Lizard

Chapter 3

She slowly took herself upstairs and sank down into her bed.

Running away from, and ignoring her father's rantings on downstairs at her refusal to take the money personally. There was no way he'd ever understand her reasons why, so after a few attempts Molly just stopped trying.

She took deep breaths and calmed herself. She needed to be alone to read this. To give it time.

She need to read his words and allow them to sink in.

She needed to give her undivided self to his missive.

It was the right thing to do. Benny and Margaret had once meant so much to her, had always been so kind, so welcoming that she knew at the very least she owed them this.

She began to read.

Hello Molly.

Thank you for taking time to read the ramblings of a dying man.

Margaret and I knew this day was coming, but even so it's a hard thing to face.

Knowing we have had a good life together and that we have had time to say the things we need to say, to those who mean the most, and to each other, helps a little though.

There are so many emotions going through my mind in writing this letter to you, but the main one is hope.

Hope that you will make contact with Margaret, and allow her to be part of your life once more. Hope that you will visit her, and in that special Molly way help her not to miss me too much once I'm gone. Hope, that you can make contact in some shape, form or manner with Sam too. He's a fine young man now. You'd be proud of him. Both Margaret and I are, and I know he misses you.

Talking of Margaret. She very much knows about the bequest... it's one we are both making to you. We have discussed it and it only seemed fair that we did.

We feel that this is your inheritance. What you would have received if Charles hadn't done what he did. We know you left the marriage with little. That you really didn't ask for anything. Too proud.

Don't panic though. As I say Margaret knows, but Charles most certainly doesn't. There's just no need. This is our business. Mine, Margaret's and Molly's. Not his.

I said I was experiencing many emotions writing this Molly.

This is another one...I'm also very sad to write to you.

Sad in knowing that in me writing this letter it's the only contact I'll ever have with you again, and knowing if you're reading it... I'll be dead.

Yet that's not what makes me the most sad...….being dead.

I'm sad because by you holding this paper in your hands I know it means that you and Charles have not reconciled in any small way. You are still strangers to each other, for my solicitor has strict instructions, you see, to only offer you your inheritance if there was still an estrangement between yourselves.

You reading this means that there is.

I won't pass judgement on you Molly, or offer you any advice or opinions. Margaret and I totally understand that you did what you had to do after Charles' actions. That ultimately he left you no choice.

We very much hope too that eventually you understand that we had to take a side, as it were. That we had to support our son. He is our only child, and even though we didn't understand what he did, and still don't. Even though we will never agree with the life he chose, the path he took after you, we still love you and miss your laughter and company more than we will ever admit to anyone.

I know you Molly, we all did, and were so proud that you were one of our family. A dull straight family until you came along and punched some fun into us. That's why I know, as I write, I am fairly sure that you will be reading this letter. That you have said 'no' to taking the money for personal gain.

You see I know you ... and that you'd be too stubborn to have anything to do with James again, and therefore too stubborn to take the money for yourself.

Which is why I've come up with an alternative.

I have to say though I applaud you young lady and hope that your morals, and principles serve you well in your life, wherever that takes you.

That you are happy, and find someone who can take away the hurt and pain in your heart.

Both Margaret and I mean that. We would never suggest you involve yourself with anything or anyone that isn't right for you.

So do not worry this letter is not some primitive way to push you back into Charles' arms. To trick you. I know that would be futile, and that you have to find your own way back, if that's what you want.

This letter instead is to give you some options.

The money is there. Quite a large sum I admit, and if you don't feel able to take it yourself, then I have attached several charities Margaret and I have been involved in over the years that may benefit from a 'mysterious donor'.

I've enclosed the details of the three most close to our hearts and will leave it down to you to decide.

The money is yours though Molly Dawes.

Yours to do whatever you want to do with.

Keep it or donate it.

I know you'll make the right choice. You always did.

Now it only falls to me to say goodbye.

Something Margaret and I never got the privilege of doing before you left our lives and disappeared. When you ran from the nightmare that you were living in, you didn't only leave behind a marriage, a husband, you also left his family behind too.

So because I'm a dying man, because I won't be in the same room to suffer your infamous temper when pushed, I beg this and only this of you... contact Margaret. Please.

Make her smile again with your wit, laughter and brilliance. Give her some sunshine in her otherwise dull days.

