Ten
Now
The dress was a mistake.
It was emerald green silk, sitting just above the knee, a dress for a woman who ate expensive meals in Soho, not some currently unemployed actress whose stomach was tapdancing. It required posture. Molly didn’t have posture. She considered the spine’s natural straight line as more of a suggestion.
Molly stopped outside the restaurant. The brass sign was polished. The place sat on a cobblestone street, tucked away. It was so fancy it didn’t want the plebs to know it existed.
‘You’re an actress,’ Molly said to herself. She pulled at the silk on her hip. ‘You can pretend to have dinner with your ex.’
She pushed the oak door and tripped on the mat.
The ma?tre d’ walked over. He looked past her head, pretending he hadn’t seen her nearly hit the deck.
‘Table for Malone?’ Molly said, voice high.
‘Right this way, Ms Sullivan.’
She hated the staff knowing her name before she said it. It felt like bumping into your stalker.
The room was dark. Wood panels, amber bulbs, people clinking heavy forks. It took Molly a second to find Ashley. She was in the corner behind a large plant. She wore a baggy black blazer and a plain white T-shirt. She was looking at her phone.
Molly felt sick. She considered turning around, walking out into the rain, and taking whatever tiny crap role she could get.
But then Ashley spotted her.
Molly forced a grin and walked over. ‘Well, well,’ she said, too loud. People turned around. ‘London’s finest pop star.’
‘Molly. Hey,’ Ashley said, uber cool.
‘Don’t get up,’ Molly said, sliding onto the leather seat. Her hands were shaking. She picked up the napkin and started folding it into a tight square. ‘Fancy place. I feel like I’m auditioning for a period drama.’
Ashley put her phone on the table. She looked at Molly. ‘You seem a bit—’
‘I don’t seem anything. Making chat. It’s what you do on a fake date for the papers.’ Molly gave a short laugh. She kept folding the cloth. ‘Karen said if this fails my next job is a naked corpse in a river. And I said—’
‘Molly.’
Ashley put her hand over Molly’s hand.
Molly stopped. Ashley’s hand was warm and calloused and familiar.
‘Breathe,’ Ashley said.
Molly pulled her hand back. She put both hands under her thighs. ‘I’m not nervous. It’s just weird, Ash.’
Whoops.
‘...ley,’ Molly added quickly.
‘I know,’ Ashley said. She sat back. ‘It is weird.’
‘Yeah,’ Molly said. She looked past Ashley’s shoulder. ‘Weirder than that bloke’s wig.’
Ashley turned. Behind her, an old man sat with a young woman. On his head sat a thick, jet-black toupee, lifted slightly at the front like a small wedge of turf.
Ashley laughed. It was her real laugh.
Five Years Ago
Molly had tried to talk herself out of talking to Ashley again after the gig. It hadn’t worked,
The set was the problem. The girl from the pub toilet wasn’t just good-looking; she looked stupidly hot with a guitar.
Ashley came off the small stage, zipping up her guitar case. Without the microphone in front of her, she looked smaller.
‘Told you,’ Molly said.
Ashley stopped. She looked exhausted.
‘Told me what?’
‘That you should play.’
Ashley rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, it was fine. But you didn’t leave me much choice.’
‘I had to intervene,’ Molly said. ‘Otherwise, I was going to wet my jeans.’
Nice image to give her. Dark wet patch on crotch. Hot.
Ashley snorted. ‘Thanks.’
‘For what?’
‘Stopping the breakdown.’
Deacon walked over. He lived in the room across the landing from Molly. They weren’t proper friends, just warm acquaintances who shared milk and exchanged nods over the kettle. He busked classical pop covers on the Northern Line platform for a living.
He looked at Ashley, then at Molly, then back.
‘She wants to ask you out,’ Deacon said. His voice was completely flat.
Molly stared at him. ‘Shut up, Deacon.’
Ashley looked between them, holding her guitar case by the handle.
Nobody spoke. It was very quiet for five seconds.
‘Right,’ Ashley said.
‘Right,’ Molly said.
Deacon scratched his chin through his beard. ‘This is painful. Ask her out, you numpty.’
Molly looked down at the sticky carpet. ‘Jesus Christ, why are you doing this to me?’
‘You’re taking too long,’ Deacon said. ‘I’d have a go myself, but you two had a moment. I’m respecting the moment. Now ask her.’
Ashley blinked once.
‘I’ll see you at home, Deacon,’ Molly said.
‘I’m going.’ Deacon said. ‘If neither of you gets a number, you’re both thick.’
He turned and shuffled off into the crowd before either of them could say anything else.
Ashley looked at her trainers. Molly looked at a flyer on the wall.
‘He’s not usually like that,’ Molly said.
‘No?’ Ashley said.
‘Actually, I don’t know him all that well,’ Molly said. ‘He might be.’
Ashley let out a short breath. She looked toward the exit, then back. ‘Do you want a drink? Somewhere else?’
Molly looked at her. ‘Yeah. But I only drink champagne.’
‘Do you?’
‘No,’ Molly said. ‘No idea why I said that.’
Ashley looked at her for a second. ‘I need to check something. Are you gonna turn out to be a bit odd?’
‘Yes,’ Molly said. ‘Is that a dealbreaker?’
Ashley sighed. ‘When I asked the question, I thought it was. But maybe not.’
Molly grinned at Ashley. ‘Coffee?’
‘Coffee’s fine.’