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The Years of Loving You
Ella Harper


From the award-winning author of PIECES OF YOU comes this enthralling love story, guaranteed to make you laugh, cry and dream upon a star…What if your first love was your only love?When Molly is diagnosed with a life changing illness, it feels like her whole world has come crashing down. She hopes the news will make her marriage to Sam stronger. But why does Molly always call best friend Ed in a crisis?Ed. The very same Ed that Molly fell in love with at a party when they were teenagers, underneath a star-filled sky. Then life took them in very different directions. They could only ever be friends.Suddenly Molly starts to question every decision she’s ever made. What if they could turn back the clock? Back to the very beginning. When the only certainty they shared was each other …









ELLA HARPER

The Years of Loving You










Copyright (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)


Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015

Copyright © Ella Harper 2015

Ella Harper asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007581849

Ebook Edition © October 2015 ISBN: 9780007581856

Version: 2015–09–04




Dedication (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)


This one goes to my excellent friends …

you know who you are.




Epigraph (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)


Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

E.E. Cummings


Table of Contents

Cover (#u93ccdecd-8ce9-53ce-9dc6-367bd1e92a9a)

Title Page (#uf85b62e1-69f5-5e47-810e-25161d04b953)

Copyright (#u668ed461-3f9c-5a48-b702-b3f0a9f27526)

Dedication (#u339d3a41-b4ae-5f0b-9bf7-317d0c5aa189)

Epigraph (#u71ae6656-9fa3-51d1-87a9-19f5bcc94a86)

Now (#u890b6ff7-48b2-57cc-b81c-341f2d02614f)

Molly and Ed (#u10a41639-8b0e-54a7-9d28-197db6b6f798)

Now (#u67a27d53-25b6-5f6a-a5c5-cca9c9e3b512)

Ed (#u722a7c8f-a494-53b6-81f0-c92063e1f1fe)

Now (#u5d28cbd1-c7fd-5991-b505-e5f3a67eda39)

Molly and Ed (#udb7679ec-1c3a-563f-bf3d-506eee64d2fa)

Now (#litres_trial_promo)

Molly and Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly and Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly and Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly and Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly and Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly and Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly and Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



Molly and Ed (#litres_trial_promo)



Now (#litres_trial_promo)



A Conversation with Ella Harper (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)



Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Now (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)


‘Great party,’ Sam said, shaking Ed’s hand.

‘Thanks. I actually did all this myself. I reckon Saskia is re-thinking our marriage now that she knows I’m actually a girl.’

Ed gestured to the silver and white decorations adorning the walls of their local pub. There were clusters of balloons in each corner, complete with perfectly curled ribbons, there were pretty silver swathes draped between light fittings as well as glitter-dusted white bows dotted here and there. It had taken ages to put everything up and he had almost broken his elbow falling off a bar stool earlier. But Saskia wasn’t really into any of this stuff and, for some reason, Ed had a feeling people were expecting great things. Probably because him getting married was a bit of a turn-up for the books, or whatever the expression was.

‘Blimey.’ Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you were the blokiest bloke around.’

‘Nope.’ Ed grinned, knowing Sam was probably wetting his pants on the quiet. Imagining Ed festooning balloons around a pub. Hanging bows and streamers everywhere. Emasculating and then some. ‘Seriously, Sam. I’m a bird. No two ways about it. Where’s Molly?’ he asked, before he realised Sam was on the phone.

Ed frowned. He hadn’t exactly been expecting to throw an engagement party, let alone one in the pub he usually frequented with his mates. Sometimes he went there with Saskia, but mostly it was a place Ed used for down time. He wasn’t sure they would ever see him in the same way now that they knew he was behind the bows and glitter.

Not that Ed was bothered. Saskia was happy, which meant that he was happy. He was content to watch Saskia in her element, floating around the pub in a cream silk dress that showed off her tanned legs, laughing and socialising.

Was Saskia a little drunk? Ed thought she might be. Nothing wrong with that, of course. He was a tad drunk himself.

Saskia’s parents were in tow, Ed noted. They were a distinguished-looking couple but they seemed somewhat bewildered to find themselves in a local pub, surrounded by a bunch of people they were mostly unacquainted with.

‘Saskia’s parents seem nice,’ Sam commented, covering the phone with his hand, following Ed’s line of vision.

‘Yes. They’re great, really great.’

Pressing a pint onto Sam and accepting one himself, Ed decided that he wasn’t entirely sure Saskia’s parents approved of him. They had been pleasant enough when he met them, but they hadn’t seemed exactly thrilled about the engagement. Ed wondered if it was his job – or rather, the lack of it – that was causing concern. Being a full-time writer and having the luxury of living off his friend Boyd’s shrewd investments didn’t show him in the best light, he supposed. It wasn’t how he had started out; it was simply the fortuitous way his life had unfolded. But Ed wasn’t overly inclined to sit Harrison and Margot (for those were the names of Saskia’s illustrious parents) down and explain his humble beginnings. Saskia knew some of Ed’s history, but not all of it and Ed thought that was absolutely fine. A partner didn’t need to know everything about a person, did they?

Molly disagreed on this point, Ed recalled, glancing self-consciously at Sam, the way he often did when his thoughts drifted to Molly – as if Sam could read his mind or something daft. Anyway, Molly had questioned him about this once and Ed had defensively justified himself. Molly was a person who felt that couples should be fully open with one another and she saw it as some sort of flaw on Ed’s part that he hadn’t completely opened up to Saskia, some sort of indication perhaps that they weren’t fully connected. Ed suspected that the reason Molly had such strong opinions on this matter was largely down to him. But shame was the perfect foil for candidness. There were just some aspects of life that were better left unsaid, in Ed’s opinion.

He took a look around the pub. He couldn’t deny that it was actually quite a buzz seeing all of their friends gathered together in one place, spilling out into the beer garden. In fact, he didn’t even realise he and Saskia had so many friends between them.

Strange things, weddings, Ed mused, watching Saskia almost tripping over and shrieking with laughter as one of her friends held her up. He had never imagined he would have the remotest interest in the details, or the organisation. But Saskia, who possessed many wondrous qualities, was not the most organised of people. Nor did she seem overly interested in colour schemes and venues. But she was over the moon about the wedding; Ed was certain of that. Her reaction to his impulsive proposal had confirmed that. Ed could remember it in minute detail …

‘Have you really finished the novel?’

‘I think I actually might have finished the novel.’ Ed scrolled down to the page that said ‘THE END’ in overly large letters. ‘Yes, I really have.’

‘Yay!’

Saskia jumped up and punched the air, before going behind him to drape her arms around his chest. ‘I’m so proud of you! This is wonderful. We should celebrate.’

Ed put a hand on Saskia’s waist, luxuriating in the warmth of her body, squashed against his neck and back. Saskia was a very affectionate girl. She was only twenty-eight, but she seemed more mature than her years. She was pretty, rather full-on in the bedroom and nothing much seemed to faze her. She had turned Ed’s house into a home with what he believed were called ‘feminine touches’ and he was very grateful.

Saskia leant over his shoulder. ‘So. What’s this infamous novel about? You’ve always been so vague about it.’

Ed saved his work and shut his laptop down. He had very good reasons for being vague about the content of his novel as far as Saskia was concerned.

‘It’s … it’s just about these two friends. Who keep missing their timing. Who love each other … who are maybe very much in love with each other.’

Saskia tightened her grasp around his shoulders for a second. ‘You old romantic, you,’ she teased, giving his ear a lick. ‘I do love this side of you.’

‘Do you? I rather like you licking my ear in that sultry fashion.’

‘Then more of it you shall have …’ Saskia gave a husky laugh and focused on Ed’s ear. ‘And if this gets published, you might get even more …’

Ed suddenly felt a wave of panic about the possibility of the book being published. Had he completely and utterly bared his soul to the world? Ed thought about the content and immediately felt naked and exposed. He had poured everything into this novel. There had been times when Ed had felt utterly raw during the writing of it. Reliving certain moments in history had been cathartic but also intensely challenging.

Writing a love story that wasn’t quite a love story had been poignant and then some. But writing it was just something he had had to do.

He heard Saskia murmuring something in his ear about how much she loved being with him … about her loving his house … the garden … everything about it … everything about him. Saskia wanted more. Ed knew she wanted more. And so did he. Ed wanted more. He was ready to settle down finally. And Saskia was a lovely girl. Perfect for him.

Ed wasn’t sure about the whole having children thing. Not yet, at any rate. But he could possibly see himself with Saskia long term. She was sweet, funny and loving. They got on well. They had much in common, enjoyed the same things. All of Ed’s friends thought Saskia was beautiful and sweet.

‘I’m going to get some champagne,’ Saskia announced. ‘We need to celebrate this moment. Well done,’ she said, giving him a juicy kiss.

Could he do better than Saskia, Ed wondered? In realistic terms, anyway. He had gone through a number of girlfriends over the years and none of them had captivated him the way Saskia had. She was a straightforward girl, but she appealed to Ed on so many levels. Maybe what he needed in life was someone uncomplicated. Saskia had moved in shortly after they started going out and Ed now couldn’t remember if she had asked or if he had given her a key unprompted, but it didn’t really matter. Saskia didn’t work, but she didn’t need to with all the investments Boyd had put Ed’s way. And Ed could hardly talk. He had worked so hard in the early years of his life, he had welcomed the years he had been able to focus on what he wanted to do – writing.

Saskia appeared in the doorway. She had shed all her clothes bar her underwear (Saskia did a fine line in underwear) and she was brandishing two flutes and an open bottle of champagne.

‘Let’s get drunk,’ she said.

Ed caught his breath. She really was lovely. They worked. Together, they worked. ‘Come here,’ he said.

Saskia smiled and sashayed over. Sitting on his lap, she almost dropped the flutes. ‘Ooops! We need those.’

Ed put his hands around her waist. ‘Marry me, Saskia.’

‘W-what?’ She almost dropped the glasses again.

‘Marry me.’ Ed kissed her. ‘Let’s get married.’

Saskia stared at him. ‘Do you really mean it?’

Ed panicked then pushed the feeling away. ‘I really mean it.’

‘Oh my God!’ Still clutching the champagne and flutes, Saskia put her arms around Ed’s neck and kissed him. ‘I can’t believe it. This is so unexpected!’

Ed grinned. It had been somewhat unexpected on his part as well. He had always thought he would plan such an occasion for months – plotting all the details the way he had learnt to do with novel-writing. He had always thought the event would have a beginning, a middle and an end, not be something he blurted out on a whim.

‘You’ve made me so happy,’ Saskia murmured against his ear. ‘I just want to be with you.’

Ed kissed Saskia. No. He’d done the right thing. He had finally finished his novel and he and Saskia were getting married. Everything was slotting into place. Everything was making sense. In fact, the only thing that didn’t make sense was that Ed’s next thought was that he wanted to call Molly. But this was his and Saskia’s moment. It was just that Molly was the first person Ed always thought of when something important happened …

Back in the room again, Ed bit his lip. One person was notable by their absence. Where the hell was Molly?

‘Where’s Molly?’ Ed said to Sam again, noting that he was off the phone at last. ‘She promised she’d be here.’

Sam frowned at his phone. ‘No idea. She had to pop out and do something but she didn’t say what. I’m sure she’ll be here. Congratulations, anyway,’ Sam added, tucking his phone away. ‘And I really mean that.’

Of course you mean that, Ed thought to himself. Sam was hardly his biggest fan and seeing him married off would please him no end.

He met Sam’s innocent-looking green eyes and something unspoken passed between them. Ed knew that Sam knew that he knew what Sam had done. All with the very best of intentions, no doubt, but still. What Sam had done might have changed the course of history. Maybe. Ed had no way of knowing for sure.

Saskia appeared at Ed’s elbow. ‘And this is my fiancé,’ Saskia said to one of the friends Ed hadn’t yet met. She was slurring.

‘Charmed I’m sure,’ Ed said, leaning in for kisses and pleasantries. ‘Thanks so much for coming.’ Christ, he sounded as though he was already at his wedding. He glanced at Saskia. She really was very drunk. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was in disarray and she was clearly having trouble standing up.

‘Are you ok?’ Ed said into her ear.

‘Of course!’ Saskia patted his cheek and looked past him. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’

‘You might have had a bit too much champagne,’ Ed grinned. Even plastered, Saskia was ravishing.

Saskia smiled. ‘Maybe. I’m just having fun.’

‘Me too.’ Ed gave her a kiss. He watched her walk away from him, happy to see her enjoying herself so much.

‘I’ll give Molly a call,’ Sam said as he took his leave. ‘Chase her up. If I can’t get hold of her, I’ll probably call it a day and pop home.’

Ed nodded back, itching to get his phone out and chase Molly. Where on earth was she? It was his engagement party, for heaven’s sakes! Ed had attended Molly’s wedding and they hadn’t even been speaking to one another at the time.

‘Ed, lovely do.’ Boyd pumped Ed’s hand.

‘Thanks.’

‘Listen, we need to chat about some of our investments.’ Boyd raked a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry to do this at your party, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

Ed raised his eyebrows. ‘Christ, I won’t have to sell the house, will I? Saskia will never forgive me.’

