Hannah looked at her watch. It was quarter to eight. What should she do? Molly wouldn’t have got far yet without her own transport. She’d mentioned heading for Bristol, before going on to Wales to find the festival site. Hannah didn’t know what time the coaches started from Bamford, but probably not this early.
Hannah grabbed her phone and dialled Bruno’s number, which all the senior staff had in case of emergencies. He answered on the first ring.
‘Hello?’
‘Bruno? It’s Hannah.’
‘Hannah. Is everything OK?’ His voice was warm and friendly, but tinged with concern.
‘No. Not exactly.’ She cleared her throat. How the hell was she going to explain the situation over the phone? He’d think she was barking mad. Or playing a practical joke. She had to explain it to him in person, so she could convince him she was genuine. She glanced at her watch again and did a quick bit of mental arithmetic. If she took her stuff with her, then went straight to the hospital, assuming it only took twenty minutes to convince him of Molly’s plight, then she would be forty minutes late for her checking-in time. As long as there were no other hold-ups, she might be OK.
She’d have to risk it. She couldn’t just turn her back on Molly. Molly and Alfie’s future versus her nose job? It was a no-brainer. After all, her nose wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Can I see you? Urgently?’
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘I’ll come straight over.’
Hannah jumped into the tracksuit she’d taken off the night before – she didn’t have time for the blouse, tights and skirt she’d hung up on the back of her door – and bolted out of her room, grabbing her handbag and her overnight case. She paused for two seconds to make sure she had her admission details and left without even locking the door.
As she bombed her little car along the track that led to Bruno’s house, she wondered for a moment if she was doing the right thing. Molly had pleaded with her to keep her revelation secret. For some reason she was convinced that Joe’s family would blackball her, that they would think she was on the make and blame her for his death to boot. Hannah felt sure that given what she knew of Bruno, that wouldn’t be the case.
She reassured herself that, although she was breaking her promise, she was doing it for the right seasons. She’d read enough moral dilemmas in women’s magazines to know there were times when a betrayal of confidence was right and proper. Molly couldn’t be objective about her situation. And Hannah knew Bruno better than Molly. At least she hoped she did . . .
Bruno ushered Hannah into the living room. For a moment she felt totally overwhelmed, both by the splendour of the room and the import of what she was about to say. She turned to Bruno, who smiled at her kindly.
‘What is it, Hannah?’
He was probably expecting her to spill out some sort of petty hotel problem. A spat with another member of staff. A run-in with a guest.
‘It’s Molly.’ Hannah managed to find her voice. ‘She’s got a baby. A little boy. None of us knew. He’s . . . nearly two.’
Bruno nodded gravely. There was understanding in his eyes.
‘I thought there was more to Molly than met the eye. That explains a lot.’
‘That’s not all.’ Was he going to believe her? She bit her lip. ‘The baby . . . it’s Joe’s.’
For a moment Bruno looked totally confused, as if he was trying to work out which member of staff she meant.
‘Your brother,’ Hannah added.
Bruno looked thunderstruck. His skin went quite pale.
‘Joe?’ He repeated. ‘Joe’s the father?’
Hannah nodded.
‘Molly used to work on the campsite. She and Joe had an affair, just before he died. Molly . . . caught him with Tamara, after he’d promised to finish with her. So Molly ended it.’ She paused. ‘But then she realized she was pregnant.’
She was aware she was giving him edited highlights. Slightly manipulating the sequence of events, but there was a lot for him to take in. And no time to lose.
Bruno was filtering what she’d told him so far.
‘She’s had Joe’s baby all this time?’
Hannah realized that wasn’t the point of her story.
‘The thing is, Bruno, she’s done a runner with him. Her sister’s boyfriend was dealing drugs in her flat; she was afraid she might be busted, that they’d take Alfie away. So Molly’s gone . . .’
She trailed off, aware that she was gabbling, aware that Bruno was completely flummoxed by the revelations. He put up a hand.
‘Just tell me one thing, Hannah. Why didn’t she come to me?’
Hannah swallowed.
‘Because . . . she was afraid that you wouldn’t believe her. That you’d think she was just after money.’
Bruno’s lips tightened.
‘Is it definitely Joe’s baby?’
Hannah hesitated for a moment. She had no proof, after all.
