Dear Georgina,
I had hoped to hear back from you, darling girl. But then there is nothing more cruel than hope, is there? And if you are hoping that ignoring my letters will cause me to give up on you, on us, then, my dear daughter, your hopes, I’m afraid, will also be dashed. Please can we meet? You choose the place? I just want to talk. We need to talk. Please get in touch.
With cursed hope and love,
Your mother,
Lydia Wright X
Georgina thought the worst she would wake up to the next day was a hangover. She was partly right. She had a hangover from hell and a letter from her mother.
After her father’s death, she had stared at the post office’s redirection request form. Just stared. Eventually, numb to everything, she had sent off the form with just her father’s name. The next occupant of the house would receive the letters from her mother and no doubt cross out the name Georgina Wright and scribble Return to sender, something Georgina could never quite bring herself to do.
She sipped at a mug steaming with strong coffee and stood looking out at the square with her mother’s letter tucked in her trouser pocket. Thankfully Daisy May seemed none the worse for her night out. Would Molly collect her today? Would she call? Should Georgina invite her over for a late breakfast maybe—make it clear that she wanted to see her again? Was that too eager? After all there was nothing worse than emotions spilling out unchecked with no regard for their effect on those in their wake.
She pulled her mother’s letter out of her pocket and reread it before slipping the page back into its envelope. She then ripped it several times and tossed it on top of the pizza box to be thrown away.
Why a second letter so soon after the first? What was she so desperate to talk about, or rather, what on earth did she imagine she could say that would change the fact that she left and never came back? As for her hope, so what? Georgina had given her no reason to hold out for anything. And as for her own hopes, what did they have to do with her mother anyway? Nothing. Georgina’s feelings were her own and her heart belonged to no one else. That was how it had always been and would be, wouldn’t it?
She looked at the throw on the floor and at the scattered cushions and the dusting of pizza crust crumbs. Molly. She smiled at the memory of the night before, recalling their laughter and the intimacy of their chat. How easy Molly was to talk to, and how easy it would be to trust her and to share things with her that she had never felt able or wanted to share with anyone else before. And Molly had wanted to be with her, as she found another topic or poured another glass of wine, anything for the evening not to end. And then when it ended, Molly had kissed her, pressing soft lips lightly against her cheek. Georgina had fallen asleep with the sensation of Molly’s kiss on her skin and the sound of Molly’s laughter in her head, and she had slept not for a few hours but all night long.
She gathered the throw and held it against her heart before resting it to cover the arm of the sofa once more. As she did so something dropped to the floor. She picked it up and laughed at the sight of the sweetest of flightless birds.
Should she? Could she? Georgina took a photo of the corkscrew. She then attached it to an email which read, Forgotten anyone?
She pressed send and looked out at Daisy May. The reply came back by return.
Morning!
Georgina typed, Your phone number or it’s straight back to the zoo!
There was no immediate reply. Was that email too forward? Had she misread something, everything? She sat on the edge of her father’s chair with the phone resting in her lap. She pressed refresh. Nothing.
And then the shadow of the movement of a shape outside half caught her eye. She startled at the sudden knock at the door. It would be the estate agent no doubt. She sat motionless. Could she ignore it? The second knock drummed out a melody of sorts. Surely too familiar for an estate agent?
She hesitantly opened the front door only to find Molly standing on the steps with a brown bag crammed with what smelled like breakfast. Molly?
Molly was wearing flared blue denim jeans and a coffee coloured T-shirt with the image of Animal from The Muppet Show. A large multicoloured woollen jumper was tied around her waist. Her hair was scooped underneath a blue fisherman’s cap and large sunglasses shaded her eyes.
Georgina let out a gasp of laughter, in every way an outpouring of relief and delight.
Molly held up a defensive hand. “Don’t judge me. When I have a hangover, the only thing that seems to help is a full monty breakfast roll from Mr. Brown’s around the corner. It literally has everything. I figured if I needed one, then you probably did too. Oh, I made an executive decision and went brown sauce and runny yolk. Good morning.”
