by Anna Larner
No point? “In what way? I’m sorry—I’m being nosy. It’s none of my business.”
“That’s okay. In truth, art’s not really my thing, and in any case I just can’t envisage myself…” Georgina looked down.
“Please, like I said, you don’t have to explain.”
“I don’t know how much you’ve sensed…”
Molly held her breath. Just a moment ago she’d sensed quite a lot.
Georgina said quietly, “It’s just, well, I’m gay.”
Molly’s heart skipped a beat with uncontrollable joy. “That’s great news.” That’s great news? Georgina looked up. What possessed her to say that? “I mean, great news you felt you could tell me. And as it happens, I’m gay too. Want to risk more wine?” Before Georgina could reply, Molly scrambled from the floor, grabbed both glasses, and refilled them. “Here you go. So cheers to that.” Molly drank down her glass until the fumes of the peppery red overwhelmed her and made her cough.
Georgina laughed. “Cheers. So you’re not dating anyone at the moment then?”
“Nope. I am officially clueless when it comes to dating. Come to think of it, that might explain why I’ve been single for a year now. But despite everything, I still hold out hope that I will one day meet the one.” Could she ask Georgina the same question? Was Georgina looking for her one too? Oh, bugger it, why not. “How about you? Oh, and by the way, being gay doesn’t mean you won’t start a family and have lots of little Wrights running around to inherit the Wright dynasty, if that’s what you were implying a moment ago.”
Georgina shook her head and looked at the floor once more. “I know. It’s not that. It’s, frankly, I’m not great with emotions.” Molly heard the sad blankness in Georgina’s reply. “I struggle to let people in, and that’s not great for relationships. To be honest, I try not to think about it. Work and—funnily enough—wine help with the not thinking.” She took a large mouthful of wine as if to underline her point.
Okay. No more questions. “Understood, no thinking. Let’s change the subject.” The last thing Molly wanted to do was change the subject.
“I’m surprised you find dating hard. You seem very open.” Georgina tilted her head and stared at Molly. Clearly Georgina didn’t want their chat to stray too far from them either.
“Yep, I inherited my friendly gene from my mum. Honestly when I was a kid, we couldn’t actually make it down the street without my mum stopping and chatting to someone. I remember this one time we had ten people for Sunday lunch. I only knew half of them. My poor dad just stood confused, carving the chicken as thinly as he could. They were so trusting. Looking back, I thank them that they helped me to see the good in people first, you know?”
Georgina nodded. “I’m thankful that I don’t seem to possess any of my mother’s genes.” She moved once more to rest with her back against her father’s chair and sat hugging her knees to her chest.
Molly didn’t say anything. After all, what could she say to that?
“I’m sorry—I’ve managed to make you feel uncomfortable again. I seem to have a gift for it. Georgina Wright. Skills: investment banking and mood devastation.”
“I’m not devastated. Actually I’m very comfortable.” Molly returned to lying on her back. “Apparently, you’re meant to tuck your shoulder blades under to lie properly.”
“You do yoga?”
“Well, remember you once asked me whether I ran?”
Georgina laughed. It was a proper full wholehearted laugh. Had talking helped?
“I went to one class,” Molly said. “We got to the pelvic floor exercises, and well, let’s just say I embarrassed myself. I couldn’t go back.”
Georgina was wiping at her eyes and smiling broadly. “All that clenching and releasing, eh?”
“Uh-huh.” Molly burst into laughter, joined again by Georgina.
It was nearing midnight before they managed to say anything without laughing and when the second bottle of wine ran out. Molly reluctantly moved to leave. “I should go home. That is, if I can stand.”
“Here, I’ve got you.” Georgina pulled Molly up from the floor and their bodies pressed unsteadily together. “I’ll call you a taxi.”
Molly stood at the window with Georgina waiting for the headlights of the taxi.
“The square’s so quiet, isn’t it?” Georgina looked out to Daisy May. “Daisy May will sleep well.”
