Twenty
Now
Molly rolled onto her back, her fingers clutching the edge of the stiff duvet.
Every instinct she possessed was screaming at her to throw back her curtain, walk down the dimly lit corridor, and knock softly on Ashley’s bunk.
To just acknowledge the glaring elephant sitting squarely in the middle of the bus.
‘This is weird, right?’ she wanted to say. ‘We’re faking a relationship for the paparazzi, but five years ago you broke my heart into a million pieces, and we haven’t spoken since.’
The urge to have an honest conversation—to finally ask the questions that had haunted her throughout the latter half of her twenties—was almost overwhelming.
They were trapped in a metal tube on wheels, miles away from their publicists, their agents, and the flashing cameras.
If there was ever a time to lay it all out on the table, it was now.
Molly sat up slightly, propping herself on an elbow. Her hand hovered over the edge of the privacy curtain.
Just go talk to her. Clear the air.
Then fear took over.
What if Ashley shut her down? What if Ashley didn’t care enough to explain? Worse yet, what if Ashley did explain, and Molly realised just how little she’d really meant to her? What if the defining relationship of her life had been someone else’s fling?
Her ego couldn’t face that.
Molly swallowed hard, the lump in her throat aching. Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled her hand back from the curtain and sank into the mattress.
She turned onto her side, pressed her face into the pillow, and closed her eyes, letting the hum of the engine drown out the silence.
It was cowardice, plain and simple. But right now, pretending was the only thing keeping her safe. And she’d always been good at that.
Five Years Ago
The celebratory bottle of five-quid prosecco was sitting in a plastic salad bowl full of tap water and ice on the busted coffee table in the living room.
Molly was ready for Ashley’s arrival. She had spent her final shift shaking off the weird grey fog of Steve’s kitchen talk. Steve was just an old, bitter bloke who hadn’t made it. The hell did he know about her and Ashley?
When the buzzer rang, Molly jumped up and ran to the door.
She threw it open. ‘Well!?’
Ashley was clutching her guitar case. She looked… Molly couldn’t really tell. Her expression was kind of blank.
‘Ash?’ Molly’s hands dropped. ‘What happened? Did the bloke cancel?’
Ashley pushed the door shut behind her. She set her guitar down very carefully against the wall, like it was made of glass.
‘No,’ Ashley said. Her voice was flat.
‘But he liked you. I know he liked you.’
She stood there in the narrow hallway and explained it. A woman in a navy suit. An opening slot. International stuff. Arenas. A band called Rocket something.
And then the bit that mattered.
‘They want me to go next month,’ Ashley said. ‘For four months.’
Four months. They’d been together about five minutes, and now Ashley was going across the Atlantic.
Before Molly could process it, the kitchen door creaked open.
Deacon wandered into the hallway wearing a faded kimono over a faded grey vest and even more faded pants. He looked at Ashley.
‘Did she get it?’ Deacon asked.
‘She got a bigger one,’ Molly said, not taking her eyes off Ashley. ‘She’s going to America.’
Deacon blinked. He scratched his beard with a thumbnail. ‘Right. I’m not gonna pretend I’m not jealous as fuck,’ he said. ‘Congratulations. I’m going for a shit.’
He shuffled off to the bathroom. The hallway went quiet again.
‘I can tell them no,’ Ashley said suddenly, looking at Molly. Her eyes were wide. ‘I can just do the local stuff. Build it up slowly.’
‘Are you thick?’ Molly said. She gave a short, sharp laugh, stepping closer. ‘You’re not saying no to that.’
‘It’s four months.’
‘Right. It’s four months,’ Molly repeated, smiling. She had three years of drama school. She could pretend to be happy for Ashley. ‘People do four months in rehab. They do four months in prison. You’re playing guitar.’
‘What about us, though?’ Ashley asked. She reached out, her fingers catching the edge of Molly’s sleeve. ‘We just started.’
‘We put a pin in it,’ Molly said. Her throat felt tight, like she’d swallowed a coin. But she kept smiling. ‘We’ve got till you go. And when you get back, we’ll pick it up.’
Ashley looked at her like she was trying to figure out if Molly meant it. Then she leaned forward and put her forehead against Molly’s shoulder.
Molly wrapped her arms around Ashley’s jacket, holding on tight, staring past her head at the peeling wallpaper by the kitchen door.
Steve’s voice crept back into her head, uninvited.
Watch what happens when she has to choose.
Molly squeezed her eyes shut and held Ashley tighter, trying to drown it out.