Twenty-Three #2
‘We were literally just talking about your whole lore in the group chat,’ her friend, or possibly sister, added eagerly, bouncing on her heels.
‘Like, how hard it must be for you, being the mysterious low-key girlfriend while Ashley’s a huge pop star.
But we totally support you! We’re team Ashley-and-Molly!
#AshMoll is literally trending on TikTok right now. ’
Ashley swallowed, her throat bone-dry. The teens didn't see two human beings trying to navigate a ruined, complicated history. They saw a social media video repackaged into hashtagged fan fiction. But why wouldn’t they? They were children.
Molly’s mouth twitched, her eyes dropping to where her thumb was still pinned to Ashley’s pulse.
The staged public affection felt suddenly vile in front of its intended audience. Ashley had never felt more like a whore in her life.
‘Yeah,’ Molly said dryly. ‘I guess it is pretty crazy that Ashley Malone is with some sitcom nobody.’
‘Can we get a quick selfie?’ the taller girl begged, already crouching down between their seats, thrusting an iPhone directly into Ashley’s face. ‘Just so everyone knows we met the real-life endgame couple?’
Ashley’s smile felt like it was going to crack her face in half. She shrank back an inch, the cramped leather booth offering zero room for escape, while the camera flash went off twice in quick succession.
‘Thanks so much!’ the girl beamed, barely looking at Ashley before tapping away at her screen to upload it.
They darted back toward their table, giggling madly over their phones.
Molly slowly pulled her hand back, placing it neatly in her own lap. Ashley looked down at the empty space on her wrist, her face burning so hot that the man with the SLR outside the window didn't even need a flash anymore.
‘Well,’ Molly said softly, looking at some salmon. ‘At least we’re endgame.’
Ashley gave her a weak, embarrassed smile.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so old in all my life as I did just then,’ Molly noted.
‘Now you know why I never leave the bus. I turned thirty this year. I can’t listen to that kind of thing regularly. It makes me want to lobotomise myself.’
Molly cackled. Her phone started to buzz on the seat next to her thigh.
‘Karen,’ she said, squinting at the screen. She made no move to pick up.
‘It might be important,’ Ashley said quickly, grateful for the interruption. ‘You should answer.’
Molly smiled thinly. ‘That takes me back.’
Ashley smiled too, and for a moment, the shame receded.
Molly suddenly stopped smiling, going for the phone. ‘Yo.’
Ashley watched her face. Molly’s expression went from a bored look to something very sharp. Her eyebrows went up, and she suddenly jerked so fast her knee hit the underside of the table. The water glasses wobbled.
‘Right,’ Molly said into the phone. She put her free hand over her other ear to block out the restaurant music, which was some kind of loud electronica. ‘Yes, I can do Thursday. I’m in Manchester right now, but I can get the train down. Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Karen.’
She hung up and stared at the phone screen. Her mouth was open a little bit.
‘What?’ Ashley asked, leaning forward.
‘There’s this BBC thing I’ve been trying to get.’
‘I know, Freshly Laundered,’ Ashley said automatically.
Molly blinked. ‘Uh, yeah. They want me to audition,’ she said. ‘They want me in London on Thursday morning.’
Ashley felt a sudden, sharp drop in her stomach. Thursday, she’d be gone. ‘That’s amazing, Molly.’
‘It’s a proper audition,’ Molly said. She looked like she might throw up her sushi. ‘Not just a self-tape. The director is going to be in the room. The woman who did that show about the women in the prison.’
‘That’s great,’ Ashley said. She reached out to Molly without thinking about the photographer or Simon or the glass wall. Ashley took Molly’s fingers and gave them a small squeeze. ‘You’re going to get it.’
The man with the camera lens outside took three quick photos in succession, the flash reflecting off the glass like a tiny blink of lightning, but neither of them looked at him.
‘I have to learn six pages by Thursday,’ Molly said. She didn’t pull her hand away from Ashley’s. ‘I struggle with memorising off a screen; I have to print it. How am I going to print six pages of a script on a tour bus?’ she muttered to herself.
She wasn’t really asking for anything, but Ashley didn’t accept it as simple thinking aloud. She wanted to help. She could help.
‘We’ll find somewhere,’ Ashley said. ‘People still need to print stuff. Bound to be some print shop or something.’
‘I’ll have to leave the tour,’ Molly said. She looked up at Ashley. Her eyes were very wide and bright, the way they got when she was excited about something. ‘Simon will be pissed.’
‘Simon knows why you’re doing this. He can’t complain that it worked.’ Ashley said.
‘Yeah?’ Molly asked.
‘Yeah,’ Ashley said sincerely.
‘Well, I’ll stay till Thursday morning,’ Molly said nervously.
‘Good,’ Ashley replied.
Suddenly, it didn’t feel stilted anymore. It just felt like they were two people sitting in a very bright room, talking.
Five Years Ago
The Zoom window filled almost her entire laptop screen. On it sat Simon, her new manager as of a week ago. The label said she needed someone to handle contracts, to ensure legality, and that he was someone they dealt with often. He would take her.
‘Ashley, this is phenomenal news,’ he told her.
Ashley forced herself to smile back. ‘Okay...’
‘The momentum is too good to stop.’ He spread his hands as if unveiling a prize. ‘Australia and Japan’s single plays have exploded. We’re extending the tour by another four months to those regions.’
Ashley blinked. ‘Four?’
‘We’ve already drafted the contracts.’
Already. This wasn’t a question.
Simon kept talking—markets, exposure, international press—but the words dissolved into meaningless static.
She nodded automatically. ‘That’s... incredible.’
‘I knew you’d be thrilled.’ He grinned. ‘And when it’s done, we need to talk about getting you an album deal. When you’ve paid your supporting act dues, that’s what the label is thinking.’
Fuck. An album deal. There it was. All Ashley had ever dreamed of since she’d first picked up a guitar. She felt real excitement at last.
‘I’ve listened to all the tracks, and I think there are a few that could work.’
That shook Ashley. ‘A few? I’ve got dozens. I’ve been writing since I was fourteen.’
‘Yes, and they’re great. But we need to choose the more… commercial tracks. And there are some others that I think can work, with a bit of a rejig, a bit more energy. You’ll see. The tone is nearly there.’
Ashley nodded and smiled as though she’d been complimented instead of ripped to shreds.
Simon signed off. Silence swallowed the hotel room.
Ashley sat motionless on the edge of the bed, the laptop still warm on her knees. The room suddenly felt far too small. The air-conditioning hummed. Somewhere beyond the window, traffic drifted through the city below. Ashley wasn’t even sure what city it was.
Four more months.