Two
Molly Law recognised the two elderly ladies and sucked in a breath. For a brief second, she hoped they hadn’t seen her, but it was obvious they had and she braced herself for the inevitable condolences, followed no doubt by a barrage of questions.
When she’d first caught sight of them, their arms were linked and they were deep in conversation as they inched their way, with the additional support of walking sticks, along one of several makeshift paths that meandered across the grass between Wood Lane, West Wood, Betancourt Bay Café, The Royal Oak Pub, and where Molly stood. She took a step back towards her car but she didn’t have time to jump in. The ladies had not only considerably quickened their pace and were now hurrying across the grass towards her, both were waving their sticks in the air and calling out in greeting. To dash to her car and drive off now might be what she wanted to do but it would be rude. The sort of thing her grandmother would have done, and Molly was determined to never be like her grandmother.
Instead, she stayed where she was, outside the front door of her grandmother’s cottage at the end of a row of four. Although strictly speaking, Oak View Cottage now belonged to Molly, her cold-hearted grandmother having left it to her in the will, much to everyone’s surprise. Especially to Molly’s, as she and her paternal grandmother had never got along.
It was inevitable that Molly would bump into the neighbours at some stage, but did it have to be today?
Since her grandmother’s passing, Molly had only been to the cottage a few times. The first had been when she and her parents had gone there to clear out the fridge and the food cupboards. It was early on a Sunday morning shortly after Millicent had died, and either all the neighbours were at Church, or more likely, still in bed, because the street had been empty and they hadn’t seen a soul.
They had gone there again on the day after the will was read, and Molly had inherited the place. That day they had driven to the cottage, more due to shock than to anything else, and had sat in her dad’s car outside for a long time before going in. It had been at Easter and all the neighbours had been at the Grand Opening of Betancourt Bay Café, they had assumed. A large A-board standing close to the cottage had provided Molly and her parents with that information, although the crowd they could see around the café only a few minutes’ walk from the door, and the cacophony of voices, would have alerted them to the fact that something special was happening in the village that day. They had stayed inside the cottage for several hours, sorting Millicent’s clothes, personal papers, and belongings, into piles, either to take home with them to go through at a later date, or to take directly to a charity shop. That had been a rather sombre task. And quite at odds with all the laughter and happy voices that had drifted towards the cottage from the café on the green.
Molly had returned to the cottage twice since then. Once to take some photos to send to an old school-friend, and to put up on a website for holiday rental properties. And once to clean, tidy, and air the cottage after someone called Jemma Granger had asked to rent it for the entire month of June.
Molly had since discovered that Jemma Granger was, in fact, a famous author, and that her books had been adapted for a TV series, but as Molly never had time to read, and historical dramas of any sort were her least favourite thing to watch on TV, she hadn’t heard of Jemma until her old school-friend had told her who she was.
Molly had no intention of living there, even though she would love a place of her own. Still living with her parents in their house in Folkestone was fine, but Molly had hoped to have her own front door by the time she had reached thirty. Now she was thirty-three. Yet the dark green front door of Oak View Cottage held no appeal for her. The cottage might be charming outside, with its pale green exterior, leaded-light windows, and thatched roof, but secrets lurked within. Renting it out for now was her best option. It would give her time to think.
Molly knew that she could easily sell the cottage, if she put it on the market. Estate agent’s cards had been amongst the junk mail and other post sitting on the mat whenever Molly had visited it after she had been told of her inheritance. Even the solicitor had told her that he had clients who would be interested, if she ever chose to sell. Betancourt Bay was small, and everyone wanted to live there. Everyone except Molly. Selling the cottage would give her more than enough to buy herself a flat, or even a small house in Folkestone. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not just yet, at least.
But she definitely couldn’t bring herself to live there. She shivered whenever she walked inside the door. There was something creepy about the place and there always had been. Something almost … sinister. As a child, it had reminded her of the tale of Hansel and Gretel, the witch, and the gingerbread house. Fanciful, of course, but that feeling had remained with her over the years, and she had hated going there.