“My sense is that she’s a fitful sleeper given that she’s not great first thing.”
“I know how she feels. I’ll be lucky to get a few hours.”
“Really?” Molly wanted to ask why, but then it was late, and she’d pried enough, hadn’t she? “Well, you’ve got Daisy May to keep you company. Oh, headlights.”
At the door Molly pulled on her coat.
“Let me pay for your taxi. I’m the one who plied you with alcohol and kept you up this late.”
“And I’m the one who hasn’t minded one bit. So thank you, but no thank you.” Georgina was standing so close that she could feel the heat of Georgina’s body against hers. She looked up into Georgina’s eyes, and if her own eyes could speak she wished they would say, You can kiss me if you want.
“Goodnight, Molly.”
“Goodnight.” Molly opened the door. Oh, bugger it. She turned quickly and leaned up and kissed Georgina on the cheek. And with that she skipped down the steps and climbed into the taxi.
Molly woke the next morning with excitement bubbling over into laughter. What a night it had been and how crazy that she couldn’t even remember the journey home or taking off her coat or shoes. She glanced at her phone resting at her side and her heart flooded with delight as she recalled the email she had sent from her bed to Georgina, saying, I had a fabulous evening. Thank you. And how could she ever forget that Georgina had replied, Me too X
Chapter Sixteen
Dear Georgina,
I had hoped to hear back from you, darling girl. But then there is nothing more cruel than hope, is there? And if you are hoping that ignoring my letters will cause me to give up on you, on us, then, my dear daughter, your hopes, I’m afraid, will also be dashed. Please can we meet? You choose the place? I just want to talk. We need to talk. Please get in touch.
With cursed hope and love,
Your mother,
Lydia Wright X
Georgina thought the worst she would wake up to the next day was a hangover. She was partly right. She had a hangover from hell and a letter from her mother.
After her father’s death, she had stared at the post office’s redirection request form. Just stared. Eventually, numb to everything, she had sent off the form with just her father’s name. The next occupant of the house would receive the letters from her mother and no doubt cross out the name Georgina Wright and scribble Return to sender, something Georgina could never quite bring herself to do.
She sipped at a mug steaming with strong coffee and stood looking out at the square with her mother’s letter tucked in her trouser pocket. Thankfully Daisy May seemed none the worse for her night out. Would Molly collect her today? Would she call? Should Georgina invite her over for a late breakfast maybe—make it clear that she wanted to see her again? Was that too eager? After all there was nothing worse than emotions spilling out unchecked with no regard for their effect on those in their wake.
She pulled her mother’s letter out of her pocket and reread it before slipping the page back into its envelope. She then ripped it several times and tossed it on top of the pizza box to be thrown away.
Why a second letter so soon after the first? What was she so desperate to talk about, or rather, what on earth did she imagine she could say that would change the fact that she left and never came back? As for her hope, so what? Georgina had given her no reason to hold out for anything. And as for her own hopes, what did they have to do with her mother anyway? Nothing. Georgina’s feelings were her own and her heart belonged to no one else. That was how it had always been and would be, wouldn’t it?
She looked at the throw on the floor and at the scattered cushions and the dusting of pizza crust crumbs. Molly. She smiled at the memory of the night before, recalling their laughter and the intimacy of their chat. How easy Molly was to talk to, and how easy it would be to trust her and to share things with her that she had never felt able or wanted to share with anyone else before. And Molly had wanted to be with her, as she found another topic or poured another glass of wine, anything for the evening not to end. And then when it ended, Molly had kissed her, pressing soft lips lightly against her cheek. Georgina had fallen asleep with the sensation of Molly’s kiss on her skin and the sound of Molly’s laughter in her head, and she had slept not for a few hours but all night long.
She gathered the throw and held it against her heart before resting it to cover the arm of the sofa once more. As she did so something dropped to the floor. She picked it up and laughed at the sight of the sweetest of flightless birds.
