Molly and Jack returned to a still, cold house. As Molly turned on the heat she heard her husband’s footsteps on the staircase and turned around in time to see him disappear into the attic. Gone to lunch. Sure what else would you do, Jack? Molly went to bed alone, stared at the ceiling a while, her eyes burning. Are you there, Rabbit? Give me a sign, please, love, nothing big, something small like your gran did – she used to leave me signs all the time, remember? Anything at all will do . . . But no sign came, and finally Molly’s burning eyes sealed shut.

Part Two: The Wake

Chapter Seven: Molly

Chapter Seven

Molly

MOLLY WOKE ON THE morning of the wake at 6 a.m. to blue skies and the contrail of a transatlantic jet curling, swirling and dissipating in the high winds. She thought about her daughter. Send me a sign. It was the thirtieth day in April and the sky was bright but angry. Below the leaves fluttered and the daffodils leaned a hard left, straining but so far remaining unbroken. One of Molly’s pots rolled around on the ground and broke. Is that a sign? Fuck it anyway, me favourite pot. Jack was pretending to sleep. She knew he couldn’t bear for the day to start, not yet, he wasn’t ready; she let him lie.

She ate half a slice of toast and drank two cups of tea. She put on her coat and picked up the broken pot and binned it on her way out. She arrived at Grace’s by 7 a.m. She didn’t go in. She couldn’t face Lenny and the kids. She beeped the horn. Grace appeared after a minute or two and waved. She went back indoors and Molly sat listening to the radio while Grace finished whatever it was she was doing. A woman was crying because she was losing her home to the bank. Molly switched station. A man was crying because he’d lost his entire pension and life savings in the crash. Molly switched station. Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’ was playing and Molly gave up and turned the radio off. Grace arrived to the car shortly after that.

‘About time,’ Molly said.

‘Sorry, Ma, I just can’t seem to get my act together.’

Molly nodded and placed her hand on her oldest daughter’s. ‘It’s hard.’

‘Yeah.’ Grace filled up. It was more efficient for both of them to ignore Grace’s grief. Grace began the process of shoving it back down by grabbing a cereal bar from her bag and eating it whole. Molly drove on.

When Molly and Grace arrived at Rabbit’s house, Davey was in the kitchen eating eggs but Juliet was still in her mother’s bed.

‘She’s been there since yesterday,’ Davey said.

‘Has she eaten?’ Grace asked.

‘A little, yesterday.’