Not that she had been there often. The only times Molly, or her family, were invited were for her grandmother’s birthday, and for an hour on Christmas Day. Other than that, her dad had gone there alone if her grandmother had needed something done around the place.
Why they had put up with her grandmother’s cruel behaviour was beyond Molly’s comprehension – but they had.
Millicent Law had been as cold in life as she was in death, and had looked on Molly and Molly’s mum as though they were both something unpleasant one might step on. The woman had also told her own son, Molly’s dad, that he and his wife had failed miserably in not giving her the grandson she had longed for to continue the family name. Not that there was anything particularly special about the Law family, so why the name mattered so much, Molly and her parents had no idea.
Molly’s only concern now was that she might turn into her grandmother one day. That was something Molly dreaded. And possibly one of the reasons she wouldn’t live in Oak View Cottage. If she moved into the place, her fate might be sealed and she would soon become as bitter, sad, and unkind as her grandmother.
Years ago, Molly had seen a photo of Millicent in her younger days, and it had taken Molly’s breath away. Or sucked the life out of her as she had felt at the time. The likeness was unbelievable. Molly had felt as if she were looking into a mirror. She had the same jet-black hair as her grandmother. The same deep brown eyes and long lashes. The identical alabaster skin. She even stood the same way as she posed for the camera, slightly turned to the right. The only difference was that Millicent wasn’t smiling in the photo – and Molly always smiled in photos of herself.
Millicent was simply a deeply unhappy and unpleasant woman, and no doubt her former neighbours felt the same about her as her own family had. Neighbours who were now a mere few feet away.
For the life of her, Molly couldn’t recall the names of the elderly sisters who were smiling at her so sweetly. She knew they were twins, and that they lived next-door-but-one, but having rarely been invited to visit her grandmother, she’d only seen the residents of the other three cottages a few times over the years. She couldn’t remember the name of the guy who lived right next door, either, although she did recall that he was quite good looking, and if memory served her right, that he owned a bookshop in Folkestone. A bookshop to which she had never been. She did know the name of the artist who lived in the fourth cottage, partly because the surname was similar to her own surname of Law. The artist’s name was Shaw. Hanna Shaw.
It was just Molly’s luck to bump into the elderly twins, and not the guy next door, or Hanna.
‘It’s Molly, isn’t it?’ said one of the ladies, panting a little as she spoke.
‘It’s Molly Law,’ said the other, smiling at Molly. ‘Millicent’s granddaughter.’
‘That’s what I said,’ the first one stated. ‘You need to get your hearing checked.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my hearing,’ said the other. ‘And we had it checked last month. That handsome new young man did it, remember? You need to get your memory checked.’
‘My memory is fine,’ the first one tutted, and then she gave Molly a caring smile. ‘It’s lovely to see you again Molly. We were so very sorry about Millicent. But it was lucky for her that she dropped dead in the street. She kept herself to herself, as you know, dear, and if she’d died at home she wouldn’t have been found for weeks.’
‘You can’t say that to her granddaughter!’
‘Why not? It’s the truth.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Molly before the to and fro began again. ‘And you’re right. That’s precisely what would’ve happened, so yes, it was lucky for her. And for all of us. It would’ve been … upsetting to think of her being left in there until…’ Molly didn’t want to finish that sentence, or to think about that at all.
‘Greg would’ve been the first one to notice the smell as he lives next door. He’s a strong young man, not to mention rather handsome, and he would’ve broken the door down, or called the police.’
‘Greg!’ said Molly, and then realised she’d said it aloud. ‘Sorry. I know Hanna Shaw lives in the cottage at the other end of the row, and you both live next-door-but-one, but I couldn’t remember Greg’s name.’
‘Do you remember ours?’ one of the ladies said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
‘Erm. To be honest, not really. I’m sorry. I only remembered Hanna’s because her surname rhymes with mine. Hannah Shaw and Molly Law. And also because my mum loves her artwork. She’s bought a couple of Hanna’s paintings.’