“Thank God for you.” Georgina meant every word. “I’ll make you a strong coffee to go with it. I’ve already had two. I frankly feel like death warmed up.”
Molly beamed a smile in reply. She took off her hat and her hair fell loose at her shoulders and back. “Yep. I get that. I’m dosed up on paracetamol.” Molly gingerly lowered her sunglasses. “And still everything’s a bit too bright and a bit too loud.”
Georgina whispered, “Follow me.”
Molly followed Georgina to the kitchen at the end of the hall. “So did Daisy May’s company help you sleep? Wow, was this here yesterday? This may be my dream kitchen.” Molly ran her hand along custom oak worktops, her fingertips sliding against a white porcelain sink with carved-in drainer. Patting a huge fridge she blew out her cheeks and asked, “Does this make ice?”
“Three types of ice to be precise: large cubes, small cubes, and slush. It also filters your water, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it drank it for you too. And this glorious device mercifully makes coffee.” Georgina placed a mug under the Gaggia coffee machine, capturing the brown nectar. “Here.”
“Thank you so much.” Molly took the coffee and perched on a kitchen stool. She unwrapped her breakfast roll and, taking a huge bite, mumbled “Oh my God, this is so good. So did you sleep okay then?”
“Oh, sorry, yes, I did as it happens. In fact I may have to request to borrow Daisy May every night.” Georgina perched on the stool opposite Molly.
Molly chuckled. “Sure.” She then licked her fingers and held her palm at her chest. “I swear if you could marry food, then me and this roll would be a hot item.”
Georgina teased, “Your forever one?”
Molly blinked at Georgina and then looked down.
“Molly, I’m so sorry. That was an insensitive thing to say.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Molly shrugged. Her voice struck a newly detached note.
Oh God, I’ve hurt you, haven’t I? Georgina searched Molly’s face. “I really am sorry.”
“You need to eat your breakfast before it goes cold,” Molly said without emotion.
Georgina unwrapped the roll. In that moment, she had no appetite at all. Her heart ached at the sudden distance between them.
“I know it’s old fashioned to have those values,” Molly said. “And that you probably think I’m ridiculous.”
“No, Molly. I’m the ridiculous commitment-phobe.”
Molly asked quietly, “You don’t think you’ll ever marry, or partner with someone long-term?”
“The honest answer is I’ve never let myself think about it. You see, my mother…” Georgina swallowed hard, the words sticking in her throat.
Molly shook her head. “You don’t have to—”
“I do. I want to explain. Look, let’s go into the sitting room—maybe even reclaim that sofa. I can’t believe I made you sit on the floor last night.”
“You didn’t make me. It was my idea, remember? It was fun.” Molly slipped from her stool, picked up her empty wrapper, and threw it in the bin. “And you have exactly thirty seconds before I eat the rest of that roll for you.”
Laying her feelings bare and opening up to Molly seemed to be working, as Molly seemed to relax again. And what was most surprising, Georgina wanted to open up. She wanted to tell Molly everything.
* * *
A soft autumn light fell across Georgina’s face and illuminated the white of her shirt and the blue of her denim jeans. She sat with a leg crossed over a knee, and her mug rested in her lap, as she looked out to the square. There was something far away in her expression. Where was she? What maze of thought was she lost in? Or which memory, phantom-like, had revisited her?
Nervousness tinged the edge of her curiosity. What was Georgina about to say, and what would it mean for her and for the possibility of a them?
They sat in silence for several minutes before Georgina turned to look at Molly and said, “When I was eleven, I witnessed my mother kissing a man who was not my father. Right there in the museum’s foyer.” Georgina nodded towards the museum.
You saw it? Molly followed Georgina’s gaze.
“The man was some Svengali figure who wanted to manage my mother’s career. She was an artist. He was all charm, and my father never trusted him, and it turned out he was right not to.” Georgina looked at Molly. “I told my father what I’d seen.”
