Authors: Victoria Connelly
I wish there was something I could do
. That was just
so
Molly
, Carolyn thought, but she knew her sister-in-law didn’t have five thousand pounds even to help herself, let alone somebody else. Or did she?
Molly looked down at the absurdly small mobile phone and frowned. How hard could it be? She pressed a few buttons and smiled. Action! It certainly beat phone boxes and, after her recent disaster in Swaledale, there was one person she owed a call to now: Carolyn.
But there was no answer. Funny, she thought, she could have sworn Marty said they’d booked leave for this week. Maybe they were out. Or maybe they were paying a visit. She tapped in Old Bailey’s phone number and waited.
‘Hello, Dad?’
‘Molly! How are you?’ Magnus said sounding unusually cheerful.
‘I’m fine.’
‘I’ve not seen you for a while.’
‘I’m away at the moment – taking an impromptu holiday.’
‘Oh. Where?’
‘Just around, you know,’ she said, not wanting to say that
she’d just visited Moor View flats in Bradford. Her father wouldn’t have been happy with that. ‘Is Carolyn with you?’
‘Yes, she is. Hang on a minute.’
There was a pause as Magnus put the phone down and Molly could just make out Old Bailey muttering something in the background about the price of whisky at his local convenience store.
Finally, Carolyn came to the phone. ‘Molly?’
‘Hi, Caro! Sorry about yesterday. I ran right out of change but I’ve got a mobile phone now.’
‘Moll – I’ll just take the call in the back room, OK?’
‘OK,’ Molly said, picturing Carolyn moving through the tiny flat to the dark room at the back. The land of lost photographs.
‘Molly? Just a minute,’ Carolyn said, and then there was a click. ‘Right, we can talk now. I just wanted to make sure the other phone had been put down before I told you what happened yesterday.’
‘Have you and Marty made up?’ Molly asked, thinking that they must have done in order for Carolyn to be round Old Bailey’s during her holiday.
‘Not exactly, but listen, Moll,’ Carolyn said urgently, ‘there was a reporter here yesterday evening – asking all sorts of questions about you.’
‘A reporter? What did he want?’
‘I’m not sure. He seemed to think you’d come in to some money? Said he wanted to catch up with you.’
‘To interview me, you mean?’
‘Well, I guess so.’
There was a pause whilst both women wondered what to say next.
‘Molly?’
‘Yes.’
‘
Have
you come into some money?’ Carolyn asked quietly. ‘Moll? Are you still there?’
‘Yes. I’m still here,’ Molly said, chewing her lower lip and wondering how she could break her news.
‘Come on then,’ Carolyn pushed.
‘What would you say,’ Molly began slowly, ‘if I told you I’d won the lottery?’
It was typical that the only person to have seen Tom’s Robin Hood lived in the highest place in Bradford. You could have wrung the pair of them out and got at least a couple of pints of sweat from them by the time they’d reached the fourteenth floor. Poor Flora was pink in the face and Tom dreaded to think what he looked like. On entering the flats, they’d been about to hop into the lift but had thought better of it on first smell. Far preferable to risk a heart attack, Tom had thought.
Finally, they reached the flat of Ms Amanda Gunton, and Tom, not wanting to waste any more time, knocked loudly.
After what seemed an interminable wait, the door was answered by a woman with bottle-blonde hair and a cough like a sick hyena.
‘Ms Gunton?’
‘You the reporter?’
‘Tom Mackenzie,’ he said, holding out his hand to have it shaken by her stubby yellow fingers. ‘And my daughter, Flora.’
‘Hello,’ Ms Gunton said without smiling.
‘Hello,’ Flora said shyly, eyeing up the woman’s jewellery: a nasty gold ring on every finger.
‘Come on in. I’ve got the kettle on, but you’ll have to excuse the mess. The bloody washing machine’s just flooded the kitchen.’
Tom and Flora followed her into the dark, narrow hallway and were shown into a living room with a carpet covered in hypnotic swirls and wallpaper with more flowers than
Gardeners’ World.
Ms Gunton disappeared into the adjacent kitchen and Tom watched her through the Seventies serving hatch as she coughed into the sink before stubbing out her cigarette on the draining board. He turned away in disgust and noticed the line of photographs on the fireplace.
‘Are these all your children?’ Tom asked.
Ms Gunton came back through with two mugs of tea and an orange juice on a tray.
‘The rogues’ gallery,’ she cackled. ‘Jen, Cath and Jane. If you want to take any of them off my hands, you’re welcome. I can’t seem to shift any of them. Oh, sorry, you’re married, right?’
Tom blushed but didn’t bother to explain his marital situation in front of Flora.
‘So you’ll be wanting to ask some questions, right?’
‘Please. If you don’t mind,’ Tom said, sipping the tea and trying not to grimace at the mug which tasted of cigarettes.
‘Here’s the envelope,’ Ms Gunton said, producing it from a coffee table covered in old tabloids open at the racing pages. ‘I’ve put the money somewhere safe.’
‘And it was all in fifty-pound notes, was it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And the flower?’
