Two
Molly Law recognised the two elderly ladies and sucked in a breath. For a brief second, she hoped they hadn’t seen her, but it was obvious they had and she braced herself for the inevitable condolences, followed no doubt by a barrage of questions.
When she’d first caught sight of them, their arms were linked and they were deep in conversation as they inched their way, with the additional support of walking sticks, along one of several makeshift paths that meandered across the grass between Wood Lane, West Wood, Betancourt Bay Café, The Royal Oak Pub, and where Molly stood. She took a step back towards her car but she didn’t have time to jump in. The ladies had not only considerably quickened their pace and were now hurrying across the grass towards her, both were waving their sticks in the air and calling out in greeting. To dash to her car and drive off now might be what she wanted to do but it would be rude. The sort of thing her grandmother would have done, and Molly was determined to never be like her grandmother.
Instead, she stayed where she was, outside the front door of her grandmother’s cottage at the end of a row of four. Althoughstrictly speaking, Oak View Cottage now belonged to Molly, her cold-hearted grandmother having left it to her in the will, much to everyone’s surprise. Especially to Molly’s, as she and her paternal grandmother had never got along.
It was inevitable that Molly would bump into the neighbours at some stage, but did it have to be today?
Since her grandmother’s passing, Molly had only been to the cottage a few times. The first had been when she and her parents had gone there to clear out the fridge and the food cupboards. It was early on a Sunday morning shortly after Millicent had died, and either all the neighbours were at Church, or more likely, still in bed, because the street had been empty and they hadn’t seen a soul.
They had gone there again on the day after the will was read, and Molly had inherited the place. That day they had driven to the cottage, more due to shock than to anything else, and had sat in her dad’s car outside for a long time before going in. It had been at Easter and all the neighbours had been at the Grand Opening of Betancourt Bay Café, they had assumed. A large A-board standing close to the cottage had provided Molly and her parents with that information, although the crowd they could see around the café only a few minutes’ walk from the door, and the cacophony of voices, would have alerted them to the fact that something special was happening in the village that day. They had stayed inside the cottage for several hours, sorting Millicent’s clothes, personal papers, and belongings, into piles, either to take home with them to go through at a later date, or to take directly to a charity shop. That had been a rather sombre task. And quite at odds with all the laughter and happy voices that had drifted towards the cottage from the café on the green.
Molly had returned to the cottage twice since then. Once to take some photos to send to an old school-friend, and to put up on a website for holiday rental properties. And once to clean,tidy, and air the cottage after someone called Jemma Granger had asked to rent it for the entire month of June.
Molly had since discovered that Jemma Granger was, in fact, a famous author, and that her books had been adapted for a TV series, but as Molly never had time to read, and historical dramas of any sort were her least favourite thing to watch on TV, she hadn’t heard of Jemma until her old school-friend had told her who she was.
Molly had no intention of living there, even though she would love a place of her own. Still living with her parents in their house in Folkestone was fine, but Molly had hoped to have her own front door by the time she had reached thirty. Now she was thirty-three. Yet the dark green front door of Oak View Cottage held no appeal for her. The cottage might be charming outside, with its pale green exterior, leaded-light windows, and thatched roof, but secrets lurked within. Renting it out for now was her best option. It would give her time to think.
Molly knew that she could easily sell the cottage, if she put it on the market. Estate agent’s cards had been amongst the junk mail and other post sitting on the mat whenever Molly had visited it after she had been told of her inheritance. Even the solicitor had told her that he had clients who would be interested, if she ever chose to sell. Betancourt Bay was small, and everyone wanted to live there. Everyone except Molly. Selling the cottage would give her more than enough to buy herself a flat, or even a small house in Folkestone. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not just yet, at least.
But she definitely couldn’t bring herself to live there. She shivered whenever she walked inside the door. There was something creepy about the place and there always had been. Something almost … sinister. As a child, it had reminded her of the tale of Hansel and Gretel, the witch, and the gingerbreadhouse. Fanciful, of course, but that feeling had remained with her over the years, and she had hated going there.
Not that she had been there often. The only times Molly, or her family, were invited were for her grandmother’s birthday, and for an hour on Christmas Day. Other than that, her dad had gone there alone if her grandmother had needed something done around the place.
Why they had put up with her grandmother’s cruel behaviour was beyond Molly’s comprehension – but they had.
Millicent Law had been as cold in life as she was in death, and had looked on Molly and Molly’s mum as though they were both something unpleasant one might step on. The woman had also told her own son, Molly’s dad, that he and his wife had failed miserably in not giving her the grandson she had longed for to continue the family name. Not that there was anything particularly special about the Law family, so why the name mattered so much, Molly and her parents had no idea.
Molly’s only concern now was that she might turn into her grandmother one day. That was something Molly dreaded. And possibly one of the reasons she wouldn’t live in Oak View Cottage. If she moved into the place, her fate might be sealed and she would soon become as bitter, sad, and unkind as her grandmother.
Years ago, Molly had seen a photo of Millicent in her younger days, and it had taken Molly’s breath away. Or sucked the life out of her as she had felt at the time. The likeness was unbelievable. Molly had felt as if she were looking into a mirror. She had the same jet-black hair as her grandmother. The same deep brown eyes and long lashes. The identical alabaster skin. She even stood the same way as she posed for the camera, slightly turned to the right. The only difference was that Millicent wasn’t smiling in the photo – and Molly always smiled in photos of herself.
Millicent was simply a deeply unhappy and unpleasant woman, and no doubt her former neighbours felt the same about her as her own family had. Neighbours who were now a mere few feet away.
For the life of her, Molly couldn’t recall the names of the elderly sisters who were smiling at her so sweetly. She knew they were twins, and that they lived next-door-but-one, but having rarely been invited to visit her grandmother, she’d only seen the residents of the other three cottages a few times over the years. She couldn’t remember the name of the guy who lived right next door, either, although she did recall that he was quite good looking, and if memory served her right, that he owned a bookshop in Folkestone. A bookshop to which she had never been. She did know the name of the artist who lived in the fourth cottage, partly because the surname was similar to her own surname of Law. The artist’s name was Shaw. Hanna Shaw.
It was just Molly’s luck to bump into the elderly twins, and not the guy next door, or Hanna.
‘It’s Molly, isn’t it?’ said one of the ladies, panting a little as she spoke.
‘It’s Molly Law,’ said the other, smiling at Molly. ‘Millicent’s granddaughter.’
‘That’s what I said,’ the first one stated. ‘You need to get your hearing checked.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my hearing,’ said the other. ‘And we had it checked last month. That handsome new young man did it, remember? You need to get your memory checked.’
‘My memory is fine,’ the first one tutted, and then she gave Molly a caring smile. ‘It’s lovely to see you again Molly. We were so very sorry about Millicent. But it was lucky for her that she dropped dead in the street. She kept herself to herself, as you know, dear, and if she’d died at home she wouldn’t have been found for weeks.’
‘You can’t say that to her granddaughter!’
‘Why not? It’s the truth.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Molly before the to and fro began again. ‘And you’re right. That’s precisely what would’ve happened, so yes, it was lucky for her. And for all of us. It would’ve been … upsetting to think of her being left in there until…’ Molly didn’t want to finish that sentence, or to think about that at all.
‘Greg would’ve been the first one to notice the smell as he lives next door. He’s a strong young man, not to mention rather handsome, and he would’ve broken the door down, or called the police.’
‘Greg!’ said Molly, and then realised she’d said it aloud. ‘Sorry. I know Hanna Shaw lives in the cottage at the other end of the row, and you both live next-door-but-one, but I couldn’t remember Greg’s name.’