Blimey. Molly hugged her mug against her.
“My father was naturally devastated. Every evening when I came home from school, I would hear them rowing. And then my father broke the news that they were divorcing and my mother would be moving out. He said that if I wanted, I could stay with him, and that he thought that would be best for me. So I chose to live with my father.” Georgina took a sip of her coffee. “I was so cross with her. I refused to see her. I honestly hated her, Molly, for what she had done.”
Molly rested her hand briefly on Georgina’s arm. “That’s understandable. Who wouldn’t feel that way?”
“And then a year or so later, just a few months after divorce proceedings had concluded, it was on Christmas Eve in fact, my mother returned to the house to collect her remaining things. I overheard them rowing again for what would be the last time.” Georgina’s attention drifted to the paintings on the wall. “She left without looking back. I still see her leaving in my nightmares.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Molly said softly. “Except I understand now why you feel the way you do…about everything.” Molly wanted to put her arms around Georgina, but she couldn’t. She felt too much for Georgina for it to be the innocent hug of a friend.
Georgina fell silent again. She sat staring into her lap with her fingers wrapped around her mug.
“Not that it’s in any way comparable.” Molly gave a small shrug. “But my ex Erica left without saying goodbye too.” Georgina looked at Molly. “I thought it was the most cowardly hurtful thing you could do to someone. And she had been my friend as well as my lover. It felt like a double rejection. Other than returning my house keys a month ago I’ve heard nothing from her. Not that I’m sorry about that.”
“She sounds charming.”
“She’s an art dealer, so funnily enough, charm is her stock-in-trade. I don’t know, maybe Erica thought there was nothing to say.”
Georgina shook her head and her cheeks flushed an angry pink. “But there’s always something that should be said, though, isn’t there? Otherwise you’re left waiting for the words that never come. Whether you want to wait or not. It’s cruel.” Georgina stared away to the square again. “As it happens, I received a letter from my mother this morning. She writes a few times a year.”
“Really? It’s good that you keep in touch despite—”
“We don’t. I mean, I never reply.”
But then why would she reply? Her mother broke her trust, and by the sadness swimming in Georgina’s eyes, her heart.
Georgina looked down. “I know that seems cold of me.”
“No. It seems human.”
“She destroyed our family. After she left, I was sent to boarding school. I left my friends and my father and everything behind. In all the letters she sent, she never once said sorry. And now this letter—the second in just over a month. She says she wants us to talk. Does she think my father’s death will change anything? She simply has no shame.”
With the care of someone disarming a bomb, Molly said, “It may help you to talk to her.”
“No. I can’t.”
Molly wanted to stroke Georgina’s flushed cheeks and press a soothing cool palm against them. It was clear she had suffered such pain. There was nothing much worse than a wound inflicted by a parent to their child. “I’m sorry she hurt you.”
Georgina took a deep shaky breath. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry too. It was wrong of me to drag you into such a discussion.” Georgina sat up straight.
“Don’t worry about it. Honestly. Everybody needs to talk about serious stuff now and then. And I’m flattered that you feel you can talk to me.” Molly risked a smile encouraging the sadness to disperse to the edge of things.
Georgina rested her arm across the top of the sofa, bridging the gap between them. “To be honest, you’re the first person I’ve told any of this to.”
“I am?” Molly’s heart inflated to bursting. “Well then, I’m doubly flattered.” If she was not mistaken, Georgina was looking at her with the intensity of someone who wanted to kiss her.
But then Georgina shook her head as if she’d said something foolish. “I’ve burdened you with my nonsense enough. Let’s change topic.” Georgina dropped her arm to rest at her side. “To a subject I’m hoping will be a little more straightforward. At least with your help.”
Molly tucked her legs up under her to face Georgina. She took a deep breath, willing herself to concentrate. “Okey-dokey—fire away.”
