by Lucy Hepburn
“But what about the dress?” Pascal spluttered.
“What do you mean?”
“The wedding dresses are in the car. Simon has taken them with him.”
Molly stared, uncomprehending. “You’re kidding. He’s stolen them?”
Pascal shook his head. “I don’t think so—surely not on purpose. We were so tired, and the car park was so securely locked, it seemed easier to leave them where they were than crease them further by taking them inside.”
“Oh fuck.”
Molly rushed to the reception desk where the woman who had handed her the telephone the night before gave her a chilly look.
“Excuse me, did Simon—the man—hand in two wedding dresses before he left?” she burbled.
“No,” the receptionist replied coolly as though she was asked questions like that every day.
Molly’s phone rang.
“That’ll be him!” Her hand flew to her pocket to retrieve it, and she answered without looking at the caller display.
“Where the hell are you?” she stormed.
“Excuse me?” Caitlin. Oh God. “I think that’s my line.”
Molly closed her eyes. Things had officially just got even worse. “Hello, Caitlin.”
“What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?” Caitlin’s voice was cold and steely as though it was taking her all her effort not to shriek the question down the phone at a thousand decibels.
Molly didn’t know where to begin.
“It’s my wedding day. Did you know? Because, looking around, I’m meant to be surrounded by my nearest and dearest all helping me out and wishing me well and all I can see are four walls and a big gaping hole in my wardrobe where my WEDDING DRESS should be!”
“Caitlin, let me—”
“And what’s the deal with Reggie? He’s coming, then he’s not coming, then he’s coming again, now I’ve got a text to say he’s not coming! Either I’ve stumbled into a parallel universe or you guys are deliberately setting out to ruin my wedding!”
“That’s not true! You’ve no idea—”
“Too right! My seating plan’s ruined, for a start. It’s you who has no idea, Molly! The world’s press is gathering outside…oh, forget it. Just…just bring me my dress, please?”
“Simon’s taken it,” Molly said, bracing herself for the explosion to come.
“Simon?” Caitlin’s voice was suddenly tiny. “Who the hell is Simon?”
“The guy who came with us. He’s going to the Venice Film Festival. He sorted us out with the skidoo—flogging his watch to get it, and he helped Pascal bid for the Worth gown, and now he’s gone off with your dress in the car I bought yesterday.”
“Film festival? Skidoo?” Caitlin squeaked. “This is a nightmare. An actual nightmare.”
“Caitlin, I know it sounds—”
“How can you do this to me? Again? Where’s mum?”
Molly had no answer. “I’m sorry,” she said after a pause. “Mum’s not down yet.”
“It’s my wedding day, and she’s having a lie-in?” Caitlin countered. “How relaxing for her!”
“I’m sure she’ll be here any second,” Molly soothed, though privately she was worried. As mother-of-the-bride, surely she ought to be up and about by this time.
“You’re going to have to let me get going and try and sort this out, okay?” Molly said as levelly as she could. “I’ll get mum, and one of us will call you as soon as there’s more news. Okay? Caitlin?”
She had hung up. Molly whirled round and glared at Pascal, who sat with his head in his hands.
“The dress,” he moaned. “Just when everything was going to be okay!”
Furiously, Molly stabbed at her phone, drumming her fingers against the reception desk as her mother’s phone rang out, unanswered, yet again.
“Excuse me?” she called out to the receptionist. “Could you tell me my mother’s room number please? Vanessa Wright?”
The receptionist gave her a puzzled look. “Mrs. Wright was in room three five eight,” she replied.
“Thank you,” said Molly. “Could you put me through?”
“But she has checked out.”
“She’s what? That’s not possible, could you check again please?” Molly shook her head in disbelief. No way would her mother check out without telling her—what on earth would she do a thing like that for? She looked all around the reception area, but her mother was nowhere to be seen.
“She left a short while ago with the gentleman—Mr. Foss,” the receptionist went on. “I am certain of it.”
Molly stared at her uncomprehendingly. Pascal too, looked up and frowned.
“Are you sure?” Molly asked faintly.
The receptionist nodded. “As I said, I am certain.”
“Wh…where on earth have they gone?” A cold shard of fear was beginning to creep toward her heart as unwelcome, buried suspicions tried to force their way to the forefront of her mind.
The receptionist was looking at her strangely, and then, in a gentle voice, replied, “The lady…did not appear well.”
A strange, roaring sensation filled Molly’s ears. No! Surely not…she hadn’t seemed well, but…that was just tiredness, wasn’t it? And car-sickness, yesterday? Wasn’t it?
“Is…is there a hospital in Bologna?” Molly whispered.
“Yes…” She nodded.
“I need to go. Now. It’s an emergency.”
The receptionist gave her an apologetic look. “But it does not have an Emergency Department. It is a specialist cancer hospital.”
Suddenly, Molly understood.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hours until wedding: 6
Kilometers to wedding: 163
The taxi driver refused to take any money from Molly, who, despite trying everything she could to hold herself together, sobbed all the way to the hospital.
