FINDING MOLLY
Things seem to be looking up with the lovely Dr Patrick – but maternal duties come first, whatever the cost
Dear Diary
Ibet you are all champing at the bit to find out how my date with Dr Patrick went aren’t you? But there are other things I need to fill you in on.
Firstly, I had an idea that my boy Guy was seeing someone. He’d started ironing his T-shirts and dousing himself in that cologne Johnny Depp advertises. Course, I was right. Apparently he met her at a party and though he said that it was “no big deal’ it obviously was because he wanted to introduce her to me. I watched her walk down the path, trying not to wonder if this was the first glimpse of my future daughter-in-law.
She’s called Ivy – one of those old names that’s made a comeback. She was slim and stunningly pretty with long hair and lips that pouted more than smiled. I tried to be extra welcoming as I thought she might be nervous meeting me, but how wrong I was. Confidence oozed out of every pore and she waltzed into my kitchen as if she owned it. Readers, there was just something about her that I didn’t like.
Obviously I didn’t say that to Guy who was clearly besotted, but I got a very icy vibe from her. Or should that be “ivy vibe”? Maybe it’s the name. I’ve always thought ivy pretended to be pretty while it slyly and surely destroyed whatever it got its hooks into.
As for my love life – well, I did wonder if Patrick (must stop calling him Mr Audi), who said he’d check his dates and get back to me, would actually find that the whole of his diary was full until June 2099.
But he came good. A week had passed since he walked me home from the neighbours’ (all of thirty steps) then my doorbell rang. I answered it to find the good doctor standing there. His aftershave wafted up my nostrils and made my brain sigh.
“Hi, Molly,” he said. “I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to call…”
“Oh, don’t worry, I know you’re busy and I am too.” I wafted an understanding hand as if I’d been too occupied with running ICI to have given it a thought.
He asked if I was free the next night. WAS I!! Did I like Indian food? DO I!! He said he wanted to try the newly opened Taj Mahal and was delighted that my food tastes complied with his.
Had he asked me if I liked scabby donkey and chips I’d have said I LOVE it, but I really do like a curry. I danced round the room after I closed the door.
I didn’t have time to go and find something to wear because I had too much work to do. There’s a massive craft market on this month and I’ve been building up my stock. Plus I’ve had a couple of high-end commissions from people wanting my special paperengineered cards and also I had an intriguing email from a Kurt Bekker at Gladstone Books asking if “we might have a chat in the near future”. I looked them up. They’re quite big and Kurt Bekker is the Creative Director. Interesting…
The next night, I was waiting by the window for Patrick when Guy walked in. I was about to tell him there was an M&S pie in the fridge when he burst into tears and threw himself on me. He hasn’t done that since he was about seven. Readers, my six-foot-plus man-boy was destroyed. Turns out he went to Ivy’s house with a bouquet to say the “L” word to her, only to find her in flagrante delicto with her ex.
I heard the gate clang and ran out of the front door.
“I’m sorry, Patrick, I’ve got a bit of a family emergency,” I said. He had a suit on and looked gorgeous. He asked if there was anything he could do. Had he been a hitman and not a doctor, I might have taken him up on his offer. I mumbled apologies and went back to comfort and talk to my son.
I don’t know if that was my only chance to stare at Dr Patrick over a prawn kuzhambu. But all I do know is that if one of my own needs me, I’m there for them before I ever would be for myself.
Love, Molly
NEXT MONTH: Be sure to pick up your next copy of My Weekly Special for more thrills and spills from the diary pages of Molly!