Georgina stood in the middle of the sitting room and watched Molly walk away towards Daisy May. She waited, wondering why Molly wasn’t starting the engine. Had Daisy May broken down? Or was it Molly? She could just make out that Molly’s head was bowed. Was she reading her phone? Or was she upset? Was Molly okay? Should she check?
No. What if she was the cause of her upset? Then going to her would only make things worse, surely?
Was she hurting her by confusing her? Was that it? By not knowing what to do about the girl she had no right to fall for. For there were expectations of her behaviour. There were professional boundaries. She was Georgina Wright, for God’s sake. And yet all she wanted to be in that moment was Georgina, a girl who was falling for another girl who seemed to like her too.
What must Molly be thinking now? One minute she was telling Molly how she had never even thought about the possibility of a long-term partner, and then the next minute she was asking for her number.
It was cruel, for she could sense Molly falling for her just as she was falling for Molly. It was there in the nervous excitement in the air whenever they met and in the glances and the words that meant too much, but most of all it was in the palpable wrench of saying goodbye.
When they were together, she could feel Molly’s gaze upon her and see the affection in Molly’s eyes when she looked at her. And she had encouraged it. She wanted more than anything for Molly to want her. She was responsible for how Molly seemed to be feeling, wasn’t she? She was the reason Molly had just kissed her cheek for the second time and looked at her with an expression that seemed to say, I want more. I want you.
London was only an hour away. They could date. But then what? How was she to know? She’d never got beyond dating. But then, Molly was different in every way. She already felt more for Molly, far more than those women she had dated for many months. Not only did she feel more, she felt differently. She instinctively wanted to protect her and care for her and make her dreams come true. She wanted to be her knight in shining armour and to rescue her from dragons. She wanted to come home to Molly. Only Molly. She wanted to hear her laugh and to admire her passion and to wake and plan a day with her and to fall asleep at night in her arms.
Maybe Molly was her one? Maybe there was such a thing? But then, hadn’t her father thought that? Hadn’t Edith thought that?
September 1832
City Walk, Leicester
“Edith! Edith, wait!” Josephine pulled at Edith’s sleeve. “For pity’s sake.”
“Pity? How can you speak of pity?” Edith tugged her sleeve free from Josephine’s hold. “You have none.”
“And you have no sense! Wait!” Josephine followed after Edith, trying her best for her walking not to become running. Ladies did not run, after all. Edith, on the other hand, seemed to find walking at a genteel pace a torture she would not endure. Josephine could just see her ahead, running, weaving through the crowds that had gathered on City Walk for the much anticipated lighting of the first gas lamps.
“Edith?” Josephine looked for Edith’s shape amongst the pressing throng, so familiar, so loved. She felt a hand slip into hers. She felt Edith’s lips warm against her ear.
“I do not need sense when my heart tells me all I need to know.” Edith lifted Josephine’s hand against her chest.
“Please, Edith. I cannot be strong for both of us. We need to let each other go.”
Edith gripped Josephine’s hand tighter. “Why? Why must we? We can build a life together.”
With her lips pressed in turn to Edith’s ear lest someone in the crowd about them should hear, Josephine gasped, “How?”
“With love.”
“Love does not feed us or pay our bills. It does not keep the cruel scrutiny of others at bay. Love will not protect our reputations, Edith. Love is not enough. And let us not forget, you have your mother to care for. Your writing will barely be sufficient, as it is.”
“I have an endowment. Small it may be, but we could make it stretch. We can do anything. Be anything.”
“Miss Brancaster. Good evening! I thought it was you.” William Wright, ruddy cheeked, and eyes bright as if lit by the lamplighter himself, beamed a smile at Josephine. If he had seen Edith or for that matter caught sight of her dropping Josephine’s hand to her side, he did not comment. “What a night! Can you see? I have a spot nearer to where the lamplighter will rest his ladder for this lamp here. Would you care to join me?”
“Good evening, Mr. Wright.” Josephine gave a courteous nod. “I’m fine just where I am. But thank you for the kind offer to stand with you.”
“Very well, as you wish. Should you change your mind, I am just there. Good evening to you.” William lifted his hat and gave a small bow with his heels clicking softly together before he turned to stand a few feet away.
“How do you know him?” Edith narrowed her eyes, watching him leave as if chasing off the keen beau.
“I don’t know him. He has been working with my father. I believe he is a solicitor.”