Boyd shook his head gravely. ‘I don’t think it will come to that, no.’

‘I was joking, Boyd!’ Ed felt a jolt of shock. ‘Are you saying we’ve lost some serious money here?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Boyd was joined by two of his many children. They wrapped their arms around his legs and started whining about wanting crisps. ‘As I say, apologies for the timing, but I had to warn you.’

‘Er … thanks. I guess.’

Ed felt a tremor of anxiety. The last thing he needed was for his investments to take a turn for the worse. His life was finally getting settled. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Saskia? She seemed to have disappeared. He decided to go in search of her; he was about to make a slushy speech and she really needed to be around to hear that.

Ed headed for the toilets but couldn’t locate Saskia. About to give up, he heard a giggle coming from the kitchen area. A Saskia giggle. Hoping she was ok, Ed poked his head in. His smile faded.

Saskia was kissing one of the bar staff. With some enthusiasm. She caught sight of him and stopped.

‘Ed.’ She put a hand to her mouth.

The young bar chap looked extremely uncomfortable. ‘Shit. Sorry. I was … this is …’

‘Not what it looks?’ Ed shook his head. ‘Let’s not be silly.’ He held the door open for the boy who scuttled out, red in the face.

‘Ed, I’m sorry about that.’ Saskia swallowed.

‘About what?’ Ed was reeling. ‘About me finding you snogging someone else at our engagement party?’

‘Yes.’ Saskia looked away. ‘You make it sound terrible.’

‘Er, no, Saskia. It just is terrible. I’m not sure I could articulate it in a way that doesn’t sound horrendous.’ Ed wondered how he was holding it all together. Clearly his world had just imploded slightly. Massively.

Saskia was pleating her skirt ferociously. She had gone from flushed to pale in a short space of time and seemed to be looking at the floor with great intent. Perhaps searching for words to explain herself.

Ed wanted to rage at her. But for some reason, he couldn’t. He wanted her to tell him why he had just walked in on her kissing some other guy. Was it the first time she’d done something like this? The tenth? Had she always been unhappy? Why had she got engaged to him if she wasn’t fully committed?

No words formed.

Eventually, Saskia spoke. ‘I … Ed, I just don’t think I can do this.’

‘Do what?’ Ed stared at her.

‘This.’ Saskia swallowed. ‘This party. The engagement. The … the … wedding.’

‘You don’t think you can do the wedding?’ Ed shook his head dumbly. ‘I don’t think I can do the wedding! Not after that.’

‘No, but I was thinking that beforehand … not just … after that.’

‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ Ed put his hands on his face. What the hell was happening here?

‘Probably not. But I need to explain.’ Saskia was twisting her hands together and she suddenly looked absurdly young.

Ed’s stomach shifted. ‘Go ahead.’

‘It’s just all become a bit … serious,’ Saskia said, her eyes meeting his pleadingly.

‘A bit serious? Yes, I suppose weddings do feel a bit that way, don’t they?’ Ed wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with this.

Saskia grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, presumably for support. ‘The whole getting married thing. I did want things to move along a bit, but I would have been happy to stay engaged, you know. For quite a while, in fact.’

Ed looked her in the eye, wanting to see the expression reflected there. All he saw was regret. ‘Meaning?’

Saskia averted her eyes. ‘This has all been fun, Ed. You and me … we have incredible fun, don’t we?’

‘Fun. Right.’

Ed was starting to feel like an absolute idiot. He had misread the situation between himself and Saskia. He had assumed that her hints to move things along meant marriage. But no. She wanted commitment in a soft form … a prolonged engagement that kept the ‘fun’ element of their relationship alive. No wonder she hadn’t been interested in the wedding itself. It was Ed who had allowed himself to get carried away with all of that. He had believed he was ready and that Saskia was the right girl.

‘So you never really wanted to get married?’

Saskia grabbed his hand. ‘Oh, Ed. Don’t put it like that. I did want to get married. Kind of. You asked me, it felt lovely, I said yes. I just didn’t realise you wanted to dash off immediately and book venues and talk about buttonholes.’

‘Gosh. What a massive idiot I am.’ Ed rubbed a hand over the back of his head, not sure how his life had just blown up in his face.

‘You’re not an idiot.’ Saskia sounded upset now. ‘I just got swept up with your enthusiasm. I did love you, Ed. I mean, I do.’

‘Do you?’ Ed turned to face her.

‘Yes. This is just …’ Saskia paused, her pretty face scrunching up. ‘It just doesn’t feel like fun any more, Ed. It feels way too serious. Too grown-up. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m just too immature for all this stuff.’

Ed let out a sigh. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Saskia was very young, admittedly. Way younger than him. But that didn’t make her immature. Or it hadn’t, until now.

‘Stay, Saskia?’ Ed asked. It was the only time he was going to ask her, but he had to give it one last shot. He wasn’t sure he wanted to; she had snogged someone else after all. But he did love her. And it was only a kiss. He could get past it. Probably. ‘Stay and we can work things out.’

‘I-I can’t.’ Saskia hung her head. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She touched his arm. ‘I have to go.’

‘Go?’

‘Yes.’ Saskia looked around vaguely. ‘I need to leave. I can’t be here. This is … too much. It’s all just too much.’

Ed blinked. Was Saskia actually going to walk out of her own engagement party? Was she effectively … jilting him? Ed felt sick. He suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten so many cocktail sausages.

‘Goodbye, Ed.’

And that was that. The end of a relationship. The end of an engagement. Aghast, Ed watched Saskia walk out of the kitchen. Following her, he watched her walk right out of the pub. Her parents scurried after her, as did a couple of her closest friends.

Ed had no idea what to do. No idea whatsoever. ‘I’m so sorry, everyone,’ he said to the room at large. ‘That was – rather unexpected. I’m afraid the wedding is off.’

There was a collective gasp.

Turning to the bar, Ed rubbed a shaky hand over his face. ‘I’d like a tequila please. A large one.’

‘And I’ll have what he’s having.’ Boyd handed his children over to Helen with a mouthed apology and joined Ed at the bar. ‘Let’s get royally shit-faced.’

Ashen, Ed nodded and necked the first tequila of many. Molly. Where the hell was she? Ed needed Molly.

He made a quick call to Sara, Molly’s best friend. Sara was on her way to the party and seemed flummoxed that Molly was absent.

Ed grimly accepted another tequila. Hurry up, Molly, he thought to himself. Hurry up. I need you.

Molly sat in silence waiting to be called in. She hadn’t been kept long, but sitting in this particular waiting room was one of those occasions where time seemed to move so incredibly slowly, it was like being suspended in another realm.

Of course, there were worse things to be dealing with, Molly reasoned to herself. This wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her. She knew friends whose children were in and out of that incredible hospital in London – Great Ormond Street, was it? Children with over-sized, inoperable tumours and unusual illnesses that meant regular resuscitation and any number of other complications. Molly also had friends whose parents, both of them, were suffering from cancer or something equally hideous.

So she had no right to be acting as though her world was about to come crashing down around her. Molly realised she was gripping the edges of the chair she was sitting in so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. She let go. Her hands felt fine today, ironically. They had for the past few days, in fact. Molly wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was it a brief respite? Or had whatever was wrong with her retreated for no apparent reason?

She glanced at her watch. She had missed Ed’s engagement party last week. She had sent an apologetic text to Ed to explain of course, but she hadn’t heard back from him. Which might mean that he was furious with her. Molly knew she needed to speak to Ed sooner rather than later, but she just couldn’t face it right now. Not until she knew for sure.

Molly shifted in her chair. She had received an immediate appointment with a consultant which was panicking the hell out of her. That didn’t bode well, did it? That meant they were fairly certain she had something serious. It was usually weeks and weeks until such appointments came up.

‘Mrs Bohle?’ Pronouncing Molly’s surname as ‘Bowl-lay’, a nurse appeared in the waiting room. Molly winced. Sam would go bonkers if he was here. He hated anyone who couldn’t pronounce their surname properly. ‘Mr Ward will see you now.’

Molly stood up, not bothering to correct the nurse. Her legs were like jelly. Was that a symptom? Or was it to be expected in the situation she was in? Frankly, Molly was fed up with all the uncertainty. It was better that she found out what was going on with her once and for all. Wasn’t it?

Anxiously, she walked into the consultant’s room and sat down.

‘Mrs Bohle. Good of you to come in so quickly.’

‘Good of you to see me.’

Mr Ward smiled politely. ‘Now. Obviously you initially went to see your GP about the tremors and stiffness in your hand and it was explained that there were various things this could be attributed to. A neurological movement disorder, perhaps. A few other conditions, but you haven’t presented the predominant symptoms.’

Molly found that her mouth had gone completely dry, as though someone had stuffed it full of cotton wool.

‘Are you feeling depressed at all?’

Molly flexed her hand. ‘Only about not being able to paint properly.’

‘But not in a general sense?’

‘I don’t think so, no.’

‘But you are having trouble sleeping?’

Molly nodded. ‘Not every night. But quite often, I suppose.’

‘Memory loss? Confusion? Balance difficulties?’

‘No.’

Molly felt panicked. She had forgotten what she had gone to the corner shop for the other day. And had suffered momentary confusion until she remembered that they had run out of milk, hence her jaunt to the shop. And she had lost her keys a few times of late. Did those incidents indicate memory loss? Was she confused? Or did most people have moments like this? Sam often went upstairs, laughed and came back down again, claiming not to have a clue what he had gone up there for. No one was saying he was ill – no one was suggesting that Sam might have something scary.

Mr Ward nodded calmly. ‘But you have noticed some painful muscle contractions in your ankles and shoulders?’

‘Y-yes.’

Molly was loath to admit to these symptoms but she knew she had to be brave about this. There was no point in hiding things. She had forgotten about a few things but her GP had jolted her memory the other day. It had been horrible, like pieces of a jigsaw slotting into place.

Mr Ward cleared his throat. ‘A degree of numbness and tingling?’

‘Very slight. But – yes. I have felt those sensations.’

‘I see. And on one side of your body predominantly? The right?’ Mr Ward tidied the papers on his desk. ‘Well. I am going to give you my opinion, Mrs Bohle. And it’s up to you if you get a second opinion, of course. I would, in fact, recommend it in this instance.’

‘You – you would?’

Mr Ward sat back and regarded her. ‘There is no objective test for this condition. I can’t run a blood test, do a brain scan or carry out an ECG. Unfortunately. The great thing about those tests is that they give us definitive answers. What we’re dealing with here is something rather more vague.’

Molly’s heart sank. It was bad enough that she was waiting to hear news that could cause major shock; she didn’t need to hear that she might not get a definitive answer.

‘However. I have carried out a thorough neurological examination. And what I can say is that you are presenting what we call “cardinal” symptoms. Typical symptoms associated with a disease that is fairly uncommon in people of your age, but increasingly on the rise. There is a scan we might be able to run – it’s not a diagnosis in itself but it could confirm that we have a movement disorder which could give us a clearer picture of what we are dealing with.’

Molly’s stomach lurched. She wondered if it would be grossly inappropriate to throw up in Mr Ward’s wastepaper bin.

‘You are exhibiting what is known as “resting tremors” – tremors which occur when your limb isn’t moving. And rigidness when it is. Typically, these symptoms – which appear gradually and increase in severity over time – begin on one side of the body and migrate to the other side later on.’

Molly suddenly wished she hadn’t been silly about this. She wished she’d spoken to Ed. She hadn’t even been honest with Sam about it, in case his reaction had been scathing. No, that wasn’t fair. It was just Sam’s way to be dismissive about illness until a firm diagnosis had been given; he had been like it with his father when he had been diagnosed with dementia some years back. Hadn’t accepted the signs and symptoms until a formal diagnosis had been received.

But Molly knew she would have spoken to Ed truthfully, for some reason. Perhaps because he wasn’t married to her, because he was only a friend, he was able to be more objective than Sam.

‘Mrs Bohle, my diagnosis, like that of your GP, is that you have early-onset Parkinson’s disease.’ Mr Ward gave her a sympathetic glance. ‘Now I know that can sound like a very scary thing, but it is not – I repeat – not a death sentence. There are various drugs we can start you on. There are also clinical drug trials you might be interested in. Once you’ve had a second opinion, of course.’

Early-onset Parkinson’s. Early-onset Parkinson’s. She had it, she actually had it. Oh my God. Molly’s head was reeling. She had furtively perused the internet over the weekend and she had found that early-onset Parkinson’s fitted as a possible diagnosis. She wanted to be in denial about possibly having it but nothing else fit. There had been many less-frightening conditions she could have latched on to, but Molly hadn’t fully believed that they matched her symptoms.

‘I have some literature here for you,’ Mr Ward was saying. ‘About drug trials, about support, about different symptoms and long-term prognosis. Different for everyone, of course, but it can be helpful to know what is ahead.’

‘Oh God.’ Molly leant over and started crying. ‘This can’t be happening. I’m – I’m in my thirties, for fuck’s sakes. Sorry. Sorry for swearing.’