Should she? Could she? Georgina took a photo of the corkscrew. She then attached it to an email which read, Forgotten anyone?
She pressed send and looked out at Daisy May. The reply came back by return.
Morning!
Georgina typed, Your phone number or it’s straight back to the zoo!
There was no immediate reply. Was that email too forward? Had she misread something, everything? She sat on the edge of her father’s chair with the phone resting in her lap. She pressed refresh. Nothing.
And then the shadow of the movement of a shape outside half caught her eye. She startled at the sudden knock at the door. It would be the estate agent no doubt. She sat motionless. Could she ignore it? The second knock drummed out a melody of sorts. Surely too familiar for an estate agent?
She hesitantly opened the front door only to find Molly standing on the steps with a brown bag crammed with what smelled like breakfast. Molly?
Molly was wearing flared blue denim jeans and a coffee coloured T-shirt with the image of Animal from The Muppet Show. A large multicoloured woollen jumper was tied around her waist. Her hair was scooped underneath a blue fisherman’s cap and large sunglasses shaded her eyes.
Georgina let out a gasp of laughter, in every way an outpouring of relief and delight.
Molly held up a defensive hand. “Don’t judge me. When I have a hangover, the only thing that seems to help is a full monty breakfast roll from Mr. Brown’s around the corner. It literally has everything. I figured if I needed one, then you probably did too. Oh, I made an executive decision and went brown sauce and runny yolk. Good morning.”
“Thank God for you.” Georgina meant every word. “I’ll make you a strong coffee to go with it. I’ve already had two. I frankly feel like death warmed up.”
Molly beamed a smile in reply. She took off her hat and her hair fell loose at her shoulders and back. “Yep. I get that. I’m dosed up on paracetamol.” Molly gingerly lowered her sunglasses. “And still everything’s a bit too bright and a bit too loud.”
Georgina whispered, “Follow me.”
Molly followed Georgina to the kitchen at the end of the hall. “So did Daisy May’s company help you sleep? Wow, was this here yesterday? This may be my dream kitchen.” Molly ran her hand along custom oak worktops, her fingertips sliding against a white porcelain sink with carved-in drainer. Patting a huge fridge she blew out her cheeks and asked, “Does this make ice?”
“Three types of ice to be precise: large cubes, small cubes, and slush. It also filters your water, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it drank it for you too. And this glorious device mercifully makes coffee.” Georgina placed a mug under the Gaggia coffee machine, capturing the brown nectar. “Here.”
“Thank you so much.” Molly took the coffee and perched on a kitchen stool. She unwrapped her breakfast roll and, taking a huge bite, mumbled “Oh my God, this is so good. So did you sleep okay then?”
“Oh, sorry, yes, I did as it happens. In fact I may have to request to borrow Daisy May every night.” Georgina perched on the stool opposite Molly.
Molly chuckled. “Sure.” She then licked her fingers and held her palm at her chest. “I swear if you could marry food, then me and this roll would be a hot item.”
Georgina teased, “Your forever one?”
Molly blinked at Georgina and then looked down.
“Molly, I’m so sorry. That was an insensitive thing to say.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Molly shrugged. Her voice struck a newly detached note.
Oh God, I’ve hurt you, haven’t I? Georgina searched Molly’s face. “I really am sorry.”
“You need to eat your breakfast before it goes cold,” Molly said without emotion.
Georgina unwrapped the roll. In that moment, she had no appetite at all. Her heart ached at the sudden distance between them.
“I know it’s old fashioned to have those values,” Molly said. “And that you probably think I’m ridiculous.”
“No, Molly. I’m the ridiculous commitment-phobe.”
Molly asked quietly, “You don’t think you’ll ever marry, or partner with someone long-term?”
“The honest answer is I’ve never let myself think about it. You see, my mother…” Georgina swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat.