‘No need to apologise, dear. That’s fine. And everyone knows Hanna and her stunning artwork so of course you would remember her. old biddies like us are easily forgettable.’
‘Speak for yourself, Rita! I don’t think I’m easily forgettable. And neither, sister-dear, are you.’
‘You’re probably right. And yet, Molly has forgotten us.’ She shook her head at her sister and then smiled sweetly at Molly. ‘I’m Vera Boot, dear, and this is my sister Rita.’
‘I’m the pretty one.’ Rita winked, nudging her twin sister, who giggled and rolled her eyes.
‘You’re the older one,’ Vera said, and winked at Molly.
‘By two minutes!’ Rita harrumphed, and then laughed.
‘At our age, dear, two minutes is a long time.’
‘Especially a two-minute conversation with you, dear,’ Rita retorted, with another nudge.
They clearly had a sense of humour. Something Molly’s grandmother had definitely lacked.
‘We were eighty in March,’ Vera said. ‘We had a little party and it was so much fun. If Millicent had still been alive, we would’ve invited her. But she had died before we sent the invitations out. Not that she would’ve come. She didn’t like parties, did she?’
‘Millicent didn’t like anything,’ Rita snapped. ‘Oh good heavens, dear. Me and my mouth. It’s like a runaway train sometimes. But … she wasn’t a friendly woman, was she?’
Molly shook her head. ‘Sadly not.’
‘Do give our condolences to your father, dear,’ Vera said. ‘You all live in Folkestone, don’t you? Will he be selling Oak View Cottage, do you think? Or hasn’t he decided yet?’
And there it was. The question Molly had known would be coming.
Molly swiped at her eyes. She had always known how her grandmother had felt about her so why was she getting upset now? Was it because this was all still such a surprise? Or because standing here and talking about her grandmother with these cheerful sisters who were close to her grandmother’s age, and yet so different in character from the woman, had made all the sad memories come flooding back? Memories of all the times Molly had tried, in vain, to make her grandmother like her. Of all the times the woman had been downright mean and cruel and cold to her. Of the time when Molly had called round to see her and Millicent had shut the door in her face.
‘I didn’t invite you, girl,’ she had said. ‘This is most inconvenient. Never come here again uninvited.’
Molly cleared her throat and inhaled deeply, forcing a smile to her face as the Boot sisters stared at her with keen interest.
‘Actually, my grandmother didn’t leave the cottage to my dad. She left it to me. Much to everyone’s surprise. Especially mine. Frankly, I thought my grandmother hated me.’ Molly hadn’t meant to say that, but the words had come tumbling out.
‘Hated you?’ Vera and Rita exchanged concerned glances.
‘Oh no, dear,’ Rita said. ‘Millicent loved you very much.’
‘Well,’ Vera added. ‘As much as Millicent could love anyone.’
Molly’s strangled laugh surprised even her. ‘Loved me very much! She slammed the door in my face when I was in my teens. And just because I had the audacity to visit her when I hadn’t been invited!’
The women both nodded.
‘Ah yes,’ said Rita. ‘No one ever called on Millicent without an invitation.’
‘It had been the same all her life,’ Vera confirmed. ‘Even when she was a girl.’
Rita nodded. ‘Yes. But that was because of her mum’s condition .’
Vera put a finger to her lips. ‘Shush, Rita,’ she whispered. ‘We promised we would never talk about that.’
Rita’s cheeks flushed red and she stepped from one foot to another, looking awkward. ‘I forgot. Sorry.’
Molly wasn’t sure what was going on. ‘Condition? What, condition?’
‘It’s really none of our business,’ Vera said, searching in her handbag.
‘It was all so long ago,’ Rita declared, waving a hand in the air. ‘And our memories aren’t what they were.’
Vera frowned at her sister. ‘My memory is fine, thank you.’
‘Yes. So is mine. But…’ she tipped her head in Molly’s direction. ‘We promised.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ Vera tutted, and snapped her handbag shut. ‘I give up. I’m sure I put my key in my handbag but it isn’t there. Do you have yours?’