‘No need. And I understand that this is very hard for you to hear. People as young as twenty-one have been diagnosed with this and it can be incredibly distressing, whatever age you are.’

‘But I’ve read such awful things about this – about bladder and bowel problems, slow speech, the freezing thing where you seize up and can’t move. Not being able to do bloody buttons up.’ Molly was openly sobbing now. ‘Are all of those things going to happen to me?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Mr Ward said soothingly. ‘It affects everyone differently. Many people of your age tend to focus their energy on managing the non-motor symptoms of this disease because quality of life is the most important thing.’

Quality of life. What was her ‘quality of life’ going to be like now? Molly felt shock wrapping itself coldly around her body. Would she be able to drive? Dress herself? Remember her own name? Was this illness going to render her incapable of conducting a normal conversation? Was she going to turn into a manic depressive? She had read that people suffering from this disease often experienced depression – either prior to some of the motor symptoms, or later on once the diagnosis had been received.

‘Get a second opinion, Mrs Bohle,’ Mr Ward reiterated firmly. ‘I could be wrong about this. It’s one of the diseases I dislike diagnosing because of the lack of definitive testing. So as strongly inclined as I am to lean in this direction, I would genuinely like you to run this past another professional.’

Molly stood up, nodded numbly and thanked Mr Ward. Clutching the literature he had given her, she left his office and walked out of the hospital. Once outside, she gave in to the nausea and threw up down a once-pristine side wall.




Molly and Ed (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)

September 1995


‘Who’s that girl, Middleford?’ Ed Sutherland nudged his best friend.

‘Keep your hair on. You nearly made me upend my glass of Tatt,’ Middleford, otherwise known as Boyd, huffed.

Ed eyed him fondly. Boyd was such a nobber. ‘It’s Taittinger, as you well know. And you don’t have to drink it. I’ve managed to get through the entire evening without touching a drop.’ He held up his glass of beer with some pride.

‘That’s because it’s not your mother hosting this event, is it?’ Boyd went cross-eyed for no apparent reason. ‘She likes me to drink champagne. Says it shows breeding.’

Ed gave Boyd an indulgent punch on the arm. ‘Your family own this massive house on the coast,’ Ed gestured outside, ‘and you have a coat of arms, for feck’s sakes. No one could possibly doubt that you’re a toff.’

‘Oh, piss off. You’re lucky you’re even here, you know. My mother thinks you’re a bad influence. And she says there’s something dodgy about you.’

Ed fingered the packet of cigarettes in his pocket. Boyd had no idea how astute his mother was. In the first instance, Ed had learnt that mothers fell into one of two camps as far as he was concerned. Camp one (of which Boyd’s mother was the archetypal, fully paid-up member) took the view that he was dangerous, a bad boy. Someone liable to lead their son – or more likely, daughter – astray.

Camp two saw him as a plaything and as such, flirted with him. Outrageously. On occasion members of camp two had been known to proposition him, despite his tender age of seventeen (just). Ed had succumbed once to such a proposition, mainly because the mother had been astonishingly beautiful and because Ed was sure she would teach him a thing or two. He hadn’t been wrong about that, but he hadn’t expected the stalker-ish behaviour that had followed the liaison. He had been forced to sever all ties with the friend simply to avoid the mother. Lessons learnt.

Ed edged a cigarette out of the packet and put it in his mouth. He couldn’t exactly blame camp one for being wary of him. He was a bad boy, in the mildest of forms. And frankly it was an image he cultivated. Like many of the macho heroes he admired, Ed loved drinking, smoking and women. Especially women. Or in his case, they tended to come under the banner of ‘girls’. He loved the way they looked, the way they smelt, the swell of their chests, their long, smooth legs. Their full mouths, their beautiful eyes looking at him with appreciation, or sometimes trepidation. Ed easily dealt with either response; the former fed his ego, the latter presented a challenge.

But Mrs Middleford had also worked out that there was something ‘dodgy’ about him – a very upper-class way of stating that he didn’t fit in somehow, that her social antennae had detected a mismatch. Ed made a mental note to keep an eye on that. He could do without his secrets being revealed just as he was about to leave the school he had worked so hard to get into. He had promoted an enigmatic image for himself, one that hid his real background and, as such, he deliberately kept his friends and his home life firmly separate. Ed never took friends home. He had done it once, with disastrous results. Again, lessons learnt.

Ed cleared his throat and took the cigarette out of his mouth. ‘Anyway, Middleford, pay attention. I’ve seen a girl I like. She’s gorgeous and I want to talk to her. I need her name and some background details, please.’

Boyd let out a sigh of resignation but narrowed his eyes nonetheless. ‘Which one is it? Not Gaby, surely? She’s a friend of my sister’s. Her nickname is “Vacuum”, which probably makes you even more excited, but I wouldn’t touch her with yours, quite frankly …’

‘Not Gaby. As if, Boyd.’ Ed knew exactly how Gaby had earned her nickname. ‘No, that one over by the window. The one with eyes I could drown in and a body like the Venus de Milo.’

Boyd frowned. ‘God, you are a massive tit. I know you want to be a writer, but honestly. Do you mean that one with the terrible hair?’

Ed rolled his eyes. The long, wild tangle of mousy curls conjured up thoughts of bare backs and exquisite shoulders, surely? Boyd, a sturdy, unimaginative fellow at the best of times, truly lacked vision.

‘I think she’s called Molly,’ Boyd offered finally. ‘Molly … Wilkes. Yes. Her mother is an old school friend of my mother’s. Father’s an Oxford Don. Older brother. Tom, perhaps. Successful architect. Ummm …’

‘That’ll do. Good work, Boyd. You are a veritable goldmine.’

Ed headed straight for the window as the girl called Molly slipped outside. He followed her, knowing he had the perfect excuse in his hand should he need it; a sneaky fag was useful in so many ways. As a result, he was taken aback when Molly turned and eyed him suspiciously.

‘Are you following me?’

Ed lit his cigarette suavely but spoilt it by almost burning his fingers when he snapped his Zippo shut. ‘Shit. Er, might be. Molly, isn’t it?’

‘You know my name.’ She raised her eyebrows in a ladylike fashion. He was handsome. And he knew it. She wasn’t sure if she liked that. Obviously Molly understood that everyone had a mirror – it was more that she preferred confidence that came from achievement, not looks. ‘You’re following me and you know my name. There are laws against that, you know.’

‘I’m having an innocent cigarette and a friend told me your name just now. Hardly grounds for arrest, surely? I’m Ed, by the way.’

‘Hi. I’d tell you my name but clearly you already know me.’

Close up, Ed found himself drawn to Molly’s eyes. They were cat-like, shrewd. Brown. No, dark blue – an unusual shade that no doubt earned her compliments aplenty. From lesser mortals. Ed would need to come up with something more original. This was a smart, eloquent girl who looked as though she might, with impeccable manners, coolly dismiss boys who bored her.

Ed sucked on his cigarette, feeling something spark inside him. He was tired of easy girls; Molly was already challenging him.

Out of the blue, Molly smiled. Was she mocking him? Ed felt unnerved, wrong-footed. He really needed to get a grip.

‘I’m not planning to get you arrested, no.’ God, but he was sexy. Molly checked out his mouth. Kissable, definitely. Hmm. How annoying. She hadn’t felt this attracted to someone at first glance before. Was this what everyone called ‘chemistry’?

Molly pulled herself together and gestured to his singed fingers. ‘But I do think you need to learn how to use a lighter properly. Otherwise everyone will think you’re a right nobber.’

Ed let out a shout of laughter. He’d never met anyone else who used his favourite insult before. He stared at Molly. She was on the short side but perfectly proportioned. She had that irresistible blend of slender, with tantalising curves in all the right places. Ed was willing to bet Molly worried about the size of her bum constantly. Molly might be a challenge, but he was confident he knew how her mind worked. To a degree. Because Ed could modestly acknowledge that he knew a fair amount about girls. He caught sight of her bum as she began to walk away from him and almost dropped his cigarette. Delectable. Rounded. Ripe. Bloody hell. Better than he’d imagined. Hang on; where was she going?

‘I’m off to do some stargazing,’ Molly said, as though she had heard his thoughts. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t looking at her bum. She always worried about it, stressed that it was a little on the large side. ‘I think if you carry on walking in that direction, you get to the beach, right?’ She began strolling but threw a glance over her shoulder. ‘Aren’t you coming, shadow?’

Ed watched her. It wasn’t his style to chase after a girl like some sort of lap dog, but Molly was intriguing. He had a feeling about her. Whatever that meant. Ed threw his cigarette down and hurried after her, slowing his steps when he realised what a dick he must look.

Act casual, dude, he told himself sternly. She’s just a girl.

Molly kicked her shoes off at the edge of the beach and carried on walking. She was glad Ed had followed her. She would have looked like a right idiot strolling off on her own. She would have followed it through for an indeterminate period of time, of course, so as not to look even more absurd – and being on a beach wasn’t exactly a hardship – but she would have felt downright silly. She gestured to an area of sand edged by long grass. ‘This looks good. What do you reckon?’

‘Well, wherever we sit will mean sand up our—’ Ed stopped. He wasn’t sure Molly would be impressed with talk of ‘cracks’. That was the sort of conversation he and Boyd might have. Ed squinted up at the sky, his mind rapidly flicking through some pages from … what, Geography? He flipped through his memory banks until he fell upon ‘Constellations’. Ah, yes. A number of them popped into his head, complete with names, historical references and relative chance of visibility. The Late Latin meaning of ‘constellation’ was ‘set with stars’; Ed had always found that kind of romantic. He’d been blessed with a photographic memory of sorts. A valuable tool when it came to passing exams (Ed hoped to sail through his GCSEs). And when it came to impressing girls, a memory like his was invaluable.

‘It’s perfect,’ Ed said, meeting Molly’s eyes. ‘The perfect spot for this. You. Me. Us.’

‘Oh, you’re good. Really good.’ She laughed but gave him a look he couldn’t fathom. Was she impressed? Did she find him amusing? Did she like him?

Molly flopped down on the sand and threw her arms above her head. ‘Seriously. I’ll probably fall in love with you if you carry on like that. Won’t be able to help myself.’ She was a bit concerned at the way her heart was racing. He had only looked at her and made a corny comment!

Don’t be silly, Molly, she told herself sternly. He’s just a boy.

Ed was transfixed. The way she had thrown herself down like that suggested confidence but there was a softness to her that took the edge off both her mannerisms and her comments. There was no malice present in her tone, just delight and enjoyment at the banter. He found himself staring at her bare legs, at the way they twisted together. It hit him in the groin somewhat, the sensual way her limbs moved and flowed.

God. Ed frowned. Boyd was right. He was a great big tit.

Molly lay back and closed her eyes, giving him the chance to continue his study of her. He noted that she wore several silver rings on her fingers – an assortment of slim, decorated bands. Her ears were studded with little sparkly earrings all the way from the lobe to the top, which lent her an air of bohemia. He wondered if she had a tattoo hidden away somewhere, and felt a strong urge to find out. Maybe she didn’t; like him, she was only sixteen, maybe seventeen. Ed lay down next to her, wondering about his next move. She was different. So he needed to be different.

‘Aren’t you going to tell me about constellations and stuff?’ Molly asked, turning her head towards his. He was doing an awful lot of staring. She was flattered, but she did worry that he was dissecting her looks too much. She wasn’t a girl who cared overly about her appearance, not like some of her friends. She liked to look good but as soon as she was dressed, she was off and she didn’t spare it another thought. ‘Go on. Tell me about constellations.’

‘As if. How naff would that be?’

Molly laughed. ‘So naff.’

Ed inhaled. He could smell her perfume and her hair. He felt an irrational urge to bury his face in her neck but he yanked himself back into line. He reminded himself that Molly was simply a girl. And that he knew tons of girls. If this one didn’t like him, he could quite simply – and easily – find another who did. Yes. Except that, even at his young age, he had figured out that some girls were special and that some just weren’t. Damn Molly for being beyond special.

‘They are awesome though, aren’t they?’ Molly pointed. One of them might as well get some constellations named. ‘I mean, look at that. That’s Cassiopeia, that is. From the Perseus family.’

‘Is it?’ Ed squinted up at the sky, captivated. ‘You’re very knowledgeable about this stuff. Ha. You just told me about constellations.’

‘Aah, but I swot up deliberately to impress boys.’

He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Are you laughing at me again?’

‘Yes.’ She matched his stance, the pose bringing her face close to his. What a beautiful face he had. She found him both fascinating and hellishly attractive. How very dangerous. Molly wasn’t used to being knocked sideways by a boy. So far – and her experience was reasonably limited – she had always been in charge, had always been the one calling the shots. She was a virgin but she wouldn’t dream of telling Ed that. She could tell just by looking at him that he had slept with tons of girls. Which made her feel slightly queasy, but she knew she could hardly judge him for whatever he had done up until now. And boys always did stuff like that.

Molly wondered why she had gone quiet. She rarely went quiet. She forced herself to say something. ‘I love stargazing. Pretentious though, isn’t it?’

