The House on Camden Square

She rang on the doorbell of the extremely impressive townhouse, the bright blue door with the stained glass windows giving her a very good impression of Olivia’s life before the door even opened.

She pulled on the old-fashioned doorbell and counted eight seconds before a man answered the door. His dark hair was slightly curly and he was almost clean shaven, with dark eyes and a warm smile. There were hints of grey in his hair, and the sleeves of his expensive white shirt were rolled up haphazardly. He looked effortlessly rich, and relaxed.

‘You must be Esme’s mum,’ he smiled, standing back from the door, ‘come on in, I’m Max, obviously.’

‘Obviously. Mollie.’ She held out a hand and he looked at her, incredulous, before taking it and shaking smoothly. ‘Hope Esme wasn’t any trouble.’

‘I doubt she’s capable of trouble. All I can tell is they’ve been practising dance routines for hours, and ate dinner before running off again. She’s a very healthy eater, she said that’s your influence.’

‘I’m setting up a healthy eating programme for kids,’ Mollie shrugged, about to explain about the news segment the next day.

Max frowned, ‘And how is it different to anything else that’s already out there? What’s your angle?’

Mollie bit her lip, ‘Um, I guess it’s not, except that I’m adapting dishes to make them healthy, so that kids can still have chocolate brownies, they’re just made with black beans instead.’

‘Ah, okay, so a hippie-dippie “make it with quinoa” approach,’ Max turned his back to her, ‘Liv, Esme’s mum is here.’

‘What is everyone’s problem with quinoa?’ Mollie mumbled to herself, waiting for her daughter to thunder down the stairs and leave this awful place with its cream carpet and the blue Persian cat staring at her from the windowsill.

‘And the problem with quinoa is more about how it’s causing farmers to starve in Bolivia, rather than any issues with taste or texture,’ Max answered smoothly, his lip quirking. Mollie considered the man, who was clearly ten years older than her, and spoke with an authority that suggested he was either a professor or an arsehole.

‘And what do you do?’ she asked in that way people do when they’re looking for a reason to judge you.

‘Finance.’

‘Of course,’ Mollie said simply, then called out, ‘Esme, I’m waiting here sweetheart!’

A small dark-haired head appeared at the top of the bannister, the sort of girl who would have bullied Mollie at school. She had poker straight hair and a perfect headband, wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Glamorous’ across the front. She smiled serenely.

‘Daddy, Esme and I are just tidying up my toys – perhaps Esme’s mummy would like a glass of wine while she’s waiting?’

She disappeared upstairs again to the sound of childish giggles, and Mollie was sure they were suddenly being watched.

Max quirked an eyebrow, ‘The kid’s got a point. Red or white?’

‘Sorry, I’ve arranged to go running with a friend, so I need to get Esme home,’ Mollie said, calling up the stairs, ‘Esme, I’m running with Evie this evening, please get your things together now.’

‘Oh good, you’re actually working out, I thought you might just be one of those mums who wears yoga pants everywhere, even though it’s clear they never actually work out.’

Oh god, thought Mollie, so my business idea’s unoriginal and I look like I don’t work out. Is there one man who doesn’t want to stamp all over me this week?

‘Yes, I actually run.’

The silence stretched out between them as Esme came down the stairs grumbling, letting her backpack fall from each step with a thump.

‘Pick up your bag Ez, and say thank you to Olivia’s father.’

Esme glared at her, ‘I was going to say thank you anyway. Now it looks like I wasn’t going to, and I’m rude. Thanks!’

Max intervened, ‘I would never think you were rude Esme, thanks so much for joining us today, it was a pleasure to have you. Come around again any time you like.’

Esme turned to her mother, nose held in the air, as if to say ‘see?’ but turned back to Max with a huge smile, ‘Thank you for having me. Dinner was lovely.’

Max nodded and Olivia waved from the stairs.

‘Lovely to meet you Mollie. Rain check on that glass of wine,’ Max nodded, that assurance the rich have evident on his face.

‘Definitely,’ Mollie smiled as the door closed behind them, ‘on the tenth of never!’

They walked silently for a few moments, Esme walking faster than necessary before Mollie stopped her.

‘Hey, lady, what’s with the attitude?’

Esme whirled round, ‘Why do you have to ruin everything?!’

‘I’m sorry your play date had to end early, you know I’ve got a very important morning tomorrow, I thought you were happy for me!’

‘Not about that!’ Esme shook her head, ‘Why did you have to turn up wearing that? And you’ve got flour on your nose!’

