Eighteen
Now
Molly stood in the narrow corridor, clutching the strap of her oversized duffle bag. She had expected a vehicle of rock-and-roll debauchery, but instead, the bus looked like a Scandinavian kitchen on wheels.
‘Everyone, this is Molly,’ Ashley announced to the room.
Ashley was leaning against the kitchenette counter, looking effortlessly cool in an oversized vintage band tee and faded denim. But Molly could see the slight tension in her jaw, the way her fingers kept tapping a restless rhythm against her thigh. She was just as nervous as Molly was.
Sitting around the horseshoe-shaped leather booth at the back of the bus were three people who looked like they had been pulled straight from an indie-rock catalogue. They all stopped talking the moment Molly stepped aboard, their eyes locking onto her with a mixture of curiosity and scepticism.
‘Molly, this is my touring band,’ Ashley continued, gesturing to them. ‘Toby on drums, Jax on bass, and Elena on keys.’
‘Hi,’ Molly said, offering a small, incredibly awkward wave. ‘Nice to meet you all. Sorry if I’m... crashing the party.’
‘No worries at all, mate,’ Toby, the drummer, said smoothly. He had a thick mane of curls and a surprisingly warm smile. ‘We’ve seen the red-carpet footage. Absolute legendary dive.’
Molly felt a blush creep up her neck, but before she could reply, Jax—shaved head and a sharp glare—snorted. ‘Just don’t trip over the guitar cables backstage, yeah? Some of that gear costs more than my flat.’
‘Jax, mind your manners,’ Ashley warned, her voice sounding more protective than Molly would have expected. ‘Molly’s a guest.’
Jax shrugged, turning back to their phone, though the icy edge in the room melted just a fraction.
‘Why don’t you just piss all over the bus next time? It’s more direct,’ Elena—heavy eyeliner and a natural sneer—said dryly, nudging Jax.
Jax pretended to ignore it.
‘Come on,’ Ashley said, looking back at Molly. ‘Let me show you where you’re sleeping before we hit the motorway.’
Molly followed Ashley down the narrow hallway toward the bunk area.
‘The driver’s called Dave, by the way, but don’t expect to see him much,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘He keeps to himself unless he’s barking at you to keep to his schedule.
’ The space was tight, forcing them to brush shoulders as they moved.
Every time Ashley’s arm grazed hers, Molly felt a jolt of hyper-awareness.
Ashley stopped in front of a built-in wooden berth lined with heavy black privacy curtains. ‘This one’s yours. It’s got ventilation, a little reading light, and a plug for your phone. I made sure you got the double-width bunk so you wouldn’t feel totally claustrophobic.’
Molly peeked inside the cosy, cave-like space. ‘It’s actually really nice. Thank you.’ She hesitated, shifting her weight. ‘And... thanks for defending me back there. I know having a fake girlfriend tag along on your tour isn’t exactly ideal.’
Ashley leaned her back against the opposite wall of the corridor, looking down at Molly with a wry smile.
‘Are you kidding? After everything that happened with Reva, the band was terrified I was going to bring another unpredictable nightmare on the road. An adorably clumsy actress is a massive upgrade. Trust me.’
Molly’s breath caught slightly at the word adorably. She looked into Ashley’s dark eyes, searching for any sign of the performance, but Ashley looked sincere, if tired.
‘Right,’ Molly cleared her throat, suddenly feeling very warm in the tight corridor. ‘Well. I promise to keep my feet firmly planted on the floor for the duration of the trip.’
‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ Ashley teased, a familiar crinkle appearing at the corners of her eyes.
‘Do they know?’ Molly asked.
‘Of course,’ Ashley said. ‘It couldn’t work any other way, could it? Not in these close quarters.’
‘And they won’t say anything? You’re certain? Because the one thing worse than everyone knowing I’m a clumsy idiot is people thinking I would do… this.’
‘I trust them.’ Ashley gave Molly’s shoulder a gentle bump with her fist. ‘Get settled. We cross the Scottish border by sunrise.’
Five Years Ago
Molly woke up with her face pressed into the crease of a pillow that smelled of cheap laundry powder. The narrow spot beside her on the single bed was empty.
Molly looked around her in the sunny room. She soon found Ashley standing by the desk in her knickers and white T-shirt, frantically pulling papers out of a canvas tote bag, hassled.
‘What time is it?’ Molly asked.
Ashley jumped, dropping a biro. ‘Seven forty. Shit. Shit shit shit.’
‘Did you set an alarm?’
‘It went off at seven,’ Ashley said, shoving the papers back in. ‘I turned it off. I never turn alarms off. I don’t know why I did that.’
‘Because you were tired,’ Molly said, sitting up and pulling the duvet over her chest. ‘You had a busy night.’
Ashley stopped, looking at her. The panic on her face softened for a second into a quick, lopsided grin. ‘I did. But the audition is in Camden at eight thirty, and the Northern Line is going to be fucked.’
She lunged for her jeans on the floor, dragging them on one leg at a time, nearly falling over her guitar case in the process.
‘I have to run,’ Ashley said, grabbing her jacket off the chair. She hopped toward the bed, leaned down, and kissed Molly hard on the mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. Lock the front door on your way out? The latch is sticky, you have to kick it slightly.’
