look.
Molly nodded imperceptibly and hugged her father gently.
Ingrid watched him and could see his face relax.
‘How are you, Pumpkin?’
‘Fine, Dad.’ Molly planted a kiss on his forehead. ‘Late night?’
‘A bit,’ David admitted ruefully. ‘Jim Fitzgibbon was pouring wine into me.’
Molly chuckled, and left her father to give her mother a hello kiss. ‘Since when has anyone had to pour wine into you, Dad?’ she teased, and just like that, the tension went out of the room.
‘Are you calling me a boozer, you brat?’
Both women laughed.
‘If the cap fits …’ said Molly. ‘Only kidding. Where were you, anyway?’
‘Renaldo’s,’ said Ingrid, getting out another cup for her daughter. She poured more coffee and sat down at the table beside her family.
‘How’s Fiona?’ asked Molly.
‘That’s the problem,’ Ingrid sighed. ‘Jim and Fiona have split up, so we had to meet his new woman. I don’t think she was your cup of tea, either, love?’
Ingrid smiled at her husband, a peacemaking smile to say she was sorry she’d been so angry about having to endure the evening, and could he be sorry for being such a grouch?
‘No,’ David agreed. ‘Sorry about that. On the phone, Jim made her sound like a cross between Mother Teresa and Angelina Jolie.’
Molly’s eyes widened. ‘And was she?’
David’s smile to Ingrid reached his eyes. ‘Not really. She looked fine ‘
‘- a bit obvious,’ Ingrid interrupted. ‘A spray-on Gucci mini-dress and pole-dancing sandals isn’t exactly the right outfit for a first-time dinner with your new partner’s oldest friend.’
‘It was the conversation that was the problem,’ David went on. ‘She wants to be in television.’
‘You were listening?’
He grinned. ‘Sorry, I know you thought I wasn’t rescuing you. Despite all his boasting, Jim’s business is in trouble and he wanted to bend my ear about it. I couldn’t interrupt him, but I heard the bit about television.’
‘One of those.’ Molly groaned.
‘How’s Natalie? When’s Lizzie’s wedding?’
‘The fourteenth. Apparently Lizzie’s always had a thing about being married on Valentine’s Day. The hen night’s next weekend and the flat’s full of mad stuff: pink fluffy ears and things.’
Ingrid smiled. Her pre-wedding party had been a very sedate affair compared to the ones girls had now.
‘Are you going to the hen night?’
‘Not so far. Natalie wants me to, but I’m trying to get out of it. Lizzie’s great, but I’m not one of her long-time friends and everyone else on the hen night is. She’s known them for years.’
Ingrid nodded but she felt the catch in her throat she so often felt about her older child. Molly had always been shy, although she hid it well enough. She was friendly and charming, well brought up enough to be polite, so few people would know how shy she was. She’d never been one of those children comfortable in the middle of a group; for the first year of school, she’d cried every single morning when Ingrid left her.
‘Oh, hen parties are all a bit mad now,’ Ingrid said nonchalantly.
‘It’ll probably be wild,’ she added, wishing inwardly that, for once, Molly would want to join in. Ingrid knew that you couldn’t make a person behave in a certain way, but how could two such outgoing people as herself and David have a daughter who was the opposite?
At school, there had never been any special friend, never any one little girl Molly adored and brought home to play.
Molly was at her happiest in her own company, reading or talking to the pets - back then, the family had a mad collie with one ear, and a minxy cat who collected small cuddly toys and brought them into her bed at night.
Molly loved to curl up on her bed and read, with one or both of the animals snuggled beside her. Accepting that her daughter was a solitary little person had been one of the toughest
Molly nodded imperceptibly and hugged her father gently.
Ingrid watched him and could see his face relax.
‘How are you, Pumpkin?’
‘Fine, Dad.’ Molly planted a kiss on his forehead. ‘Late night?’
‘A bit,’ David admitted ruefully. ‘Jim Fitzgibbon was pouring wine into me.’
Molly chuckled, and left her father to give her mother a hello kiss. ‘Since when has anyone had to pour wine into you, Dad?’ she teased, and just like that, the tension went out of the room.
‘Are you calling me a boozer, you brat?’
Both women laughed.
‘If the cap fits …’ said Molly. ‘Only kidding. Where were you, anyway?’
‘Renaldo’s,’ said Ingrid, getting out another cup for her daughter. She poured more coffee and sat down at the table beside her family.
‘How’s Fiona?’ asked Molly.
‘That’s the problem,’ Ingrid sighed. ‘Jim and Fiona have split up, so we had to meet his new woman. I don’t think she was your cup of tea, either, love?’
Ingrid smiled at her husband, a peacemaking smile to say she was sorry she’d been so angry about having to endure the evening, and could he be sorry for being such a grouch?
‘No,’ David agreed. ‘Sorry about that. On the phone, Jim made her sound like a cross between Mother Teresa and Angelina Jolie.’
Molly’s eyes widened. ‘And was she?’
David’s smile to Ingrid reached his eyes. ‘Not really. She looked fine ‘
‘- a bit obvious,’ Ingrid interrupted. ‘A spray-on Gucci mini-dress and pole-dancing sandals isn’t exactly the right outfit for a first-time dinner with your new partner’s oldest friend.’
‘It was the conversation that was the problem,’ David went on. ‘She wants to be in television.’
‘You were listening?’
He grinned. ‘Sorry, I know you thought I wasn’t rescuing you. Despite all his boasting, Jim’s business is in trouble and he wanted to bend my ear about it. I couldn’t interrupt him, but I heard the bit about television.’
‘One of those.’ Molly groaned.
‘How’s Natalie? When’s Lizzie’s wedding?’
‘The fourteenth. Apparently Lizzie’s always had a thing about being married on Valentine’s Day. The hen night’s next weekend and the flat’s full of mad stuff: pink fluffy ears and things.’
Ingrid smiled. Her pre-wedding party had been a very sedate affair compared to the ones girls had now.
‘Are you going to the hen night?’
‘Not so far. Natalie wants me to, but I’m trying to get out of it. Lizzie’s great, but I’m not one of her long-time friends and everyone else on the hen night is. She’s known them for years.’
Ingrid nodded but she felt the catch in her throat she so often felt about her older child. Molly had always been shy, although she hid it well enough. She was friendly and charming, well brought up enough to be polite, so few people would know how shy she was. She’d never been one of those children comfortable in the middle of a group; for the first year of school, she’d cried every single morning when Ingrid left her.
‘Oh, hen parties are all a bit mad now,’ Ingrid said nonchalantly.
‘It’ll probably be wild,’ she added, wishing inwardly that, for once, Molly would want to join in. Ingrid knew that you couldn’t make a person behave in a certain way, but how could two such outgoing people as herself and David have a daughter who was the opposite?
At school, there had never been any special friend, never any one little girl Molly adored and brought home to play.
Molly was at her happiest in her own company, reading or talking to the pets - back then, the family had a mad collie with one ear, and a minxy cat who collected small cuddly toys and brought them into her bed at night.
Molly loved to curl up on her bed and read, with one or both of the animals snuggled beside her. Accepting that her daughter was a solitary little person had been one of the toughest
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