Billy and Me (25 page)

I have so much to be thankful to Molly for and I’m not even sure if those feelings could ever actually be broken down and expressed in words. I just hope she knew how special she was to me, how much I adored her and how grateful I am to the woman who taught me so much and stood by me with patience and kindness as she tried to mend my broken being.

One thing that pains me is that, having seen her, I
can’t get her grey face and glassy eyes out of my thoughts. When I think of her now a knot forms in my stomach, as it’s that version of Molly that appears in my head, not the kind-faced Molly I have known and loved for years. The sight of Molly looking so fragile and empty on her deathbed seems to be etched in my brain, refusing to budge, filling me with despair.

A couple of days later, I’m attempting to read in the living room, my mind refusing to take in any of the information on the page. I must have read the same paragraph at least twenty times, but again and again my thoughts manage to worm their way through, overriding the written words in front of me and deleting their meanings; turning them into shapes that my eyes glance over indifferently. It’s highly frustrating, especially as I’m trying to read so that I can give my mind a break from those worries. No matter how hard I try it seems nothing can stop Billy, Molly and my lack of future plans from leaking through into my consciousness. Giving me something to agonize over, as they demand my attention.

An unexpected knock at the front door halts my efforts.

Although I’m still housebound and feeling fragile, not wanting to go out and face people yet, I have been getting out of bed and pottering around the house. I’m no longer sticking to the confines of my bedroom as I realized I’d slowly start to go mad if I sat staring at my pink walls any longer. For the moment, forcing myself into the shower each morning and stopping myself from wearing pyjamas in the daytime seems like
a gigantic personal achievement. This means that, despite looking a mess, with my hair bundled on top of my head in a messy bun, my clothes baggy and mismatched, the arrival finds me clean, at least.

I answer the door to find a man in his late thirties standing on the doorstep. I know who he is instantly. His sun-kissed hair, ruffled and messy, and his tanned hands, with which he is rubbing his equally bronzed face, give him away.

‘Hello,’ I say, not sure of the best way to greet him.

‘Sophie?’ he asks, looking exhausted.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Peter. Molly’s son.’

I’ve never met Molly’s son, as he’d left for Australia before I started working at Tea-on-the-Hill, but she talked about him and her late husband Albert non-stop. I’d always thought she’d shut up shop and move over to Oz one day, although that day never came.

‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ I say, unable to stop myself from beaming at him.

‘Likewise,’ he says with a sad smile. ‘Is it possible to come inside?’

‘Yes, of course.’

I let him in, leading him into the kitchen, where I brew a pot of tea for us both.

‘How long have you been back?’

‘Just a few days. Luckily, I got to see her before she …’

‘Yes.’

‘I hear you did, too?’

I nod as I place cups and saucers on the table, along with the biscuit tin.

‘That’s good,’ he continues. ‘The nurses said it was as though she was holding on. Wanting to say proper goodbyes.’

‘Did you know?’ I ask, pouring out the tea and offering him the sugar.

‘No, but I should’ve guessed.’

‘How?’

‘She was calling more, talking a lot about my dad and the trips we’d been on and stuff,’ he says, pausing to take a sip of his drink. ‘She was getting really sentimental about things.’

‘So when did you hear?’

‘When she went into the hospice. She called me her first night there, and I got the earliest flight I could.’

‘I guess, being there, she knew the end was in sight and that she couldn’t put off telling people any longer.’

‘Not that it would’ve changed anything of course, if we had known sooner,’ he says in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘It would’ve been nice to have been prepared, that’s all. It all seems so sudden this way.’

‘Not for her, though.’

Peter takes another sip from his cup while I fiddle with the handle on mine.

Poor Molly, I think. I wonder what was going through her mind over those last few months. Did she really think she would be saving us from heartache by keeping the truth from us? Preferring us to find out when she was on the verge of dying, rather than when we
could be there for her and comfort her? Or could she really not bear the thought of being the one who had to be looked after for once? She must have suffered from horrendous pains for months and simply ploughed on regardless.

‘How long are you staying over here for?’ I ask, breaking the silence.