‘Yes,’ she said definitely. ‘Molly wouldn’t lie to me. We need to find her, Bruno. She can’t survive on her own. She’s got no money; nothing.’
Bruno ran a hand through his curls, trying to think rationally.
‘Do you know where she might have gone?’
‘I think she’s getting the coach to Bristol. She’s got this friend who goes round the festivals—’
Bruno didn’t need to hear any more. He strode around the room gathering up his keys, his coat. Hannah stood rooted to the spot. Bruno looked at her.
‘You’ll have to come with me,’ he said flatly. ‘She’ll freak out completely if she sees me waiting for her. I need you with me, Hannah.’
Visions of an empty hospital bed flashed through Hannah’s mind. A surgeon waiting, tapping his scalpel against his hand impatiently.
Then she thought of Molly, with little Alfie in her arms, both of them pale and tear-stained and frightened.
She sighed.
‘OK.’
Ten minutes later, Hannah sat back in the cream leather seat of Bruno’s Range Rover which seemed to mould itself to her body, and felt the cool of the air-conditioning on her face. In that single moment, Hannah suddenly understood luxury. She had never felt such total comfort before. She felt like a princess. Or a superstar being chauffeured to an important engagement. Dream on, she thought to herself. This would probably be the first and last time she’d sit in a car like this.
They made the junction of the motorway in a record forty minutes. Hannah looked at her watch. Exactly thirty minutes after she should have turned off in the other direction, had she kept her appointment. She hadn’t even had time to phone up and cancel, and she didn’t want to do it now in front of Bruno.
Bruno spoke suddenly.
‘Tell me about Molly,’ he said. ‘What’s she like?’
Hannah considered her reply carefully.
‘I don’t know her that well. But I like her. A lot. She’s quiet. But quite tough. And she’s very loyal.’ She had a sudden recollection of Molly in the corridor, eyes blazing, hands on hips, standing up to Caragh. ‘She stuck up for me once. She was amazing. She’s not afraid of anyone.’
The corner of Bruno’s mouth lifted in a wry smile.
‘Except me?’
Hannah looked down at her hands.
‘Yes, well, you live in a different world to Molly.’
Hannah noticed Bruno was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and that his thick brows were meeting in the middle.
‘Are you OK?’
He nodded.
‘I’m just angry. Furious, in fact.’
Hannah felt hot with discomfort.
‘Not with me? Should I not have told you?’
‘Not with you. God, no. I’ll be eternally grateful to you.’ Bruno paused. ‘I’m angry with Joe. As ever. Bloody Joe, for not facing up to his responsibilities. For not thinking about anyone other than himself. Just when I thought I’d come to terms with his selfishness . . .’
Bruno broke off. Hannah could see his jaw was clenched. She thought about the other part of the story, the bit she didn’t feel was hers to tell him, and wondered if she ought to reveal it now. But she decided that it was up to Molly. She didn’t want to scupper her friend’s chances of a brighter future, just to let Joe off the hook.
She saw that the speedo was nudging up and marvelled at how smooth the car felt. The coach from Bamford was due in to Bristol at eleven. She prayed that they would make it and that Molly would be on it, that she hadn’t decided to hitch a lift or go somewhere else.
Hannah kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road, and tried not to think about the fact that by rights she should be lying on the operating table while the surgeon prepared to change her life for ever. Or how long it was going to take her to save up for another operation. It was only money, she consoled herself. Whereas this was Molly’s future.
Half an hour later, Bruno sat in the waiting room at the coach station. They’d decided it was best that Hannah would wait for Molly to come off the coach.
Bruno remembered talking to Molly about the housekeeper’s job and how frustrated he’d been by her reluctance, which he had written off as a lack of ambition. God, if he had known. If only he had known. Hannah had filled him in on what she knew of Molly’s background and her feckless family. Her life sounded like sheer drudgery – a hell of squalor and measly handouts. And all the time there he had been, living like a lord in his luxurious surroundings, oblivious.
Bruno stared at the filthy floor scattered with cigarette butts and burns, his hands clasped, praying they hadn’t missed Molly, praying that in a few minutes’ time he could atone for his brother’s behaviour, and realizing that he felt almost sick with the anticipation of meeting his own flesh and blood.
