Mistakes We Make Page 11

  ‘That’s bad luck,’ someone had muttered, staring down river.

  ‘Rubbish. Stupid old superstition,’ another had retorted.

  ‘Six crows. They say it means a death.’

  ‘Shut up, Angus, don’t be such an old killjoy.’

  Adam, still laughing at Molly’s boots, had fleetingly thought the comment macabre and then forgotten it. Oddly, the words came back to him now. There had been a death. Jamie Gordon had died, and with his death any chance of saving Adam’s marriage seemed to have died as well.

  He said to his aunt, ‘I thought she was right for me too. Sadly, Molly thought otherwise.’

  It was boorish to blame her and he regretted his words immediately.

  A door somewhere opened, creaking on old hinges.

  Jean put a hand over his and said, before his father could arrive and interrupt their conversation, ‘Fight for her, Adam. She’s worth it.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘You’re on.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It’s Molly. I said “you’re on”.’

  There was a whoop at the other end of the line.

  ‘I’m delighted, Molly, really I am,’ Barnaby Fletcher crowed. ‘This is the beginning of something great!’

  ‘Me too. I can’t tell you how excited I am!’

  The job at Fleming House had been a godsend, but it wasn’t what Molly wanted to do indefinitely. She had so much more to offer than pandering to bridezillas or sweet-talking low-level corporate types who thought their booking was God’s gift. And with Adam having a new woman in his life ...

  Well, that was it. The end of a marriage she should probably have insisted on winding up some time ago, and the beginning of a new life on her own. At last she’d started along the motorway of arrangements and rearrangements that would end in London.

  ‘Your timing was impeccable,’ she told Barnaby. ‘I’m ready for a new challenge.’

  ‘And Fletcher Keir is ready for you.’

  ‘Keir Fletcher.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It sounds better. Say it, Barnaby. Keir Fletcher. Keir Fletcher. Keir Fletcher. It has a fantastic ring to it.’

  ‘But it—’ There was a silence at the other end of the line.

  ‘Oh God,’ Molly said, ‘I know what you’re thinking. It gives me more prominence. But that wasn’t it at all. It was just ... Forget it. It’s your business.’

  ‘Actually,’ Barnaby said, ‘once your money goes in, we’ll be equal owners.’

  ‘Well, whatever. We could call it Peach. Or Indigo Peach. We could call it Random Feather. Or Jubilee Monday. We can call it anything we want!’

  This was heady stuff. A business to play with! No, not ‘a’ business – her business.

  Barnaby laughed, the whole-body chuckle that never failed to lift her spirits. ‘You’ve just underlined exactly why you’re the best person to join me, Molly. You’re so sparky and creative. I love it. Now – to the nitty gritty. Can you fly down to London? Even just a day would do. We should meet and talk everything over. I’ll get the legal papers drafted, you need to get them checked and, of course, you need to get the capital lined up. How soon can that be organised?’

  Molly’s heart sank. She’d considered every possible alternative, gone down every avenue, and all exploration led back to the same inescapable conclusion – the sale of the house was the only way of financing her new venture.

  ‘I’ll call Adam today. It might take a month or two to get the cash through. I suppose I could talk to the bank and see if they’ll give me a bridging loan.’

  ‘Bridging loan? You’ll be lucky, these days. Listen, I’ll talk to my people and see what they say. A legally binding promissory note might be enough in the short term, but it would have to be short term. The business needs the capital injection.’

  ‘Got it. Don’t worry, Barnaby – I bet the house sells within a week.’

  An hour later, she put the phone down and scanned the list she’d been making as they talked.

  • Talk to Adam

  • Hand in my notice

  • Alert lawyer and bank.

  Amazingly short for such a big step, but she’d already told her father and Lexie knew, and those two people were the most important in her life. She didn’t suppose Logan would miss her much and the only impact on Adam would be the sale of the house. As for friends, she’d hidden away here for so long that most of them had given up on her, apart from Lexie. Still, London was going to be a new start, and she was ready for it.