Ms Gunton nodded into the adjoining kitchen where the
beautiful sunshine daisy was stood in a miniature vase of water, its happy face doing its best to jollify the gloom.
‘The lady at the radio station said you’d seen something?’ Tom said.
Ms Gunton nodded again. ‘I did that,’ she said. ‘I heard the letter box go and when I saw what was in the envelope I thought I’d have a look around. Thought there’d been some mistake.’ She paused to give her hyena cough, the wrinkles round her eyes deepening into ditches. ‘But I couldn’t see anything. So I hung around, figuring the person couldn’t have gotten far. Then, I thought I’d take a trip down to the bins in the basement. You wouldn’t believe the amount of rubbish we make here. And that’s when I saw her.’ She paused for effect, edging up to her big moment.
‘What did you see?’
‘A young woman with dark curly hair and a little white dog – some sort of terrier, I’d say.’
‘Did you speak to her?’
Ms Gunton shook her head. ‘No. She got into her car so fast, I didn’t have time.’
‘What kind of car did she have?’ Tom asked, trying not to get too excited.
‘One of them old VW Beetles. A bright yellow one.’
Tom’s eyebrows raised.
‘She had a bit of trouble starting it, but managed to get it going before I could get over to her.’
‘So how do you know this was the woman who delivered the envelopes?’
Ms Gunton reached down the side of her chair and produced a packet of cigarettes, offering one to Tom before she lit up. ‘I don’t,’ she said, ‘but you get to know the people
who come and go round here and the girl in the Beetle was definitely a stranger. Never seen her before.’
‘I don’t suppose you got the registration number?’
Ms Gunton chuckled. ‘You must be joking. I’m useless when it comes to things like that. Can’t even remember my own phone number. But it was a bright yellow car – just like that daisy, in fact.’
Tom nodded. ‘Well, thank you very much for your time.’ He glanced at Flora, who was just finishing her orange juice. ‘Can I just ask you what you’ll be doing with the money?’
Ms Gunton almost spluttered on her cigarette. ‘That’s all spent ten times over already. Debts,’ she said. ‘But it’s a help, that’s for sure. Whoever that girl is, we could do with more of her in this world. I only wish she’d stopped long enough for me to thank her.’
‘Daddy, I smell horrible,’ Flora said, her little nose wrinkling in disgust as they left Ms Gunton’s flat.
‘This whole place smells. Come on,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Tom led the way quickly down the stairs and back out to where he’d parked the car. A group of boys were kicking a football nearby and Tom did his best not to glance round his car to check if they’d helped themselves to any spare parts.
‘A yellow Volkswagen Beetle,’ he said as they got back in. ‘At least that’s fairly conspicuous but how are we going to find her?’
‘The radio was fun. We could go back there,’ Flora suggested.
‘But that was only any use when we knew where she was – it was local radio, you see, but we don’t know where she’s
gone. She could be anywhere by now.’
Flora frowned. Tom frowned too. And then he had an idea.
Grabbing a pad and pen from the glove compartment, he wrote the following words which he planned to use as his next headline:
Where’s Molly? Can you help find her?
Carolyn gasped and then burst into hysterical laughter, which wasn’t a good idea because Marty came rushing through to the bedroom.
‘What’s going on?’ he glowered, dark-eyed, from the doorway.
Carolyn glowered back at him. ‘Marty, I’m talking to Molly – this is a private conversation!’
He hovered for a moment as if he hadn’t heard her.
‘We’re not talking about
you
, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ she added.
His forehead furrowed in consternation. ‘Well, don’t be long. We’ll be wanting some tea on soon,’ he said before pulling the door behind him.
‘Gosh,’ Carolyn sighed into the phone, ‘your brother is a real master at pushing his luck.’
Molly giggled. ‘You don’t need to tell me that.’
‘Anyway,’ Carolyn whispered excitedly. ‘You were joking,
right? This is some kind of April Fool, only in July, isn’t it? You haven’t really—’
‘Won the lottery?’ Molly interrupted. ‘I jolly well have.’
‘No!’
‘Caro, listen, you must
swear
not to tell anyone.
Any
one!’
‘Why? What are you up to? How much have you won? Where are you?’
‘Hang on!’ Molly laughed. ‘I’m in Bradford. I’m not sure where I’m going next. I’m just concentrating on having fun – spending a little money if you know what I mean.’
Carolyn gasped again. ‘Then it
was
you who gave that money to the farmer?’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘Moll, I told you – that reporter’s on to you. It was in
Vive!
today.’
‘
Vive!
I’m in
Vive!
?’
‘Well, he obviously didn’t know your name in this report but he’s got you now and I think he’s following you. He was asking all sorts of things about you. He had that sharp, hunting look about him that those guys have. You know? Like he knew he was on to a good story.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘So come on – how much did you win? And what are you up to?’
Molly laughed, and it sounded like pieces of rainbow falling from a clear sky. ‘It was quite a lot. Just over four million.’
‘
Jeeeeeeeee-pers!
You’re
kidding
!’