Molly shook her head. “You don’t have to—”
“I do. I want to explain. Look, let’s go into the sitting room—maybe even reclaim that sofa. I can’t believe I made you sit on the floor last night.”
“You didn’t make me. It was my idea, remember? It was fun.” Molly slipped from her stool, picked up her empty wrapper, and threw it in the bin. “And you have exactly thirty seconds before I eat the rest of that roll for you.”
Laying her feelings bare and opening up to Molly seemed to be working, as Molly seemed to relax again. And what was most surprising, Georgina wanted to open up. She wanted to tell Molly everything.
* * *
A soft autumn light fell across Georgina’s face and illuminated the white of her shirt and the blue of her denim jeans. She sat with a leg crossed over a knee, and her mug rested in her lap, as she looked out to the square. There was something far away in her expression. Where was she? What maze of thought was she lost in? Or which memory, phantom-like, had revisited her?
Nervousness tinged the edge of her curiosity. What was Georgina about to say, and what would it mean for her and for the possibility of a them?
They sat in silence for several minutes before Georgina turned to look at Molly and said, “When I was eleven, I witnessed my mother kissing a man who was not my father. Right there in the museum’s foyer.” Georgina nodded towards the museum.
You saw it? Molly followed Georgina’s gaze.
“The man was some Svengali figure who wanted to manage my mother’s career. She was an artist. He was all charm, and my father never trusted him, and it turned out he was right not to.” Georgina looked at Molly. “I told my father what I’d seen.”
Blimey. Molly hugged her mug against her.
“My father was naturally devastated. Every evening when I came home from school, I would hear them rowing. And then my father broke the news that they were divorcing and my mother would be moving out. He said that if I wanted, I could stay with him, and that he thought that would be best for me. So I chose to live with my father.” Georgina took a sip of her coffee. “I was so cross with her. I refused to see her. I honestly hated her, Molly, for what she had done.”
Molly rested her hand briefly on Georgina’s arm. “That’s understandable. Who wouldn’t feel that way?”
“And then a year or so later, just a few months after divorce proceedings had concluded, it was on Christmas Eve in fact, my mother returned to the house to collect her remaining things. I overheard them rowing again for what would be the last time.” Georgina’s attention drifted to the paintings on the wall. “She left without looking back. I still see her leaving in my nightmares.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Molly said s
oftly. “Except I understand now why you feel the way you do…about everything.” Molly wanted to put her arms around Georgina, but she couldn’t. She felt too much for Georgina for it to be the innocent hug of a friend.
Georgina fell silent again. She sat staring into her lap with her fingers wrapped around her mug.
“Not that it’s in any way comparable.” Molly gave a small shrug. “But my ex Erica left without saying goodbye too.” Georgina looked at Molly. “I thought it was the most cowardly hurtful thing you could do to someone. And she had been my friend as well as my lover. It felt like a double rejection. Other than returning my house keys a month ago I’ve heard nothing from her. Not that I’m sorry about that.”
“She sounds charming.”
“She’s an art dealer, so funnily enough, charm is her stock-in-trade. I don’t know, maybe Erica thought there was nothing to say.”
Georgina shook her head and her cheeks flushed an angry pink. “But there’s always something that should be said, though, isn’t there? Otherwise you’re left waiting for the words that never come. Whether you want to wait or not. It’s cruel.” Georgina stared away to the square again. “As it happens, I received a letter from my mother this morning. She writes a few times a year.”
“Really? It’s good that you keep in touch despite—”
“We don’t. I mean, I never reply.”
But then why would she reply? Her mother broke her trust, and by the sadness swimming in Georgina’s eyes, her heart.
Georgina looked down. “I know that seems cold of me.”
“No. It seems human.”
“She destroyed our family. After she left, I was sent to boarding school. I left my friends and my father and everything behind. In all the letters she sent, she never once said sorry. And now this letter—the second in just over a month. She says she wants us to talk. Does she think my father’s death will change anything? She simply has no shame.”