‘No,’ replied Rita. ‘But why do you need a key? We left the front door unlocked as we always do … didn’t we?’
‘Of course we did!’ Vera beamed at Molly. ‘We’d best be off, dear. We’re sure you’ve got plenty to do. It was lovely to see you again.’
‘Wait!’ Molly pleaded as they began to move off. ‘What condition were you talking about? Was there something wrong with my great-grandmother?’
‘We hardly knew her, dear,’ said Vera, linking her arm through her sister’s and hurrying them both away.
‘Ask your father, dear,’ Rita called over her shoulder. ‘We promised we wouldn’t say.’
Molly stared after them, trying to figure out what they’d meant. They were walking even faster now than they had been earlier, and they soon closed their front door behind them after each of them shot a final look in Molly’s direction.
She was tempted to go and knock on the door and ask for an explanation. But perhaps there wasn’t one. They were both elderly, and that business with the key, and the very fact that they left their front door unlocked, indicated that, despite what they thought, their memories might not be as good as they believed. After all, what condition could Millicent’s mother have had? And why would it have dictated when people could visit? Molly’s dad had never mentioned anything. But Rita had told her to ask him.
Molly reached into her handbag and took out her phone. She stared at the screen for a few seconds, umming and ahhing and trying to decide what to do. And then she pressed the icon for her dad and waited for him to answer.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Hi, Dad. I’m not sure. I’ve just had the strangest conversation with two of grandmother’s neighbours. The Boot sisters. Do you remember them?’
He laughed. ‘Who could forget the Boot sisters? Of course I remember them. They gave me sweets when I was a boy. And even when I was a teenager, come to think of it. In fact, even when I became a man. Anyway, they must be in their seventies or eighties by now. They sent flowers to the undertakers, and your mum and I sent them a little thank you note explaining that your grandmother had stated that she didn’t want a funeral, so only family would be at the cremation.’
Molly shivered at the memory of that day. The day her grandmother was cremated. No funeral service, no music, no words of goodbye, just Molly and her parents sitting in the crematorium to watch the coffin going on its way. It took all of five minutes from start to finish. A send-off as miserable as her grandmother had been.
‘They were eighty in March,’ Molly said, absentmindedly.
‘They’ll live to a grand old age, I don’t doubt. So why was the conversation strange?’
‘What? Oh. Because we were talking about grandmother and how anyone who visited her had to have an invitation, and then they said it had been that way all her life. Even when she was a child. But that it was because of her own mum’s condition. And then they became flustered. As if they’d let the cat out of the bag or something. And when I asked what condition they were referring to, they said it was none of their business, and that they had promised not to say. And then they virtually ran away. But one of them – Rita – said I should ask you. So I’m asking. Was there something wrong with my great grandmother?’
‘What? Not that I know of. Only that, from memory, she was even more miserable and unkind than my own mother. And that is saying something.’
‘But … she wasn’t … unwell or anything?’
He didn’t reply right away and an ominous silence hung in the air.
‘Not … not that I recall. No. Was that all they said?’
‘Yes. And it sounded … weird. Almost as if … the family had something to hide. Something … more sinister than just being thoroughly unpleasant people.’
‘Hmm. Well then, I think we need to have a word with the Boot sisters and find out what they meant. Although I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, sweetheart. I lived in that cottage until I met and married your mum, and in all those twenty-five years I never saw or heard anything … sinister. Do you think there might be a body stashed somewhere?’ His laughter made Molly grin.
‘Of course not, Dad. But … well … it was the way they said it, and the expressions on their faces. It made it seem as if it might have been something serious. And something no one was allowed to talk about.’
‘I can’t think what that could be. Honestly, Molly, I don’t think it’s anything you need to concern yourself with. We’ll have a chat with them and sort it all out. Okay? That cottage has been in our family for generations. Mum’s parents lived there all their lives, and her dad’s parents lived there before that. That’s more than two hundred years of the Law family living in Oak View Cottage. Betancourt Bay is a tiny village. People have probably said all sorts of things about one another and the other residents, over the centuries. That doesn’t mean any of those things are true. It’s probably just gossip.’