Mollie paused, ‘So I embarrassed you in front of your new friend and her dad. Well I’m sorry about that.’

Esme shot her a fierce look, like she was being dim on purpose, ‘You were supposed to have some wine with Olivia’s dad. And you were supposed to turn up looking all pretty like you always do when you pick me up. And then maybe you and Olivia’s dad would go on a date.’ She crossed her arms and huffed, ‘But you ruined it.’

Mollie smiled at the little girl with glitter on her face, her light eyes darkening as she glared at her mother, arms crossed, pout at the ready.

‘Baby, that’s very sweet of you, to want to set me up...’ Mollie crouched down and swept some hair behind her daughter’s ear, ‘… but Olivia’s mum just left, do you think maybe he might need time to be sad about that?’

‘Olivia said it happened ages ago,’ Esme shrugged, ‘and this way we’ll stay good friends and he seems nice, her dad. I’m usually right about these things.’

‘You were right about Evie and Killian,’ Mollie acknowledged, ‘I’ll give you that one, kid, but not everything works out like that.’

‘But I’m right about Tyler and Celia too,’ Esme grinned wickedly, ‘I started a bet with Killian about whether they’ll kiss before Chelsea’s wedding.’

‘Tyler is, whilst being very nice, a little bit gangster, and Kit’s sister was head girl at her school. They’re friends, that’s all. And it’s not nice to bet on people,’ Mollie sighed deeply, worrying that her daughter might be right about Chelsea’s brother. He was hanging around a lot more these days, and Celia always seemed to mysteriously turn up to events at the gallery when he was around.

‘Look, Mum,’ Esme shook her head seriously, ‘you’re not very good at this stuff, you need to trust me with it. I can find you someone really nice. Olivia said it’s really nice having a dad, someone to take you places and protect you and tell you not to go out wearing that... she said I should have one, and she doesn’t mind sharing hers. That’s nice.’

Mollie took a deep breath and tried to count to five, ‘Yes, but are you happy to share me? So I’d have to do things with Olivia, just her and me.’

‘No you wouldn’t – she already has a mum!’ Esme’s frown was deep set, and she suddenly didn’t like the idea any more. Mollie took her hand and led her over to the bench by the bus stop, sitting down side-by-side as the light started to soften into darkness.

‘Sweets, why were you really playing with Olivia today? I know you don’t like dance routines and girly stuff. What’s going on?’

Esme pressed her lips together and pulled on the sleeves of her grey hoodie, ‘She’s the only other kid who has one parent.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Mollie frowned, ‘Seriously? How is that possible?’

‘Or the only other one who admits it. Some of the other kids were asking where my dad was because they were talking about inviting their dads to some school thing. And when I said I didn’t have one, they asked about my stepdad. And when I said I didn’t have one of those they said... they said I must be horrible and that’s why I don’t have a daddy.’

Mollie fought the urge to bundle her daughter up into her arms and start ranting about what horrible tossers all those kids were, but she held back, watching as her daughter took deep breaths and set her jaw, not allowing herself to cry.

‘Oh baby, why didn’t you tell me?’ Mollie stroked Esme’s cheek, and watched as her daughter’s eyes met hers.

‘I didn’t see the point,’ Esme shrugged, ‘We must both be pretty horrible if he left both of us, but I know that’s not true because you’re lovely.’

At that point Mollie did pull her in close, squeezing her and letting her own tears fall, ‘You are not horrible. Your dad didn’t leave because of you, or me. We were just kids and he wasn’t ready to be a dad. You know how I’ve always told you girls are more grown-up than boys? Well I got pregnant with you, and I grew up so I could be a mum. But he wasn’t ready to grow up, so he didn’t become a dad. That’s all it was, baby girl. We have the loveliest life, don’t we? With Chelsea, and Evie and now Evelyn and Killian and Kit. All these people who love you and think you’re amazing. So what’s one man who couldn’t grow up?’

Esme nodded, sighing deeply and squeezing her mum’s hand, and saying, ‘Okay, but if you have to pick me up from Olivia’s again, will you say yes to the glass of wine?’

‘Maybe. Depends if you’re hanging out with Olivia because you actually like her.’

Esme shrugged as they started walking along, ‘She’s nice enough, she doesn’t read though. Which is weird.’

‘Very weird.’