“At the risk of sounding pathetic, I’m struggling to muster a clear head to hand over the bequeathed works. Even though I understand it’s best, it’s just…” Georgina’s voice broke and she swallowed several times. “I’m sorry.”
Molly rested her hand gently on Georgina’s arm. “Don’t be.”
“It’s just, can you help me? I know it’s been many months since my father died, and it’s well overdue, and it makes no sense.” Georgina bit her lip and took a sip of her coffee.
“It makes complete sense,” Molly said. “How could you feel any differently?” How could she help Georgina when words would only ever be words? She needed to do something. But what? Wait. Would seeing the space where her father’s art would be help? “I have an idea.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll need to put your shoes on and come with me.”
Georgina laughed. “I’m not sure what to think.”
“Then don’t think, just follow.”
Molly led them outside and across the square to the museum. The weekend front-of-house assistant gave a distracted nod in Molly’s direction as Molly reached behind the reception desk and grabbed the keys for the annex.
She opened the annex doors to be greeted by the peaceful empty space so in contrast to the rest of the hectic museum. The paper at the windows had been removed, and daylight flooded in, falling on the polished flooring and fading away into the whiteness of the skirting.
“So here we are. It’s only just been finished, so you’ll need to watch your clothes as I’m not sure what’s dry and what’s not.”
“It’s beautiful.” Georgina stood in the centre of the room, casting glances from one corner to the other.
Molly closed the door behind them. “It’s Evelyn’s work.”
Georgina raised her eyebrows. “Really? She’s done an excellent job. Will you thank her for me?”
“Of course.”
Georgina wandered over to the French doors. She stared in the direction of her father’s house.
Molly sat on a bench by the back wall, determined to give Georgina the space she needed to take everything in.
After a few minutes of being together in silence Georgina said, “The way the room looks out to the house has a real poignancy to it, doesn’t it? It almost feels like, I don’t know, less a change of location for the artworks and more a shift of focus.”
“Yes, that’s a really good way of looking at it,” Molly said, impressed at how quickly Georgina had grasped a sense of things.
Georgina turned to Molly. “Thank you for showing me this.”
Molly stood. “No worries. Even with the art in place, it will retain this lovely feel.”
Georgina gazed around the room once more. “It’s hard to imagine it full of art.”
“Right, yes. Well, we know there’ll be plinths for the Rodin and for the bust of Thomas Cook. And we’ll need to put the Staffordshire ware out of harm’s way in a glass display cabinet. All it takes is a stray elbow or an unfortunate trip. You only have to ask the Fitzwilliam.”
Georgina laughed. “Yes. Sensible.”
“Then, let me think, there’ll be an introduction panel giving a brief history of the foundation over time and of course an overview of your father’s work and life. The paintings, the cartoon, the photographs, and the sketch will occupy the wall space. I was thinking of suggesting to Evelyn that we hang the family portraits from the 1800s together in a series just as they’ve been hung in your father’s house for all those years.” Molly pointed to the back wall that faced towards the square. “Just here, maybe? I thought we could even make them a talking point.”
Georgina gave a hesitant, “Okay.”
“You see, I always think with exhibitions, that people relate best to other people. To human stories. We could really engage visitors with the lives behind the paintings.”
Georgina moved to stand beside Molly, staring with her at the bare wall.
“I know it will be a fab space,” Molly continued. The sensation of Georgina so close was making it almost impossible to breathe. She struggled to compose herself to say, “Do you, I mean, if you’re ready, shall we make our way back to the house?”
Georgina cleared her throat. “Yes.”
As they reached the door, Georgina looked back into the room. “I can almost imagine him standing at the window, looking out to the square.”
“I promise we’ll care for your father’s art,” Molly said. “And do everything we can to respect his memory.”
Georgina returned her gaze to Molly. “I know that. I trust you.”
“Thank you.” Molly swallowed down an urge to cry. “That means a lot.”
* * *
“Here you go.” Georgina handed Molly a glass of water.
Molly sat forward on the sofa and pressed the glass to her forehead. “Ooh, thanks. That really helps and I may even drink it.”
