The vicar left the room and Molly took a closer look at the map. There were a few plots dotted in the area where Bree had hovered. Molly didn’t know what she was about to uncover but was filled with excitement mixed with trepidation. When the vicar returned, she followed him back through the church towards the heavy oak doors.
He held the door open for her and Molly shivered as she stepped outside. ‘It’s going to be like this for the rest of the week,’ she said.
‘Yes, all sermons are cancelled until further notice. There’s only one place to be in weather like this and that’s indoors, in front of the fire.’
They took a few steps down the snowy path and Molly pointed to the bench. ‘It’s one just over there, but I’m not sure which one,’ she admitted.
The vicar pointed. ‘That’s a family plot, belongs to the McDonalds, that one is Mr Jones and the one just there … the name escapes for the moment. But the funeral was a small affair. I can remember a young girl – the deceased’s daughter. That’s plot 1507.’
Molly gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘That’s my birthday, the fifteenth of July.’ Was that just another coincidence? She stared at the untended grave. It was just a mound covered in snow and Molly felt saddened.
‘Come on, let’s go and see if we can track down the name.’
Back inside the church, Molly watched as the vicar hung up his coat then walked over to the magnificent bookcase on the far side of the room. There were rows and rows of leather-bound books, statues of Jesus and donation boxes. The vicar pulled a red leather-bound book off the shelf. ‘Like I said, I’m not a fan of technology and even though I shouldn’t, I still record everything the old-fashioned way. This one should contain plot 1507.’
The vicar sat back down in the chair and placed the book on the table. Molly’s heart was racing. Was this the right time to go delving into the past? Was she ready to hear this name? The name of the person buried in that plot could have a major impact on her life.
The silence hung in the air as the vicar began to slowly turn the pages; Molly’s eyes were fixed on the motion. Then the vicar tapped the book. ‘Here it is.’ He glanced towards Molly.
‘Go on…’ she encouraged. ‘I’m ready.’
‘The plot is occupied by one Lilian Allen. Died age forty-six of a coronary.’
Molly gave a short intake of breath. ‘Lilian Allen.’ Her head was whirling as she said the name out loud.
‘Does that ring any bells with you?’ asked the vicar.
Molly shook her head. As much as she tried, she’d never heard that name before, but her mind was still calculating the years between her and Bree. It was absolutely possible that they could have shared the same mother if Lilian had conceived Molly as a young teenager.
‘And that’s all I have,’ said the vicar, shutting the book.
‘Do you know anything else about Lilian? Was she one of your congregation?’
The vicar shook his head. ‘No, she wasn’t but thinking back…’ He looked towards the book. ‘I can remember the wee girl coming to visit me. She had a letter… Yes, I can remember a letter.’
‘A letter?’ queried Molly.
‘Her mother’s wish. The girl discovered the letter in her mum’s personal belongings and in it she requested to be buried in this graveyard. They weren’t from the village but from, I believe, the town of Tutbury, about half an hour from here on the train. I’d never set eyes on the girl before…’
‘Bree, her name is Bree,’ cut in Molly.
‘That’s right, Bree. And it was a sad set of circumstances. She lost her home when her mother passed and I believe she ended up on the streets. She spends a lot of time sat on the bench near to where her mother is buried. I have to say she’s always a polite girl and I do know she has slept in the church numerous times.’ The vicar pointed up to the CCTV camera in the corner. ‘She has been no trouble though, and I now deliberately leave the church unlocked overnight and extra blankets on the front pews, especially with the weather being like this and Sam having had to move the shelter temporarily whist the heating is being fixed.’
‘That is so kind. It breaks my heart to think of anyone out on the street in this weather. It was so sad to hear about Stan too.’
‘It was,’ replied the vicar.
‘Do you know why Lilian requested to be buried at this particular church?’
‘I’ve no idea but like I said, the young girl had a letter in her possession, maybe she could tell you more. And you think Lilian is your mother?’
Molly blew out a breath. ‘I’m not entirely sure. There’s just been a bizarre set of circumstances and I was hoping to find out a little bit more before I approached Bree. Is it possible … could we keep this between ourselves, for now?’
The vicar nodded. ‘Of course. I’m not too bad at keeping secrets; some of the confessions in this village would make your hair stand on end,’ he joked, smoothing down the little hair he had whilst he chuckled.
‘Thank you, and thank you for your time,’ said Molly, standing up. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
As Molly walked back through the church and out into the freezing cold, she paused to stand in the front of the grave. For all of her life, Molly had assumed her mother had been dealing with addiction or in a violent relationship and that’s why she’d put Molly up for adoption. The mother that Bree was describing wasn’t at all like that though. Maybe she was overthinking it all. ‘Loon moon. Happy birthday, Lilian Allen,’ she murmured as a Robin Redbreast flew and landed on top of the snowy mound for a moment. Molly brought her hands up to her chest, knowing that robins symbolise visits from the dead. ‘Lilian,’ she said, a lump forming in her throat.
