Seventeen
Now
‘Absolutely not. No way. Out of the question.’
Ashley paced the length of Simon’s office, her boots clicking sharply against the polished floor.
She stopped in front of his wide desk, slamming both hands down onto the glass surface.
‘I am trying to rebuild my reputation as a serious musician, Simon, not audition for a reality TV show about celebrity couples!’
Simon didn’t even look up from his tablet. He casually took a sip of his green juice, completely unfazed by her outburst. ‘It’s not a reality show, Ash. It’s a classic rock-and-roll narrative. The devoted partner supporting her rock star from the wings. The public eats it up.’
‘Molly is an actress, not a roadie!’ Ashley shot back, exasperated. ‘And we’ve had exactly two fake dates. The first one was an awkward disaster, and the second one ended with her throwing my tits out for all to see!’
‘And Bra-Gate got you a hell of a lot more press coverage than your denial interview,’ Simon replied smoothly, finally looking up.
He slid his tablet across the desk toward her.
The screen displayed a graph showing a massive vertical spike.
‘Look at that. Your ticket sales for Edinburgh and Manchester have jumped by fifteen percent since yesterday morning. The algorithm loves a disaster, Ashley. But more importantly, it loves her. And it loved your reaction. You were more human—tits out and laughing—than you’ve been in a long time.
You’re a perfectionist, and that’s great.
But people like to see the person sometimes. ’
Ashley stared at the graph. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting out a heavy sigh.
Even now, thinking about Molly spread-eagled on that carpet brought a reluctant twitch to the corner of Ashley’s mouth.
‘Look,’ Ashley said, her voice dropping to a more reasonable, defensive note. ‘Molly was mortified yesterday. She’s trying to be taken seriously for some BBC thing. Trapping her on a cramped, sweaty tour bus for weeks isn’t going to help her. It’s going to make her miserable.’
‘Karen already talked to her,’ Simon countered, leaning back in his leather chair. ‘Molly already agreed.’
Ashley blinked, surprised. ‘She did?’
‘Of course she did. Because Karen understands the business, and so does Molly. This keeps her in the trades right up until the casting director makes their final decision. It’s a win-win.
’ Simon leaned forward, his expression softening.
‘Ash, listen to me. This tour is crucial. We need to show the label as well as the fans that you’re stable.
Having a sweet, dependable, highly visible girlfriend sitting in the VIP box every night completely rewrites the “lying diva pop star” narrative Reva left you with. It shows you’re grounded.’
‘Grounded,’ Ashley muttered sarcastically. ‘Molly can barely stay on her own two feet.’
‘Exactly. She’s a mess. People like her,’ Simon said with a shrug. ‘Look, we’ll get the luxury double-decker bus. She’ll have her own private cabin, total privacy, whatever she wants. You won’t be tripping over each other.’
Ashley looked out the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the London traffic crawl by below.
It was a terrible idea. It was a recipe for emotional disaster. One ex, plus faked intimacy equals…
Ashley wasn’t even sure exactly what the concern was. She just knew that something about all this scared her.
But as she thought about the gruelling, lonely weeks on the road ahead, the thought of having Molly there—even a reluctant, irritated Molly who couldn’t walk in heels—made the tight knot of anxiety in Ashley’s stomach loosen just a fraction.
Maybe that was the problem.
‘Fine,’ Ashley said quietly, turning back to Simon. ‘But if she hates it, or if the press gets too invasive, she gets a first-class train ticket back to London immediately. No arguments.’
Simon smiled, a triumphant glint in his eye as he swiped his tablet back. ‘Deal. Get some rest, Ash. You hit the road next week.’
Five Years Ago
They stood for a moment outside the house, as if both of them were waiting for the other to decide this was a bad idea and suggest a pub instead. But Molly just nodded once, like she’d already committed to something and didn’t see much point in reversing it now.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Lead on then.’
Ashley took a breath and pushed the front door open into the dark hall. ‘Dad?’ she called.
No answer. Which, for a brief moment, allowed her to feel optimism.
She glanced back at Molly. ‘He might be out.’
Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘That sounded like you don’t believe that.’
‘I don’t not believe it,’ Ashley said.
‘I’m not sure that’s how belief works.’
Ashley led her inside. The idea was to head straight upstairs to Ashley’s bedroom, her private space. But to do that, you had to walk past the kitchen.
Lo and behold, Steve Malone was there. Drinking tea at the table, his notebook nearby. The one he pretended wasn’t full of compositions and lyrics.
Ashley froze at the sight of him. Molly bumped into her back and stopped.