Ed wasn’t interested in the stars. He was interested in Molly. He studied her. What a heavenly face. Those eyes … slanted, penetrating. A full mouth. Lips he wanted to kiss. Sublime cheekbones, a scar on her chin – a childhood injury? – that prevented her from being conventionally good-looking. Attractive, certainly, but not in an obvious way. Which fascinated him. Molly had a face Ed was suddenly sure he would never tire of looking at.

‘So, Ed. What are you going to do with your life?’ Molly bestowed a lovely smile upon him that sent him all over the show. ‘Aspirations, dreams, all that stuff?’

‘You’ll laugh at me again.’

‘I really won’t. I want to know. Genuinely.’ She moved her bare arm next to his, her hair trailing across his shoulder. He had nice skin. He smelt nice. Basic things, but they were doing less than basic things to various, critical parts of her body.

Ed wasn’t sure how on earth he was supposed to concentrate with her bare arm leaning against him that way, but he steeled himself. ‘I want to be a writer.’

‘Really?’ She was interested now and it showed. ‘What kind?’

‘The best kind. Well, in my view. I want to write novels that people talk about. Novels that move people in some way.’

‘That’s ace. I love reading. I’m always reading. Well, apart from in the middle of the night, obviously. Although sometimes I am. And my father is … well, he’s an Oxford Don.’

‘Is he now?’ Ed played dumb. ‘Now that really is ace.’

Molly flipped over on to her front, brushing sand from her hands. ‘I imagined you might want to be an actor or something. Looking like that.’

‘Like what?’ He turned over as well but moved his head closer to hers. ‘Do you fancy me? Am I handsome?’

‘Good grief. You’re so arrogant!’ She shook her head and her curls whipped his face. ‘You’re just really confident. I thought acting might be your bag. Playing on your ego and all that.’

‘I’m a man of words,’ Ed stated pompously. God, but he sounded like a wanker. He carried on, regardless. In for a penny and all that. ‘I love words. They’re my life, my passion. I plan to be very successful at it. You’d call it arrogance, I’m sure.’ He grinned. ‘What about you? What’s your passion?’

‘Art. I want to be an artist. A great, great artist.’ Molly ducked her head, feeling embarrassed. ‘Now I sound arrogant. But anyway. Uni is the plan. Lincoln,maybe.’

‘No way!’ Ed grinned. ‘That’s where I want to go. We could end up at the same uni! Imagine.’

‘Gosh. We might have to talk to one another every day.’

Molly smiled again and Ed felt something expand in his chest. And in his groin. Shit. Could he be any more uncool? He just hoped he was hiding his ardour. Being on his front might start feeling uncomfortable soon.

‘Tell me about your art,’ he said, desperately trying to quell his urges.

Molly hadn’t noticed his ‘urges’. If she had, she might have felt better about what happened later. Instead, she obliged. She waxed lyrical about art for a long time and he managed to join in, despite not knowing an awful lot about the subject. But he liked hearing Molly talk about it – she was passionate, enthused. And that made him want to talk about it as well. After a while, they moved on to novels. They talked about childhood books, about classic literature and about their favourite writers. They discussed Oscar Wilde (consensus: ‘nothing short of a fucking genius’), Shakespeare (‘I call him Willy Shakes,’ Ed told Molly. ‘It’s affectionate.’ ‘It’s rude,’ she retorted, but she laughed accordingly) and they dissected the works of Thomas Hardy (reaching a mutual agreement of ‘turgid’). They talked about universities, about friends, about life and about love. They talked a lot about love – what they thought it was, what it should be, if they had experienced it (Molly, yes – Ed, no) and how long it lasted in general. They talked and talked and talked. For six hours straight.

‘We’ve talked for six hours straight,’ Ed commented, glancing at his watch. ‘I am covered in sand; it’s in my hair and everything. And instead of stars providing light and brilliance, we are clothed in early morning sunshine.’

‘“Instead of the stars providing light and brilliance”. Oh, I like that.’ Molly sat up and yawned. ‘Six hours? I don’t think I’ve ever talked to anyone for six hours in my life.’

In fact she knew she hadn’t. And they had barely paused for breath. It was astonishing. She hadn’t noticed the time and if she had, she might not have cared, even though she was due home and her parents were probably worried sick. Even though she had never done anything like this in her life before. Molly shook sand from her curls.

‘I am a bit special,’ Ed answered. Molly had sand in her hair and goose-bumps all over her arms. And she looked stunning. Just beautiful.

‘Special needs more like,’ Molly chided. ‘Christ. I’ve caught your crap joke disease. Hey, what’s Ed short for? Edmund … Edward …?’

He frowned. He was rarely asked that question. ‘It’s just Ed.’

‘What, you came out and your mother said “That baby looks just like an Ed.”’

‘She did, actually.’

‘Liar.’

‘For fuck’s sakes.’ Ed gave Molly a sheepish smile. ‘Ok then. Ed is short for Edison. Go on. Laugh yourself silly.’

She considered him. ‘Edison. That’s not so bad. Original at least.’

‘Yeah. Original is right. Downright mortifying is the other way to look at it.’

She grinned. ‘You can carry it off. You’re cool enough.’

‘Oooh. Careful, Molly. That right there was a compliment.’

‘Goddammit. You’re right. Forgive me, Edison. Won’t happen again.’

Ed could practically hear the barely contained chuckle she was withholding and for some reason, it made him want to gather her up and do … something. She had her knees drawn to her chest, her arms clasping them, her chin resting atop her arms. It was a wistful pose. Appealing. Everything about her was appealing.

She turned as though feeling his eyes on her. His glorious mouth tilted into a smile. Molly realised she wanted to know everything about Edison. Everything. She knew an awful lot after their in-depth chat, but she had this strange feeling that however much she found out, she might never be able to find out enough.

‘Are you a romantic, Ed?’

‘A what?’

‘A romantic. Are you one of those types?’

‘I’m what I call a dirty romantic. Does that count?’ He laughed self-consciously. ‘Might sound a bit rude. I just mean I’m a romantic, but I try not to be too flowery about it, you know? So I do love romantic novels and all that. If I’m being honest, and I am, Romeo and Juliet is my favourite play by Willy Shakes. And I found E.M. Forster’s A Room with a View achingly romantic,’ he added earnestly. ‘But don’t tell anyone. Dirty, but yes. Romantic. I suppose I am.’

‘Ok, so a dirty romantic then. Oh, I like that. I like that a lot, Edison. You are full of surprises.’ Her eyes met his. ‘I like being surprised.’

So did Ed. And he liked her calling him Edison. For no real reason other than that it was her doing it. Without another coherent thought, Ed took the back of her neck in his hand and drew her in. Within seconds his mouth had met hers. Gently. God. Her lips were exquisite, soft and full. They met his willingly. Ed experienced sensory overload; the scent of her hair, the perfume wafting from her neck, the taste of the fruity cocktail she’d been drinking hours ago, her mouth, her ripe, but somehow delicate mouth.

Molly put her hands on his face and Ed felt a shiver. He felt her rings, cold against his skin, but her palms were warm and soft. She kissed him more ardently, her tongue searching his out. A bolt of lust shot through Ed and he fought to restrain himself from hurling her to the sand and taking her.

Control yourself, Edison, he berated himself. He had kissed countless girls. Countless. But Molly was rocking his world and he had no idea how or why. Yes, her hands were delving into his hair. Yes, her fingertips were stroking his scalp. Yes, it was exquisite. More exquisite than he could articulate. That was the thing; he simply couldn’t pinpoint what it was she was doing that made this all so incredible. It was everything put together.

Molly kissed him again. Yep. There it was. A shot of something bouncing all around her body, pinging off of every angle. Tingles, bursts, sparks. What the hell was happening to her? She was in danger of doing something really foolish in a second. She wanted to do other things, things she normally stopped herself doing to boys. Things she didn’t normally think about when she kissed boys, but that she knew might be expected.

And though Molly was a ‘good girl’, she had kissed rather a lot of boys. Often in place of sleeping with them. Which made her an aficionado in some ways. And Ed was a good kisser. A very good kisser. The kind that made Molly want to lose control of herself.

Ed luxuriated in the feel of those lips on his skin. It was romantic, yet erotic. Her hands were sliding under his shirt and he could barely stand it. He rolled on top of her, needing to regain control. His arms were around her and he could feel the warmth of her skin through her clothes. He smoothed her hair away from her face, gazing into her eyes. They were alert but slightly glazed.

Molly met Ed’s eyes. Was her lust for him obvious? She wasn’t sure she could do anything to control the emotions and desires being reflected in her eyes.

Ed fell headlong into them. Headlong. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her again, groping for the feeling it gave him. Yes. There it was again; he wasn’t mistaken. It was like coming home. A comfortable newness. No. That made it sound too cosy. It wasn’t. It was an excitement that felt so right, it was bloody mind-blowing. Ed owned that feeling. He wanted her. Badly.

‘I want you,’ she murmured against his mouth. ‘Badly.’

How did she seem to know what he was thinking? It was like half starting a sentence and her finishing it, but it was even spookier than that because she was in his thoughts.

Christ, he’d be going all Wuthering Heights in a minute.

Edison, he said to himself, smiling slightly as he remembered Molly’s comments about his name, do rein yourself in. She is just a girl. This is just a kiss.

It was just a kiss, right?

Molly coiled a leg around his, drawing his body to hers. Their groins were crushed together, hard against soft, hot against hot. And it felt right. They rolled again. She was on top of him, her chest squashed against his. His breath smelt sweet as she found his mouth again. He felt amazing against her. Amazing. Molly was falling. She was bloody well falling.

Ed sank a hand into her hair, claiming her. Kissing her. Owning her. But wait. He needed to take a minute. More than a minute. This was spiralling out of control. He was out of control. He was in danger of being … inelegant. He was also aware that he was in danger of being completely and utterly done for if this went any further. But he wanted it to go further.

Molly took advantage of the pause to collect her thoughts. Something huge was going on and she didn’t know how to control it. ‘I … I think you’re going to be … very important in my life,’ she said, feeling the need to put some kind of label or description on what was happening. Her father always told her she over-analysed. ‘Does that sound weird? It sounds weird. Sorry about that.’

‘Important in your life?’ Ed drew back. With an effort that was so monumental, it felt akin to unsticking something tightly glued together. ‘How so?’

‘I don’t know.’ She met his eyes. ‘But … you are … this feels …’ She faltered. ‘It’s just me. You’re not thinking that …’

Ed said nothing. And cursed himself. It wasn’t just her. He did feel something. He didn’t know what, but something had just happened. The earth hadn’t exactly moved but Ed’s life had surely just shifted on its axis. Molly had rendered him dumb. Another first.

‘Right.’ Molly sat up a bit and slowly rubbed her hands together. Mostly to dust the sand off them. Also to give her a moment to think. ‘What I mean is … I don’t mean we’re going to run off into the sunset together or anything. I mean maybe, but not now. I just think we seem to have some sort of connection. It’s like … I think I sometimes know what you’re thinking, what you’re about to say.’

‘Am I that predictable?’ Ed frowned. He hated being predictable. But at least his mouth was working again.

‘No. Not remotely. That’s what I mean.’ Molly looked unnerved. ‘There’s just something between us. Something a bit … freaky.’

‘I guess so.’ Ed knew so, but saying that would make him feel far too vulnerable. ‘Maybe we’re going to be friends?’ He offered this as a question, testing the waters. He wanted more, far more. Perhaps not right now. Perhaps he meant later, when he’d grown up a bit. But what did Molly mean?

Her eyes were fixed on his and just for a second, he sensed a glimmer of disappointment. But it was fleeting.

‘Friends,’ Molly repeated. She was trying it out, seeing how it sounded. She wasn’t sure if she felt somewhat disappointed. She had felt something far, far deeper than mere friendship surging between them.

But Molly was a dignified girl; she hated looking silly. ‘I suppose we could be that. Yes. Good friends. Why not?’

Ed battled with himself. It was more. What had sparked between them was more. It was … oh, fuck. Had he been about to mentally use the expression ‘soulmates’? Did he even believe in soulmates? Something had sparked between them, like a firework that had been inadvertently lit in a room, bouncing off the walls crazily, leaving delicious little scorch marks everywhere.

Ed swallowed. Could it be that true love malarkey people always banged on about? Had he and Molly got really, really lucky and at a very young age found that thing that people sometimes searched their entire lives for? Or was that just romantic nonsense for losers? He was seventeen, for fuck’s sakes.

Ed released Molly and sat up. He wasn’t ready to meet the love of his life yet. If that was indeed what had just happened. He had too much to do. He had responsibilities; he had an impossible home life. He was going to try with everything he had to become a great writer, and writers needed experiences. What the hell would he write about otherwise? He was surely destined to love many women. Hundreds. He wanted to travel, to see the world, to experience everything life had to offer. If they started something now, he might hurt her. He would hurt her. And Ed didn’t want to do that.