‘I can do that,’ Molly said. ‘Knock ‘em dead today.’
‘I’ll be lucky to knock ‘em semi-conscious,’ Ashley shouted from the hallway. ‘See you at yours later?’
The front door slammed. Then silence.
Molly lay back on the mattress for two minutes, looking at the ceiling.
Her body felt heavy, her muscles ached. Things had gotten pretty athletic last night.
She had a shift at the coffee shop at nine—her final shift before the big acting job started.
She couldn’t afford to fuck it off, she had three pounds and six pence in her current account—and she needed a shower.
But she didn’t want to linger. Ashley’s dad would probably spring up and charge her for hot water use, the prick.
She got up, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and padded out of the bedroom in her socks.
The bathroom was at the end of the landing.
Molly washed her face with cold water at the sink, used her finger to scrub her teeth as best she could, and tried to tame her hair in the small mirror.
She looked like someone who had stayed up until three having the best sex of her life. She didn’t mind the look.
She went downstairs, holding her trainers by the laces so she wouldn’t make a racket.
The kitchen door was open.
Steve was sitting at the wooden table. Exactly where he’d been last night. He had the same mug in his hand. The black notebook sat open beside a plate of toast crusts. It was like he’d never moved.
Molly froze on the bottom step. She considered slipping straight out the front door, but the sticky latch Ashley mentioned was going to require noise.
‘Morning,’ Molly said with more than a little bravado, stepping onto the lino. She set her trainers on the floor and pulled them on, bending over to do the laces.
Steve looked up at her. He looked like an old dog watching a squirrel on a fence.
‘Morning,’ Steve said. He didn’t offer tea. ‘She gone?’
‘Ran for the tube,’ Molly said, double-knotting her left lace. ‘Camden.’
‘Yeah. The thing.’ Steve took a slow sip from his mug. ‘I warned her not to go. It won’t lead anywhere good.’
Molly straightened up. ‘She’s very talented.’
‘She is,’ Steve agreed flatly. ‘That’s not the issue.’
Molly’s shoes were on and laced now, and she was tempted to just give him the old, ‘Fuckity bye-bye.’
But she didn’t. ‘What is?’ she asked.
Steve set his mug down on the Formica table. ‘She tell you about what I used to do?’ he asked.
Molly blinked. ‘No,’ she lied. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘I was in a band, Rubix. You’ll know them.’
Molly shrugged, feeling a bit childish but unable not to needle this man.
‘Runs in the family. Music. People think it’s a job or a passion. It’s not. It’s an addiction. Ashley’s got it bad. Had it since she was small.’
‘She’s talented,’ Molly said, aware she was repeating herself.
‘I know she is,’ Steve said, looking Molly dead in the eye.
‘I was talented too. Insisted on moving the date of my own wedding because we had a gig in Munich, even though we were only weeks out from the big day. Thought it mattered.’ He let out a short, dry sound that wasn’t a laugh. ‘It didn’t matter.’
Okay, this was officially awkward. She began to back up, intending to go.
‘Ashley doesn’t do people,’ Steve said, ignoring Molly’s move toward the hallway.
‘Not really. She thinks she does. She brings a pretty girl home, she gets excited, she plays at being a normal twenty-five-year-old. But the second a producer calls, or a record label gives her a nod, everything else will go in the bin. Friends. Girlfriends. Me. You.’ He pointed a blunt finger at her.
‘She’ll use whatever you’ve got for a song, and then she’ll be on to the next thing. ’
Molly shoved her hands into the pockets. ‘You don’t know her as well as you think you do,’ she said. It sounded a bit weak, even to her own ears.
Steve smiled horribly. ‘I made her,’ he said. ‘I know exactly what she is, because she’s me. Watch what happens when she has to choose between you and a microphone, Molly. Just watch. She can’t love anything but music. I certainly never did.’
Molly stared at him for three seconds. He didn’t blink. He just picked up his mug again and looked back down at his notebook.
‘Right,’ Molly said. ‘Well. Have a nice day, you sour old fuck.’
She didn’t wait for his reaction to that, turning, walked into the dark hallway, and went to the front door. She pulled the handle, gave the bottom of the wood a sharp kick with her toe as Ashley had said, and stepped out onto the street. The door slammed shut behind her.
Molly walked fast toward the bus stop, her hands jammed deep into her pockets.
Bitter bastard, she thought, forcing a grin onto her face as she stepped over a puddle. Classic jealous dad. Bitter because his own career went down the drain.
She pictured Ashley hopping around the bedroom in her knickers, panicking about her audition. She conjured the way Ashley had held her in bed after sex. Ashley wasn’t cold. Ashley wasn’t a user.
Molly scoffed out loud, shaking her head as she reached the bus shelter. The whole conversation was ridiculous.
She sat down on the metal bench, pulling her collar up against the wind. But as she waited for the 176 to arrive, she couldn’t stop thinking about one thing he’d said.
Watch what happens when she has to choose.
Molly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to flush the sound of Steve’s flat, tired voice out of her head. It was bollocks. Total bollocks.
The bus rounded the corner, red and loud in the grey morning, and Molly stood up to hail it.