That's all I ask Molly, that and for you to spend the money wisely.

Good bye my dear.

It was an honour knowing you.

Short though it was you made us all so grateful that you were 'ours'... ours, though we wished it had been for much longer.

Love and respect.

Benny James.

Xxxx

The tears flowed down Molly's face.

She'd missed them too and Benny's words had hurt, as they made her realise just what she had lost all over again.

Yet despite it all she also knew some of the tears were tears of happiness too. Happiness that maybe there now was a way back, that's she'd never found before, into seeing Margaret again and making Benny proud of her.

She knew she wouldn't take the money. she knew she'd donate it to a charity instead. That felt the right thing to do.

Molly looked at the list of three enclosed with Benny's letter. It didn't take her long to choose.

The three charities so very different from each other, yet there was one that stood out to her immediately. One that she felt was the most deserving of the money. One she was delighted existed, and that Benny had been so involved with, and one she knew he would have approved of the money being donated to.

Charles sat wearily in the driver's seat and started up the engine. Giving her a half-hearted wave as he left. He hated her getting up in the ungodly hours of the morning to see him off. Yet she always did.

He hated it because he hated goodbyes, always had, and had always avoided them whenever he could. Tours, training exercises, conference away, he'd always just preferred to slip away, in the middle of the night. No fuss. Avoiding the tears and heart ache that inevitably came with goodbyes. It was easier for him, and others he felt, therefore just to slip away quietly.

However there were only two people in his life that refused to allow that to happen.

His mother, as she had just done, was always awake and up for his leave. Always said goodbye to him, no matter where he went or what time he left. She never let him go with about a hug and a kiss.

The second person who refused to let him go without even the smallest of send offs was Molly.

He didn't mind. In fact he secretly cherished their goodbyes. Molly was always so full of energy, so full of the right words to say, the right things to do for him as they said their goodbyes.

With Molly's his goodbyes had never been short or regretted. They had always been just right. They had always been the memory that saw him through the hardest of hours. Memories of her repeatedly telling him of her love for him, and their life together. Plans that they would have on his return and the need for him to come back to her. Every word she uttered suiting these goodbyes, that could go on for days before his actual departure, stayed in his heart and mind. Keeping him happy and secure in all he had.

That was until Elvis, until Charles' head and heart were too full of grief to feel anything else. And so he stopped listening to her, stopped hearing her words of love to him, and by simply stopping them that was how he slowly started to break them.

Now he would have given anything to be disturbed by her again. Now his ears were open. Now he was ready to listen. Yet now all he could hear was silence.

The roads were empty at this time of the day and the morning was grey. The sun hadn't risen yet. Autumn was starting on its way, and the sun was becoming lazy.

The early start was necessary for Charles to get back to work. A fair drive from Bath to his new home, and having used his allotted bereavement leave up he needed to get back to work. It was time to start again, his new life. The new life he led, first without Molly in it, now without his father in it.

He wasn't in a rush to return back to work, yet he needed to. Work, it was a job he had been lucky to get. A job he didn't particularly enjoy, and one he was overly qualified for, but still one he couldn't afford to lose it or put a foot wrong in.

Knowing his previous employment history and discharge from the Army would always be a mark against his name in any job market, meant he was just grateful he had work. He knew an Army reputation only meant something if your Army career had been a good one, and had the references to match. Charles, due to his foolishness had exactly the opposite CV to be seen as desirable anymore.

After Lane, after the cliff jump, he was questioned, disciplined and discharged. He accepted each and every black mark and accusation thrown at him. He knew he deserved each and every one, if not more. His past good service went to some way to mitigate the charges, but still Charles and the Army parted ways.

Help was offered, a condition for a lesser punishment, if he accepted it. He agreed and this help was strongly enforced, by the Army, his parent's and especially by Rebecca.

Sceptical at first he accepted the therapy as it was the only way to escape his parent's home and their preaching. He found those first few months at his childhood home draining. Watching the disappointed looks on his parent's faces day after day became his daily torture. The therapy was a means to initially escape, and then suddenly one day, it started to help. It started to change things, how he felt, what he knew. It started to lift the cloud that had enveloped him. It stared to make him turn back into the Charles James he once again recognised.

The therapy, the help, worked, but help came too late, he'd already lost Molly!