He looked down at Molly. God, but she was beautiful. And sexy. In that girl-next-door way that made him want to both cuddle her and tear her clothes off. He had the urge to inhale her neck, to breathe her in, to consume her, to allow her to consume him. She was different to anyone he had ever met before. He felt a connection with her he simply couldn’t explain. He knew she felt it too.

So what was stopping him?

Molly sat up, leaning against him casually as if she was perfectly fine with everything. It was a knack she had, appearing fine. A useful skill that allowed her to rise above situations that had hurt her in some way. She had learnt it at a very young age when her brother had blackmailed her shamelessly after she broke the foot off an expensive china doll. She had behaved as though she was completely unmoved by the event and her brother had given up because her lack of reaction had presumably been tedious. More recently she had honed her technique when a girlfriend had done the dirty on her with a guy she had really liked. In both cases, she had been distraught, but she had developed a way of appearing haughtily indifferent. A handy gift, that.

The thing was; she had never spoken to a guy for this long before. She had never shared so many intimate details of her life. Molly felt exposed, vulnerable. She had trusted Ed – she still did, oddly – and letting her guard down had actually felt good.

Ed put his arm around her; it was involuntary. He couldn’t seem to be this close to her without touching her, wanting to coil her into his body. He had never felt so confused in his life.

Molly leant into him. He crushed her a little, but it felt so right to be held by him, she couldn’t find it in herself to pull away. She knew if she was dealing with another boy right now she would stand up, disdainfully look down at him before marching off, vowing never to speak to him again. But for some reason, Molly knew she wouldn’t do that with Ed. Because he was different. Because she somehow felt able to forgive him for hurting her when she wouldn’t allow it from someone else. Even if she didn’t quite understand why.

‘The thing you need to know about me is that I am always classy, Edison,’ Molly said, before he could say anything. She sensed – although she had no idea where this sixth sense came from – that he was about to justify himself, to excuse the way he had behaved. He’d acted as though he wanted her more than anything, before backing off like a frightened rabbit. She had to get in first, before he – this boy who seemed so incredibly sensitive, so eloquent and full of thought – said something thoughtless and deeply insensitive. Molly feared he was capable of such a thing, that despite declaring himself a ‘girl’, Ed was very much a male of the species.

‘Classy?’ Ed was confused.

‘Maybe classy isn’t the right word. Dignified, perhaps? Anyway, I rarely make a prat of myself if I can help it.’ Molly wished his eyes weren’t so devastating. She wanted to dive into them, but it seemed that it was not to be the case. ‘And the other thing you need to know is that I don’t ever chase people. If it’s not mutual, it’s not happening.’ She smiled and she made sure it was a sunny one. ‘So, friends it is.’

Molly then leant forward and kissed Ed on the forehead. On the forehead. But slowly, deliberately.

Ed felt emasculated, put in his place and aroused all at once. It was a tender, non-sexual gesture that positioned him firmly in a box, and, ironically, it made him want her even more. Whatever she was saying she had felt was mutual. It was. It was.

Molly hoped the languid forehead kiss had done the trick. Her friend Sara had taught her that, said it was the best way to arouse a guy (the proximity, the erotically slow action) and to put him right in his place. Molly hated playing games but she detested looking idiotic even more. Her mother always said her pride would get her into trouble one day.

Ed inwardly groaned. That kiss on the forehead. It had sealed his fate. Jesus. What had he just done? Molly was the most incredible girl he had ever met. The feeling he’d had when he first set eyes on her had been spot on. She was special. He didn’t want anyone else to have her. Would he ever have this moment back again?

Molly got to her feet, grabbed his hand and clumsily yanked him up. ‘Come on,’ she said. She found herself grinning in a totally spontaneous way. Whether he fancied her or not, Edison made her feel happy. ‘We should go home.’




Now (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)


‘Sam. I really need to talk to you.’

Give me a sec, Molly.’

Sam sounded impatient. He was on the phone to an important client and Molly wanted to give him space. But she had also sat on her news for an entire fortnight and she felt that she needed to finally let it all out. But it was the weekend. And Sam was still working. He was conscientious like that.

Molly sank down on to the sofa. She wasn’t sure how Sam was going to take the news. Sam was a practical guy, but Molly hadn’t really seen how he coped with illness. They hadn’t ever been challenged in this way before. Illness hadn’t featured. But Sam coped with everything. He was very capable. Molly relaxed.

Sam finally finished his call. Turning his chair to face her, he gave her his full attention.

‘Sorry. You wanted to talk to me.’ ‘Yes.’ Molly took a breath. ‘I’ve had these symptoms for a while now.’

‘Symptoms?

‘Tremors. A few other things.’

‘You haven’t mentioned anything before now.’ Sam frowned.

‘I know.’ Molly immediately felt guilty. She should have mentioned something before, shouldn’t she? If she had, her illness would have been drip-fed as opposed to being a massive bombshell. ‘I … I didn’t think anything serious was going on.’

Sam sat forward. ‘It’s serious then?’

‘Ummm … yes. It is.’ Molly chewed her lip. ‘I have …’ She faltered. She didn’t want to say it out loud. Saying it out loud made it real. And reality was a scary place at the moment.

‘Molly.’ Sam came and sat next to her. ‘What’s going on? What do you have?’

Molly took his hand. ‘I have early-onset Parkinson’s.’

Sam stared at her. ‘What?’

Molly said it again.

‘I heard you. I mean how … you’re … I know you said early onset but Parkinson’s … it’s …’

‘An old person’s illness, right?’ Molly shook her head. ‘Wrong.’

‘But …’ Sam stopped. ‘I just can’t understand it. You’re so healthy! You’re fit, you look after yourself. How could this have happened?’

‘Well, it’s not anything I could have prevented.’ Absurdly, Molly felt the need to defend herself. ‘I do look after myself. It’s just one of those things.’

Sam got to his feet. ‘Well, it’s ridiculous. I mean, it’s awful.’ He began to pace. ‘So. Tell me about it. What does this mean?’

Molly told him about it. A condensed version. A slightly more glamorous effort than it could have been. Which was her way of drip-feeding. Molly strongly felt that immediately blasting Sam with all the details wasn’t the way to go. There was time enough for that.

A few seconds later, Molly felt that her approach was justified.

Sam stopped pacing and sat down suddenly. ‘God, Molly. That’s grim. I mean, grim for you. For us. What a curve ball. Ok.’ His mind was clearly racing. ‘So what do we do about it?’

‘Do?’

‘Yes. There must be some course of action. We need to do something here. There must be drug trials, something we can do to make things better, to get you well again.’

Molly stared at Sam. ‘I mean … I’ll never be well again, Sam. Not completely. This is progressive.’

‘But we can manage it, right? We can slow things down.’

‘I don’t know.’ Molly was starting to get a headache. ‘We need to look into it.’

‘We do.’ Sam sat down at his computer again and started typing rapidly. ‘We need to look this up and get to grips with it.’

‘Yes.’ Molly felt oddly surreal. She had dreaded telling Sam about her diagnosis. She had put it off for a fortnight because she had been trying to get her head around it. And Sam’s reaction was sending her all over the place again. Mainly because he was being so practical.

Suddenly, Sam caught her off-guard. He turned in his chair, walked over to her and gathered her up in his arms.

‘Molly,’ he whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Molly burst into tears. Clutching Sam’s shoulder, she sobbed hard. This was what she needed right now. A cuddle. Some sympathy. Sam was so incredibly practical and that was a great skill. A wonderful skill. But nothing beat a hug.

‘But we’re in this together,’ Sam said, pulling back and wiping her tears away. ‘You and me. We’ll get through this. Together.’

Molly nodded. ‘I know. Thank you. I’m so sorry.’

‘Never be sorry.’ Sam kissed her forehead. ‘We can beat anything, you and me.’ He returned to his desk and started typing again.

Molly lay back against the sofa. Whatever she and Sam did, they weren’t ever going to ‘beat’ her Parkinson’s. Surely he knew that?

Maybe the drip-feed approach had been the wrong way to go after all.




Ed (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)

August 1997


‘Edison. I’ve said it’s fine! Stop worrying about me.’

Ed watched his mother as she moved around their tiny kitchen. She seemed normal. Together. She wore a summer dress printed with flowers. Her dark hair was held up by a scarf – it clashed but it was a cheery touch, one that showed some thought for her appearance. On closer inspection though, the dress had a tear in the seam under her armpit and the scarf was splattered with glossy white marks, as if a candle had accidentally been spilt all over it. But still.

Florrie Sutherland. A statuesque woman on days like today. Calm, composed and in control. On days like these, Ed could almost imagine bringing his friends home to meet her, but still, he wouldn’t dream of it. Anything could happen. Literally anything.

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Florrie reassured him, placing a cup of tea in front of him. ‘I have Michael now. He looks after me. I’m on top of the world right now.’

Ed gamely drank the tea, even though he only ever drank coffee. But the offer of any kind of drink was unheard of around here, so he was grateful, in principle at least. He tried to conceal a grimace. It was laden with sugar and tepid. The way his father used to drink it. Ed wasn’t sure what that meant exactly.

‘I want you to have this chance,’ Florrie insisted, reaching out to stroke a lock of hair away from Ed’s eyes. It wasn’t so much a gesture of tenderness; it smacked of irritability. Florrie frowned. ‘I’m not a child, Ed. I can take care of myself.’

Ed nodded. ‘Right. Of course.’ It really wasn’t worth him disagreeing. Not when she was actually being amenable about the whole thing. He sat back in his chair and inspected the kitchen. It was small and dingy. Even when it was scrupulously clean (which only ever happened when he was around), it looked grubby. Formica worktops in a shade of grey, garish tiles from the seventies in clashing oranges and yellows. Basic cupboards and shelves fronted with off-white MDF, all set off by a lino floor that stuck to the bottom of every shoe as though smeared with year-old jam.

Out of all the rooms in the small house they shared on the outskirts of town, far away from the likes of Boyd and Ed’s school friends, the kitchen depressed him the most. It seemed to epitomise everything difficult about his life.

‘So. Are any of your friends going to the same university?’ Florrie removed the tea, not appearing to notice he had barely touched it. She swished it into the chipped sink, her eyes fixed on the disappearing liquid.

‘Er, just Molly.’

‘Who’s Molly?’ Florrie turned round and wagged her finger in a coquettish fashion. ‘You haven’t mentioned her before. Is she your girlfriend?’

‘No. Absolutely not. She’s just a friend.’ Ed wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He never mentioned girls to his mother. She became oddly fixated, almost pushing him into serious relationships he didn’t want. At other times, she seemed jealous that someone else might be taking his attention away. Besides, he was speaking the truth. Molly was just a friend. More was the pity. Ed remembered them getting their results together. Molly had been painting him while they waited for the post to arrive. She’d requested he take his shirt off and he was trying his best to keep his cool. It had all been fun and games until he’d seen what she’d done. It was, quite simply, amazing.

‘I shall treasure this for ever,’ Ed declared, unpinning the portrait from her easel.

‘You’re so sweet.’

Ed looked affronted. ‘Sweet? Molls. Let me impart some knowledge to you, some wisdom. When it comes to guys, you never tell them they’re sweet. Or cute. Or adorable. Have you got that?’

‘Sweet, cute, adorable, never tell them. Got it.’ Molly cocked an ear. ‘Was that the post?’

‘Crap. I hope not.’

‘It was. Let’s go.’

Molly grabbed Ed’s hand and they headed downstairs together. Molly snatched the envelope from the mat as her parents rushed out of the kitchen.

‘Hello, Edison,’ said Molly’s mother Eleanor, casting her eye over him.

Ed shot a withering glance at Molly. She simply had to go around telling everyone his proper name. He had never known a girl take the piss as much as she did. Cheeky sod.

As they walked into the lounge, Ed suddenly realised why Eleanor was giving him funny looks. He hadn’t put his shirt back on. Shit. What a nobber.

‘Nice to see you, young man,’ said Molly’s father John. ‘I generally wear clothes in company, but each to their own.’

‘Yes. Er, sorry about that. My shirt is upstairs. Molly’s been sketching me …’

‘Quite so, quite so.’ John twinkled at him. ‘Well, Molls. What’s the damage?’

‘I got two A’s and a B!’ Molly shrieked, waving the sheet around. ‘Two A’s! In Art and Literature! I can get into Lincoln with those. Easily!’ Molly was enveloped by her parents, all of them talking and laughing loudly.

Ed felt so proud of Molly. She had such devoted parents, the kind everyone should have. Ed glanced away for a second. No, he wasn’t going to think about it. He hated feeling sorry for himself.

As if on cue, the phone rang and Ed’s stomach shifted. He had never felt more scared in his life. He was nervous of his mother phoning, and he was utterly petrified that what she was about to tell him would mean being far away from Molly.

Eleanor picked the phone up. ‘Yes, she did very well indeed … we’re so proud. Yes, he’s right here … I’ll pass you over …’

Ed took the proffered phone, anxiety kicking in. ‘Er, how did I do?’ He listened and nodded. ‘Right. Thanks for letting me know.’ He put the phone back into its cradle and turned to Molly.