  Her mobile rang. Lexie – perfect timing.

  ‘Hi. I was just thinking about you. I’ve accepted the job in Lon—’

  ‘Molly! Help me!’

  Molly corkscrewed round in her chair and sat bolt upright. ‘What is it? Have you fallen? What’s wrong?’

  Lexie groaned. The sound started low and built in volume until it was more of a howl than a moan.

  Molly shot to her feet. ‘Christ Almighty, what’s happened?’

  The scream subsided into ragged panting. ‘I’ve gone into labour!’

  ‘But you’re not due for another month.’

  ‘Tell the baby!’

  ‘Where are you? Where’s Patrick? Have you called the hospital?’

  There was another groan.

  ‘Speak to me, Lex. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m ... in ... the ... cottage.’

  Molly shoved the phone into her pocket and ran. A minute later, she was hammering on the front door of the gardener’s cottage. Damn it! Why was the thing locked? Lexie never locked it, unless she was sleeping here – a rare event these days.

  ‘Lexie! It’s me! Let me in!’

  From somewhere inside she could hear the unearthly moaning again.

  ‘Lexie! Can you get to the door?’

  ‘Wait! C-coming.’

  There was a heart-stopping pause, then the sound of dragging footsteps. The key grated in the lock and Molly was able to push the door open.

  ‘Thank God! Are you OK?’

  Lexie’s skin was pallid against the crimson of her hair. Sweat gleamed on her face, the unhealthy, oily slick of the unwell.

  ‘It’s started.’

  Molly put one arm around her waist and the other across her shoulders. ‘Come on. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable. Where’s Patrick?’

  ‘Tokyo.’

  ‘Shit. No point in calling him, then.’

  Unexpectedly, Lexie laughed. ‘Typical man, huh? Never there when you need them.’

  ‘Have you called an ambulance?’

  Lexie started walking up and down the corridor. She turned by the front door and strode back to the studio door, turned and came back to the front door. It was a short corridor, only a dozen feet, hardly the place for a walk. At the front door she paused for a moment, turned again, paced the length of the corridor, turned the handle of the studio door and flung it open. Light flooded in.

  The cottage was tiny, just a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, but its outstanding feature was the large living room with its three floor-to-ceiling French windows leading into the mansion’s old walled garden. Autumn, Molly noticed as she followed Lexie into the bright space, was here. The tall beech tree in the far corner of the garden was turning to gold and leaves were already whipping free and swirling to the ground in the brisk morning breeze. It was secluded and pretty, but above all, it faced north and threw flat light into the room – which was why Lexie had made this space her studio. Large canvases were stacked against the wall and an easel stood near the far window, the last painting for her exhibition awaiting final touches.

  Not today though. It seemed as if today was going to be the day when something – someone – quite different would be clamouring for attention.

  Lexie, striding determinedly round the perimeter of the room, said, ‘God, no. You can’t call an ambulance unless it’s an emergency and they don’t consider being in labour an emergency. Oh Molly!’ She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes
huge and dark against the pasty white skin. ‘What if there’s something wrong? She shouldn’t be coming yet – aahh!’

  She doubled up again as a contraction wracked her body.

  ‘Let’s not panic,’ said Molly, panicking. She was used to coping with crises. A sick chef, a hungover band, no wine – such things were the stuff of day-to-day event management emergencies. But a baby?

  She watched helplessly. Patrick would be better at this than she was. He was always calm and in control. On the other hand – this was his baby too, and he was totally in love with Lexie. How would he cope with watching her suffer?

  ‘Right,’ she said decisively. ‘I’d better get you to hospital. This is the real thing, you reckon? Not just one of those false labour whatnots?’

  Lexie gritted her teeth. ‘Molly. My waters have broken, the contractions are less than ten minutes apart. It may be unusual to go into labour so quickly with a first baby, but yes, believe me, this is the real thing.’

  ‘OK. I’ll get the car round.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can sit in it.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know if I can sit at all.’