Financially, during this time he was dependent on the generosity of his parents. Rebecca, caring, supportive, accepting child maintenance was for now not so forth coming held her tongue.

He spent many a day sitting thinking on his situation as he applied for job after job. A grown man, divorcing for the second time, finding himself unemployed and living back with his parents. It was farcical. Yet this was where he had to be. The option of returning to the marital home too traumatic and guilt laden for him even to contemplate, besides it was Army quarters they had lived in. It came with his job, and once that was gone, so very quickly the house they both had once loved, was gone too. That hit him hard, the loss of a base, a permanent return address that every soldier converted. It hurt for him and he knew it would hurt Molly too. Not only had he abandoned his wife, they would see he had cheated on her, and the piece de resistance in his list of crimes, he had made her homeless too.

The lighter traffic and early start meant he arrived at his desk earlier than usual. Much earlier than the rest of the office crowd, and that suited him just fine.

He was now working for an insurance firm, processing policies and claims. Dealing with data, facts, figures rather than people. His choice as his past had shown when he had worked with humans it had gone disastrously wrong.

The desk job, he'd once told Molly something he could ever consider doing, he now was doing. To survive, to keep his sanity, and to keep his head above water. It was a total change to the life he had once had, a change from all his dreams and wants from his life. A world of artificial lighting and paper work. Worlds away from the theatre of soldiers and power he used to thrive in.

It was a job. The first one he'd been successful at getting after many months of looking. Reluctant to take it at first, but his bank balance and his therapist both thought it was a wise choice. The therapist felt that to live in a different world to what he had known, and messed up, would assist in helping him to come to terms with the changes that had occurred over the years.

It wasn't a punishment; it was an altered situation that in the early days had kept him away from so many potential triggers to his mental health issues. So far it was working. His life was even and calm. He had a degree of acceptance and a 'calmness in his nut'.

The job was not one he never would have considered. The pay each month was not something he'd ever really imagine either. Expecting that after all his years of education, all his military training, qualifications and rising to the rank of a Captain in the British Army, any job he got in civvy street would pay much more than he now actually earned.

Yet he was magnanimous... this was now his lot in life. He worked hard, came in early, left late and got the work done. His work colleagues were friendly, welcoming and every now and then he'd socialised with them. Not too often. As nights out with work colleagues led to questions being asked, histories probed, and work boundaries being blurred. An area he knew only too well and never wished to confuse them again.

His social life had considerably shrunk though since he'd left the Army. His old section forced to take sides, and some had even struggled as they lost respect for him as a man, and the role he had in their lives.

He lost contact with many of his old comrades too. They were too quick to judge and condemn his actions. He wasn't invited back to reunions, regimental celebrations, and he very much doubted if he would have attended if he ever was.

The positive side to this new life though was he saw Sam regularly. His son used him as a hotel and taxi driver for his social life in and out of London. He still saw Elvis' family too, and therefore inevitably Lane, and Brains, who was his sponsor, his confident and true friend. Other than that his life revolved around the volunteering work he did three nights a week.

The volunteering side of his life would not have been something that Charles would have actively sort out, but it was part of his therapy and pay back to society he felt. Initially a chore, now it was something he truly looked forward to each night he was there. It was a constant, and a dependable factor in his life. When almost everything else in his life wasn't, he still had that.

After he had sounded the death knell of his marriage. After he had over stepped the mark with Georgie. After accepting Molly had really gone, Charles had taken many months to truly realise what he had done and why. For a brief while they had tried, Charles and Georgie that is. Had a few more intimate and awkward hook ups, but the dawning of just how wrong it was, how uncomfortable it was, plus the scrutiny of their roles and the appropriateness of it all broke them.

Neither of them were sad. Neither regretted it not working, both had been blinded by grief and were both desperately attempting to grasp on to something in their messed up worlds.

The simple fact that Georgie still wore Elvis' ring constantly around her neck, and its ever presence when they came together said it all. That and the fact Charles had ruefully imagined it was Molly in his arms each and every time spoke volumes to both of them as well.

And so they accepted their huge errors all too late. Accepted the career changing mess they made of it all, and went their separate ways. Still friends but neither had the need, or inclination to want anything more.