They walked along in silence, Mollie stopping herself from reaching out and grabbing her daughter’s hand. She wanted to wrap her in cotton wool, keep her safe, she began to wonder why she hadn’t put herself out there earlier, whether she’d been selfish in thinking she’d been enough for her daughter. She should have started dating earlier, maybe she’d have found a suitable father figure by now.

‘Mum, don’t you miss him?’ Esme asked suddenly, looking up at her, ‘My dad, I mean?’

‘No baby, I don’t miss him. I don’t ever really think about him.’

Mollie felt her stomach clench as they carried on walking. It was the first lie she’d ever told her daughter.

Chapter Two

Mollie had barely slept that night, the fear of the next morning’s TV appearance – coupled with the overwhelming guilt that she had failed her child in offering her an alternative family – plagued her until the early morning. Evie had shrugged it off on their run, reminding Mollie of her own feelings about it as a kid, wondering who her own father was, but Mollie remembered the only reason she even wanted a dad was because she couldn’t stand her mother. Is that how her daughter saw her? As someone she wanted to escape from?

It was still dark when she got up and started putting on her make-up and her clothes, double checking her outfit and going downstairs to the studio, to await the camera team. She put the kettle on and got out the semi-healthy mini pastries she’d made the night before, putting them in the oven to puff up, gloriously brown and crispy, filled with chocolate and banana slices. She’d try to save one for Killian, especially if he was taking Esme to school that morning. It was hard to know how long the segment would run for, or what exactly they wanted. She’d set out some of her baked goods and recipes on display on the long table in the gallery, each item looking Instagram perfect and ready for the camera. Baked sweet potatoes piled high with roasted red peppers, Omelette Bites, Black Bean Brownies, Banana and Choc Chip Muffins – the whole arsenal of her healthy recipes, ready to defend what she was doing absolutely.

Max’s voice kept circling, asking what was so special about her, what was so great about what she was doing, why was she unique? She had no answer.

But there was the knock at the door, and there was the team, with them the plucky reporter – recently upgraded from weather-girl – Maureen McTavish. She smiled sweetly and her teeth gleamed, huge and white, taking up most of her face.

‘You must be Mollie! Ilyaria’s told us so much about you and the great work you’re doing! I can’t wait to see everything!’

Mollie welcomed them in, told them where to set up and passed round teas, coffees and fresh pastries to everyone. They treated her like she was an angel, fussing over the pastries and asking for the recipes.

‘Tell me about this place, Mollie, how did you end up here?’ Maureen smiled, those teeth slightly less unnerving as long as you didn’t allow the Jaws theme tune into your head.

‘Oh, well this space was left to us by our childhood friend, Ruby Tuesday, the singer? This used to be her studio, and she left the lease to us, to start up an arts centre. So now we’re up and running, with community events, classes, lots of stuff for kids, and I wanted to bring my passion to the front.’

Mollie was pretty proud of herself.

‘Ah, so there’s the angle,’ the presenter grinned to herself, nodding her head, ‘I’ll be sure to mention Ruby. And you run this with a partner?’

‘No, two friends from school, Ruby brought us all back together again, and here we are.’

‘Damn I wish we were filming already, I’m not going to ask any more questions, you’re much better natural,’ Maureen smiled again, flicking her dark, silky hair and positioning herself in front of the camera.

‘Ready?’ she grinned at Mollie, ‘So I’ll ask some questions, we’ll do some shots of the food and stuff and we’re good to go.’

‘Oh, okay.’

‘So, good morning people of Britain! Have you ever thought about what your kids are eating? Well, of course you have, with childhood obesity such a big thing in today’s society, and junk food being more prevalent. We’ve got food specialist and creator of Mollie Makes... here with us today. Good morning Mollie!’

‘Hi!’ Mollie squeaked.

Maureen continued her spiel at the camera, ‘We’re here today at the Ruby Rooms in Camden Square, where Mollie and her friends have set up an arts centre in the space left for them by – wait for it – none other than musical superstar Ruby Tuesday! What do you think Ruby would say about your healthy eating programme Mollie?’

That there were worse things you could do to a kid than give them an extra-large chocolate bar, and she’d experienced most of them? Mollie sighed.

‘Um, Ruby really cared that every kid got the same opportunities, that health and hope weren’t just reserved for the kids with rich parents, which is why –’

‘Well, that’s an excellent point, so can you tell us what you want to do with Mollie Makes...?’

