Seventeen
Molly had hardly slept at all. Thursday was a busy day for her, so a restless night on Wednesday had been the last thing she needed. Especially as the forecast today was for exceptionally hot and humid weather. Working in a hair salon with bright lights, hairdryers and numerous other heated appliances, hot and humid weather was not good news. The salon did have fans, but what with the hairdryers blowing out hot air at full pelt, and the speakers piping out music all day, adding the constant whir of several fans to the mix was headache inducing.
On top of that, the almost ground to ceiling front windows of the salon faced south. Which meant the sun would be hitting the panes all day. There were large blinds to block out the glaring rays, but they also blocked out the view. On days like today, Molly felt as if she worked in a box. She loved her career, and being the boss’ daughter certainly helped, but sometimes, just sometimes, she longed to be free.
Jemma didn’t know how lucky she was. She could work from anywhere. She could just pick up her laptop and go wherever her heart dictated. She could spend the day on the beach, shadedby a parasol, listening to the swish swoosh of the waves gently lapping at the sand, while the warm breeze lightly brushed her skin. The seagulls mewing and squawking overhead might be a distraction, and avoiding being divebombed while eating an ice cream, or anything really, could be tricky, but nevertheless, just being outside was worth it. And Jemma could take a day off whenever she wanted. Plus she didn’t have to listen to the inane waffle of person after person, or coo over endless photographs of family, friends, homes, gardens, holidays and all the rest pretending to be interested when sometimes all Molly wanted to do was to tell them to shut up.
That was what her grandmother would have done. But her grandmother would never have worked as a hairdresser. She frequently made that clear.
‘Don’t you want a real career, girl? Do you want to spend your life breathing in all those chemicals, and washing people’s dirty hair? That’s not a career.’
‘It’s a wonderful career, grandmother, and I love it. Plus I get to spend every day with Mum.’
‘You’re saying that’s a good thing? I don’t understand you at all. Where’s your zest for life? Where’s your ambition? Don’t you want to go out and see the world?’
Coming from a woman who, as far as Molly knew, rarely left her own cottage, let alone the village, and had probably never been farther away than Folkestone, that was rather rich. The woman had not worked a day in her life. At least, other than caring for her own mother, that is, and then bringing up her son, Molly’s dad, home schooling him for many years prior to his insistence on attending a proper school. Millicent Law was a formidable woman, but her son had got his own way on that score. Which was just as well, because later he had informed her, he was going off to university, and when she had told him he was doing no such thing, he simply went off and did it, and left her anote. He told Molly he had felt guilty about it for months after he had left, but he had to follow his dreams, and if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have met his wife.
Owen Law had also told Molly that he had funded his own education, getting part time jobs, and sleeping in a beaten-up old car when he couldn’t afford to pay rent on a flat share. His mother had not given him a penny. When he graduated with a first, and got a job in a high-profile firm of accountants, his mum hadn’t as much as sent him a good luck in your new job, card. And when he was given a partnership all she had said was, “It’s about time.”
And yet, he had written to her regularly, visited her often, and always helped her when she told him something needed fixing in Oak View Cottage.
Was Millicent secretly proud of her clever son? Was that why she was disappointed in Molly? Because she wanted more for her granddaughter than she had had herself?
And was her cruelty and unkindness her way of keeping her distance so that she wouldn’t get hurt again? The death of her husband must have broken her heart, and, of course, her mother’s passing must have left a deep void. Millicent had spent every day of her life caring for her mother so losing her would have been a terrible blow. Or maybe, a release? Molly would never know. Molly’s dad had said that his mum had cried every day for more than a week when he had first gone to school but that she soon toughened up again and although she had never once hit him, she lashed him frequently with her tongue.
Her grandmother seemed to take pleasure in hurting people with her words. Molly had taken pleasure in hurting Jemma with the things she had said about Greg Bishop yesterday. She had crowed inwardly when the beaming smile had fallen from Jemma’s face.
Molly stared at her reflection in one of the full-length mirrors in Law’s Lustrous Locks and she didn’t like what she saw. Her grandmother stared back at her. Molly’s make-up and hair were immaculate, as were her clothes. She looked more like a statue than a human being. She remembered watching a film about a man who had a painting in his attic and it made him youthful and handsome, but he was cruel and unkind and with each ugly act, the painting grew grotesque. Would Molly turn into her grandmother if she continued on this path? Or was she already a younger version of the woman?
‘Penny for them, darling,’ her mum said, giving Molly a kiss on the cheek.
‘Sorry, Mum. I was miles away.’
‘Yes. I could tell. But why were you glaring so harshly at your reflection? You’re gorgeous, Molly. Don’t ever think you’re not. Just because miserable Millicent never had a kind word for you, don’t let the fact that you look a lot like her make you think you’ll be like her, because you won’t. You’re beautiful, my darling, inside and out.’
‘No I’m not, Mum. But I’d like to be.’ Molly spun round and looked her mum in the eye. ‘Do you ever say or do unkind things?’
Nikki laughed. ‘Everyone does, Molly. Some people might like you to think they don’t but they do. I certainly have. It’s a question of balance. Try to be kind and do your best to bring a little sunshine into other people’s life each and every day. But don’t beat yourself up if one day you say what you really think about someone. Honest is just as important as kindness. What you should try not to do is lie, or be cruel just for the pleasure of it, like Millicent was.’
‘I was cruel to someone yesterday. And I did it on purpose.’
Nikki frowned. ‘Why?’
‘I think because she’s one of those naturally beautiful women, and she’s talented, and rich, and lovely, and has everything life has to offer. And on top of all that, someone I like clearly prefers her to me. I was jealous. I did the same thing the other day but I apologised. And yet I repeated my actions yesterday.’
‘That’s not like you, Molly. I think you’re grieving for your grandmother, just like your dad. She was horrible but she somehow managed to make people care about her. That’s a skill, believe me. Even I cared about her when she became unwell once. I also believe you’re in shock. Her death was sudden and then discovering she had left you her cottage was perplexing. We’re delighted for you, and we would’ve given it to you in any event, as we’ve said, but it made you wonder why she had done it. Well, I think it’s because, deep down the old bag loved you. Truly loved you. Just as she truly loved your dad. Her problem was she had no idea how to show her love. She saw it as a weakness and not the powerful gift it really is. Are you sorry for hurting this person again yesterday?’
‘Yes. Really sorry. I feel so guilty. But … the things I said might have some truth in them. And I think you’re right about grandmother. I don’t want to end up like her, Mum. That’s why I can’t live in Oak View Cottage. To me, that would be like stepping into her shoes. And I’m already doing that.’
‘You’re not, darling. The solution is simple. Apologise to this person and really mean it. Then get an elastic band and every time you consider saying something mean or unkind again, snap the band on your wrist. The pain will send a reminder to your brain not to say cruel things. Before you know it, you won’t need the elastic band. Or so I read somewhere. It’s worth a try, isn’t it? Because you’re not your grandmother, Molly. I promise you you’re not.’