The coach was ten minutes late, but it felt like ten hours. Engines thrummed, doors opened and closed, the tannoy babbled meaninglessly overhead. When Molly finally stepped down the stairs, with Alfie in her arms, she didn’t look surprised to see Hannah.
Hannah was nervous. She’d seen Molly turn. She knew she had fire inside her, that she might tear into Hannah for betraying her. But she just stood there, straight and proud, her face impassive as she waited for Hannah’s explanation.
‘I told Bruno,’ Hannah said flatly. ‘I think it was only fair. For him and for you. And for Alfie. And for Joe.’
Molly gave a deep sigh.
‘You’re probably right.’
She’d known in her heart of hearts that running was futile. How did she expect to manage? Over Hannah’s shoulder, she saw Bruno approaching from the waiting room. She was mesmerized by his expression. There was hope, fear, compassion. Sorrow. Expectation. And when he set eyes on Alfie, Molly didn’t think she’d forget the look on Bruno’s face for as long as she lived.
‘I didn’t tell him everything,’ Hannah was saying urgently, sotto voce. ‘I didn’t tell him . . . what you told Joe. About the abortion. He thinks you found out you were pregnant after Joe died. It’s up to you to tell him the rest if you want to.’
Bruno had reached them. He stood in front of Molly, put a gentle hand on her arm and looked in wonder at his nephew’s pale freckled face.
‘Hey, Alfie . . .’
Molly, being Molly, had to come clean. She couldn’t live with the burden of a single secret any longer. She wanted a clear conscience. So she spilled out the whole story, not leaving out any of the detail, kneeling on the floor in front of Bruno’s fireplace, Hector flopped down beside her. Bruno sat beside her, his arms wrapped round his knees, trying to absorb the implications of everything she was telling him, trying not to judge, even though he was shocked by the harshness of the various twists and turns. And now he was able to look back on the dreadful night that Joe died with different eyes, knowing that he had carried an extra burden.
‘I can’t tell you how much I respect you for telling me the truth,’ he said finally. ‘Being totally selfish, it kind of lets me off the hook, because I’ve been blaming myself for what I said and did all this time. Just like you have.’
Molly nodded solemnly.
‘The bottom line is, Molly, I guess we’re both a bit to blame. We both did and said things that maybe we shouldn’t have, on reflection. But we’re not as much to blame as Joe. If Joe hadn’t behaved like he did, if Joe hadn’t driven us both to the edge, then none of it would have happened, and he’d still be here now.’
She looked down at her fingers, clenched tightly in her lap.
‘Maybe what you said to him was wrong,’ Bruno continued. ‘But you were frightened. And hurt. And maybe what I said to him was wrong. But I was frustrated. And angry. And why should we carry the guilt round for the rest of our lives? That’s certainly not going to do Alfie any good. And he’s the one positive thing to come out of it.’
Molly gave a glimmer of a smile. Bruno thought she understood what he was saying. He leaned forward.
‘Molly . . . there’s something I’d like you to do. But you have to trust me. And if you decide you don’t want to, I won’t force you.’ Bruno swallowed. ‘I know . . . that if my mother knew about Alfie, it would mean more than anything in the world to her. Because if anyone
wasn’t
to blame for Joe’s death, it was Mum, and I think she’s suffered more than any of us. Would you . . . would you let her see him?’
Molly gulped.
‘Would I . . . have to tell her everything?’
Bruno thought carefully. The whole situation was incredibly delicate. There were so many people’s sensibilities to take into consideration, not least Molly’s.
‘I think . . . it might be better for everyone if she doesn’t know the whole truth. I think she’d be ashamed of Joe’s behaviour to you.’
He saw a flicker of gratitude in Molly’s eyes, that he’d avoided making her look bad by making Joe the scapegoat. Bruno certainly didn’t want Molly to have to go through the shame of telling her side of the story again. Not that he felt that she had been so wrong. But he knew how painful the confession had been for her. And he knew his mother would be appalled by the sordidness of it all, no matter whose side she came down on.
‘What if . . . we tell her you only found out you were pregnant after Joe died?’ he suggested. ‘And that you were too afraid to come forward until now? That’s what Hannah told me.’
Molly bit her lip.
‘You don’t think that’s lying?’
Bruno was touched.
‘I think it’s a very, very white lie. And, frankly, I can’t see any benefit to anyone in telling the truth.’