36. Molly
Chapter 36
Molly
I t’s Friday, the day of the scan, the one where they will finally find out the sex of the baby, and Molly is quietly excited. The plan is to head for Norfolk this evening, straight after the appointment, and share the news with both families before they tell anyone else, although her mum is still insistent that it won’t be news to her. She already knows that the baby is a boy and it always has been.
Molly is busy baking. She’s heard about a little market a short bus ride away that’s held on alternate Sundays and she’s thinking of taking a stall before Christmas, selling decorated cupcakes with snowy toppings and trying out a range of gingerbread biscuits in festive shapes, as gifts or for hanging on the tree as decorations. She has made a small trial batch of gingerbreads as a present for Sian and Ralph, who she hasn’t seen since the accident in their hall, using a dog-shaped cutter and adding red icing collars, little eyes and a black tip to the tails. She just knows they’ll love them.
She is making cakes to take home to Shelling too, of course. She could hardly set up a gender-reveal cake business and not make some to mark her own big moment. Her parents have booked a table at the Brown Cow for dinner, but there will always be room for cake. She smiles at the thought of them all round the table, her own family and Jack’s, doing a countdown and then biting into the cakes at the exact same moment, everybody finding out together whether the secret centre is pink or blue.
She lays out all the ingredients, the two bottles of food colouring standing side by side. There won’t be time after leaving the hospital to come back and bake, if they are to catch the early evening train. She knows it will be a waste but there is no option but to bake cakes with middles in both colours, and then throw the ‘wrong’ ones away, maybe feed them to the pigeons outside the station. They won’t care what colour they are.
Molly sings along to a tune on the radio as she works. She hadn’t expected to settle in London, much as she had been willing to give it a try, but being pregnant, making friends, and getting absorbed in her baking, have given her new purpose. Yes, a bigger flat with an extra bedroom, and definitely a bigger kitchen, would be nice, but that would all come in time. There is only so long a baby can sleep in a small cot beside their bed. It, he, she will need a room of its own soon enough. And Jack will want to move onwards, upwards too. There will be better jobs, more responsibility, more money. Maybe more children too. She thinks he has finally got his head around the idea of becoming a dad and, while still not exactly singing about it, there has been a sort of acceptance lately, maybe even a touch of excitement. He’s still asking regularly about which fruit or vegetable he can compare it to, so that has to be a good thing. And he does know what the soon-to-be large banana or bunch of carrots look like, which is an improvement on the mysteries of the artichoke dimensions the baby has apparently reached this week. Jack wouldn’t know how big an artichoke was supposed to be if his life depended on it. Not that she would either!
She stirs the cake mixture with a big wooden spoon. Something about the physical effort, the idea of her own gender-reveal offerings made lovingly by hand, keeps her away from the electric mixer this morning. They are going to be bigger than usual, simply because they are hers and Jack’s. In her head, she counts out how many cakes she will need for the family, then adds a few more to allow for possible damage en route, and another one for Flossie, the dog.
Jack was in a rush this morning. It’s only a few days before his pet project goes ‘live’. She knows very little about it, just that it has to go well. It’s a matter of reputation, satisfaction, pride. His first really important piece of work since they arrived, his first chance to prove himself to the consultancy firm he works for now, a step on the ladder towards the next challenge, whatever and wherever that might be.
She had made a grab for him as he left, laying his hand on her belly, planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘You won’t forget, will you? This is important, Jack, and I want you there with me. To meet our baby together. The appointment is at four o’clock, so I need you back here by half past two really to allow plenty of time, if we’re going together on the Tube, and taking our weekend bag and the cake carrier with us. We are, aren’t we?’
‘Of course. Well, I hope so. But you know how it is. I might get held up, and you can’t carry all that stuff by yourself, so if I’m not here by three, get a taxi to the hospital and I’ll meet you there. Worst-case scenario though, because I will do my absolute best to get home in time so we can go together.’
‘Looking forward to finally knowing?’
He nods. ‘And to proving your mum wrong if it’s a girl, obviously.’
She had nudged him, laughing. ‘She won’t like that!’
She wonders if Jack is secretly hoping for a girl. And, if he is, is it only to get one over on her poor mum? He’ll be teasing her forever if she’s wrong.