‘Everything is fresh, wholesome and healthy, but there are still treats kids can have. My little girl is pretty open-minded when it comes to food, but I’m pretty sure if I’d told her these chocolate brownies were made with black beans, she wouldn’t have gone near them. But she loves them,’ Mollie shrugged, ‘I’m catering birthday parties, after-school clubs and hoping to look into making lunch boxes. Our kids are suffering because parents don’t have enough time to go through the packaging on food and figure out what’s had sugar added to it, what’s unhealthy, what’s going to leave them struggling to concentrate at the end of the school day. Believe me, I know how exhausting it is to be a parent!’ Mollie smiled, ‘My aim is to make that choice simpler, by providing fresh, creative alternatives to treats.’

Maureen turned back to the camera, ‘And we can attest to how delicious these treats are, folks! So Mollie, what’s next?’

Mollie tugged on her blonde ponytail and looked anxiously at the camera, ‘Well, I’m running a parents-and-kids cooking class, focusing on some of the nicest treats, and easiest dinner options, so kids and parents can connect through cooking healthy food together. The course starts in a couple of weeks and is run here, at the Ruby Rooms.’

‘Well that’s all we have time for, but thanks Mollie, for talking to us about your wonderful treats, and feeding us some of them! Look on the Morning AM website for Mollie’s Black Bean Chocolate Brownie recipe and for more information on the workshops.’

Mollie wasn’t sure whether to say ‘thank you’ or not, so she just smiled inanely until the little red light on the camera went off.

‘The guys will just get some shots of all of the food. Our team will email you for the recipe – it’s a good way to promote!’ Maureen smiled, ‘And I like that you didn’t feel you had to overplay the “I’m a mum” card, showing a bit of skin, I liked it.’

Maureen nodded at Mollie’s shirt. She looked down and noticed the severe amount of cleavage on show and almost fell over, ‘Oh, Maureen, sorry, do you think we could do it again? I didn’t realise...’ she gestured at her top and the woman simply smiled knowingly.

‘Oh, you’re very good. I really do wish you the best Mollie, I think what you’re doing is great, and you obviously know how to sell it.’

‘Oh no, it wasn’t –’

‘You’ll go far, Mollie,’ Maureen winked, ‘I think we’ll be hearing from you again.’

The team left soon after, the cameramen grinning at her, thanking her for the food, and Mollie collapsed onto the sofa, wondering how she always managed to make a fool of herself.

In Crouch End, not far from the studios, a man sat aimlessly watching morning television. He hadn’t slept that night, or the night before, and the mindless chatter of the television kept enough of his attention to stop his mind wandering. There were things he didn’t want to think about. He was back on leave from the army, and he knew the routine – it would take another two weeks before he could properly sleep.

But god, morning television was asinine. Top ten tips to your winter wardrobe, let’s chat to this nineties pop star who is now in a West End musical... why weren’t they talking about war, about politics? Why did no one know about the horrible things happening in other countries and what he’d been fighting for? That said, a bit much to watch whilst chomping away on your Weetabix.

He needed something to keep his mind active, he knew. He needed a distraction, a reason for hope. A new hobby, maybe he could volunteer at a charity or something. That’s what his counsellor said. He wouldn’t be confirmed ready to return to active duty unless he got his head in order.

He often felt that this wasn’t meant to be his life, that if he could follow it back to the root, that moment when everything changed, he might be living in a different place, doing something different. Instead, he had started a life of misguided gut instincts and limited choices, and here he was. A damaged soldier in a dark room, with no one to visit.

‘We’re here today at the Ruby Rooms in Camden Square...’ the perky news reporter with the scary teeth started and the man blinked at the screen, leaning forward and turning on the light so that he could see more clearly. Ruby Tuesday, they definitely said Ruby Tuesday. Which meant... that was really Mollie on screen. His Mollie.

She looked beautiful but awkward, her long blonde hair the same as it had always been, curling slightly at the ends, and her face had softened. She was wearing subtle make-up, and a smart white shirt with black trousers that made her look a little like a waitress for a catering company. Her eyes were still piercing, dark against her light hair. That shirt showed off how her figure had developed since they were teenagers, she looked womanly, warm and soft and strong. She was still as beautiful as he remembered.

He listened intently as she spoke, laughing awkwardly and looking into the camera at certain moments. It made sense she’d go into healthy cooking, her mum was terrible at feeding her. She said she’d once survived for two weeks on turkey dinosaurs for dinner, because her mum got eighteen boxes for a pound when the corner shop freezer broke. Suddenly all those memories started returning, all those moments with Mollie that he hadn’t forgotten, but stored away somewhere safe.