Molly let out a sigh. ‘I suppose you’re right. Grandmother wasn’t pleasant, and she wasn’t particularly liked, so if her mother was the same way, people possibly made things up about her. Sorry I bothered you with this.’
‘Don’t be sorry. You know you can ask me anything.’
‘I know, Dad. And thanks. I’ll see you later at home. Love you. Bye.’
‘Love you too.’
Molly smiled as she put her phone back in her handbag. It was incredible how different her dad was from his own mum. They were like chalk and cheese. Her dad was warm, kind, and loving. Millicent had been cold, unkind, and uncaring. Her dad laughed a lot. Millicent had never even smiled.
Molly hadn’t known her grandfather, so perhaps her dad took after him. They would never know. His dad had died when he was just a boy and he didn’t even remember him. Millicent had always refused to talk about her husband, saying that his memory brought her grief to the fore and she simply couldn’t bear it.
But a thought occurred to Molly. They had taken Millicent’s papers and personal belongings to their home in Folkestone and had planned to go through them all at some stage, but had stored them in the garage for the time being. Perhaps it was time to see what those boxes of papers and belongings contained.
The ringtone of her mobile made her jump. She didn’t recognise the number at first and then she realised it was Jemma Granger’s, who was probably calling to say that she had left the motorway and would shortly be at Oak View Cottage.
‘Hello, Jemma,’ Molly began, but Jemma cut her short.
‘I’m so sorry, Molly, but I’m going to be late. Very late, I think. I’ve been stuck in traffic for almost half an hour now and it doesn’t look as if it’s going to be moving anytime soon. I’m in the middle of a motorway so I can’t even turn off and find an alternative route. I’ve been trying to call you but you’ve been engaged. I think I’m only about ten miles from Betancourt Bay, so it shouldn’t take me long once we do move. Is it possible for us to rearrange our meeting? Or, if it’s better for you, I could pick up the keys from someone else. Or come to your house to collect them.’
Molly tutted, but it wasn’t Jemma’s fault. Saturday traffic was often horrendous and journey-times were difficult to plan, plus there were roadworks everywhere these days.
‘Don’t worry, Jemma.’ She consulted her watch. ‘It’s not yet four, and I was here early. I’ll check the travel news to see if I can find out what’s causing the hold-up, and I’ll get back to you. I can go and have a cup of coffee in the local café if it’s not going to be too long.’
‘Are you sure?’ Jemma let out an audible sigh. ‘I thought as it was Saturday, you might have plans for tonight. Like a date or something. And you’d want to get away as soon as possible.’
Now it was Molly’s turn to sigh. ‘No date. No boyfriend. No plans. Apart from with my dad, and some boxes in our garage.’
‘That is such a relief. Oh! Not about you not having a boyfriend. Just that I’m not ruining any big plans. Erm. I’ll check on this end too and I’ll let you know if I find anything. At least the weather’s good. It might be worse if it were raining.’
‘Don’t tempt Fate,’ Molly replied, ignoring the comment about her not having a boyfriend. The less said about that, the better. She couldn’t recall the last date she had been on. Except that it was a disaster. ‘But I’ve got my car here so I wouldn’t get wet if it did. Drive safely. And don’t worry. We’ll work something out.’
‘Ah,’ said Jemma. ‘You know you just said, “Don’t tempt Fate”, well, it seems I did.’
‘It’s raining?’ Molly glanced up at a cloudless blue sky in disbelief.
‘Just a few splashes on the windscreen at the moment but there’re a couple of massive gunmetal grey clouds overhead.’
‘It’s blue sky here.’
Jemma sighed again. ‘That’s precisely what I’ve been hoping. In more ways than one.’
Molly sniggered at that. ‘I know the feeling. We all need some sunshine in our lives. I’ll see you soon, Jemma.’