“Please,” she stuttered to the kindly man, holding out the last few euros from her purse and the bottom of her bag, “I must pay you, it wouldn’t be right.”
“Go to your mama,” he replied, grasping her hand with both of his and folding her fingers back over her money. “God be with you.”
The best she could muster was a mumbled “thank you,” as he opened the taxi door to help her out.
Stumbling into the building she stood, looking from left to right, trying to spot some directions as all around her nurses, porters, and assorted patients and friends moved from place to place.
Of course, she kept thinking, of course mum’s ill! Why the hell didn’t I let myself see it?
She had seen it, of course. The weight loss, the exhaustion, the nausea in the car—she’d even asked to be picked up outside a hospital, for heaven’s sake…
“Molly.”
She wheeled round.
“Thought we’d get back before you got up.”
Molly turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Simon stood, palms outstretched, his face taut with anxiety.
Molly threw herself into his arms, and he held her tightly as she began to cry again. She clutched the gentle scratchiness of the green knitted jumper and sobbed into his chest as he stroked her hair. She realized dimly, that she had no right to expect comfort from him, but she didn’t care. She had never felt so miserable in her life.
“Come on,” he said after a while. “Come over here and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“I should have noticed!” Molly gulped. “I…I should have seen this…”
“No,” Simon insisted. “She didn’t want you to. Come on.”
He led her over to the cafeteria—a small room with white tables and a tiny espresso bar. They sat at a table by the window.
Molly blew her nose and took a few deep breaths.
“How is she?” she asked, unable to look at him.
“She’s doing okay. She’s in with the doctor just now,” Simon replied. “We just need to wait.”
“Did she collapse or something?” Molly asked.
He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s just being checked out.”
Molly put her head in her hands. Of all the emotions she was feeling, guilt was the most overwhelming. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Simon rested his hand on her arm. “She wanted to wait until after the wedding. But I met her in the corridor last night after…after I…left you. She was too exhausted to turn the key in her bedroom door.”
“Oh!” Molly clapped her hand over her mouth.
“I’d suspected something was up earlier,” he went on. “I…I’ve got a friend who is fighting cancer right now, so I kind of knew the signs.”
Yvonne, Molly thought but said nothing. He means Yvonne.
“I did too,” Molly interrupted, “but I was too wrapped up to let myself think about it…”
“And sometimes you can be too close,” Simon said, getting up and sitting next to her. He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze.
“What happened?”
He looked away. “I think you’d better wait to speak to her.”
At that moment the lift pinged, and the doors slid open to reveal Molly’s mother on the arm of a sturdy-looking nurse, being helped out into the hospital concourse.
“Mum!” Molly leapt to her feet and ran over. “Are you okay?”
White-faced and frail-looking, her mother flapped at her. “I’m fine,” she smiled. “Trust me to draw attention to myself on a day like today.”
“Oh, mum, don’t be daft!” Molly hugged her. Her waif-like frame felt like it might snap under Molly’s embrace. Quickly, Molly loosened her grip.
The nurse handed her mother a paper bag, which looked like it contained pills, and said goodbye to her with some instructions spoken in rapid Italian as her mother nodded and thanked her profusely. Molly stood by and watched, wondering what on earth her mother must have been through lately—and how awful that she thought she had to keep it to herself.
Molly helped her mum walk back to the cafeteria table, where Simon stood waiting for them.
“I’ll leave you to talk,” he said. “Take your time, I’ll be outside.” And he strode off toward the exit.
“I’m sorry, Molly,” her mother began in a small voice. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“How…how bad is it?” Molly asked. She couldn’t look at her mother; that would only make her cry again.
“It’s lung cancer,” her mother whispered as Molly crumpled into fresh sobs, burying her face in her folded arms on the table.
“Shh,” her mother stroked her back, “it’s going to be okay…”
“Is it?” Molly spluttered, looking up at her. Lung cancer didn’t sound okay to her. She tried to pull herself together. The last thing her mother needed was a total meltdown from her. “What have they told you?”
Her mother looked out of the window. “I need surgery and chemo and radiotherapy…”
Molly bit her lip.
“It’s what they have to do, darling. But they’re quite optimistic.”
“Really?” Molly hardly dared hope. “They really said they were optimistic?”
Her mother nodded. “And I have no choice but to believe that.”
Molly blew her nose yet again and sat up. “How long have you known?”
He mum cringed. “Just over a month.”
“Mum!”
“I know. I’m sorry, but they’ve been doing all sorts of things to confirm the diagnosis and sort out what stage it’s at.”
“You must have been beside yourself.” She looked up at her beloved mother. Hating that she went through it all on her own.
“Sometimes, but you kind of get swept along. And it takes time to get your head round news like that—I kept it to myself because I needed time to process it.”
A memory came to Molly and she felt sick. “I said you looked great ‘cause you’d lost weight,” Molly gasped. “Oh, mum, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s fine!” her mother laughed. “But there’s nothing like a diagnosis like this to put other things into perspective, that’s for sure.”