“Well, I believe you are causing him to be quite distracted. He has missed that lamp being lit right at his ear, for his attention cannot be drawn from you.”
“I have done nothing to attract his attention. You have my word.”
“Men do not require a woman to do anything. There is a presumption, and I think he is presuming.”
“And he is not the only one. For you are presuming too much—for us, for the future.”
“I am not presuming you love me. I know you do.”
“That is not the point. How many times must I say that?” Tears forced their way over Josephine’s lips, squeezed tight in an attempt to hold back a sob. “I will not say it again. We cannot be together as we’ve been any more. We must stop this. This evening, in fact. Right now. And begin again as friends and colleagues. We must at least try.”
With a heartbreaking blankness to her voice, Edith said with her gaze dropped to the floor, “I can no more stop my feelings for you than I can stop my heart from beating.”
Josephine felt Edith move away. “Edith.” She reached out and found no hand to hold, just air. Empty air bathed in a golden street light.
Georgina heard Daisy May’s engine start. Her heart ached as she watched Daisy May disappear around the corner. Molly had left, and nothing about her leaving felt right.
* * *
Molly sat in her kitchen with her cheek resting against the table’s surface. A half-empty Nutella jar sat in front of her. October’s Museums Association magazine was open to her side. She had stuck neon Post-it notes to sections and tabbed pages to mark interesting information or ideas. As Saturday evenings went, hers was, well, less rock and roll and more geektastic.
She tapped out a repetitive note against the glass jar. Trust her to fall for someone who didn’t do relationships. Trust her to open her heart, unguarded. How did she imagine that someone like Georgina Wright would fall for her, anyway? What was she thinking? It was total madness. She was totally crazy.
She scooped out a large spoonful of Nutella. She held the spoon in her mouth and mumbled, “Maybe I’m destined to be single. I should get a cat for company. Or a dog. Or a parrot, or a—”
Molly jumped at the burr of her phone from her bag. She stared suspiciously in the direction of the noise. Who called at ten o’clock on a Saturday night? She’d not long come off the phone from her mum. It was nobody. “Or an alpaca? Nope, garden too small.” The phone stopped burring. “A goldfish. Yes. That would work. What would I call it? Jaws? Moby Dick? FisheyMacFishface? Yes. That’s settled then.”
A beep sounded from within her bag, signalling that the caller had left a message. Molly dug to the bottom of her bag and felt for her phone.
Hi Molly, it’s Georgina. Georgina Wright.
Molly dropped the spoon and sat up straight. She moved the phone quickly to her other ear as if somehow she could concentrate more with that ear.
I’m sorry to call so late. I’ve only just got back to London. The trains were delayed. Anyway. I’m just ringing to thank you again for your work and your company last night and today. It, you, made a real difference. So anyway, I was wondering…
Molly held her breath.
Well, the thing is, each year my employer hosts an evening for important clients. Sometimes it’s the theatre or a gala evening, but this year it’s a reception and talk at the National Portrait Gallery. It includes dinner. It’s in a couple of weeks’ time. I’m obliged to go to these things. So I was wondering if you would like to be my guest for the night?
Was she asking her out? No, it was a work thing. Right?
Anyway, so I’ll leave it with you. Okay. Thanks again. Bye.
Molly pressed dial.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Georgina, it’s Molly.”
“Molly. Hi.”
“Sorry I missed your call. I was thinking of names for a goldfish I probably won’t buy.”
Georgina laughed. “Okay. And what did you settle on?”
“FisheyMacFishface.”
Georgina laughed even louder. “Perfect.”
“I thought so. And yes, please to being your guest at the do at the National Portrait Gallery. It’s without question my favourite museum and not just in London but anywhere. Thank you for inviting me.”
“That’s great. Thank you for coming with me.”
“I’m already really looking forward to it.”
“To be honest, I wasn’t, but I am now.”
She was? Play it cool. “So do you know what the talk will be on?” She could hear a rustle of paper.
“Cezanne. It’s by the curator of the temporary exhibition on Cezanne’s portraits, John Elderfield.”
“Really. Interesting. You know, I don’t know much about Cezanne. At least not his portraits. I’ll make sure I research for us.”
“Excellent. Well I’ll let you get back to your goldfish naming. I’ll send through the details about the evening. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sleep well.” Molly listened for the phone to go silent.
In that moment, in her kitchen, at her table, Molly wanted to cry and sing and skip and dance and open her window, and not care who might hear her shout, Georgina Wright into the night.