Molly pursed her lips as she thought. ‘Two.’
‘Including me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right.’
‘Maybe we could just rewind this first part and say hello as if I’m a normal person who can remember fellow normal people in a normal fashion? Or drink a bit more, until the memory dies along with our brain cells.’
Patrick nodded. ‘Either way, another glass of this won’t hurt.’ Patrick whisked two glasses off a silver platter with a nod to the bored-looking waiter, and handed one to Molly. Her cheeks were starting to cool down from Gas Mark 6. ‘Anyway, I wanted to say thanks for giving John Sam’s room. It means a lot to him. He’s been a bit … well, he hasn’t had a proper home for a while since he and Melissa split up. He’d been on my sofa for three months before he started doing the rounds with our other mates. My flatmates put up with it for as long as they could but someone sniffling over cornflakes he hasn’t even paid for is enough to turn Fern Britton into a raging Hulk.’
‘I know what you mean. Before Sam met Iris he was all, “I’m sooooo alone” while watching The Green Mile on repeat, in his dressing gown. He cried when the mouse died, every single time. Silly Samwise. But thankfully, a good woman put an end to all that. John seems a really nice guy – I’m sure he’ll come across someone new when the time is right. He’s here, isn’t he? I could introduce him to some friends. I’m sure he’ll find a good woman soon enough.’
‘Or two?’
‘Well, no, actually. I’m not sure I could condone that.’ Molly’s tone changed from cheerful banter to stern disapproval. It was always disappointing to discover that a friend of a friend was actually a complete berk.
‘No – Sam had two good women, didn’t he? Iris, and you. He told me how you got him to buy those nice clothes and generally helped him not arse things up with Iris. We all know he has a natural propensity to arsing about.’
‘Agreed.’ She leant her glass forward to clink against Patrick’s. True, she did have a short memory for some of Sam’s mates – there were always so many other things to remember when you were a limited company – but Patrick always gave good chat. ‘But I can’t take all the credit. I’ll just take, say, two thirds.’ Molly sipped some more of her champers and enjoyed the soft, sweet prickling on the roof of her mouth as it slipped down. Having a mum who was also a CEO was sometimes pretty handy. Shame these parties were saved for the most super-special events. Cleo didn’t like spending money on idle frivolities and could only be persuaded to part with a handful of cheques for a handful of family celebrations. When Molly made her millions she’d be only too happy to indulge in a champagne and caviar reception to toast the opening of a new pack of loo roll.
Molly spotted Rachel cornered by Uncle Michael by the patio doors. He was giving her some of his letchiest lines, by the looks of it. She was halfway inside and obviously had her eyes on the kitchen as a safe haven. It was like Steve McQueen eyeing the fields of Switzerland in The Great Escape as he revved up his motorbike. Close, so close. Molly would have to help her over that barbed wire.
‘Sorry, Patrick, I’ve just got to go and see to something, um, a bit pressing. Really nice to see you.’ Molly was watching over his shoulder as her overconfident uncle tried to initiate The Lean on her best friend. Michael was a good deal younger than big sister Cleo, and kept insisting that the forties were the new twenties, but Molly was nevertheless pretty sure he wasn’t exactly Rach’s type. What with the serious interest in martial arts and the casual attitude to BO.
‘I’ll see you on the sixteenth, then.’
‘You will?’ Molly turned back to Patrick after taking a few steps in the direction of Michael’s lame pick up attempts.
‘I’m helping John move in. It’s the least I can do, seeing as I don’t have room for him in my place. And seeing as I am the boss of me, I have granted me the day off. Benefits of the self-employed, hey?’ Patrick rose and dropped his shoulders.
‘Well, glad to hear the recruiting business is going well for you,’ Molly managed, choosing politeness over bitter jealousy. She had the ability to give herself far too many days off at the moment.
Patrick scanned the room. ‘Thanks. I suppose I should go and find John now, actually, make sure he’s not troubling anyone with his new theories on the eternally destructive nature of love. By the way, as his future flatmate, you should be warned that I’m quite sure he has bongos. And many free weights that will just gather dust. I probably should just say that he can also be a bit—’
‘Yup.’ Molly’s distracted gaze slipped back to the patio where Rachel was now edging slowly towards a group of grannies sat on the garden furniture, her back to the glass and her smiled fixed as she gulped from her glass. She had obviously gone into dazed gazelle mode and was seeking safety in numbers.
‘Yup, yup. Great. See you then!’ Molly rushed off.
Patrick stood and watched her leave.
‘Nice dress,’ he called to her back.
* * *
By midnight the older generations had taken residence on the deep red sofas in the lounge and were being plied with coffee and petits fours until the majority of them gave up and surrendered to a nice little nap in front of the log fire.
Sam and Molly’s friends plus their younger cousins, second cousins and ‘Who are they related to?’ types were holding their own in the marquee. There must have been about thirty of them, dancing, chattering and sending out scouting parties for more drink. As with any family occasion, someone knew someone whose best friend’s French tutor had a son who was, like, a really really amazing DJ, yeah? Molly, Rach and some of Molly’s old sixth form friends were swaggering and strutting their way around as Pixie Lott belted out ‘Mama Do’. The DJ had given up on cool, ambient tunes and pleased the crowd no end with back-to-back pop chart cheese instead.