“I wish you’d told me…” a thought had occurred to her. “Does Caitlin know?”
She held her breath for the reply, which came after an over-long pause.
“Of course not.”
They sat in silence as Molly reached across and grasped her mother’s hands. It didn’t seem to matter any more that they were on a tight time schedule, that it was Caitlin’s wedding day, that people were waiting and wondering. Molly felt her mother squeeze her hand and willed herself to remember this moment, to remember the feel of her skin, her small hands, her warm touch—her mother.
“When does the treatment start?” Molly asked, again unable to look her mother in the eye.
“Next week.”
Molly winced. So soon! And yet, of course, the sooner the better. Though what Molly wanted more than anything was to run away as far and as fast as she could, put as much distance as possible between herself and this news.
“I’ve been seeing a doctor at home and thought everything was being handled pretty well, but I’ve just found the last couple of days a bit exhausting; I think it’s put me back a bit.”
“I’m so sorry, mum.”
She smiled at her. “Don’t. Simon’s been amazing actually. He’d heard about this place and made a few calls and arranged an emergency appointment late last night after he found me in the corridor and I told him I thought my medication wasn’t going to get me through the wedding.”
Simon had done all that.
Her mother smiled at her and shook her head sorrowfully. “I so wanted to get through today before telling you girls. And I came so close!” For the first time, there were tears in her mother’s eyes.
“I want to be here for you when things like this happen,” Molly burst out. “It’s one of the things I was frightened of when you moved to Italy—losing touch. I need to know that you still need us.” She lowered her head. “I know Caitlin will say the same.”
“Thank you, darling. I know what you mean—I have the same thoughts about you two. But just you wait till you’re a mum. You’ll do anything to spare your babies pain.”
Molly was fighting back more tears. “What did the doctor say just now?”
“Oh, she was wonderful. Simon found out about the doctor through Yvonne’s doctor and apparently she’s one of the best in the country—she liaised with my own doctor back home and upped my meds for a while. They understand it’s my daughter’s wedding, and they’re going to get me booked in a little earlier than planned when I get back.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Molly whispered.
“It’s okay,” her mother reassured her.
“I wish this wasn’t happening.” Molly had stuck her bottom lip out.
“No,” her mother said firmly. “We have got to make the best of what we are given—haven’t I always said that? Didn’t I say it when dad left?”
Molly nodded.
“I say bring it on! This is the hand I’ve been dealt, and I’m going to beat it. No fuss, no fanfares, just…” she sighed. “Yorkshire grit, I guess. It’s all I’ve got.”
“Okay,” Molly mumbled. “But it’s not all you’ve got. You’ve got me and Caitlin too.”
They sat in silence for a while. Molly was aware that time was against them; she knew that if they didn’t get going soon…but it had all suddenly become blurred—what on earth were they going to tell Caitlin? How could Molly keep something like this from her? She’d never forgive her if she found out she’d been kept in the dark, but then this was going to change not just her wedding day, but her entire life.
“There’s just one problem,” her mum said.
Molly looked up.
“I need to sleep, Molly.”
“Sure… of course.”
“I need to check back into the hote
l,” she said with a nod. “They’ve given me something—they had to… But it’s working its way into my system… and darling… there’s no way I’m going to be able to travel with you to Venice.”
“Mum!”
Her mother was trying not to cry, Molly could tell. “Could you tell Caitlin? Tell her I’ll be there in spirit, making compliments about her hairdo, or something!”
Molly nodded. She couldn’t manage to force even a half-smile. “Come on then, let’s get you to bed.”
Carefully, she helped ease her mother to her feet, and together they inched out to the car park where Simon was waiting by the little car.
He looked up, saw them approach, and surged forward to help, putting his arm around Molly’s mother’s shoulders and easing her into the passenger’s seat of the little Fiat as if she was made of porcelain.
“That’s it, I’ve got you, put your whole weight on me—there you go…”
Molly walked round to the other side and folded herself into the back seat beside the wedding dresses, her head pounding and thick with emotion.
“Right, let’s get back to the hotel,” Simon said to Molly’s mum. “I’ve phoned, and your bed’s all ready for you.”
Simon moved off driving slowly and expertly into the Bologna traffic.
And Molly, choked with misery in the back, wondered not only how she would ever thank Simon for all his kindness, but also what on earth she was going to say to Caitlin.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hours until wedding: 4
Kilometers to wedding: 159
Molly was struck by how alike she and Caitlin sounded when they cried. Even down the telephone, Caitlin’s gulping sobs chimed with her own as, with each of the heartbroken words Molly was speaking as gently as she could, Caitlin’s big day came crashing further and further down around her ears.
“Is she…?”
“She’s asleep,” Molly said. She was back in her hotel room, standing at the window gazing out across a city that had the cheek to be carrying on as though everything was normal. “They gave her something at the hospital, and it’s wiped her out. Caitlin, I’m so sorry.”