  ‘What am I meant to do then?’

  ‘Listen, get the car, we’ll figure it out. Hurry!’

  Molly fled. All thoughts of London, of Barnaby, of having to face Adam were gone. The only thing that mattered now was Lexie, and getting the baby delivered safely. The enormity of the task hit her. This was about a new life. Please let everything be all right, she prayed, and felt like adding, childlike, if you make everything all right, I promise to be good. Whatever that meant.

  Lexie stared at the back of the car, where Molly had thrown half a dozen towels seized from her bathroom.

  ‘Towels? Why towels?’

  Molly shrugged. ‘I dunno. Anything you ever read about birth seems to involve boiling water and lots of towels. I managed the second bit.’

  ‘Well, I sincerely hope we don’t need them. How am I meant to get in?’

  Molly stared at the back door of her car, which she was holding wide open.

  ‘It’s a Volvo, Lex, not a Mini.’

  ‘I can’t sit down.’

  ‘Then kneel. Whatever, I dunno, but unless you want to have this baby on the grass, you’re going to have to do something.’

  Lexie clambered in. ‘These towels might be useful after all,’ she muttered, arranging them around her as she half lay, half knelt along the back seat.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Just go!’

  Molly shot into reverse. Pebbles sprayed left and right as she threw the car into a turn and headed for the drive.

  ‘Jeez!’

  ‘OK in the back?’ Molly called anxiously over her shoulder.

  ‘If this baby doesn’t finish me off, your driving will.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to get to the hospital.’

  ‘Alive.’

  Molly, glancing in the rear-view mirror, saw Lexie fling out an arm to brace herself against the back seat as she braked at the bottom of the drive.

  ‘Fast? Or safe? Which?’ she demanded irritably.

  For answer there was only another moan. She sped up. It was three miles to the main road, but at least the hospital was on the right side of Edinburgh. All she had to do was hit the city bypass and it would be plain sailing.

  ‘Damn!’

  She stopped.

  ‘What? What is it?’ came a voice from the back.

  ‘Nothing. There’s a queue at the roundabout.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Won’t take long,’ Molly said, much more confidently than she felt.

  For a few minutes there was silence. Then Lexie said, ‘Soon I’ll be a mother.’

  ‘Have you only just realised that?’

  ‘It’s becoming more concrete. It’s been more about being pregnant till now. Soon the baby will be real. I wonder what it will be like.’

  ‘What? The birth? The baby? Or being a mother?’

  ‘Being a mother.’

  ‘Endless,’ Molly said dryly. The queue began to inch forwards. She could see the roundabout half a mile away.

  Lexie went on as though she hadn’t heard. ‘No more quick weekends away. No more peaceful nights. No more special time just with Patrick.’

  ‘It’s what you wanted.’

  ‘It was Patrick who wanted it. He had such a shitty time with his own father back in Ireland, I think he’s got the urge to prove he could do better.’

  ‘He’ll be a great dad.’ Molly rolled forward again. With luck, she might make the next change of lights.

  ‘Aargh!’

  ‘You all right?’ Molly asked anxiously, wondering whether there was any way she could nose the Volvo between the lines of traffic. It wouldn’t make her popular.

  Behind her, Lexie had started panting heavily. ‘Fine,’ came through gritted teeth. ‘I could run a marathon. What do you think?’

  ‘I think we’re off,’ Molly answered thankfully, whisking through the lights at the roundabout just as they turned red. A car, fast off the mark from her right, beeped furiously. She ignored the angry face of the young male driver. He’d change that expression fast enough if he had to stop and help deliver a baby. ‘Five minutes. Can you hang on?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll just tell baby not to be impatient.’

  Molly grinned.

  Seven minutes later, she pulled up outside the maternity wing of the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. The back door swung open and Lexie tumbled out, staggered the few yards to the large glass doors, and sank onto her hands and knees.

  ‘I’ll have to park the car,’ Molly called. ‘You OK for a minute?’