She had a kid, she was a mum. Well, that wasn’t surprising. She always wanted that, eventually. It was a timing thing, that was the only problem with them, back in the day. He was glad their issues hadn’t stopped her. The man ran a hand through the rough stubble on his chin and thought about it – well, he’d been the hurt party, she was the one who’d disappeared without a backwards glance or a telephone number. And if he was over it, why shouldn’t he stop by, see an old school friend? Especially when she was only down the road?

It felt like a sign. He’d been asking for a reason, a reason to turn on the lights, to leave the house, to engage his brain in any way. For the first time in the two weeks since he’d been back in the UK, Jamie MacAllister got up and actually smiled.

***

‘You know, Mollie would never have to know,’ Ruby fluttered her eyelashes and leaned in towards Jamie, her lips pouting.

Jamie snorted, taking a step back, ‘Rubes, either you’re a shit friend to Mollie, which I know isn’t true, or you’re testing me, which is a bit shit too, to be honest. So, what’s going on?’

Ruby leaned back and grinned, ‘Good. You passed. None of Evie’s or Chelsea’s boyfriends have ever passed.’

‘You kissed their boyfriends and they didn’t pull your hair out or give you a black eye?’ Jamie shook his head, ‘Girls are weird.’

Mollie walked over, frowning, ‘I told you not to do that shit any more.’

Ruby smiled, shrugging, her red curls bouncing on her shoulders, the school jumper wrapped around her waist. ‘He passed. He’s a good one. You have my blessing!’ Ruby waltzed off, grinning.

Jamie and Mollie were left leaning against the school fence, his arm around her shoulder.

‘I didn’t need your blessing, bitch!’ Mollie yelled after her, but she was laughing.

‘You know she’s kind of crazy?’

‘She’s protective,’ Mollie shrugged, leaning into him, closing her eyes as she rested her head against his neck. ‘But you’re in the good books now, so we won’t have any more problems.’

‘In life?’ Jamie grinned, stroking her arms, ‘So we’re not talking about what happens when we go to uni?’

Mollie looked up at him, her dark eyes boring into his, ‘What are you saying?’

He squeezed her, ‘I’m saying that we need a plan. If you’re in Bristol and I’m in York, we’re going to have to work hard to stay together. Even though, I could easily do my course at Bristol...’

‘And I told you I didn’t want you to make decisions based on me.’ Mollie pursed her lips, ‘You do you, and we’ll work the rest out.’

‘Why can’t I just be where you are? I can learn anywhere, but being with you makes me happy.’

‘Boys are so much younger than girls.’ Mollie rolled her eyes, ‘What if we’re still together, and you go to get a job that you’re turned down for, because you didn’t do the course you needed in York? I don’t want you to resent me, I want you to be happy, to miss me whilst we’re apart and be excited to see me.’

‘Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen. Oh, you sly woman,’ Jamie held her to him, laughing as he kissed her, wrapping his arms around her, ‘you’re going to destroy me.’

***

Mollie couldn’t spend too much time worrying about the interview, she’d gone back to bed for a brief half an hour, before getting Esme’s lunch packed and insistently kissing her goodbye before Evie took her to school.

Mollie couldn’t whine, she had stuff to get sorted. Chelsea had arranged for a crate of free wine from a local bar to be delivered, in return for some advertising, some walk-ins had asked for information about renting the space for their daughter’s christening, and a couple of the neighbours had stopped by to congratulate Mollie on her TV debut. It had been non-stop – exciting, but exhausting. Add on the fact that the studio had an event that evening and Evie had been standing on a ladder, fiddling with a lightbulb for twenty minutes, and Mollie was not in the mood for things to start going wrong.

‘Couldn’t you just call Ty?’ Mollie sighed. Chelsea’s brother had discovered a talent for lighting, and had created a beautiful lighting set for their latest series, a collection of photographs from the Camden History Society, opening with a play that evening. Called ‘Our Town’, it was something that the local community were invested in – they were finally on their side, no longer questioning Ruby Tuesday’s rock’n’ roll influence, or dwelling on the drama of the opening. The Ruby Rooms was Camden, and everyone wanted to see what they were going to do next. Which was actually more terrifying than defending every move they made.

‘Ty doesn’t live in London, smarty pants. And I’m not calling him to change an effing light bulb. Electrician course, remember?’ Evie groaned, reaching up on her tiptoes, ‘I can do it.’