The phone rings just as she’s putting the cakes into the oven.
‘Mum. Talk of the devil! I was just thinking about you.’
‘All good, I hope?’ her mum says, not waiting for a response. ‘Just calling to check on your train time. Your dad will come and meet you at the station. But don’t you go telling him, will you? On the drive over. I want to be the first to know.’
‘Of course I won’t. Jack’s mum will be bursting to find out too, and it’s only fair we tell you all together. We’re hoping to catch the five thirty train, so we should get in to Norwich about twenty past seven. We’re pushing things a bit with Tubes and traffic and everything, and knowing what hospitals are like the scan could well be running late, so if we’re unlucky we might have to catch a later one. Then it could be quite a late dinner, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s fine, love. The rest of us will meet in the pub for a drink anyway, then your dad’ll bring you straight there to join us. Oh, I’m that excited I don’t think I’ll be able to eat a thing!’
‘Well, leave room for cake.’
‘Oh no. Nothing sweet for me, love. I’m watching my waistline. Just my usual pie and mash.’
Molly smiles to herself. Pie and mash is her mum’s idea of a diet. With lashings of gravy too, probably! ‘You’ll want this cake, Mum, I promise you. See you later.’
Molly blows a loud kiss down the line and hangs up.
When the cakes are cool, she carefully slices the top off each one, scoops out a hollow in the middle and spoons a big dollop of pink-stained butter icing into half of them, then lays the spongey tops back on to make a mound and smothers the whole thing with a thick swirl of pure white icing to stick it tightly back together. She repeats the whole procedure with the blue, then lifts and checks each one, making sure no tell-tale colour is seeping out anywhere. She has kept the sponge itself a neutral cakey beige this time, not wanting to risk the tiniest glimpse of colour emerging through the outer casing of icing on the way. Trains can be bumpy, and there must be no accidental reveal before she is ready.
She gazes at the finished cakes with pride, then has a minor panic trying to remember which plate holds the pink centres and which the blue. But, of course, she knows. She’s a professional now, and not about to make that sort of silly mistake. She writes a quick note to label them anyway, just in case she forgets. She gets the cake carrier ready to load later, picks up a gingerbread and bites its little doggy head off with a satisfying crunch, then goes to the bedroom to pack their bag for the weekend.
It’s quarter to three and Jack isn’t here. Molly sits, with her coat and shoes already on, the bags at her feet, the cakes carefully encased in their carrier and her handbag on her lap. She knows she is tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair and wills herself to stop. It’s no good getting impatient or worked up about it. It’s not good for her blood pressure.
She wonders if there’s time to make a cup of tea, especially as she’s heard that a full bladder can help to get a good scan picture, or is that only in the earlier stages? But then, bursting for a wee on a busy Tube train doesn’t sound like a comfortable experience and it’s not one she fancies risking, so maybe another drink is not such a great idea after all.
She looks at her watch again. Still only ten to. She knows, and so does Jack, that she was being extra cautious in her planning. The walk to the Tube station, and the walk to the hospital at the other end, are easy enough to work out. It’s just the trains themselves that can be temperamental. She opens her phone and checks for the latest updates, but there are no reported delays. She’s panicking over nothing. The whole thing won’t take more than an hour at the most. They still have time if he hurries up and gets here.
It’s three o’clock, and time to give up and call a taxi. But she calls Jack first, just in case he really is almost here, desperate to make it in time, as excited as she is. Apparently not. She listens to his phone ringing and ringing, then his answerphone messaging kicks in.
‘Hi, this is Jack Doherty. Busy right now, but not too busy to call you back. Leave me your name and number.’
Maybe he’s on his way, underground, out of signal. Or right outside the door already and about to put his key in the lock. She moves to the window and peers out. He’s not there. Still, the light-hearted, casual tone to his voice makes her want to yell at him. ‘Busy? Busy doing what?’ Doesn’t he know this appointment matters more? Has he even remembered?
‘Where are you, Jack? We’re going to be late. I’ll have to meet you there now.’ She tries not to sound too annoyed, but she is. This is so typical of him. There’s no real enthusiasm, no excitement in him. Nothing to match the way she feels about this baby. There never has been. ‘Call me back, please.’
He doesn’t.