Missing Molly
Page 25
The police are here, but they’re not moving yet. They’re staying in the background. They wanted to clear the bridge and we had to make them understand that he will throw our little girl into the Thames if he is threatened. We, I, have to give him what he wants. So they’re unseen. For now.
“I’ll take it, Rach. Just give it to me,” Matt says.
I squeeze his hand, hesitate. I want to do it, but I’m scared that I can’t and we don’t have room for mistakes. I give Matt the memory book.
He lets go of my hand and starts to walk towards Hugo. I hold my breath.
“Uh, uh, uh. I don’t think so!” Hugo says, lifting one hand off Gracie’s waist to shake his finger at me. Matt freezes in his tracks. “It’s you I want, Little Molly. Not your boyfriend. Go back there, Matthew. Let Molly to come for a walk.”
Matt is only a couple of steps away from me. He turns around and looks at me. His eyes are filled with fear. He knows I can’t cross a bridge. He turns back towards Hugo.
“Listen—” he says.
“Matt,” I reach across and grab his arm, pull him back. “I'll do it.”
I have been here before with Hugo, on a different bridge. And I know, without a doubt, that facing him again, right now, is like completing the journey across that other bridge, twelve years ago. Except this time it’s my daughter he is going to hurt.
I take one step, one short step onto the bridge. One.
People are walking past us. Most of them are ignoring us, some of them are wondering what we’re doing.
“Hugo,” I say loudly. “Put Gracie on the ground.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Give me the diary first.”
I take another step. Two.
“Gracie, hold on to the railing please. With both hands,” I say.
Her little fingers wrap themselves around the metal.
Three.
“I have it here.” I lift my hand and show him the memory book.
Four.
“Good girl,” he says. “Bring it over, why don’t you.”
Five. My legs are wobbly, but I won’t give in. I look at my brave little girl. I can do this. I know I can.
Six.
“Can you hurry up, please? I don’t want to stand here all day,” he says.
I take another step, and another one. Seven. Eight. My heart is beating fast, but I can do this. I’m doing it. I focus on Gracie. Nine. I think of what this man has done to my sister.
Ten.
I’m close now. Close enough so we don’t have to shout. I can see Gracie’s teeth chattering. Eleven. She’s holding on to the railing with both hands, knuckles white.
Twelve.
I hold up the memory book. “Let me have Gracie and I’ll give it to you.”
I watch him for any sharp movement, but he stays very still. He peers at the cover I’m holding up. He can see the photo of Grace and me. He can see it’s the real thing.
“That’s a trade, Molly.”
I am there in an instant. Hugo snatches the memory book from me at the same time as I bring an arm around Gracie’s waist and pull her back. Her feet land on the bridge. Hugo has opened the book at random pages and quickly scans the writing. He's frowning. He looks up at me, his face is awash with hatred. “This wasn’t the deal, Molly.”
Matt is there. His hands shoot out as he grabs Gracie from my arms and turns to run. The police are right behind him.
“You will pay for this, bitch,” Hugo says, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at my daughter’s retreating figure as Matt runs her to safety.
I don’t understand what happens to me after that, all I know is that with a force I didn’t know I possessed, I shove Hugo Hennessy over the railing of the Millennium Bridge.
Then I take a nice, deep breath.
Fifty
I didn’t give Hugo Grace’s memory book. I asked Matt to bring mine and that’s what I gave him instead. But before that, I had removed the plastic cover from hers and wrapped it around my own. My memory book is at the bottom of the Thames somewhere, and I don’t care. I don’t need it anymore.
They fished Hugo out of the river and he’s in jail now, along with his father. Other women have come forward to tell their stories of being raped and terrorised by Hugo. Hugo’s mother has spoken publicly about the many times Edward Hennessy hit her, although never somewhere that was visible. It would have ruined his career otherwise. They were both evil as it turned out, but I knew that already.
I was finally able to go back to Whitbrook and collect my family’s things. Most of them were sold, but the truly personal things—the family albums, the home videos—those I got back. Mrs Patel, our neighbour, the woman who worked with my father and the wife of the man who first walked in on my murdered family, fought the city for the permission to hold onto these things all this time. Mrs Patel said that I might be back someday, and that they belonged to me. All this time, there was one person who still believed I might be alive.
The media have been all over us, of course. I was once again the subject of news all over the nation. But this time, I got the headline I always dreamed about. Molly Forster has been found.
Mr Holloway did arrive from Australia, and I had to tell him his daughter was dead. He nodded, but he didn’t cry. He said he’ll track her grave down, Jane Doe’s grave, and make things right.
For the first few weeks after that moment on the bridge, we just strove to be a family again. Matt and I needed time to heal, but I wasn’t really worried about that.
It’s been four months and he’s still getting used to calling me Molly, and I’m still getting used to hearing it. When the media finally got too crazy, we decided to leave our flat for some peace and quiet. So we rented out a house in the French countryside with Matt’s mum and his sisters. Next week, Vivian is coming to stay for a few days. Matt’s mum still asks when we’re getting married. We told her we’re thinking of next spring and she cried with joy.
Before I left, the South Hackney Herald asked me to record the final episode of the podcast. I chose passages from Grace’s memory book. An entry from the last Christmas we spent together, that told of how happy we all were, and the very last entry, the one where she described what Hugo had been doing to her, and how she tried to get his father to intervene.
Then I ended the long search for myself with a simple truth.
“You’ve been listening to Missing Molly. My name is Molly Forster.”
Also by Natalie Barelli
Until I Met Her (The Emma Fern Series Book 1)
After He Killed Me (The Emma Fern Series Book 2)
The Loyal Wife
A word from Natalie
Dear reader,
Writing a novel is the easy part, reaching readers is a whole other story, so thank you for reading Missing Molly. I am delighted this novel found you, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are one way ebooks and readers find each other, and I would be grateful if you would consider writing one on your preferred ebook store, or on Goodreads if you use it. Thank you.
And if you’d like to find out about new releases, please sign up to my (very occasional) new release mailing list here.
Natalie
Acknowledgments
I’ve had a few wonderful people help me with this book (my problem child, as I’ve been known to call it….) and I would like to thank Katrina Diaz Arnold and Katharine D’Souza for their invaluable help in crafting this story. I took certain stylistic liberties with Rachel’s voice, so if you found the language sometimes more colloquial than grammatically correct, please know I had to fight for that :)
A special thank you to Frank Ahern for his time and invaluable advice on the complexities of fake identities.
As ever, my heartfelt gratitude to my friends and family, and especially to my husband who keeps me fed and watered while I ponder how to murder people. I couldn’t do it without you.
And last but not least, thank you, dear reader, for choosing this book, and getting t
his far. It means the world.