Page 58 of A Manny for Christmas

She cocks her head. ‘I suppose not. Though the actual divorce and fighting over assets and worrying about money was really hard.’

I bet it fucking was. ‘I can’t believe you’re not living in the lap of luxury,’ I growl. ‘Sounds like he was raking it in.’

She doesn’t say anything, just nods in agreement and takes a bite of her omelette. I sit there for a moment and watch her eat. I watch the workings of her delicate facial muscles, and the appreciation on her face, and the tiny darts of her pink tongue as she licks her lips.

God help me.

‘How was it, between you two?’ I ask. Even as I utter the words, I wonder what the fuck I’m doing. Why I’m torturing myself. ‘Did you really love him? Were you happy, for the most part? Because I tell you, it’s so bloody weird thinking about you beingmarriedto another guy. Having kids with him. Playing happy families.’

Molly pauses, fork poised somewhere between plate and lips, as if she’s giving my question serious thought. ‘I was happy, yeah. Really happy. But it was nothing like it was with you.’ She glances up at me through her eyelashes. ‘I was infatuated with him. He was a few years older and very glamorous and fun. It was infectious, I suppose, his energy. And his talent blew me away. I found that so attractive, and I loved how creative he was.

‘So, yes, I loved him. And to be honest, I was thinking with my ovaries, too. I was honest with him from the start. He knew why you and I had broken up. He was adamant he wanted a family with me. And when I was pregnant, he went crazy with inspiration. He couldn’t stop painting me.’ She gestures at the painting on the chimney breast. ‘He painted that when I was pregnant with Tobes. I wasn’t even showing yet.’

She pauses. ‘Sorry. Is this all too much information?’

‘No,’ I tell her, my jaw working.Yes.‘Keep going.’

‘So it was good. Great, even. We were in this kind of… creative vortex together. It was very symbiotic, that side of our relationship. He fed that side of me, as I did for him.’ She puts down her fork suddenly, grimacing as if she’s lost her appetite.

And then she looks up at me again. Her astonishing blue eyes are trained on mine.

‘But I didn’t love him like I loved you. Not in the same way, and not as deeply. I didn’t expect to, really. What we had, back then—I think you get that once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky.’

Fucking hell. The tightness in my chest is so vice-like I wonder if I’m having a heart attack. I lean forward and bow my head over my plate, trying to make sense of what Molly’s told me.

That she’s never loved anyone else more than me.

But that what we had is firmly in the past.

I can tell she’s not coming onto me. There’s no note of flirtation in her voice.

Just sadness.

For what we had.

For what we lost.

There’s nothing to say, really.

‘I know, baby,’ I say in any case, because there’s no way I’m leaving her hanging after an admission like that. ‘It was spectacular, what we had.’

She looks up at me, eyes shining. ‘It really was.’

I clear my throat. I need to move on before my emotions get out of hand.

‘So your dipshit husband—what’s he up to now?’

‘He’s in Dubai at the moment.’ She moves a piece of omelette around her plate with her fork. ‘And then onto Oman, I believe.’

‘Will he be back for Christmas?’

I steel myself for her answer.

‘No. He’s coming back the second week in January to see the kids.’

‘Un-fucking-believable. How the hell can he not miss them with every fibre of his being? What a massive twat.’

She gives me a weak smile. ‘I honestly don’t know. I mean, he talks a good story. And he’s sweet with them on the phone. But it’s not the same, and it breaks my heart for them to know that Daddy prefers raking it in thousands of miles away to being close by. To being able to see them.’ Her sigh is huge. Shuddery. ‘But anyway. Tell me about you. Broken anyone’s heart lately?’

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