‘Not long, a week or so, probably. There are some legal things that I need to sort out, regarding her house and the shop. But once that’s done I’ll head back to Sydney.’

‘I see.’

‘I’m actually here because she made something very clear to me, and, well, it’s in her will,’ he says, putting down his cup and looking up at me. ‘You’re to have the shop.’

I stare at him, gobsmacked, frozen in shock as I try to take in his words. Is Molly really giving me Tea-on-the-Hill?

‘What?’ I blunder. ‘That can’t be right. What about you? Surely she’d want you to have it?’ I ask, confused that he isn’t up in arms over the fact that his mum is giving away his inheritance to someone he’s never met before, but instead he seems calm and pleased with the decision.

‘No, Sophie. It makes complete sense, really. There’d be no way of me keeping check on it from Oz, even if I had someone in to manage it. Sooner or later I’d be forced to sell it, and can you imagine if I sold it and it got turned into a fish and chip shop or something? I’d
feel awful and Mum would probably come and haunt me for letting it happen. Plus, tea has never really been my thing,’ he jokes, reaching across the table and placing his hand gently on top of mine, offering me a sympathetic smile. ‘You loved it as much as she did, Sophie. To me it was just a place that sold tea and cake; I never really understood what was so special about it. But you did.’

‘I just never expected this. Why has she done it?’ I ask, failing to comprehend the news.

‘She can tell you that herself,’ he says, pulling an envelope from his pocket and sliding it across the table towards me. ‘She wrote you a letter and asked me to pass it on. No doubt she explains it all in there.’

‘When did she write it?’

‘I’m not sure … I’m guessing before she went into the hospice, though. I don’t think she was up to doing much in there,’ he says sadly.

I stare at the envelope with my name on the front, written in Molly’s hand, unsure what to do or say. Should I pick it up and rip it open so that we can both take in Molly’s words? Or should I leave it where Peter has placed it until he leaves so that I can devour it alone?

‘It’s a bit eerie, really, getting a letter from a dead person,’ says Peter, before inhaling deeply and standing up, clapping his hands on his sides awkwardly. ‘Right, I’d better be going.’

Once Peter has left, I pick up the envelope and take it upstairs, retreating back to the safe haven of those four
pink walls once again. Sitting at the bottom of my bed, I stare at it in my hands for a few moments, trying to brace myself for what it contains, before turning it over and opening it.

My hands shake as I pull out the paper inside and unfold it, taking in the page full of Molly’s last scribbled words to me.

My dear girl,

I’m writing this not knowing how long I have left … How’s that for dramatic? I was hoping to see you one last time, but it seems time isn’t on our side.

I know you’ll be angry at me for not telling you. I didn’t tell anyone. You’ll probably think it was my pride stopping me from telling people – so that I wouldn’t be seen as an invalid by Mrs Sleep and co. while they fussed around me. But it wasn’t. At first it was because I didn’t want to admit what was happening. Quite simply, pet, I wanted to block it out. Sadly, I didn’t realize how quickly I would deteriorate
.

So, the purpose of this letter? It is to tell you how much I love you, and how our time together has given me some of my fondest memories. You are a breathtaking young woman and watching you blossom and grow into such a wonderful human being has been one of the highlights of my life. I say that with absolute sincerity and hope that one day you’ll believe in yourself as much as I believe in you. You deserve to have so much happiness
.

The shop means as much to you as it does to me, it gave us both a purpose and healed our hearts. Therefore, I’d like you to
have it. I don’t expect you to put your life on hold so that you can run it, or to feel tied down to it, mind, but it is yours to do whatever you wish with
.

Billy came to see me today. What a fool he has been. I have no doubt that he loves you as much as I do. What you must remember is that love, as powerful as it may be, is never simple or straightforward. I know you and Billy are going to have a lifetime of happiness together, just like me and my Albert did. He loves you so very much. Remember that. Believe that. Nothing else in the world matters – something Billy has finally realized
.

Oh my darling Sophie, catching a glimpse of you again would fill my heart with joy. You are forever in my thoughts.

I love you,

Molly

Xxx

I sit on my bed for hours, reading and rereading it, taking in her words, grateful to have something so special from her to keep, cherish and savour.