‘Well?’ She wrung her hands. ‘Oh God. You’ve flunked them. You can’t come to Lincoln …’

‘I’m really sorry …’ Ed started.

‘Oh, Ed.’ Molly’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t believe how disappointed she felt. Not in Ed, as such, but on his behalf. On her behalf. Uni wouldn’t be half as much fun if he wasn’t coming with her.

Ed grabbed Molly’s hand. ‘I did it too! Somehow. An A in English Language, a B in Literature and a C in History. But hey, I hated History anyway!’

He clumsily caught Molly as she threw herself into his arms and they danced around like loons.

‘We must call Tom and tell him the news. Your brother will be so pleased for you, Molly,’ Eleanor said, picking up the phone again. ‘John, open that champagne, would you? We need to make a toast.’

‘This is brilliant,’ Molly said, when they’d finally stopped jumping around. ‘Just brilliant. We’re going to uni together. We can share a place and everything. Well, maybe – although my friend Jody wants to get a place together. But we can hang out all the time.’

‘Well done, Edison,’ Eleanor said warmly. ‘I’m so pleased for you. And for Molly. She so wanted to go to uni with you.’

As Eleanor hugged him, Ed felt John’s watchful eyes on him. Dads were always harder to impress. Dads and their daughters, it was a special relationship. And Ed knew John was suspicious of his motives, he didn’t quite buy the whole ‘friends’ thing. Whether or not he knew the thoughts that went through Ed’s head was by the by, but either way, John was Molly’s father. Which meant that he would fight to the death for her. And kill anyone who hurt her. Ed understood that. He felt irrationally protective of Molly himself.

John handed him a glass, and Ed clinked it against Molly’s, dismissing the feelings of trepidation in his gut. Could he do this? Was he actually going to be allowed to go to university, to move away from home? Ed was desperate to forge some sort of life for himself.

It would be fine. Ed steeled himself. Everything would be fine. He had to go. He needed to get his degree, to have fun and to just throw off the shackles a bit. Not completely, just a bit. He watched Molly excitedly outlining university plans with her parents. He envied the easy relationship she had with them, but he liked it. He enjoyed being part of her world. It was easy and loving and something to be admired.

To be part of it was all that he really wanted …

Ed pulled himself back to the present and realised his mother was chattering away to him still.

‘Sorry, what did you say?’

Florrie narrowed her eyes. ‘God, I hate it when I talk to you and you don’t bloody well listen.’ She sounded like a petulant child. ‘Anyway. Shouldn’t you go and pack?’

Ed frowned. ‘I’m not going until next week.’

‘Oh, really?’ Florrie looked disgruntled. ‘I said Michael could use your room as an office, you see. Sorry, I just assumed that you would be leaving sooner rather than later. No matter; it can wait.’

That was it, then. Decision made. Ed got to his feet. ‘That’s fine, Mum. I can go down early, find a house, meet some people.’ He was shocked that his mother was moving Michael in so soon, but she was a grown woman. And at least Michael seemed like a nice guy – from the little Ed had seen of him – one who had genuine feelings for his mother. Maybe this was all going to work out after all.

‘I’ll go pack,’ he said. ‘I can be out of your hair by tomorrow morning.’

‘Good, good.’ Florrie sounded vague again. ‘Bye then.’

‘Bye, Mum,’ he answered her, even though he was sure he would see her in the morning before he left.

Ed tore upstairs, feeling strangely elated. Life was looking up. Michael was moving in, which made him feel far better about leaving his mother. Maybe he was finally going to be able to live his life.

He resolved then and there to make the most of every second of university. He made a pact with himself not to rely on his memory any longer. To apply himself the way Molly did. He owed it to himself. His life was finally about to begin.




Now (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)


‘So. Tell me about the symptoms again,’ Sam said, taking Molly’s hands.

Molly tried not to sigh. They were currently sitting in bed going over and over the details. Again. They had done this a number of times now and Molly was feeling exhausted. She understood why Sam was doing this; it was his way of coping. He was a person who got to grips with something by gathering as much information as possible in order to make sense of it. It was all part of his process. Molly knew that Sam would spend considerable time after their discussions ordering books about early-onset Parkinson’s, scouring the internet for data and immersing himself in the subject so deeply he would practically be able to take an exam on it.

‘Primary motor symptoms are tremors, slowness, stiffness, balance problems.’ Molly leant back against the headboard. She was beginning to feel like a broken record. ‘Non-motor: changes in mood – depression being the most likely – sleep disorders, skin changes – whatever that means – problems with low blood pressure and sweating. I mean, you know this stuff, you’ve looked it all up.’

Molly faltered. She didn’t want to move on to the possible bladder and bowel issues or the way her speech might be affected. Not yet. Sam might have already read about those symptoms, but if he had, he hadn’t mentioned them.

‘Well, honestly, I don’t see that there is anything there we can’t cope with,’ Sam said confidently. ‘I know this is very grim for you and a huge shock.’ He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. ‘But I’m here for you. We’ll get through this together. You’re not alone. Always know that.’

Molly started weeping again. She had done an awful lot of weeping over the past few days. Obviously it was a huge thing to deal with, but Molly had surprised herself with the volume of tears she had managed to produce. Yet oddly enough she no longer felt she was in a nightmare. Telling Sam had made everything feel extremely real. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Since she had dropped her bombshell a few days ago, she and Sam had done nothing but talk non-stop about her illness. Molly wondered what on earth they had talked about before, because it seemed that every single conversation revolved around Parkinson’s in some fashion. It was overwhelming to say the least.

‘We will need to get a second opinion, of course,’ Sam said, reaching for his phone. ‘I’ll see if I can rush you through to see someone. I have a few contacts I can probably lean on.’

‘I don’t need any kind of special treatment,’ Molly said, swinging her feet out of bed. She placed them on the floor cautiously. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but since her diagnosis, she seemed acutely aware of all movement and motion. Being able to walk, to pick something up, to clean her teeth. Writing something down, using her phone. Each of these actions gave her relief and, at times, joy. It had only been a few days, but Molly was suddenly so appreciative of the things she had previously taken for granted.

Which was a horrendous cliché, of course. Not appreciating something until you were threatened with the loss of it. But Molly couldn’t help it. Being told she might lose control of certain motor functions, that she might not be able to conduct herself in the way she always had, had been like someone throwing cold water in her face. It was a sharp shock and it had brought everything into focus.

Molly heard her phone alerting her to another text message. She glanced at it quickly. As she thought, it was Ed again. Molly really had to get back to him soon, before he got really worried.

‘I wasn’t thinking of any kind of special treatment,’ Sam was saying mildly, already selecting a number from the address book in his phone. ‘I just think it’s important that we get you seen immediately. I mean, until we do, we don’t actually know if we’re dealing with early-onset Parkinson’s. We could be looking at –’ Sam turned to his iPad, predictably already open at the Michael J. Fox Foundation page ‘– any number of neurological disorders. We don’t know anything for certain yet.’

‘True.’

Molly knew Sam was clutching at straws. She would let him. It was his way. It was what he needed to do. Of course he wanted to think it might be something other than Parkinson’s; it was only natural. She would feel the same in his shoes.

Molly walked to the bathroom, enjoying the sensation of thick carpet beneath the soles of her feet. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ she said over her shoulder.

Sam wasn’t listening. He was already on the phone to his contact, whoever that was. Switching the shower on to get the water heated up and spending a fair time cleaning her teeth, Molly peeled her t-shirt over her head. Ed always used to laugh at her cleaning her teeth before she had a shower, but her argument was that she was such a clean freak, she liked to feel completely fresh and sparkling by the time she left the shower.

Ed. Molly leant her head against the cool tiles in the shower. She must speak to Ed. She had missed his engagement party and she had to explain why.

Molly hoped Ed would forgive her for missing the party. After all, he had managed to make it to her wedding, despite the way things had been between them. Molly felt a pang when she remembered that time. Christ, she had been so in love with Ed. Not at her wedding, but before … What she felt for Sam was completely different. Safe, secure, deep. Molly’s feelings for Ed might have been passionate and romantic, but they were childish by comparison. Passion was overrated. It didn’t last and it wasn’t more important than friendship and companionship.

And that wasn’t to say that she and Sam didn’t have passion, Molly thought to herself, pushing her wet hair back from her face. It was just more measured. Not as uncontrollable and head-spinning. Although – Molly paused with her shower gel in her hand – when had they last had sex? She couldn’t rightly remember. But there had been a lot going on lately. Her worry over her health, her diagnosis – and Sam had been extremely busy. Well, Sam was always busy, but he had seemed even more distracted than usual. Molly felt guilty about that. He must be finding it difficult to juggle everything now that she had ducked out of work to paint more. Molly reasoned that Sam could always hire someone else, but she knew Sam liked keeping staff to a minimum. And that he preferred to work with her.

Molly wondered if she should join Sam at work again. It would be disappointing to have to do it now that she had finally got back into her art, but if she wasn’t able to paint any longer, what did it matter? She felt the now-familiar stiffening in her hand and cursed it. Bloody, bloody disease. She jumped as she heard the door opening and put her hand behind her back.

‘I’ve managed to get you an appointment for tomorrow,’ Sam said, poking his head into the bathroom. ‘With a top guy. We’ll find out if you have this once and for all. Or if it’s something else. And then we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with and how to plan for it.’

‘Right. Great, thanks. Sam,’ Molly called to him before he could walk away. ‘Um. Join me?’ She wasn’t sure if she was after sex as such. Maybe just a cuddle. A wet one. Intimacy. Something to reassure her. Something to convince her she hadn’t suddenly become the sexless being she felt she had.

Sam smiled. ‘Very tempting. I wish I had time. But I have to get to the office – I have about six meetings today.’

‘Can’t they wait?’ Molly felt exposed, vulnerable. ‘It’s just – I’d really like to spend a bit of time with you.’

‘In the shower?’ Sam grinned and glanced down at himself. ‘I’m fully dressed.’

‘Then come in and get wet with me. Please.’ Molly hoped she didn’t sound desperate. But she really needed Sam. She needed him to be with her, to comfort her, to let her know he still loved her. Not just as a wife, but as a woman.

‘Molly, I’m really sorry. Can we call a rain check until tonight?’ Sam looked at his watch. ‘I really want to, but I have to get to the office.’

‘Sure.’ Molly turned away so he couldn’t see her tears. She heard the shower door open and felt Sam’s hand on her waist.

‘Molly. I’m not freaked out, I promise. I just have to be somewhere. And I meant it about tonight.’

‘But I really need you, Sam. I need you.’ Molly sounded whiny. She hated it when she sounded whiny. She got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body.

‘And I need to be somewhere else,’ Sam said firmly as he walked away.

‘Why do you never put me first?’

‘What?’ Sam stopped by the door.

‘Why do you never put me first?’ Molly repeated.

Sam looked furious. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

Molly shook her head. ‘I’m not. It’s just … I just sometimes feel like I come second for you, after your work.’

Sam let out an impatient sound. ‘Really? Are you actually saying that to me?’

‘I’m actually saying that to you. And do you have to keep answering with questions?’

‘You’re being stupid.’

Molly stared at Sam. ‘Am I? I’m being stupid because I want you to be here with me. To make me feel like I’m not just a walking disease. That you still see me. Me, as a person.’

Sam bit his lip. ‘Of course I still see you, Molly. How could I not, when you’re standing there yelling at me? Oh, I’m sorry, that was another question. Do forgive me.’ He left and slammed the door.

Molly walked into the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and started to cry. Sam was trying hard to be good about her diagnosis. He was coping the only way he knew how. But she couldn’t help wishing he had put work to one side. Just this once. To stay with her, to put his arms around her. To love her and let her know that nothing would change between them.

Molly knew Sam was hoping the diagnosis was wrong. She was too, obviously. But she knew it wouldn’t be any different to the first opinion. It would be exactly what she had heard from Mr Ward. Molly wasn’t being defeatist about it; she just knew when something made sense. She didn’t blame Sam for wanting to hear something else. He didn’t want her to be sick – why would he? He wanted her to go back to normal. He wanted everything to be normal between them again.

But Molly knew things wouldn’t be normal again. She wasn’t being negative, she was being realistic. And Sam would be too. Once they had the second opinion confirmed, Molly knew Sam would be fine with the whole thing. He would be his usual practical self, sorting out a plan of action, wanting to know every type of medication available and basically taking control.

It was for the best that Sam was this way, Molly decided. After all, she was so far out of control, she needed someone to rein her in. She just hoped Sam remembered she needed love and affection as well as support. And that rows were the last thing she needed. Even though she felt she might have started the one just now.

She stood up and tiredly selected some underwear. As soon as she had the second opinion confirmed, she would go and see Ed. She was loath to pee on his bonfire when he had just got engaged, but they were best friends. If Ed had news like this, she would want to know. She would have to know. Molly also knew that if Ed had something like early-onset Parkinson’s, she would feel as if her heart was breaking.




Molly and Ed (#ucce7c3bc-0b0d-5105-884a-66720f4eba8e)

February 1998


‘Tonight, I drink to the health of … of … Cardinal Puff, Puff, Puff.’

