least 10 centimetres shorter than it had been last time she wore it — which was less than two hours ago — or she had suffered a bath-induced growth spurt.
Her initial reaction was one of panic. How could she wear the dress down the aisle if …
Molly plopped down on the side of her bed. This dress is not going to be worn down the aisle, she reminded herself. Remember the whole cheating, fornicating son-of-a-bitch scenario? The dress could be a baby-doll nightie for all she cared.
Pulling on her cardigan, a pair of woollen socks and her boots, she grabbed her coat from the chest at the end of the bed over which it was draped and headed downstairs.
Vivienne was standing by the fire in the drawing room looking divine in a pair of slim-fitting black wool pants and a black-beaded cashmere cardigan.
Molly bounced into the room and her aunt smiled at her.
‘You look like a different girl,’ she said. ‘Although I doubt you’d find any bed and breakfast in Ireland where there are two girls in wedding dresses sporting black eyes and broken arms.’
‘No, I’m pretty special, all right,’ Molly said, rubbing her hands together as well as she could in front of the flames and trying hard not to be offended.
‘Well, at least we got rid of the raggedy-Ann effect around your hem-line,’ Viv said, bending over to inspect the new length. ‘How I could do with Nell’s needlework in New York. My drycleaner there charges an arm and a leg just to sew on a button or fix a loose thread. Costs me a fortune.’
Molly listened to her aunt waffle on, realising as she did what Viv was doing. A lifetime of pushing people away was not going to finish with one blurted-out confession so Molly was going to go with the flow, roll with the punches.
‘Shall we go, Viv? This is it!’ Molly said excitedly, pulling on her coat. ‘I just can’t wait. It’s so exciting.’
‘Don’t get your hopes up too high,’ Viv warned, pulling on her own Armani coat. ‘All Gerry told me was that he had found a couple who might know something about Tom. It may be nothing.’
But Molly could tell that even Viv was excited about what lay around the corner and, yelling their goodbyes to Nell, who was in the kitchen making something delicious, by the smell of things, they opened the big heavy front door with its giant keyhole and clattered down the steps.
The rain had stopped and an evening chill set in but it was a wonderful night for a short walk. As they trotted down the hill towards the sea the sky was as clear as a bell, the unfamiliar northern hemisphere stars twinkling and blinking.
They rounded the corner as they hit the pier and, the lights of O’Sullivan’s pub were shimmering in the water of the bay not a hundred metres from them. The muffled sound of Irish music was all that broke the village’s silence.
I hope it’s him, Molly thought to
herself. Please let it be Uncle Tom.
Pushing open the door of the bar, she felt the warmth hit her at once. The fire which had been burning quietly when she arrived earlier in the day was now roaring. Maureen was nowhere to be seen and instead a pleasant-faced, middle-aged man was behind the bar pouring pints for a row of elderly-looking locals sitting at the bar, eyes fixed hungrily on the newcomers.
‘Good evening to you,’ the barman smiled at Molly. ‘And is that the gorgeous Vivvy O’Connor I see behind you? Well, hello, and is it your usual you’d be after, Vivvy? And something for the girl? Leave it to me. If you ladies take those seats by the fire I’ll bring your drinks to you.’
‘Thank you, Brendan,’ Viv smiled. ‘You’re a gem.’
‘Not at all, Vivvy,’ the beefy barman blushed and smiled. ‘The pleasure is all mine.’
Trying to shake the recurring feeling of existing in a parallel universe, Molly took off her coat and followed Viv to two ancient mis-matched seats on either side of a small, worn beer barrel by the fire.
‘What did happen here last night?’ she asked her aunt, who was acting suspiciously casually.
‘Hmm?’ Viv said as though the question were totally out of place. ‘Oh, nothing, really. I just had a few drinks and showed the locals a thing or two.’
‘What sort of things, exactly?’
Vivienne opened her mouth with a dismissive look as if to say something, then closed it again. ‘Well, the truth is that I arrived here all on my own, freezing cold, worried sick about my missing niece and …’ she petered out.
‘And what?’ Molly insisted.
‘And I had a few drinks up there at the bar with Brendan and Maureen and they introduced me to a few of the locals and I had another couple of drinks and …’ again, she went nowhere.
‘And what, Vivienne? Is there something I should know about?’
Vivienne looked at her, sheepishly almost.
‘No, Molly, there is something I should know. That is to say, you know, a single working woman of my age in Manhattan does not get to let her hair down a hell of a lot, you know what I am saying? I have editorial meetings that start seven a.m. most mornings and if I’m not signing off proofs or meeting with advertisers or schmoozing the publisher or some crony or other until 10 or 11 at night then I am tucked up in bed with a book.’
‘What are you saying?’ Molly asked, as the truth slowly dawned on her.
‘I’m saying I don’t have a goddamned clue what happened here last night. I had four of Brendan’s special drinks and the next thing I knew I was kissing the entire population of Ballymahoe goodnight and being serenaded up to Nell’s place.’
‘So do you remember the singing and the dancing?’
‘Well, only vaguely, you know, like it might have been a movie I saw a couple of years ago.’
She looked at her niece and the two of them stared wide-eyed at each other for a split-second before dissolving into hysterical laughter, just as Brendan approached their barrel with two martini glasses.
Taking one look at them, Molly laughed even harder while Vivienne regained her composure long enough to thank Brendan, who seemed not in the least put out by the hysterics around him.
‘What time is Mr O’Reilly due, Brendan?’ Vivienne asked, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.
‘Ah sure, any time now. He said around six o’clock, didn’t he so, it’s around seven we would be expecting him.’
This set the women off laughing even more, Vivienne so hard that she couldn’t even lift her glass to her lips while Molly managed it, but only just.
‘Bloody hell, what is in this?’ she said, grimacing at the taste but taking another sip regardless.
