Love on the Rocks (43 page)

She reflected that in the few weeks she had been in Mariscombe she had changed. She admitted to herself that subconsciously she had arrived with all intentions of wooing George back. The moment she set eyes on him she knew it was within her powers. But as the days evolved, she realized that it would be wrong, that to manipulate things to her own ends might have meant her getting her own way, but it would have been no guarantee of happiness. Not her own, not George’s – and certainly not Lisa’s.

Victoria had gone from being dismissive of Lisa, regarding her as a minor inconvenience to be disposed of, to admiring her very much. And she didn’t mind admitting that she was envious of Lisa’s sunny nature, her ability to get people to do things for her by being
nice
– Lisa would never be manipulative like Victoria, or throw a complete tantrum if things didn’t go her way. She could, she decided, do worse than take a leaf out of Lisa’s book in future.

She sighed. Resolutions were all very well, but she was frightened. Frightened of a future where she had only herself to depend on, frightened of rebuilding a relationship with her parents – that was going to be weird. But in a funny way she was looking forward to it. She had been amazed when her mother had acquiesced almost immediately. Why, after all these years, were she and Mimi suddenly welcome? Perhaps it was because her mother and father were getting older and realizing their mortality, realizing they had a chance to rectify mistakes before it was too late.

Too late. Victoria gazed at the moon dancing on the water and hoped that
she
hadn’t left it too late, to rebuild a life for herself and Mimi that wasn’t based on self-gratification and cheap thrills. She wanted, desperately, a life that meant something. Watching George and Lisa tonight had taught her a huge lesson. They had built something together, they had had a dream and made it reality because of the strength of their convictions and their belief in each other. Which was why they had everything and she had . . . nothing. Her entire life up until now had been superficial, meaningless and destructive.

She turned and looked back at Bruno’s house. She’d been clutching at straws earlier that evening, hoping for one wild moment that he might be the answer, that he might give her the chance to stay in Mariscombe. But she realized now that she had to make her own way. Victoria was keenly aware that it wasn’t just a question of pinpointing where she had gone wrong up until now – she had a long and painful journey ahead of her.

She breathed the salty night air in deeply, summoning up her strength, trying to fill herself with hope rather than fear, anticipation rather than dread. It was going to be all right, she promised herself. She had her parents, she had Mimi, she still had her skills and talents – tonight’s success had reassured her of that. She would survive.

There was only one tiny thing niggling at her, a minute worry in the back of her mind, but she batted it away. It would probably come to nothing and if it did – well, she had dealt with it before and she could deal with it again.

As Bruno went to close the veranda door before going to bed, he saw Victoria standing on the beach in the moonlight, looking out at the ocean. She looked so still and small and alone; he could sense her dejection even from a distance. For a moment he felt a trickle of fear. Had he misjudged the effect his rejection had had on her? He knew bloody well what a magical pull the sea had when you were feeling down and alone. Almost as strong as the lift it could give you when the sun was bright and your spirits were high. People often underestimated the power it had on your mood. They didn’t always appreciate that it could evoke melancholy as well as euphoria.

He put his hand on the door handle, about to rush down the steps and reassure her, when she turned and walked back along the beach. Her shoulders were back, her head was high and she was swinging her shoes in her hand – she seemed carefree and confident. Relieved, Bruno turned the key in the lock.

Minutes later, as he slid between the sheets, he felt glad that he was alone. He knew for sure that he and Victoria could have shared a night of wild passion, but his gut had told him that it wouldn’t have been no-strings, that something wasn’t quite right. Was it something in her or in him that had set off a warning signal?

As he drifted off to sleep, he told himself not to kid himself. He knew precisely why he’d brought Victoria back. She was a displacement, a knee-jerk reaction, an antidote to the rather ungentlemanly envy he had felt when George had proposed to Lisa, and she had accepted . . .

George and Lisa lay on the cushions in the little summerhouse that perched at the end of the garden overlooking the cliff. A bottle of champagne and two glasses sat on the floor beside them.

