Thirty-Two
The underground platforms at Birmingham New Street were a concrete dungeon of low ceilings and harsh yellow light. It was impossible to be happy standing here waiting for a train.
But Molly was already miserable, so the location didn’t have to do any heavy lifting. She was lower than she’d been in years. Five years, to be precise.
Molly stood under the flickering departure board. The train to London Euston was delayed by twelve minutes. Of course it was. It gave her twelve whole minutes to drown in her own thoughts.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket.
Molly pulled it out, wondering if it might be Ashley, reaming her out for fleeing. Instead, the screen read: USELESS AGENT. She really should sort that at some point.
Molly swallowed, cleared the rasp from her throat, and pressed answer. ‘Karen. Hey.’
‘Molly! Just catching you before the gig madness,’ Karen’s sharp, efficient voice cut through the platform noise. ‘Just got off with casting for Fresh Laundry. They’re dead keen for tomorrow. Just checking you’re feeling ready.’
‘Yeah,’ Molly said. Her voice sounded thin. Fragile. ‘Yeah, I’m… I’m on a train platform now in Brum. Coming back to London today.’
A beat of silence on the line. ‘Molly? Are you alright, sweetheart? You sound... off.’
That was all it took. One small, vaguely motherly inquiry.
Molly’s mother had spent Molly’s entire childhood either staring through her or expecting her to act like the adult in the room.
Molly had built a fortress out of sarcasm and ironclad self-reliance to survive it.
But right now, exhausted and bleeding from self-inflicted emotional wounds, the fortress collapsed in an instant.
A hot tear spilt over Molly’s lashes, followed immediately by a ragged sob.
‘Whoa, hey… Molly?’ She didn’t sound like an agent. She sounded personally concerned. ‘What’s happened? Talk to me. What is it?’
‘I’m fine,’ Molly choked out, pressing her forehead against a cold concrete pillar. She was crying properly now. She knew because a passing commuter was watching her nervously. ‘I’m such an idiot, Karen. I ruined everything. I’m a terrible person.’
‘You are not a terrible person,’ Karen said firmly, her voice steady down the line. ‘Take a breath for me. In and out. Good. Now, is this about Ashley?’
Molly sniffled, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her coat. ‘How did you—’
‘Molly, I’ve been your agent since you were twenty-one. I know you better than you’d like to think.’
‘It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Don’t bullshit me, not when you’re crying on a train platform,’ Karen interrupted gently. ‘What happened?’
‘I blew it up,’ Molly whispered. ‘We had sex last night. And then this morning, she wanted to talk, and I got scared and I… I was so cruel. I compared her to dog food.’
‘Jesus, Molly,’ Karen breathed, though there was a soft, sympathetic edge to it. ‘You really do hit hard when you’re scared, don’t you?’
‘She doesn’t care about me, Karen! Five years ago, when everything was going crazy with her career, I laid my entire heart on the line. I told her I loved her. And she said nothing. That’s why I ended it. I realised we weren’t what I thought.’
‘You still love her,’ Karen said softly. ‘Bloody hell. I knew it. I knew this was a bad idea.’
‘She didn’t say it back,’ Molly repeated, her voice cracking.
‘I don’t know why that is, but I do know that you’re a loveable person, Molly.’
That fetched up another gulpy sob.
‘And I know that people mess up,’ Karen said, her tone taking on a quiet, maternal authority that Molly had never heard from her own mother in her entire life.
‘You’ve spent your life protecting yourself by never giving anyone a second chance.
Someone slips up once, and you write them off forever.
But life doesn’t work like that. Not everyone gets it right the first time around, Molly.
Sometimes people panic. Sometimes people need a second chance to say what they meant to say. ’
Molly leaned her head back against the pillar, looking up at the dirty station ceiling, tears still drying on her cheeks. ‘It’s too late. I said awful things.’
‘Is she in Birmingham tonight?’ Karen asked.
‘Yeah. O2 Arena.’
‘Then get off that platform,’ Karen ordered gently. ‘Go to the venue. Go find her, take a breath, and talk to her without making a joke or a defence. Do some listening while you’re at it. And if it’s not to be, then it’s not. But you’ll know for sure.’
‘What about the audition tomorrow?’
‘The train takes two hours, Molly. You can catch a train tomorrow morning. Go back to her and apologise for what you said. You’d be surprised how far that can get you.’
The computerised voice over the Tannoy blared: The delayed 11:42 service to London Euston is now arriving at Platform 2.
Molly looked down at the yellow line on the platform, then at her phone.
‘Karen?’ Molly said quietly.
‘Yeah?’
‘You’re alright.’
Karen laughed. ‘Go,’ she said, and hung up.
The train roared into the station, sending a gust of warm air whipping through Molly’s hair. Doors hissed open. People surged past her, pushing onto the carriages.
Molly stood still for three long seconds. Then, tightening her grip on the strap of her bag, she turned her back on the train and started walking back up toward the exit.