‘I don’t know but whatever it is, don’t drink it unless you want to wake up with party streamers inside your pantyhose and no idea how they got there.’
The two of them roared with laughter again and the locals looked on with interest.
‘Is this the lot from New York?’ Daniel Mahoney asked Brendan up at the bar as he chased down his pint with a shot of whiskey.
‘Were you not here last night, Daniel? Oh, of course not — you had that business at Kenmary House. No, the older one is from New York but the girl, her niece, is from New Zealand. Completely around the twist by all accounts. Dumped at the altar and drinking her way around the night-spots of Dublin, according to Maureen. I think the aunt is trying to get her into rehab somewhere.’
‘Good luck to her,’ Daniel said, watching Molly drain her glass. ‘What are you feeding them?’
‘Just the usual,’ said Brendan with a wink. ‘How did it go last night, then?’
‘Pretty well, Brendan, pretty well. Mam’s got a real knack for it, you know? Nan’s not quite such a natural but in the absence of Betsy or Patricia, she does the trick, as long as she shuts her mouth about the Internet. I think they’ll be in later on, the Canadians, sure and they are lovely ladies, did Gerry tell you? The plumper one is the second cousin and the ginger one’s the friend, no relation. Ah, it was lovely to see them reunited.’
Brendan smiled and reached for Daniel’s glass.
‘Not for me, thanks, Brendan. I’d better be off home to Pauline. Violet’s being bold at the moment and I’m under strict instructions to be at home as often as possible to witness it, God help me.’ He stood up to leave.
‘No sign of your sister coming back from Dublin, then?’ the barman asked.
Daniel pulled on his coat and shook his head. ‘Not at all.’
‘Now, there’s a girl with a knack for it,’ Brendan said sadly.
‘I suppose we should be thankful she’s turning it into a career at the ripe old age of 33, Brendan. Did Mickey tell you she has an audition for a television commercial? I don’t know what it’s for but apparently she has to run through the fields looking happy and carefree.’
‘Well, that’s your Bridget, all right,’ laughed Brendan. ‘Say hello to Pauline from me, now, will you. Goodnight, Daniel.’
Daniel waved at his friend, nodded at the giggling gerties down by the fire, and walked out into the cold winter night.
‘Boy, everybody sure knows everybody else around these parts,’ Molly was saying to Viv, who was still only sipping at her drink. ‘Should I order another one of these from the bar or will he come over?’
‘He’ll come over but I’m warning you, slow down on those things. They are lethal.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt me to get mullocked and have fun with the locals, Vivienne. I didn’t exactly get off on the right foot with Maureen.’
‘Never mind the locals — what about Tom?’
She’s nervous, thought Molly. Vivienne is nervous! ‘Do you think it will actually be Tom himself coming here tonight? Didn’t the bloke say it was just people who knew him? What makes you think it will be him?’
Brendan appeared at her shoulder. ‘Another, Miss Molly?’
She looked at her aunt. ‘I’ll have another, thanks, Brendan. Viv — what about you?’
Vivienne shook her head and held up her still half-full glass.
‘I don’t know who the hell it will be,’ she said to Molly, ‘but I feel a little apprehensive right now.’
Molly waited for her to go on.
‘I mean, what must he think? How could it have taken so long for us to find out about him, Molly? You said it yourself back at Bobs’ place. Abandoned by his parents and forgotten by his sisters and no-one ever coming looking for him, what must that feel like?’
Molly looked at Vivienne’s anxious face.
‘It must feel a hell of a lot better now that you have come to find him,’ she said. ‘It’ll be okay, Viv. It’ll be great.’
‘A little of what you fancy, young lady, and good health to you,’ Brendan said, delivering Molly’s drink. ‘Now, Vivvy, shall I add this to the tab for last night or …’
Vivienne looked mortified and picked up her handbag, instantly locating her purse in a way Molly couldn’t fathom and pulling out a cred
it card.
‘Ah, now, this is embarrassing but we don’t take credit cards. I’m sorry about that but there’s a hole-in-the-wall in the Mahoneys shop next door. I’ll tell you what, don’t worry about it tonight, I’ll keep your tab going and we can settle up tomorrow. Mucky business, money, wha’?’
‘I had completely forgotten about last night’s tab,’ Vivienne said after he had gone, fiddling nervously with her perfect bob. ‘I think I even recall the words “the drinks are on me” being said. More than once. Oh, my God.’
‘Well, you’ve got the money,’ Molly said cheerfully, sipping at her drink and trying to like it.
‘I suppose that’s true,’ said Viv, resignedly. ‘But enough about me. Are you ready to tell me about your night from hell?’
Molly clunked her glass down onto the barrel.
‘The turn my life has taken of late it shouldn’t have surprised me that much, I suppose, but oh, Viv, it was soooo terrible, I can barely tell you. I feel like I’m under a hex or something.’
‘A hex? Tell me what?’ her aunt said, a combination of curiosity and concern on her face. ‘What was so terrible?’
‘There was a queue at the cake shop—’
‘Well, that is terrible,’ her aunt interrupted.
‘… and so I went into the church across the road to have a look while I was waiting and there was a wedding going on. A beautiful wedding, Vivienne. At the very same time, or thereabouts given the time difference, as my own wedding should have been going on back home.’
Vivienne reached across the barrel and squeezed her niece’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Molly.’
Molly smiled weakly.
‘Naturally, I burst into tears because as it happens that is a natural skill I am really working on developing right now. Oh, I don’t know, it just seemed so sad. To be expecting one thing to happen to you, to never question that it would happen, and then to have it all snatched away and find yourself on the other side of the world looking like you’ve been run over by a bus on what should be the happiest day of your life.’ She stopped to take a gulp of her fast-disappearing drink.