To Charles, betraying Molly with Georgie, had been the most depraved thing he could possibly have done, and he fully understood why it hurt her so. Why she couldn't forgive. Yet it was also one of the major things that made him and others realise just how low he had gotten and how much help he now needed. How that just wasn't him. So despite it all, his therapist had taught him not to hate, dislike, Georgie, but to view her as a catalyst to his recovery. To be the one that changed his ways and help bring him back.

Yet he had lost so much. He had lost things that had been his world and he knew he would never get them back. His career for one, but even that loss paled into insignificance compared to losing Molly. He had lost his Molly. Most days as he thought of her, of what had happened, of what they had lost, he could only feel regret. Occasionally, but less so now, he felt a small explosion of anger towards Georgie who was after all a trained medic, the one who should have intervened to help him when he was ill. Rather than being the main reason for his ruinous downfall. Yet he tried to curb his thoughts of blame. Knowing throughout it all blame would bring nothing back, apart from painful memories.

"I think you've made a good choice there Ms Dawes." Jones said as she sat uncomfortable in his office the very next day. She didn't like this man and was pleased that after today her contact would be through letters and e mails only.

"Yeah. I think I have." She agreed and then realised he wasn't expecting her confirmation, or for her to even speak at all.

He looked at her over the top of his glasses sternly and continued.

"So Friday night you'll meet Gerard Cutter at the charity's building and he'll run thought all their works and projects that your money will help. And..." He continued holding his hand up to stop Molly from taking. "No one apart from him knows about the donation... just as you wished. As far as anyone else is concerned you're a prospective volunteer having a look around."

Molly thanked him and quickly left.

Out of the three charities Benny had suggested she was fairly certain he knew she'd pick this one. It was an organisation that helped immigrants and families. Those poor folks ravaged by war, conflict, and family break ups. Those who had to come to her country as strangers and depended on their kindness to help them get back on their feet. This charity seemed to do exactly that very successfully. From monetary advice, to English lessons, to homing and employment issues, the charity helped one and all regardless of race, creed or colour.

To Molly she felt it was similar to the charity that eventually Bashir had been helped by. Those kind people had taken her in and had made her feel safe and had transformed her shattered her life. Although Molly only had little contact with Qaseem over the years, and none directly with Bashira, she knew that at least she hadn't been abandoned by everyone when her life was torn apart, and that a charity helped her to succeed.

Molly felt therefore that it was only fitting that this sudden windfall she had inherited for Benny should be put into such as charity as this.

She arrived late, thanks to traffic and her not knowing this area just outside of London well.

Plus there had been an accident on the way there that had seemed complicated though minor, and had caused long road delays. In days gone by she might have been tempted to stop and help.

Late though she was the charity's leader was just as welcoming.

As she arrived she saw the tall, lean man waiting for her. Expecting her, pacing anxiously up and down. On her arrival he beamed at her.

"Ms Dawes." He greeted her so very formally. "Welcome. We were getting a bit concerned. There's been a bit of an accident and a few volunteers haven't turned in tonight. We feared you'd suffered the same fate." Gerard Cutter kindly rambled on.

She accepted his welcome and offer to show her all the good works going on around the thriving centre. Gerard explained to her how it all worked and the classes that were on offer tonight.

"Usually it's an English lesson, then followed by a session for anyone with regards to applications. We have all sorts of questions asked here. Some would shock you." He laughed. Then looked worried. "Sorry though tonight one of our main volunteers hasn't showed up. He's one of the best. Nothing phases him."

Molly spent the next two hours meeting families, students and a handful of volunteers and learnt everything about the charity that she could learn. Even though happy with what she saw, her head was boxed in with all the information she had received, and welcomed a sit down in the office.

Still Gerard continued to talk, obviously very proud of what they achieved.

"We work very hard, and have been going for nearly five years. Benny was very supportive when we started. I believe he had family members that had experienced with the uncertainties families can face during and after conflict."

Molly listened, and smiled. Muttering a phrase she'd use several times over the past few days.

"The crafty old bugger."

She knew, now that Benny hadn't given her the choice as soon as she had read about this charity, she knew, he knew, it would be the one to benefit from the money.

"Anyway. We depend heavily on our volunteers." Gerard continued. "In fact the one I wanted you to meet has just text to stay he is 10 mins away. So maybe you'd like to hold on and meet him after all?"

"Thanks. But no. Best be going. Thank you though." She said as she stood up and offered her hand.

