Page 19 of The Three of Us

‘If you mean what Jack hoped it would be, then yes. I’m still making up my mind.’

‘Oh, love. It will take time. It’s bound to feel different. A bit overwhelming. You’ve lived here in Shelling all your life. But you’re young, you’ll soon adapt.’

Molly is not at all sure she will. Or even that she wants to.

Sian opens the door to the cottage that she and Ralph have only recently moved into, and flings her arms around Molly’s neck. ‘Oh, wow. It’s so good to see you. And Flossy too!’

‘I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks!’

‘Oh, I know, but… well, come on in, both of you. Mind the boxes though. We haven’t quite finished unpacking yet, and the bloody things are everywhere.’

‘It must be lovely to finally own your own home.’ Molly stops in the doorway to the small lounge and looks around. ‘Much as I love my parents, I didn’t want to live with them forever.’

‘Oh, us too. Ralph’s dad’s a sweetie, but I was always a bit wary of treading on his toes, you know. Taking over his kitchen, wanting to redecorate but not daring to suggest it, being careful not to let the bedsprings squeak too loudly!’

Molly settles down on one of two big fat armchairs, Flossy curling up instantly at her feet, and kicks off her shoes.

‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you?’ Sian laughs, dropping into the matching chair on the other side of the old-fashioned fireplace. ‘Talking of which, how’s yours? The new home, I mean.’

‘Okay, I suppose. But it’s just a little box of a flat, and we’re only renting. I just have to view it as a stepping stone to something bigger and better…’

‘Not exactly the home of your dreams then?’

‘Oh, Sian, I’m not complaining. Really, I’m not. It’s just that it’s all a bit drab, and you can hear people through the walls, and it’s got no garden…’

Sian laughs. ‘I get the picture. Look, this little house is far from perfect but we’ll make it what we want it to be. And you’ll do the same, in time. Now, let me get you a drink. And, you’re in luck, I have cake. Not up to your standard, just a cherry and coconut from the shop, but it’s passable.’

They sit for a while, catching up on village gossip, until Molly hears Ralph’s key in the door.

‘Working on a Sunday?’ she says, watching him dump his medical bag in a corner and shrug off his coat.

‘Hi, Molly. Good to see you. No surgery this morning, but I’m always on call, Sundays included. Animals don’t much care what day it is! I had a difficult delivery out at one of the farms. Puppies. A litter of five. Mother and babies all safe and well, I’m pleased to say.’

‘Ah, I must go out and see them,’ Sian says. ‘I’m a sucker for a newborn puppy.’

Flossy gets up from the carpet and sniffs curiously at Ralph’s muddy trousers. ‘I think she can smell them, bless her! A dog can always sniff out another dog. Territory marking and all that. But don’t you go getting any ideas, Sian. We can’t take in every homeless animal or cute puppy, or we’ll end up with a whole menagerie.’

Molly gets up to leave. ‘Well, I’ve kept you long enough and I’m sure Ralph will want his armchair back… and his lunch!’

‘No need to go, honestly.’

‘No, I must. Mum will have food ready soon, and I still have a few bits to pack before we head back. Stuff I left behind when we moved, but have realised I can’t live without!’

‘Oh, God, tell me about it! Moving’s no joke, is it?’ Sian leads her out into the hall, just as Flossy decides to stop and investigate an interesting-looking box propped against the wall. Molly is not looking where she’s going and she doesn’t stop quickly enough. She trips over the dog, loses her balance and swings an arm out to try to save herself from falling. There is a sickening crunch as her hand hits the door frame and she crumples to the floor, landing heavily and hard.

Ralph is there in a flash, on his knees beside her. ‘Oh, Molly, that sounded bad. Are you hurt?’

Molly is stunned into silence. Tears have flooded into her eyes and she takes big breaths, trying to calm herself, trying to cope with the pain that is throbbing through her fingers and into her wrist, and the awful twisting feeling of fear that flutters through her tummy. Flossy pushes against her legs and starts to lick at her left hand as she moves it across and gingerly cushions the injured right one in her palm.

‘Come on, lie still and let me take a look at that wrist. I know I’m only a vet, but bones are bones, and I’m afraid you might have just broken one.’

Chapter 12

Jack

‘There’s been some sort of accident.’ Maureen comes into the room where Jack is reading the Sunday paper, the telephone still in her hand. ‘Molly’s hurt her hand round at Sian’s. Quite badly, they think. Ralph is driving her to the hospital.’

‘What? What sort of accident?’