Steve looked at Molly first. Then at Ashley. Then back at Molly, with a look of such naked appraisal that Ashley was already humiliated before he even spoke.
‘Evening,’ he said.
‘Hi,’ Ashley replied.
Steve took a sip from his mug, like he was giving himself time to decide whether to act like a prick or not.
‘Didn’t realise we were having visitors,’ he said.
‘It wasn’t planned,’ Ashley said quickly. ‘This is Molly.’
Molly lifted a hand. ‘Hi.’
‘Right,’ Steve said. Not unfriendly, but nowhere near warmth.
Steve set his mug down a little too carefully. ‘You going to be staying long, Molly?’
It was polite on paper. It wasn’t polite in tone.
‘I’m not sure,’ Molly said neutrally.
Steve gave a smile that forgot to tell his eyes. ‘Well. Don’t let me interrupt anything.’
Ashley felt the familiar tightening in her stomach that came whenever her father spoke in that register that she had come to think of as ‘bitter-dad frequency’.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Molly didn’t. ‘We’re just having a drink,’ she said lightly.
Steve looked at her again. ‘Course you are.’
Ah, he’d made the call. He was going to be horrid.
Ashley shifted her weight. ‘We were just gonna go upstairs.’
‘Upstairs,’ Steve repeated, as though she’d said something absolutely filthy.
Molly stayed perfectly still beside her.
Then Steve added, almost casually, ‘Bit late for guests, isn’t it?’
Ashley felt heat rise in her face immediately. ‘It’s not that late.’
‘No?’ Steve glanced at a clock that didn’t really need to be glanced at. ‘Feels late.’
‘Does she have a curfew?’ Molly asked.
Ashley tried not to feel alarmed. It wasn’t like Molly was being confrontational, as such. It was just a joke. Or it might be in other houses.
Steve didn’t smile. ‘No curfew,’ he said. ‘Just a working house. Some of us have early starts.’
Ashley opened her mouth again. ‘Dad—’
‘It’s fine,’ Molly cut in gently, without looking at Ashley. Then back to Steve. ‘We won’t be loud.’
Steve’s mouth tightened just a fraction. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Well. Enjoy your evening.’ He picked up his mug again.
And that, somehow, was the dismissal.
Ashley just wanted to go now, and she turned, expecting Molly to follow silently.
Instead, Molly looked Ashley’s dad square in the eye and said, ‘Oh, we will.’ Then she turned slightly to Ashley. ‘Shall we?’
She grabbed Ashley by the hand and led her off. And Ashley was shocked to find she was trying not to laugh.
***
In Ashley’s bedroom, Molly closed the door behind them. ‘Whoa. You are neat.’
Ashley looked at her bedroom through Molly’s eyes. It did look a bit overly organised.
The bed was made properly, corners tucked in.
Guitar pedals sat in a plastic crate, each one facing the same direction.
Spare strings, capos and picks lived together in labelled biscuit tins she’d stolen from the kitchen.
Two guitars rested on a stand beside the window.
Her battered acoustic from busking and the cherry-red electric she’d bought second-hand after nearly a year of saving.
There were posters, but only a handful. Joni Mitchell. Jeff Buckley. Radiohead. None of them framed. Blu-Tack had left pale circles where older heroes had once lived.
Molly was still looking around with an expression somewhere between admiration and anthropological curiosity.
‘I bet all your socks are paired.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It wasn’t a criticism.’ Then Molly let out a breath, almost a laugh. ‘So… your dad’s intense.’
Ashley winced. ‘He’s not usually that bad.’
Molly raised an eyebrow. ‘Ya sure?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m just used to him.’
‘Did I… Should I not have said that thing about curfews? Was I rude?’
‘He was rude. You just matched his energy,’ Ashley told her sincerely. She was happy Molly hadn’t taken his shit. It told her that Molly was exactly who Ashley thought she was. And she liked Molly all the better for it.
Somehow, they ended up sitting side by side on the edge of the bed, apparently their favoured position. And they sat like that for a long time, in a lovely peace that Ashley had never experienced in the company of another person.
‘Is it okay?’ Molly asked, quieter now. ‘With him downstairs.’
Ashley nodded once. ‘Yeah,’ she said. She hoped that was true. That he wasn’t going to suddenly bang on the door with some excuse to intrude and ruin the moment.
She realised Molly was watching her.
‘What?’ Ashley asked.
Molly smiled faintly. ‘You’ve gone somewhere.’
‘Have I?’
‘Mmm.’
Ashley looked down at her own hands. She had been twisting the cuff of her sleeve without noticing. She let go of it immediately, embarrassed at having been caught doing something so unmistakably anxious.