‘I’m just sorry I didn’t have a ring.’ George was anxious, realizing his faux pas.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Lisa reassured him. ‘It’s only a bit of old metal. It doesn’t
mean
anything.’

‘That’s not what most women think. Most women look upon the engagement ring as an exact measure of how much they are loved.’ George knew this from experience.

‘Well, maybe I’m not most women.’ Lisa lay back on the cushions. She looked amazing, her hair wild and unruly, her eyes sparkling.

She’d decided not to say anything just yet. It seemed rather unkind, to tell him straightaway that she had merely stage-managed her acceptance, that she had no intention of marrying him. There would be plenty of time for them to discuss their future together more seriously, once they had come down from the high of the evening. The euphoria of its success was making her blood fizz in her veins. She stretched her arms over her head, her full lips curled upwards in a wicked, teasing smile of invitation. George needed no further encouragement. He leaned over and undid the clasp at the back of her neck, gently sliding the silk fabric down.

The two of them fell back together on the cushions, limbs entwined, kissing passionately as the cool night air caressed their limbs.

Neither of them noticed Victoria emerge from the top of the cliff path, slip silently past the summerhouse and in through the French windows.

T
he next morning, Molly awoke with a start, bathed in sweat, her heart hammering. Alfie was snuggled up in the crook of her arm, dead to the world. It was his proximity that had made her so hot; the two of them were stuck together. Gently she edged away from him, anxious not to wake him just yet.

She looked around the room, confused for a moment, then the memory of last night came back to her as she saw Hannah curled up on the floor in a sleeping bag. She sat on the edge of the bed. She could just about make out the hands of Hannah’s watch on her wrist – it was quarter past five. Outside it was dawn, the already blue sky signalling yet another beautiful day. But Molly didn’t have time to admire the weather. She had decisions to make, and fast.

Why the hell had she broken down like that last night and told Hannah everything? It had been a huge, huge mistake, Molly decided now. The momentary relief of sharing the truth, of finally confessing, wasn’t worth the panic she was now feeling. The secret she had kept for so long was out. And she couldn’t get it back in. You couldn’t untell a secret.

Not that Molly didn’t trust Hannah. She would never have confided in her if she hadn’t. But she’d let her guard down now. Confiding in Hannah meant she was vulnerable. And Hannah had been so adamant that she should tell Bruno that Molly was no longer sure of herself. If she stayed any longer, she feared that she would succumb to Hannah’s persuasions, that she might be tempted to confess all to the Thornes and throw herself on their mercy. And then she would no longer be in control.

No, she decided as she pulled on her jeans as quietly as she could. Life would be much easier if it was just her and Alfie. She wasn’t going to be compromised, no matter how tempting it was. Hannah had painted a very inviting picture of life in the bosom of the Thorne family, and Molly couldn’t pretend that there hadn’t been several moments when she’d nearly capitulated.

But now, in the cold light of dawn, after a night’s sleep, she had made up her mind. She’d go and find Skyla. She knew there would be a warm welcome for them, and although the alternative scene wasn’t really Molly’s bag, she had always admired their sense of sharing, their acceptance of personal circumstances, the fact they didn’t judge . . . She smiled to herself. She could do dreadlocks and rainbow clothes if she had to. And Alfie would love it, though she thought he might struggle with rice cakes.

She checked her bag for Zen’s wad of cash, only allowing herself a moment to wonder if he and Siobhan had been raided, if they’d woken up and realized she’d done a runner, if they knew the money was missing. She’d turned her phone off the night before, in case anyone had tried to contact her. She didn’t really need it now, she mused. She wasn’t going to let Alfie leave her side.

She scooped the little boy up in her arms. He was still fast asleep, for it had been quite late before he’d settled again, and he liked his twelve hours – thank goodness. She picked up the plastic carrier bag containing their things and sneaked out of the room. She was desperate for a pee, but she didn’t see how she could go without putting Alfie down and disturbing someone, so she decided to hold on until she’d reached neutral territory, where no one would question what on earth she was doing with a toddler in her arms.