  Already the doors were swinging open and Molly could see a porter wheeling a chair across to where Lexie was kneeling. She was in the hands of professionals.

  Thank goodness.

  But for all the strength of the early contractions, the baby wasn’t keen on emerging. The hospital wanted to send Lexie home, but her blood pressure was rising. Molly had never imagined that giving birth could be such an extended process. Lexie was determined to have a natural birth, but as she grew tired, her fears grew.

  ‘What if something’s not right?’ she cried, squeezing Molly’s hand until it hurt. ‘What if there’s something wrong with her?’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Molly said, trying not to wince at the pressure on her fingers. If she could help Lexie through childbirth, a sore hand was a small price to pay. Still, watching her friend sweat and cry out only to fall back onto her pillows in a state of utter exhaustion confirmed one thing absolutely: she was never going to put herself through this.

  ‘What if she isn’t though?’

  ‘Then you and Patrick will deal with it,’ Molly said quietly, smiling steadily at Lexie.

  ‘Patrick! Oh my God, I haven’t told him! Have you called?’

  Molly said soothingly, ‘I’ve left a message. I’m sure he’ll call back as soon as he can.’

  But Patrick’s phone had been switched off and she had no idea whether he’d pick up the message.

  As the day drew on and the soft grey of evening melted into the blackness of night, Molly wondered whether it would ever end. At some point Lexie’s mother, Martha, appeared and Molly was able to sneak away to the canteen for some refreshment, although it was hard to concentrate on eating.

  It was almost six in the morning when Lexie finally gave birth. Molly had been sitting in the hard chair by the side of the rumpled bed for more hours than she could count.

  ‘I can’t go on,’ Lexie said, flopping back tiredly against the pillows. ‘I can’t do this any more.’

  She looked weary to the bone. Her scarlet hair, usually a jaunty crown atop her head, was flattened and plastered down with sweat. Her chocolate brown eyes were dull with fatigue and she had pale blue smudges in the hollows underneath them.

  Molly hadn’t dared look in a mirror to check her own appearance. She longed to sleep. She’d already cajo
led Lexie through several crises, and was beginning to lack the stamina to talk her through another when the midwife said suddenly, ‘Give me your hand.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your hand.’

  The midwife looked excited. When Lexie reluctantly extended one arm, she took hold of Lexie’s hand and guided it down between her legs. ‘Feel it?’

  The transformation on Lexie’s face was astonishing. Molly, almost too tired to follow what was happening, sat up.

  ‘What? What is it?’ she cried.

  ‘It’s the head,’ Lexie whispered, awed. ‘Oh Molly, it’s the baby’s head. She’s coming!’

  ‘When I tell you to push, push,’ said the midwife.

  This time Lexie didn’t say, ‘I can’t,’ or whimper exhaustedly. She was like a new woman. She leaned forward, and pushed.

  The door of the birthing room swung open.

  ‘I’m not too late, am I?’

  ‘Patrick!’

  Patrick Mulgrew, more dishevelled than Molly had ever seen him, strode to the bed. Lexie took one look at him and gave one last magnificent heave. The baby slithered out, red and protesting, her head covered in fine black down. Lexie started laughing and crying at the same time. Molly, slipping out of Patrick’s way, stood at the foot of the bed and took in this newly minted family. Lexie was soon cradling the baby and looking up at Patrick, who had encircled his lover and his child in a protective embrace.

  Molly watched as Patrick extended tentative fingers towards the slippery skin of his newborn child. He could have held her in just one of his strong hands.

  Tears welled up in Molly’s eyes.

  I didn’t think I’d feel like this.

  It had taken seventeen long hours and she had not known she was on a journey, but in these last few seconds, her universe had spun and everything she thought she wanted had been tossed into the air and landed in a jumbled mess around her feet.

  A baby. So perfect, so tiny, so wanted.

  A loving family.

  Molly fished in her pocket and found a tissue. Turning away, she blew her nose surreptitiously.

  She had turned her back on her chances, and now she might never find this kind of happiness.