Molly reached over and untwisted the fabric again with surprising care.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Better.’
Ashley laughed softly. ‘You fixed me.’
Their eyes met in one of those charged looks that kept happening.
Ashley had crushed on people before. Attractive girls. Nice girls. She’d even fallen in love once, or at least what she’d thought was love at the time.
This didn’t feel like any of that. It felt like the decision to fall for Molly had been made without the higher functions of her brain.
It happened somewhere deeper, somewhere she barely had access to.
It was like there had never been any choice in it, if Ashley had wanted to choose differently. Which she didn’t.
Molly wiggled closer.
‘You still alright?’ she asked.
Ashley nodded.
‘You keep checking.’
‘I’m going to keep checking.’
Ashley wasn’t used to that level of care. It made something inside her unclench. She closed the distance.
The kiss was slower than the first one they’d shared, neither of them in any hurry to prove anything. Ashley became aware of tiny sensory details: the faint taste of wine still lingering, Molly’s hair brushing her cheek, the warmth of a hand settling lightly against the small of her back.
Downstairs, a cupboard door closed.
Ashley pulled away instinctively. ‘Sorry.’
Molly blinked. ‘For kissing me?’
‘No. I just...’ She glanced towards the floor.
Molly followed her eyes. ‘Your dad?’
Ashley gave an apologetic nod.
Molly swept a stray hair from Ashley’s face with a smile. ‘He’s downstairs,’ she murmured. ‘We’re up here.’
‘He’s got an uncanny ability to make me feel like he’s everywhere. He’s like a ghost that haunts the place.’
Molly laughed quietly. ‘That’s possibly the least sexy thing anyone’s ever said to me mid-kiss.’
Ashley groaned. ‘Sorry.’
‘You did it again.’
‘What?’
‘You apologised.’ Molly kissed her once, briefly. ‘I’m starting a new rule.’
‘What’s the rule?’
‘No apologising unless you actually stand on my foot.’
Ashley smiled. ‘That seems specific.’
‘I’ve got delicate feet.’
‘Have you?’
‘No idea. Probably. I think everyone does.’
Ashley laughed into the next kiss, and something about laughing at exactly the wrong moment made the whole thing feel more intimate rather than less.
The room seemed to shrink around them. Not because it was small—though it wasn’t huge—but because Ashley’s attention kept narrowing until there was only Molly.
Outside the bedroom door, the house continued to creak and settle around them. Pipes knocked somewhere in the walls. Floorboards groaned under someone else’s footsteps. Every ordinary sound reminded Ashley that they weren’t alone.
Ashley made the decision to stop caring. It was that easy. All she’d ever needed, it seemed, was bigger fish to fry. And Molly was a whale shark on the hook. Ashley couldn’t let her slip off. She couldn’t afford to throw her back. There wouldn’t be another Molly. Ashley was sure of that.
Downstairs, a door closed. Upstairs, it didn’t matter.
The playful hesitation from before was gone, replaced by a quiet heat that made Ashley’s knees feel suddenly unreliable. She reached out instinctively, her hands gripping the fabric of Molly’s shirt, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.
Molly let out a soft sound against Ashley’s lips and shifted her weight, guiding Ashley backwards. They tumbled onto the neatly tucked covers together, a sudden tangle of limbs and breathless laughter that broke the rhythm but heightened everything else.
Ashley ended up flat on her back, looking up as Molly hovered over her.
‘Still okay?’ Molly whispered, her thumb brushing across Ashley’s lower lip. It was sweet because it wasn’t the first time for them. Yet Molly was treating her like it was. The care was unmissable.
‘Perfect,’ Ashley breathed.
Molly smiled and leaned down, her lips leaving Ashley’s mouth to trace a slow, agonisingly deliberate path down her jawline to the sensitive skin of her neck.
Ashley gasped, her fingers tangling into Molly’s hair, her hips lifting slightly.
Every place Molly touched felt amplified, burning away the lingering chill of the house downstairs.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ Molly murmured, the sincerity in her voice hitting deeper than any physical touch.
Ashley didn’t answer with words. She pulled Molly down tighter into her. The weight of Molly’s body pressing on hers was electric. Ashley arched into the pressure, her hands sliding down Molly’s back. Last time, she’d been the one to lead in bed. It was just as good like this. Maybe better.
The world narrowed to the sound of their combined breathing, the rustle of sheets, and the friction of skin against skin.
When Molly’s hand slipped lower, finding the button of Ashley’s jeans, Ashley let her eyes close, completely giving in to the rhythm they were building together—one that belonged entirely to them, far above the rest of the world.