Georgina laughed. “I feel bad that you’re having to help me, with a hangover and on your day off as well. Are you sure I can’t get you something more to eat? Or another coffee?”
“Nope, I’m fine, thank you, though. And as days off go, this is fun. I like getting things done.”
“Yes, me too. And if you’re sure—”
“Totally.”
“So what’s the next step in the process of the handover?”
“Just let me know the date that suits, so we can schedule things, or if it’s easier for you and you’re happy to trust us, we could have a key and get on with the transfer on your behalf.”
“Yes, the latter would be great. I’ve got to get extra house keys cut for the estate agent later today, and then I’ll get them to drop a key in at the museum. Thanks for making everything less…overwhelming.”
“My pleasure. And thanks to your father and to you for such a fantastic gift. I confess I’m really excited by the Wright room—sorry, the Wright Community Room and Gallery.”
Georgina beamed a smile. “Good.”
“And on the subject of being excited, and at the risk of sounding like a total geek, I couldn’t be more impressed that the bequest includes a Leibovitz, but even more than that, my head spins at the thought of the Rodin.”
Georgina nodded. “Ah, yes. Even I’m impressed by the Leibovitz photo. And you’re not the only one interested in the Rodin. It’s certainly been attracting a lot of attention. It’s got quite an interesting history actually. It’s been with the foundation since its beginnings in 1888. There is some speculation as to how the foundation acquired something so valuable. But the gist is that William Wright was the solicitor and confidant to a very wealthy industrialist here in Leicester. On hearing that Josephine had set up the foundation, his son, to reduce death duties following his father’s death, gifted the Rodin. The more scurrilous rumour is that he didn’t want his estranged wife to have it.”
“Really? I love it.”
Georgina burst into laughter. “It’s good to know that the Wright history is entertaining.”
“Absolutely. Never a dull moment.”
A loaded silence soon replaced their laughter.
“I should probably go,” Molly said. “And let you get on.” Leaving had never felt harder. She gathered her things and followed Georgina into the hall. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” Molly shook her head. “I meant to mention that Evelyn has in mind the evening of Friday 8th December for the opening. Would this fit? If this date is okay with you, then we’ll proceed with issuing invitations.”
“Let me just check.” Georgina retrieved her phone from the pocket of her jeans and thumbed through to her diary. “Yep, I’ve pencilled it in, so to speak.”
“Great.”
Blushing, Georgina asked, “Is it still okay to have your number?”
Molly could have cried with relief. “Oh yes. In exchange for Penguin, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
Georgina went to fetch Molly’s corkscrew while Molly typed her number in to Georgina’s phone.
“One free bird.” Georgina handed Penguin over with a wide smile.
“Thank you, although, on second thoughts, why don’t you keep it for now. After all, a house without a corkscrew is a scary place to be.”
Georgina laughed. “I’ll buy one, I promise, and return Penguin to you.”
Without debating the rights and wrongs or the personal versus the professional, Molly leaned up and kissed Georgina on the cheek, just as she had done the night before. She lingered a moment, brushing her lips softly against Georgina’s skin, and then she stepped away. Georgina was looking at her face and studying every feature. Why wouldn’t she kiss her? She could tell Georgina wanted to. Or was she imagining it somehow? Could it be that Georgina really didn’t want a relationship with anyone? But then, why ask for her number? Or was it just for work? A chill rose like floodwater to her chest. That must be it—she considered her a colleague and nothing more. Molly swallowed hard and said, “Goodbye then.”
Georgina nodded. “Yes, goodbye for now. And thank you again for everything.”
Molly forced herself to turn the door handle and to walk away towards Daisy May, who as ever waited patiently for her return. She wasn’t sure whether it was hearing the heartbreaking tale of Georgina’s sad childhood and seeing her terrible grief, or the simple pain of not being kissed goodbye, but either way, tears began to stream down her cheeks that she feared might never stop.