Molly carefully tapped the top of the table three times, then underneath the table, clicked her fingers and looked helplessly at Ed. She was drunk. Hopelessly so. And she couldn’t for the life of her remember the rules of this dumb drinking game.

‘Three fingers on your glass, Molls,’ Ed whispered loudly, falling about laughing.

‘Don’t help her!’ Jody, Molly’s housemate nudged him indignantly. ‘There are rules in drinking games, you know.’

Everyone in the lounge – a plethora of bodies that had somehow found their way back here from the student union – booed and hissed. Someone even tossed a cork coaster at Jody’s head.

Ed blew Jody a kiss. ‘Ignore them. I love how pedantic you are. It’s endearing.’

Jody made a show of looking cross for a second before giving him a wide smile. A sexy smile. One that said, ‘Fuck me later you massive bastard.’

Ed deliberately broke the eye contact. He had slept with Jody when he and Molly first arrived at Lincoln University, oblivious to the fact that she had just moved into a house with his friend. Molly had no doubt told him about her new living arrangements before they had even left home, but names weren’t Ed’s strong point. Well, remembering names of random flatmates-to-be wasn’t his strong point. He hadn’t acquitted himself well on the Jody front; he’d done that shitty bloke thing of collecting up his clothes and sneaking out without a word in the early hours. Ed wasn’t proud of himself but he had regretted the union almost as soon as it was over and he couldn’t wait to get away.

He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. He had found university to be a veritable goldmine when it came to available, willing pretty girls and he had over-indulged somewhat in the first few months. Ed was seriously beginning to wonder if he had some sort of problem, but his old school mate Boyd had ruefully reassured him that if he possessed half of Ed’s charm and good looks, he wouldn’t think twice about making an absolute killing, instead of surviving on what he described as ‘meagre pickings’.

Molly caught Ed’s eye. She couldn’t help making a bit of a dig at him every so often about Jody. They had slept together months ago and Jody had waxed lyrical about it, providing Molly with rather more detail than she might have liked. She was fascinated on the one hand, appalled on the other. Molly didn’t want to visualise Ed with someone else but she found herself perversely intoxicated by the intimate details Jody had provided her with.

Molly was laughing at him again, Ed thought grumpily. She was always making references to the Jody situation, stopping short – but only just – of singing ‘Ed and Jody, sitting in a tree …’

Ed cursed himself as he watched Molly flick her long, newly blond curls over her shoulder. He hated that she saw him as an idiot Lothario. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. Of course, he was both an idiot and a Lothario, but still. Ed felt irrationally self-righteous about the unfairness of it all.

He truly wished he could control himself, especially when he was drunk. But his nether regions thought differently. The stupid thing was that his mind was consumed by thoughts of Molly – both wholesome and not so wholesome – for an absurd amount of time. But when he had a few drinks, he acted like a total and utter nobber and found himself sticking his tongue down the throat of any number of inferior girls. Sometimes he slept with them as well. Mostly because he knew Molly didn’t want him that way. Probably because he kept sleeping with her friends. Jesus. He seriously was a nobber.

Ed really was a nobber, Molly thought. Why on earth did he keep sleeping with all of her friends? She didn’t know if he did it on purpose to annoy her or if he had some sort of problem. Molly stole a glance at him. He looked rather drunk this evening. His hair was all over the place and his eyes had gone all sexy, the way they did when he was a bit squiffy.

Ed rubbed his eyes. God, but he had drunk too much tonight. Some filthy cocktail in the union – just because it was half price and he knew he looked as camp as Christmas drinking it. He gazed at Molly again and felt a pang. He felt it almost every time his eyes alighted on her. Sometimes in the groin, but mostly in the heart. Fuck it. He was her best male friend. Which meant that after her father, he was sort of the number one dude in her life. Ed knew it couldn’t stay that way for ever, but he couldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about her being with some other guy. The one thing Ed had on his side right now was that Molly was discerning. When it came to men, she was pickier than anyone he knew. He wasn’t even sure if she’d slept with anyone yet, but it wasn’t a subject he liked to dwell on. It made him feel as though his guts had been kicked inwards.

Finally remembering what she was supposed to be doing, Molly picked her beer up, holding it awkwardly with three fingers. She hit the table three times with the bottle, clearly searching her mind for the next bit of the drinking game. ‘And, ee, once a cardinal, always a cardinal!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. She drained her beer in one and twirled the empty bottle over the top of her head, beaming at Ed.

Ed punched the air, mostly to distract from the way his stomach was doing the usual fizz and slide antics that happened whenever Molly went full beam on him. And he didn’t mean just in a smiley way. There were moments when she turned her full attention on him and it literally rocked his world.

‘Let’s make spaghetti bolognese,’ Molly slurred in his direction. She stood up, hiccupped and took his hand.

‘What? Why on earth—’

‘I’m hungry. Come on.’

She stepped over Jody – Ed apologetically did the same and received a furious frown in return – and they made their way to the kitchen, Ed following Molly’s weaving motion, mostly because it amused him.

Molly gave Ed orders bossily, demanding that onions were chopped, meat was browned, tins of tomatoes opened. She always got a bit bossy when she was drunk. Hopefully, she thought, Ed found it endearing, the way he found Jody’s pedantic antics ‘endearing’. She dismissed the thought. Even in her drunken state she knew she was being ridiculous.

She gave Ed a half glance. Speaking of endearing. She watched the way he sliced up an onion, his eyes all crinkled up at the corners as he tried to stop them watering all over the place. Molly wished she didn’t find him such good company.

‘I take it I’m sous-chef,’ Ed grumbled, examining a tiny cut on his finger from an onion-related mishap. ‘Ouch, Molls. I’m bleeding.’

‘You’re moaning. And you’re everything-chef, for the record,’ Molly said. She tried to focus on him, but he kept swimming out of her vision for some strange reason. ‘I am in no fit state to wield a knife, my friend. Now the trick with bolognese is to use both pork and steak mince. Did you know this? It’s the best way. The only way.’

Ed spent the next half hour doing as he was told, an unusual state of affairs, but he was not of a mind to resist Molly when she was in domineering mode. Ridiculously, he found it sexy and he couldn’t stop laughing as she waved her arms around in place of actual words and coherent sentences. She did allow him to force a pint of water down her to stave off a hangover, and five minutes later she sashayed off to the bathroom to ‘break the seal’ as she delightfully put it.

Thoroughly distracted by her retreating form, Ed proceeded to drop an entire carton of passata down the front of his jeans.

‘Oh for fuck’s sakes,’ he muttered. His jeans were ruined. Not sure what else to do, he peeled them off. Fuck. He’d gone commando. It wasn’t a sexual thing, it was more of a: ‘I haven’t washed any boxers’ thing. He stuffed his jeans into the washing machine and quickly looped an apron over his head to save his dignity.

‘Ed.’ Molly appeared in the doorway, seeming to be gripping it for support. ‘I’m either more pissed than I thought I was or your arse is on show. Have you been like that all night? Surely not. I would have remembered. I know I would have remembered.’

‘Don’t be daft. My jeans … oh, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Nice bum, Edison.’ Molly’s mouth lifted mischievously. ‘Seriously. I had no idea. Hey – is that some sort of invitation?’

‘Begging your pardon?’

‘That. On the apron.’ Molly pointed. She was sobering up fast. But she was also feeling reckless tonight.

Ed glanced down at himself. ‘Snog The Chef’ was emblazoned across the front. He felt his breath quicken, but he reined it in. Of course Molly didn’t mean anything by it. It was just that she rarely flirted. Not with him at any rate. He had watched her charm many a poor bugger practically to his knees without even trying, but she hardly ever directed her flirtation in his direction.

He looked up and pasted an amiable smile on his face. ‘Absolutely. An invitation is exactly what that is.’

‘Gosh.’ Molly made a decision. She tested it out briefly first, as was her way, and it felt right. She was going for it. ‘Rude to turn down an invitation. Right?’

She ambled towards him. Ed felt a rush of lust. Good God. What was happening here? Was she … was Molly going to kiss him? She was mucking about, surely. His head swam. Molly was drunk. Squiffy, at very least. He should not do this. He definitely shouldn’t do this. He had never wanted to do anything so much in his life.

Molly leant against him. She wanted nothing more than to hurl herself at him and snog his face off. But she didn’t want to ruin the moment. If there was about to be a moment. Molly pressed her body up against his, her hands either side of him on the counter. It felt erotic being squashed up against Ed. She could be corny about it and say their bodies slotted together perfectly but – aah, sod it, they actually did.

Ed held his breath. He had never been so turned on in his life. He met Molly’s eyes, surprised to find them attentive and watchful. She put her mouth on his and kissed him. It was a sweet, exquisite kiss that seemed to ricochet around Ed’s body, lighting a billion tiny bulbs along the way. He felt the same sensation as he had the first time; the familiar, thrilling buzz that felt right.

Ed kissed Molly back. How could he not? He took the back of her neck in his hand, angled her mouth to his. It fit perfectly. What was that about? He had kissed many a mouth and sure, all mouths meshed together one way or another. But hers just fit.

‘You’re an annoyingly good kisser, Edison,’ Molly murmured against his mouth. He was. The memories of that first night came rushing back. Molly had kissed guys since Ed – not that he knew about them; discretion was her middle name – but none had made her feel the way he did. She wished that wasn’t the case, but it was. Kissing Ed consumed her with lust. She had fire chasing around her body in the most disturbing places – she wanted to pull his face to hers and kiss him endlessly. Before doing all manner of things she might not have the guts to do with someone else.

‘Being a good kisser is annoying?’

Ed felt Molly’s hands on his bare backside and closed his eyes. Good lord. There was clearly something very wrong with him. He wasn’t used to reacting like this. This is the way he tried to make girls feel. Ed aimed to give a girl the best time he possibly could. He tried to make a girl feel special, to make her feel that something awesome was happening to her. Molly was doing this to him without even trying.

‘Yes, it’s annoying. When it’s you.’ Molly paused and looked at him. His face was so achingly familiar. She wanted to kiss it all over. Slowly. She gave in to the urge. She took her time. She caressed his face as she did so, placing her lips against his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. Molly made sure the kiss to the forehead was a sexy one, a lingering kiss that couldn’t be confused with the dismissive one she had given him a few years ago. She whispered stuff as she kissed his face, moving to his neck to savour the smell of him.

Ed’s groin jerked. Not a twitch – a full-on jerk. The likes of which normally required physical contact of some kind. This one, however, was so sharp it damned near took his breath away. Molly’s mouth on his skin, her hair under his nostrils, her warm body curved around his. It was a sensory-overload situation. But Ed welcomed it. Wanted it, craved it.

‘What is that God awful song?’ Ed said, trying desperately to grasp a moment to rein himself in.

‘What?’

‘That song. What … what is it?’

Molly lifted her head. ‘It’s that one that bangs on about showing someone heaven. Maria thingy. From that film about the cars. NASCAR racing.’

Ed was none the wiser. But it had bought him a moment. Over Molly’s shoulder, he saw Jody standing in the doorway. She shot him a look – shock? Contempt? Loathing? Ed wasn’t sure. But he was fairly certain Jody would never utter another word to him again, unless it was either ‘fucking’ or ‘bastard’. He couldn’t blame her. Why was he such a shit sometimes? Ed forgot about Jody two seconds later when Molly put her mouth to his ear.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she whispered. ‘Right now. I want your hands on me. All over me.’

Ed bit his lip. He was aroused. God, but he was aroused. He could barely see straight. He wanted Molly badly. Badly. Was he taking advantage of her? Could he resist? It wasn’t exactly helping that he only had a ridiculous apron between his desperately rearing manhood and Molly and her warm, lovely skin.

Jeepers alive, how was a man supposed to cope with such a thing? He shouldn’t do this with her. She was drunk, he had to stop this …

‘I’m not drunk,’ she said. Molly could tell Ed was battling with himself, no doubt reminding himself she was drunk, that he was taking advantage of her. She had to stop him thinking that way. ‘I want you. Ok?’

Molly took his hand and led him out of the kitchen. Led him up the stairs, into her bedroom. Her heart was thumping but this was right. It was right.

‘Molly …’ Ed tried to speak but her mouth was upon his again.

‘I want to lose my virginity to you,’ she murmured, kissing him again.

He pulled back, stunned.

Molly went bright red. ‘Jesus. I can’t believe I just said that! What a bloody idiot. I’m ancient and still a virgin.’ She openly cringed, her fists balling tightly. She went to turn away from him, but Ed held her steady. He felt a rush of something for her but he couldn’t quite identify what it was. He just knew he didn’t want to let go of her.

‘Molly, you don’t want to do that with me.’

‘Yes, I do.’ She met his eyes fiercely. Something about Ed always made her feel a bit defensive. He called it her ‘feistiness’ and he made much of both enjoying it and inciting it, but Molly knew it was because he was the one person who was capable of exercising some sort of power over her. And in the same way, she made much of both enjoying it and inciting it.