She left the digs just in time, as she heard the first alarm trill at half past five. It must be for the breakfast staff, she decided. Eager guests could be known to be waiting at their tables at seven. She hurried along the sandy path that led through the trees around the outskirts of the grounds, coming out at the back of the town. She reckoned she might be able to hitch a lift to the coach station. It would be at least another hour before the bus started, but there were often people about at this early hour – crazy surfers who’d been to catch an early wave before work. Or people who’d been tempted to tag another day on to their holiday and were setting off home early.

Molly stood on the kerb and stuck out her thumb. The fresh air had woken Alfie up and he was looking around, rather dazed. At least with a baby in her arms people might take pity, and wouldn’t assume she was some drug-crazed lunatic about to hold them up with a knife. She kept her eyes steadfastly on the road out of Mariscombe, knowing that if she looked back and caught a glimpse of the sea she might change her mind. Mariscombe had always been her dream home, the place she would have loved to bring Alfie up, but it wasn’t meant to be and therefore she mustn’t look back.

Hannah came to at about half past seven. She struggled to wake, trying to filter through the various bits of information that were forming in her head. The first thing she remembered was that today was the day of her operation. Which meant that this was officially the last day she would ever have a big nose. The thought made her smile to herself as she stretched sleepily.

Then she sat up with a start. Molly! Where was she? How on earth could she have forgotten last night’s bombshell, the bombshell that had kept her awake into the wee small hours worrying? That was why she was in a sleeping bag on the floor.

But her bed was empty. Molly and Alfie had gone.

Hannah scrambled to her feet and pulled open the curtains so she could see round the room. Their stuff had gone. There was no note. Which meant, Hannah realized with a sinking heart, that Molly wasn’t going to listen to her advice. She’d done a runner.

What time had they left? she wondered. She’d still been awake at half past three, and they were both sleeping soundly then. It had now gone half seven. Which meant she had to get her skates on. She had to be at the hospital for half nine and it would take over an hour for her to get there. She needed a shower – no breakfast, of course, because she would be having an anaesthetic later. Lucky she’d packed everything the night before. Even her clothes were ready.

But what about Molly? Where was she going? Had she decided to go back home, perhaps? Hannah thought not. She’d been pretty definite that yesterday had been the final straw. So where were she and Alfie . . . ?

Hannah didn’t have time to worry about it now. She grabbed her towel and her sponge bag, cross with herself for not having set her alarm the night before. If she was late she might miss her consultation and then they might cancel the op . . . she couldn’t bear the thought. This was the day she’d been waiting for nearly all of her adult life, since the day her nose had chosen to keep growing and overshadow the rest of her features, since the day she’d become a freak, a laughing stock, the girl no man wanted to go near.

She leaped into the shower, turning it on to full blast, hoping that the early morning staff had left enough hot water. Even though she’d have a bathroom adjoining her hospital room, she wanted to be pristine when she arrived. She tipped up her shower gel, squeezed a generous blob into her hand and starting scrubbing.

But as she stood under the water, the image of Molly and Alfie out there alone somewhere wouldn’t leave her mind. She guessed they would try to find Skyla, the New Age friend Molly had mentioned, but a tent in the middle of a field was no place for a young girl and a baby. Molly had no money to speak of, just the measly bit of cash she’d admitted to stealing from her sister’s junkie boyfriend.

Hannah stepped out of the shower with a sinking heart. She couldn’t just let Molly go off like that. Not after everything she’d told her. She realized she’d probably sneaked out before Hannah was awake because she knew Hannah would put her under pressure to talk to Bruno.

Because that was the right thing to do. Hannah was absolutely sure of it. Bruno was a good, kind man. He would be horrified to think of Molly in the situation she was in – even without realizing that Alfie was his own brother’s baby. Bruno would want Molly rescued and saved. Bruno would work out a solution for her regardless. As a mere employee, he would give her a place in the staff accommodation at the very least. As the mother of his nephew . . .