‘No. And that’s why you must promise me you mustn’t breathe a word, Caro.’
‘You’ve not told anyone?’
‘
No
. No
way
! You know what the Bailey men are like. I wouldn’t have a penny left if they got wind of it – you know that.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘But don’t worry,’ Molly added, ‘I
am
being sensible about this. I’ve put a goodly sum away for everyone; enough to keep us all comfortable, but I don’t see the point of excess, really I don’t.’
‘But you don’t want anyone to know about that?’
‘Definitely not. Not until I’ve got rid of it.’
‘Moll,’ Carolyn interrupted, ‘has this got something to do with your mother?’
There was a pause at Molly’s end of the phone. ‘Money does strange things to people.’
‘I know,’ Carolyn said. ‘So what are you going to do?’
Molly laughed again. ‘I’m going to have a little bit of fun.’
Tom and Flora had left the Moor View flats with no particular direction in mind. They were Molly-less. There was no way of knowing where she was until he got some feedback from the next day’s plea in
Vive!
.
Pulling into a pizza parlour car park, he got his map out and opened it.
‘OK,’ he said, motioning to Flora to pay attention. ‘She started off in the Eden Valley, here, just east of Carlisle. Then we caught up with her here, in Swaledale and today she was here, in Bradford.’
Flora nodded.
‘There’s a definite route emerging, isn’t there?’
Flora’s eyes widened. ‘Is there?’
‘Look,’ Tom said, his finger tracing Molly’s route from
Carlisle through Swaledale towards Bradford. ‘South. She’s heading south, isn’t she?’
‘So far,’ Flora said. ‘But she might go over there,’ she said, pointing to the east.
‘What, to Hull?’
‘She might.’
Tom frowned. ‘It’s possible, but if she keeps on heading in the same direction, then I reckon the next place we’ll catch up with her will be somewhere around Sheffield.’
‘What’s in Sheffield?’ Flora asked.
‘I have absolutely no idea but I think we’re about to find out.’
When Carolyn put the phone down, she gave herself a few minutes to compose herself. If she went back through to the living room straight away, she just knew that her excitement would spill out in front of the Bailey clan and that wouldn’t be doing Molly any favours. Oh no. But my goodness, it was so tempting to say something.
She could just imagine the look on Old Bailey’s face if he knew his little granddaughter was out throwing money as well as caution to the wind. His very own granddaughter, for whom he’d bought a piggy bank when she was just five. Marty had told her the story of how Molly had dared to ask for a ballerina’s tutu and had been given a piggy bank instead. It wasn’t as if it was a pretty pink piggy bank either. It was a fat, ugly, grey one that looked more like an army vehicle than a pig, and which would have taken an eternity to fill if Molly hadn’t dropped it on the quarry-tiled kitchen floor before she reached her sixth birthday. But that hadn’t mattered; Old Bailey had replaced it on her next birthday. Carolyn smiled as
she tried to imagine Molly’s face when she’d unwrapped the present.
Walking across the room, she picked up the photo of Molly and Marty on the little chest of drawers by the window. It was one of the few photos in the room that had merited a frame. It must have been taken close to Molly’s piggy bank birthday because she didn’t look much older than five or six. A head full of dark, rebellious curls and a naughty twinkle to her eyes, that was Molly. It was as if she could see ahead to her lottery winning. And Marty beside her: beautiful and brooding. How was it that brother and sister could be so different? Most people had optimism and pessimism in fairly equal parts, didn’t they? But with Molly and Marty, it was as if all the optimism had been tipped into Molly and the pessimism poured into Marty. Perhaps that was why Molly didn’t want Marty to know about her spending spree. She knew what his response would be.
Money does strange things to people
. Carolyn agreed with Molly, but was giving it all away stranger than wanting to lock it away in bank accounts? Tom Mackenzie obviously thought so. There weren’t many stories centred around people who won the lottery and put all the money into tidy little bank accounts, were there? There was no fun in that.
Carolyn looked out of the window onto the back of the terraced houses opposite. She’d never known anyone who’d won the lottery before. Fancy her own sister-in-law now scooping the top prize. Excitement churned around in her stomach at the mere thought. What on earth must Molly be feeling, she wondered, and how had she kept it a secret for so long? Carolyn just knew that she’d be blurting it out to everyone if she won, but she mustn’t do that with Molly’s
news. Absolute discretion was what was required here; that’s what she’d promised Molly.
Gathering herself together, and bidding her smile goodbye, she walked back through to the living room.
‘You were a long time,’ Marty said.
‘Yes. Just catching up with Molly.’
‘Any news?’
Carolyn’s bright eyes widened and she felt the beginnings of a giggle wiggling inside her. ‘Er – no – not really. Just gossiping.’
Marty nodded.
‘Isn’t anybody hungry yet?’ Old Bailey barked from his winged chair.
‘Funny you should say that,’ Carolyn said with unusual cheer, ‘because I was just going to start tea.’ And she tripped into the kitchen, pushing the door behind her just as the tears of laughter began to run down her face.