‘Focus on being freaked out about tomorrow’s on-screen debut. Do you know what time they’re coming?’
‘Six-thirty a.m.! I was gonna ask Evie to take Esme to school, if it runs over.’
‘Sure, if not, I’ll take her, I’m finishing a project tonight and then I’m free tomorrow.’
Mollie grinned, ‘I really am glad you stuck around.’
‘Didn’t have much of a choice. That Evie, she kind of gets under your skin.’ Killian drained the coffee, ‘Anyway, I’ve got a day bed to build. And seeing as there’s no cookies or baked goods to keep me from my work...’
He wiggled his eyebrows hopefully and Mollie rolled her eyes, handing him a cookie from the jar, ‘Incorrigible.’
‘That’s what they tell me,’ he laughed as he walked off back to his studio, and Mollie returned to her baking, turning her worrying from Esme’s school life to her own countdown to a national television appearance. She wasn’t sure which one was more upsetting, but one was definitely more immediate. She got out her mixing bowl.
***
‘And then what happened?’ Chelsea placed her hand on her chin, grinning as she sucked on a lollipop. Evie was pretending not to be interested, painting her nails a dark shade of purple, her fluffy socks with the pigs on rather ruining the goth-girl illusion she liked to save for the rest of the school. Ruby was sitting awkwardly, legs in her sleeping bag, tucking her knees up under her chin as she pursed her lips.
‘Chels, you don’t ask a girl for the gory details,’ Ruby raised an eyebrow.
Mollie paused, quite liking the brief moment of being the centre of attention. She paused in brushing out her long blonde hair, and winked at Chelsea, saying nothing. Mollie never got to have any of this, she was the quiet one, the shy one. Boys didn’t talk to her because they thought she was standoffish, or a ‘stuck-up princess’. But Jamie MacAllister didn’t think that.
‘He just walked me to the bus stop after the party,’ Mollie blushed, ‘It wasn’t a big deal.’
Evie snorted, ‘Yeah, it was. You look like you’re about to take flight.’
‘Well, that’s fine for you guys, you’ve all dated people and slept with people and...’
‘Hey Miss Assumptions, who do you think we’ve slept with?’ Chelsea raised an eyebrow.
‘Tommy,’ Mollie pursed her lips and watched as Chelsea’s shoulders lowered and she huffed.
‘Of course, they say anything. Molls, some advice, as nice as they seem, don’t go off alone anywhere with them for longer than ten minutes, because then they can tell all their mates you shagged them. When really, you got a half-hearted kiss, choked on the chewing gum they hadn’t thought to take out, and then let you walk home by yourself. Men are dicks.’
Ruby frowned, wriggling out of her sleeping bag and hopping up next to Mollie on her bed. Linda was out at a party of her own, and the sleepover had been planned weeks in advance. The party at Bridget’s house, then coming back early (because it would clearly be lame) and watching silly movies in their pyjamas. But it hadn’t been lame, someone had scored some beers and WKDs, there were older boys and the music was good. And there had been Jamie, Jamie who she had known since they were kids, seeing him around the playground, and then suddenly he’d transferred to their school this year, looking tanned and smiling with those perfectly white teeth, his floppy brown hair looking just so teen heartthrob.
And he’d seen her. He looked past Chelsea’s confidence, Evie’s thoughtfulness, Ruby’s beauty, and he saw her, standing at the back, as she always did, hands clasped, staring at the walls and wondering how long she had to be here until she could just go home and relax with her friends.
‘It’s Mollie, isn’t it?’ He’d said, grinning as if he was so happy to see her, ‘We went to primary school together, right? You probably don’t remember me.’
But she did, and for once, she was the girl who sat at the bench at the bottom of the garden, nursing a drink and talking to a boy who was interested in everything about her. For once, Mollie was the girl who shone, unfurling into light as someone listened. She felt important, special, cherished. And she had never experienced that feeling since.
***
Mollie was elbow-deep in wholemeal flour when her phone buzzed. A text.
Hi, this is Max, Olivia’s dad. I have your daughter. You can have her back under the following conditions. Haha. Address below.
Mollie blinked. Um, jokes about stealing kids were not a great start when you’d left your kid with a stranger. The phone buzzed again:
Obviously, I haven’t stolen your kid. Sorry. Not smart. Feel free to pick her up at seven. Max.
Mollie snorted to herself, and looked at the clock. Crap. She ran upstairs to get changed into her running gear, as Evie insisted on dragging her out every Thursday, especially tonight when she needed to de-stress before her debut tomorrow morning. Luckily, Olivia and Max only seemed to live a few streets over, and Mollie hurried.
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