There’s one thing that niggles at my brain and irritates me, though, and that is – when did Billy go to see Molly? How did he know that she was ill? Had he known she was ill before I did?

It feels so strange to know that he would have driven out all this way and not even attempted to come and see me. Not that I would’ve wanted to see him, obviously – I’d told him to give me space – but I’d have thought he would have tried, given the circumstances.

With curiosity getting the better of me, I find myself grabbing my phone and texting him. Conscious of the fact that I don’t want to engage in conversation, I decide to keep the message short, succinct and devoid of any emotion.

How did you know about Molly?

No pleasantries, just straight in there with the point.

Once I press the send button I regret it immediately. Any control I thought I’d gained instantly leaves me as all I can do is sit and anxiously stare at my phone, waiting for a reply.

Within minutes it bleeps with a response.

Hello! You OK? It’s so good to hear from you, Sophie. Molly called here. I thought she was about to give me a bollocking, but it turned out she was looking for you. I could tell something wasn’t right, in the end she told me where she was and I drove over. She agreed to let me call your Mum when I was there. Are you OK?

That explains how Mum and Colin discovered the news after months of being kept in the dark like everybody else. Mum never mentioned speaking to him, but that isn’t so surprising.

Before I even decide whether I want to send a reply or not, my phone bleeps again with another message from him.

I was going to stop by and see you but I had to get back to London to sort a few things out, I couldn’t get away for long. Plus, I guessed you wouldn’t have wanted to see me anyway. That’s why I phoned instead. How is Molly?

Part of me wants to bite, to say something about how good it is to see he’s still putting his work first, but I don’t. Because I know I have to tell him about Molly passing. It would be wrong of me to include anything scathing while writing those words.

She died Tuesday night. In her sleep.

I respond, sadness engulfing me as I send it.

Oh Soph, I’m so sorry to hear that. Are you OK?

Not really. It’s such a shock. I can’t believe she’s gone.

I write honestly, suddenly wanting to feel his love.

I know. It’s awful. Helps to put things into perspective though, doesn’t it …? Oh Sophie, I wish I could hug you. I miss you so much. Can I see you?

Even reading the words causes me pain, letting me know how much I miss him, too. I want him here to hug me and comfort me, to tell me that everything will
be all right and to reassure me that Molly is in a happier place now. I love him so much. I need him.

Feeling betrayed by my own heart, I’m suddenly angry at myself for letting my guard down and allowing him in. Crushed that my heart has leapt in anticipation of his messages and caved in when it needed to stay strong. I have an urge to shun him, to push him away and make him see that he can’t text me caring and tender messages after what he has done. It’s his fault we aren’t together.

No.

Simple. Unyielding. Decisive.

Please? I have so much to tell you.

I don’t want to know, Billy. I’m getting rid of this phone. There doesn’t seem much sense in having it seeing as I’m back home and you’re now the only person who calls me on it. Plus, the last thing I want to hear about is how amazing your flipping life is. Goodbye.

I hastily switch the phone off and throw it at the wall opposite me, which feels good for a split second, but turns out to be a stupid idea as I put a big dent in the wall and the screen of the phone cracks. Not that I have any intention of using it again any time soon – it’s not as though I have millions of friends to call.

When Mum comes home later that afternoon I’m sitting on the stairs waiting for her, hugging one of the wooden spindles.

‘When were you going to tell me you’d spoken to Billy?’ I ask, once she’s walked into the hallway.

‘Oh, love,’ she says, putting down her bag and removing her coat. She turns to face me, letting out a little sigh. ‘Come on, that really doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that we found out about Molly before it was too late.’

‘I know,’ I say sulkily.

‘No one knew. Not even June Hearne,’ she says, leaning on the banister and taking my hand.

‘But she looked so ill, Mum! Why didn’t people notice that?’

‘People assumed she was stressed out because she was running the shop on her own. It was a lot for someone her age to be doing.’

‘So after Sally left she didn’t get anyone else in?’

‘No. I think she was worried to …’

‘Because of me?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she says, sitting down next to me, and putting her arm around me. ‘You can’t blame yourself for any of this. She’d already been told she had cancer before you left. So, please don’t think that.’