‘Did Esme seem okay this morning? We had words last night,’ Mollie leaned on the doorframe of the kitchen, watching her friend’s dark curls shake as she wobbled on the ladder.

‘She wants you to date her friend’s dad.’

‘She said the other kids are being mean because she doesn’t have a dad, do you think I need to report it to the school or something?’

Evie twitched her lips, ‘Um... not really qualified to give an opinion here, babe. I mean, in Badgeley maybe ten kids in the year had their dads on the scene. You’d be more likely to be bullied for having one.’

‘So, I should let my kid be bullied because I wasn’t quick enough to go out and get her a stepdad?’ Mollie winced, shaking her head.

‘Oh leave off, you are joking? You have raised that kid in spite of Linda, in spite of your age, your situation and being alone. You have done an amazing job. Esme is stronger than any of that bullshit. I think maybe she just wants to make sure you’re happy. She wants you to have your happy ending, it’s simple as that.’

‘Yeah,’ Mollie shrugged, ‘maybe.’

‘Definitely.’

Mollie took a deep breath, tightened her ponytail and clapped her hands, ‘So, today, what’s the timescale?’

‘You’re in the kitchen, being awesome. By the way, I made sure your flyers for the Mollie Makes... workshop were sped up, they’ll be here this afternoon, so you can put them out on the sides. Hopefully we’ll get some interest from your TV performance this morning. The photographer from the Journal will be here about five, then the drama group. Kick off around seven.’

‘I love that you’re more organised than you look.’

‘Heart surgery looks like murder halfway through. Plus, the timeline is on the whiteboard in the conservatory. Just remember to take the delivery for the flyers, they never seem to find the entrance, no matter how much I explain the massive red door.’

‘I’ll leave it open, probably better whilst I’m making hundreds of canapes anyway,’ Mollie nodded.

‘And Killian’s going to pick up Esme in the van today, then drop her off before heading off to deliver his day bed.’

Mollie nodded, suddenly so grateful for all these people and how they had become involved in her and her daughter’s life. She hadn’t done this alone at all. She had more support than a nuclear family. She couldn’t be bitter. She could just be pissed off at those dickhead eleven-year-olds.

And maybe have a glass of wine with Max. Obnoxious, older, but slightly alluring Max. But all of that could wait until the pastry cases were fully cooked.

Mollie had her cooking habits, her creative habits, the same as the others. Some weeks Chelsea didn’t say anything, she just turned up at the studio, walked into the conservatory and put on some jazzy hip hop. Mollie would sometimes watch her dance from the kitchen, how her friend seemed to suddenly take up so much more space, she stretched and breathed life back into herself. Evie blared eighties rock from the back room before launching herself at a canvas like it was a lifeline, moving desperately and angrily until she let out whatever was inside. And Mollie was different again. She went into a zen state, smooth and simple with the Beatles playing on the speaker system, a little dance as she moved from the trays in the kitchen, back to the oven.

Time passed in a way it didn’t with anything else, when Mollie was cooking. She felt like everything else stopped and all that mattered were shapes, temperatures, smells, textures... things that could be seen and felt and tasted. Things that were obvious. The Beatles sang ‘Here comes the sun’ and she heard herself singing along, believing them as they said, ‘It’s all right...’

‘Hello?’

A voice echoed from the studio front door, and Mollie yelped, turning down the music. The poster delivery guy.

‘In here, door’s open!’

She wiped off her hands, but the buzzer started going for the mini quiches, so she grabbed her polka dot oven mitts and grabbed the tray, poking her head around the door to catch the delivery guy.

It was at that moment, wearing her Wonder Woman apron, with flour smeared on her cheeks, that Mollie dropped a tray of mini quiches, and realised she was staring at Jamie MacAllister.

***

‘Look, nothing has to change for you,’ Mollie said resolutely, hand on Jamie’s arm. His face was pale and he seemed to look past her, his eyes glassy and vacant. She scanned his features for anger, sadness, indifference. He was blank, but for the shock. Perhaps just the littlest bit of wonder creeping in around the edges. But maybe she was just being hopeful.

‘What?’

‘Your life can go on. I won’t resent you. It’s my choice. Go to uni, come back at weekends... if you want to, I mean... I’m just saying, this doesn’t have to be your problem. This can be my problem.’

His eyes widened and he saw her fully then. She recognised that emotion, definitely. Anger.

‘Molls, how long have we known each other?’

‘Since Year Four when you poured that PVA glue over my head and the teacher had to cut some of my hair off.’ She blinked, ‘So?’