‘You’ve slept with tons of girls, Ed. You must be ace at this. And we’re friends. I know you, you know me – almost inside and out. Who better for my first time?’ Molly meant it. She had made a decision downstairs in the kitchen. It had to be Ed. Had to be! Who else would she trust like this? It didn’t have to mean anything heavy. Surely they were grown-ups, surely they could do this and still be friends?

Molly had no idea if that was the case. She wasn’t even sure she believed it herself. Did she just want it because it was Ed? Because she so very badly wanted Ed?

Molly started to say something. But she felt too exposed, too vulnerable.

Ed took a shaky breath. Molly wanted to sleep with him because he was experienced. So that her first time was a good one. Because they were friends. Not because … Christ. He wanted her so much. But did he want her like this?

‘This should … you should …’

Ed mentally slapped himself. He had to stop this, to nip it in the bud. He wanted Molly more than he had wanted anyone, but he wasn’t going to sleep with her if it was just because she wanted a so-called ‘expert’ to be her first.

‘Molly.’ He held her by the arms, as much in his own defence as in hers. ‘This is a huge moment. We’re friends, very good friends, but that’s not a reason for us to … to do this. You should … your first should be someone you love. If at all possible.’

‘I bet yours wasn’t,’ she retorted.

‘Well, maybe not.’ Ed took that on the chin. Had to, really. His first experience had predictably been with one of the ‘easy’ girls at his school. He certainly hadn’t been in love with her, nor had he cared about such a notion.

But this was Molly. And Ed cared about her too much to take advantage. ‘I mean it, though. You should do this with someone you love, Molls. Not with me.’

Molly stared at him. For a drunk person she was holding his gaze surprisingly well. Was she drunk? Ed realised Molly was actually fairly sober now.

Molly was feeling exasperated. Enough was enough. Without saying anything, she tore off her t-shirt. Luckily, she was wearing a black bra with pretty scalloped edges. She was hopeful she was wearing the matching knickers, but, whatever. She had started this and she was going through with it regardless of her knicker situation.

Ed sucked his breath in. Her skin was luscious. Golden, smooth. The curve of her waist was exquisite. It flared in and then out again at her hips. He wanted to touch her all over. He wanted to adore every inch of her skin.

Molly swallowed. She was going to be truthful. Because otherwise Ed was never going to agree. ‘Ok. I don’t want you to be my first because you’re experienced. I want you to be my first because I want you – you – to be my first.’

Ed swallowed. Now how the hell was he supposed to defend himself against that?

‘Kiss me,’ Molly said, taking his face in her hands.

Ed faltered. Resist her, he commanded himself silently. But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. He kissed her, luxuriating in her mouth, loving her hands on his face, her body crushed to his. His hands were on her waist. It felt so small. She felt tiny, in fact. She was strong-willed yet fragile in so many ways, and that combination bowled Ed right over.

‘I’ve never wanted someone so much in my life …’ Molly whispered. And she meant it. Her eyes met his. They were seductive yet oddly innocent. ‘You are a dirty romantic after all, Edison. You kiss like a romantic. But it’s dirty too. I think that’s just perfect.’

Ed came undone. He pushed Molly against the wall, kissing her with everything he had. His hands were in her hair, his body was crushed hard against hers. She was kissing him back so ardently he could barely catch his breath. He felt consumed by her. And he bloody well loved it.

Ed heard something in the distance – his name. Was that his name? But he ignored it. The way Molly was making him feel, Ed was struggling to make sense of it. He felt her hands on his bare bum again and he groaned, leaning into her. He put his hand on her shoulder, slipped her bra strap to one side. Dropped a kiss where it had been, loving the way Molly squirmed against him.

‘Do. That. Again,’ she said, pulling him closer by the apron. ‘And then I want you naked. I want you naked and all over me.’

‘Are you absolutely certain you haven’t done this before?’ Ed panted, tearing off the apron.

‘I am absolutely certain,’ Molly said slowly. She looked down. ‘Well. I’m a bit speechless.’

‘Can you be a bit speechless?’ Ed asked, chuckling as he slid her other bra strap off her shoulder. ‘Is that a thing? Is that like being a bit pregnant?’ He left a trail of kisses down her neck. ‘Christ, this is not a time to mention pregnancy …’

Molly impatiently undid her bra and let it fall to the floor. She loved all the romantic stuff, but at the same time, she was about to explode.

‘Fucking hell,’ Ed said. ‘I am going to hurl you on to that bed and do unspeakable things to every single inch of your body. And then I’m going to—’

He paused. There it was again. His name. Someone was calling his name.

‘Ed!’ It was Jody yelling up the stairs. She sounded pissed at him. ‘Phone call.’

Molly carried on kissing him, oblivious. ‘Who would be calling you here?’ she mumbled against his mouth. ‘Don’t stop, Ed, don’t stop. Ignore it …’

Ed let her kiss him, just for a few seconds more. He savoured her mouth, tasted her, kissing her as if it was the very last time he might do it. As it may well be. Molly was a girl who could only be rejected – or rather, sidelined – so many times; he knew that. Ed knew it.

But he had to stop. He drew back. He was needed. He wanted to stay right here in Molly’s arms, her fragrant hair under his nostrils, her warm body thrust against his. But he was needed elsewhere. There was only one person who would call him at Molly’s house, only one reason such a call would be made.

‘Molly. Molly. I need to take that call.’ Summoning every vestige of strength, Ed removed Molly’s arms from his waist.

She straightened, meeting his eyes. ‘Who’s calling you, Ed?’

‘It’s an emergency. I mean, it must be.’ Ed dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I left a number with my … with my mother. In case she couldn’t track me down at my digs.’

Molly rubbed her fingers across her mouth. Was she already regretting what had happened?

Molly was, in fact, doing nothing of the sort. She was wondering why her mouth suddenly felt lonely.

‘Your mother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Isn’t there anyone else who can help?’

Molly felt slightly pathetic clutching at straws like this, but she couldn’t shrug off the feeling that she was experiencing that first night on the beach all over again. As though something amazing that she could practically taste was being snatched away from her.

Ed’s heart clenched briefly in his chest. He wanted to tell her. He really wanted to tell her. Why couldn’t he bloody well tell her? Christ.

‘What sort of emergency?’ Molly said. She folded her arms across her chest. If anyone else had done that, Ed would have thought it was to cover a naked chest but Molly merely looked edgy. And exasperated. And gutted.

Ed hated himself. Hated this moment. Hated his mother. Only for a second, but he truly did. ‘I-I can’t say. I— but trust me. I have to take this.’ He squeezed Molly’s hand, silently pleading with her to trust him.

She held on to his hand. She didn’t want to, but she did it. Because it was Ed. ‘Why don’t you trust me?’

‘I do trust you. I do. It’s just …’

Ed shut up. He sounded like an idiot. But he’d sound even more like an idiot if he actually told Molly the truth. It was such a shameful, wretched tale.

‘I’m sorry, Molly,’ he said, picking up the apron. ‘I’m truly, truly sorry about this. Just know that I have to take this call. And I’ll probably have to go home for a bit. It has nothing to do with … with this. With us.’

‘Us?’ Molly started to laugh but it caught in her throat. She didn’t want to cry. Well, she did, but she would never forgive herself. ‘Is there such a thing?’ She raised her chin. ‘Go, Ed. Go. Answer your call. Do what you have to do.’

Ed felt paralysed. He didn’t want to leave this moment. He had a feeling that it was a very significant moment in his life. But he had no choice. He had obligations. Not able to think of a single thing to say that could smooth the waters and make Molly smile again, Ed left the room to take his call. He chucked the apron over his head before he reached the hallway and picked up the phone.

Ed could barely make sense of the voice at the other end of the line, but it didn’t really matter. Something had been ruined and he had to go and sort out another mess caused by the same hand.

He put the phone down, went into the kitchen and put his cold, wet passata-stained jeans back on.

‘Leaving yet another girl high and dry?’ Jody sneered as he headed past her to the front door.

‘Yeah,’ Ed said bitterly, striding past her. ‘It’s what I do, Jody. It’s just what I do.’

Upstairs, Molly shakily sat down on the bed. Feeling like this once was bad enough. Feeling like it twice was like a punch to the heart. So, lessons learnt. She and Ed should never get that close again. However incredible it felt in the moment, clearly they weren’t meant to be.

Shattered, Ed opened the front door. He had missed a train, then been forced to get off and change to another line, and then he had walked two miles from the station as he couldn’t get a cab. It was unexpectedly quiet in the house. Eerily so.

‘Mum?’

There was no answer. Opening the door to the sitting room, Ed sucked his breath in. The air smelt stale and pungent. Sick? Urine? Both? The room was dimly lit, only a side lamp providing a small umbrella of light, but Ed was familiar with the scene in front of him. Chairs were overturned, glasses smashed. A picture – nothing special, just a cheap print – had been hurled across the room. It lay at an odd angle against the wall, its frame splintered, the print poking out. A curtain had been torn from its rail and hung shabbily.

Ed swallowed. He was accomplished enough at clearing up to be able to assess the room and judge how long it would take him to put it to rights. With the furniture damage, and the as yet undiscovered pool of sick somewhere, he was looking at a good three hours or more. He turned to the sofa.

There she was. Sprawled across it, her legs flopped out at an undignified angle, her skirt bearing a wet stain that to Ed was unmistakable. There was a smear of lipstick smudged from the corner of her mouth to her chin, giving her the air of a macabre, violated doll. Ed leant over and pulled a blanket over her legs. He’d deal with the urine situation later. He grabbed a tissue and wetted it with his mouth, the way a parent does for a child, carefully dabbing at the lipstick until her face looked normal again. Then he sat back on his heels and gazed at her. And here it was. The very reason Ed didn’t ever bring friends – or, God forbid, girlfriends – home. The explanation for Ed’s only-child status. The shameful grounds on which to lie to the person he cared about the most in the world.

His mother. The devout, committed alcoholic. She had been married to a serial cheat, a husband who had upped and left years ago, abandoning both of them without a second glance. She had fallen apart and turned to the bottle. Ed had followed her around, picking up the pieces and clearing up her mess. Keeping his guilty secret under wraps from everyone, especially anyone who meant something to him.

He remembered some school friends turning up unannounced years ago, when his father had first left. His mother had been in the throes of a horrendous drinking binge and when she saw Ed’s school friends, she had danced around the garden laughing hysterically, trying to get them to join in. All with her skirt tucked in her knickers. Which was better than her stripping all of her clothes off and falling over on the patio with her legs splayed everywhere. Which she did later, in front of Ed’s friends. He had never been so mortified in his life, and he swore he would never allow anyone he remotely cared for to meet his mother ever again.

Florrie stirred and opened her eyes with some difficulty. Mascara and tears had seemingly welded them together and she almost had to put a hand to her face to unstick them. Ed found it both tragic and painful to watch.

‘Darling,’ she slurred. ‘Where have you been? I went out to look for you. Got a bit lost. Have you been climbing trees again?’

Ed closed his eyes. ‘Mother, I’m eighteen years old.’

‘Of course you are!’ Florrie cackled. ‘I’m forgetful; what can I say?’ She gave him a coquettish smile. ‘Is your girlfriend with you? The lovely Molly? You’re always talking about her.’

Ed opened his mouth to correct her then thought better of it. ‘No, no, she’s not,’ he said finally. It never ceased to disturb him how his mother seemed to flit in and out of past and present, from vagueness to startling accuracy.

‘Where is Michael?’ he asked her, enunciating clearly.

‘Michael?’

‘Michael. The man who moved in here. Your boyfriend.’

‘He’s gone.’ Florrie started to cry. It was a pitiful, child-like sound.

Ed put his hand on hers. ‘What happened?’

‘We had a fight. I had a drink.’ Florrie swallowed. ‘I said some things. Not very nice things. But it was all his fault.’

Ed nodded. He was well-acquainted with the downsides of an alcoholic with a mean streak. She had once told him she wished she’d never had him, that he had ruined her life and that he could drop dead as far as she was concerned. Not a great thing to hear at the tender age of fourteen.

‘He packed his stuff and he’s gone,’ Florrie said, her voice reaching a whiny pitch.

‘Maybe he’ll come back.’ Ed tiredly pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘You were in such a good place, Mum. Such a good place. How did this happen?’

‘I miss you,’ she said, pulling her lips into a pout. ‘I miss you so much, Edison. You won’t leave me again, will you?’ she pleaded, clawing at his hand. ‘You’re all I’ve got.’

‘I’m doing a degree, Mum. I’m trying to make a better life for us.’

‘But I need you here.’

Ed closed his eyes briefly. Here it came. The emotional blackmail. He could barely stand it. He had lived with it for so long now, he knew he should be used to it, but he hated it.

‘Time for a sleep,’ Ed told her gently. She resisted for a second, but exhaustion and alcohol soon overcame her and she relaxed against the sofa. Ed tucked the blanket more securely round her, feeling a multitude of emotions rushing into his throat – love, sympathy, resentment, responsibility. Overwhelmed, he settled down on the opposite sofa and rubbed his eyes blearily, wondering what on earth he was going to do now.




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