Twenty-Five
Now
Ashley unstrapped her guitar and handed it to a guitar tech backstage. Her shirt was soaked through the back. She glanced toward the sound desk, but Molly was gone.
The afterparty was in a basement bar two streets away.
Simon had texted to say the photographer from earlier was done, so they didn’t have to sit near any windows.
Ashley found Molly sitting at a table by a fruit machine.
She had a gin and tonic in one hand, and the six pages of her script rolled up like a baton in the other.
‘You stayed,’ Ashley said, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
‘Yep,’ Molly said. She didn’t look at Ashley’s face. She looked at her shoulder. ‘Your third song was too loud. My left ear is whistling.’
‘That’s Jax,’ Ashley said. ‘They cranked their amp as soon as the house lights went down. It’s a bassist thing. They live in terror of getting overlooked.’
She sat down at the table without asking. She didn’t quite know how that was gonna land, if Molly might just say, ‘Well, see you at the bus,’ and scarper.
Molly took a sip of her drink. ‘You were good. You look ridiculous when you hold your pick in your mouth between songs, though.’
‘It’s practical,’ Ashley said.
‘I kept thinking you were gonna choke on it,’ Molly said.
‘I’m sorry I worried you,’ Ashley lied with the smallest smile. She was pleased as punch at the idea she could worry Molly.
They stayed at the bar for two hours. They didn’t talk about arranged, performative affections at all. They just talked.
They talked about the sticky, spilt-cider smell of the venue floor, and how the guy running the sound desk had spent the entire third song eating a Tupperware bowl of cold, yet smelly pasta.
They argued over whether the Manchester drizzling rain qualified as real rain or just very aggressive humidity.
They mapped out a detailed hierarchy of service station snacks, Molly defending sour cream Pringles with absolute sincerity, Ashley insisting that lukewarm sausage rolls were the only thing keeping the British economy afloat.
They debated whether the fruit machine in the corner was rigged, then tested it, their utter failure only serving as evidence of the con. They spent ten minutes picking apart the weirdly dark backstory of a framed Victorian portrait hanging behind the bar.
They talked about everything and nothing, carefully filling every single silence before it could exist. It was safer that way.
As long as they kept talking about geography and Pringles, neither of them had to mention the way their knees kept brushing under the table, or how easily the old warmth was sneaking back in through the cracks.
But every time Molly turned her head, her shoulder brushed Ashley’s.
When Ashley reached for a bowl of peanuts, her fingers clipped Molly’s knuckles.
It wasn’t the fake touching from the restaurant.
It was clumsy. Every time it happened, both of them stopped talking for a second, then started again on a different topic.
By two in the morning, Elena and Toby and Jax were having a loud argument near the coats about a tank top they all insisted was theirs, and the tour manager told everyone the bus was leaving shortly.
‘To bed, then,’ Molly said.
Ashley couldn’t help but notice the blush creeping up her neck as she said it.
***
Ashley and Molly walked a few yards behind the others.
‘It fits me loose!’ Elena said.
‘It fits me snug!’ Toby said.
‘It fits me correctly,’ Jax said.
Ashley slowed her pace to allow them to completely vanish. She didn’t have to tell Molly what she was doing; Molly fell quickly into lockstep beside her.
‘The bus is down there,’ Molly said, pointing.
‘No, it’s around the side,’ Ashley said. ‘Dave said they moved it because of the bins.’
They turned left down a narrow gap. It was completely dark. Ashley’s boot caught on a piece of loose tarmac, and she lunged forward, grabbing Molly’s shoulder to stop herself. Molly spun around, her own foot slipping on wet moss, her hand diving into the front of Ashley’s jacket.
They didn’t fall onto the path. They tumbled sideways through a gap, straight into a massive, overgrown privet bush bordering an old red-brick office.
The bush was thick and full of dry twigs that cracked loudly under their weight. Molly hit the ground first with a dull thud, and Ashley landed right on top of her, her elbow burying itself into the dirt near Molly’s ear. The leaves smelled like damp earth and cat pee.
‘Ow,’ Molly said from underneath. ‘Your knee is on my script.’
‘Sorry,’ Ashley said. She tried to shift her weight, but her jacket was caught on a thick branch. Her face was four inches from Molly’s. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No,’ Molly said. Her voice was breathy. Her hands were still flat against Ashley’s chest, right over her ribs. ‘You’re surprisingly heavy, Malone.’
‘My d-dad says we have dense bones,’ Ashley stuttered.
Molly didn’t move her hands. She shifted her head slightly to avoid a twig poking her cheek. Her mouth was right there. Ashley looked at her top lip. It had a tiny bit of salt on it from the peanuts.
‘Ashley,’ Molly said.
‘What?’
Molly didn’t answer. She just pulled Ashley down by her jacket.
Their mouths hit hard. It wasn’t a neat kiss. Ashley’s nose knocked against Molly’s cheekbone first, and Molly let out a small, annoyed grunt into Ashley’s mouth. Then Ashley got her balance, bracing her hand in the dirt, and pressed down properly.
Molly’s mouth was hot. She reached up and got her fingers into the back of Ashley’s hair, pulling her down until Ashley’s chest was flat against hers.
A branch snapped loudly near Ashley’s hip, but neither of them stopped.
Ashley kissed her harder. It felt messy and urgent, like they were trying to finish an argument that had been going on since Edinburgh.
Molly’s legs came up, wrapping around Ashley’s thigh to pull her closer into the dirt. Ashley kept her mouth glued to Molly’s, her thumb pressing into the soft skin just under Molly’s jawline until Molly made a small, tight noise in her throat.
From nearby, Toby’s voice echoed through the dark. ‘Ashley? Molly? Dave’s grinding the gears. We’re going.’
Molly broke the kiss, her breath coming out in loud, ragged gasps. Her eyes were very wide in the dark under the leaves.
‘We’re in a bush,’ Molly whispered. Her hand was still knotted in Ashley’s hair.
‘I know,’ Ashley said.
Her heart was banging against her ribs like a trapped bird. She didn’t want to get up. She wanted to stay in the dirt.
‘Your band are idiots,’ Molly said.
She reached up and wiped a small piece of green leaf off Ashley’s chin. Her fingers were shaking.
‘Yeah,’ Ashley said. She kissed her once more, quickly, a dry smack on the lips that felt more regular. ‘Come on. Before Dave comes looking with his torch.’