"My pleasure and it's a shame. He's very inspirational. Very dedicated, commanding, and has come with a lot of ideas and suggestions we would never have consider."

"He sounds brilliant." Molly politely said and then made her excuses to leave.

Praying she'd find her car as she had been unsure of the street she parked it in.

Charles cursed. He hated being late. He hated letting people down, but the accident was not his fault. Plus as soon as he has seen that people were only minimally hurt but very confused by it all, he took charge of the situation. Stayed in command until the emergency services arrived. He helped the strangers, and his intervention prevented more casualties, further accidents, but in doing so he'd made himself late.

He guessed a man in his mid-thirties usually didn't spend their Friday nights volunteering at a charity, but it's what he he did. It's what he loved. He was committed to it.

As he left the car the rain started to thunderously fall. Within moments he was soaked as he had no umbrella. He pulled his coat collar up high and tight and pulled the hood on his jumper down over, partly covering his face. Trying to get some protection. The charity's building was a few blocks away and the night was dark. His mood matched the twilight that was setting in.

Molly squealed as the rain poured down out of nowhere. This wasn't expected, but thanks to her Gran and the old fashioned values she had installed in her as a girl, Molly had a small compact umbrella in her bag and instantly sort it out and deployed it. She wrapped the fashion scarf up tightly around her hair and her entire face for extra protection and ran.

Charles jumped avoiding puddles that were very quickly forming, paying little attention to anything apart from dodging other victims of the rain and the traffic as he crossed the street.

Molly finally recognised where she was and saw her car, her dry sanctuary in the distance. The offer of getting out of the rain and into the dry car made her legs go faster. That and the fact the street lamps were dodgy on this road and it was very poorly lit. She felt a little on edge and was more determined to get to her car as quick as she could.

Charles was certain that the rain was getting heavier and he was becoming soaked. Mindful after the time he had had off over his father's ill health the last thing he wanted was to become unwell, and needing sick time too. So he ran, past the parked cars and then ran even faster.

Their bodies banged into each other with such a force bouncing them off each other. Neither fell and neither were hurt. Yet both were stilled by the impact.

"Bleeding hell mate." She mumble out through the scarf that muffled her voice, and hid her face. The sounds of the rain falling almost causing her voice to be lost to his ears.

Yet he heard, just.

"Sorry you ok?" He asked politely. Looking around on the ground to see if anything had fallen in their collision.

"Yeah. Thanks. You?" She asked as a wave of familiarity in his voice hit her. His face was partly hidden, and apart from his voice at that moment she struggled for any other clues.

"Fine. Thanks." Stiff and very British. And he started to turn away. "I best be going." He politely turned back. "I'm already late."

"Yeah." Was all she offered. Amazed she could get any words out at all. "Me too."

She could tell he stalled, as though an unreasonable thought crossed his mind, and then she watched the small part of his face that was visible to her. She watched as his handsome face dismissed whatever it was he'd been thinking.

"Sorry." Again he offered, but this time with slight confusion in his voice, and he continued to run in the direction she had just come from.

Molly knew.

The bump, the familiarity of it all. The sensations she had instantly felt as she heard his voice.

He might not have understood but she did.

He might have thought they were two strangers who had collided but she knew differently.

That it was Charles. Her ex-husband Charles James she had just bumped into.

She had recognised him, but she doubted he had recognised her.

As she sat in the car waiting for the dampness to leave the windscreen, she pondered the not too happily coincidence of it all.

Amazed of all the streets, of all the places, to bump into him after all these years.

That they were both in the same place at the same time, the odds were huge.

Yet it had just happened.

And then it hit her.

The charity.

Benny had suggested it.

The volunteer that Gerard had talked about. Efficient. Commanding. A leader.

It was no coincidence.

She should have been mad. Annoyed.

She should have been indignant that even from the grave Benny was, despite his assurances, trying to interfere... but she wasn't.

She started the car's engine and set off in the direction of her parent's home.

Smiling.

She had seen Charles again.

The second time in as many weeks, and nothing had happened. She hadn't broken down. She hadn't made a fool of herself. She had, she believed grown impervious to him.

Besides she only had a week left of her leave before she headed back out to New Zealand for their summer season. What harm had been done?

None she maturely reasoned.

"The crafty bugger."

Was instead all she chuckled out as she drove off with a smile plastered to her face.