‘What would my daaaddy say? Wah-oh wah-ohhhhh!’ Molly shouted, a warm bottle of Veuve Clicquot in both hands. Suddenly she couldn’t put her finger on just why they were having this awesome party but she was totally glad they were.
Cleo braved the humid tent full of sweaty twenty-somethings to tell Sam and Molly that she was heading in with the old sofa-seeking types and may nod off after a cup of camomile and an After Eight. Sam was sat on a bench with Iris, having just returned from a moonlight stroll, her arm looped through his and their heads bent together. Sam quickly stood up and nipped over to his mum as she stepped inside the marquee. He whispered something in her ear, Molly could make out, as the track changed and she jumped around in circles to JLS with Rach’s arm over her shoulder. As she twirled one more time, Molly caught her mum’s face: simple but complete surprise, followed by a burst of happiness. On her next rotation, Molly whipped round to find them in a full-on enveloping hug, Cleo just the right height to be dangerously close to Sam’s armpit. Rach untangled herself and briefly blocked Molly’s view as she did her best running man followed by a pretty lame Moonwalk.
‘Yeah, baby!’ Rach shouted, her head wobbling outside and in after so much good hospitality. But Molly failed to see her friend launch into a caterpillar – simultaneously losing her dignity and any chance of returning the grey dress unsullied – because she was now transfixed by the hugging triangle of Sam, Cleo and Iris. What the deuce was going on? Before Molly’s booze-soaked synapses could make any more weary efforts to work it out, Sam leapt on to the bench and waved his arms frantically at the DJ to cut the music.
‘Ohhh!’ Rach harrumphed, her nose to the grubby dancefloor. ‘I was so getting into that!’ She sat up and readjusted her cleavage.
Everybody had turned to face Sam, equally as puzzled and sozzled as Molly.
‘I have a bit of an announcement, people. Hold on to your loin cloths. I have just – as of about,’ Sam checked his watch, ‘three minutes ago – asked a very important question and got a very important answer.’
‘Where the loos are?’ Rach piped up from her position on the floor. She was duly shushed.
&n
bsp; Molly frowned in confusion. She looked to her usually all-knowing, all-commanding mum. Cleo just bit her smiling bottom lip and, catching Molly’s eye, nodded her attention back towards their little Sam.
‘No, but thanks for that, Rachel. Out there, under the glorious Berkshire skies, I realised I had never experienced a night as perfect as this. Due, not just to my mum’s wicked taste in booze and catering firms—’
‘Here, here!’ broke in Uncle Michael from the back, shoving in his fourth over-stuffed hog roast bap.
‘—but to this wonderful, gorgeous, clever, beautiful, wonderful woman, Iris Johnson. In the words of Hugh Grant,’ Sam turned to look down at Iris with big brown puppy-dog eyes, ‘“you complete me”.’ Iris blushed and smiled up at him liked he’d just discovered how to turn lint into chocolate.
Molly was too shocked to even think about correcting her once-little brother. Was what she thought was about to happen …
‘And so just now, I asked her if she would make my life officially complete…’
… actually going to happen?
‘and agree to be my wife.’
Sam beamed at the entire marquee. No one made a sound. Not even Rachel (though, she had just fallen asleep on the lino). Cleo continued to bite her lip.
Iris tugged at Sam’s shirtsleeve and gave him a rolling hand gesture.
‘Oh, and she said yes!’
Iris now joined in the beaming. If they had been light bulbs, the whole party would have been blinded.
‘I’m the luckiest bloke this side of Reading. But there’s someone else who I need to mention: my big sister, Molly Cooper. If she hadn’t prodded me into life those few months ago and forced me to approach the prettiest girl in the bar – if not the world − then I wouldn’t be here right now, about to start the best journey of my life in more ways than one.’
Iris held up her glass in Molly’s direction and turned that 180 watt smile on her as the assembled crowd cheered, the shock settling down around them all like party balloons released from a ceiling net.
Cleo rushed forward to hug them both again, pulling Sam down off the bench. ‘We’ll have the wedding here! When they get back, this time next year,’ she shouted out. ‘A big Cooper do for my little Sam and this stunning woman who I will soon proudly call my daughter.’
Molly realised that her legs should have been taking her towards her immediate family circle just then; her arms should have already found Sam’s waist and Iris’s back and she should be squeezing all of them together; her vocal chords should have put those five syllables together to say Con-grat-u-la-tions, at least a dozen times. But Molly was still rooted to the spot, her hands holding only clammy bottle necks, which she slowly lowered to the ground. In an instant, a mob of hot, inebriated friends dashed past her to flock to the soon-to-be-weds and kiss and coo and slap backs with exclamations of excitement and delight. And quite a lot of shock. Sam was saying, ‘Yes, it is sudden,’ and Iris was saying, ‘No, I’m not pregnant,’ and ‘Yes, I’m really sure – I’m not pregnant.’
Now Molly felt distinctly on the outside. She’d missed her chance to be part of the inner core and Sam was fully encircled, three relatives deep. Being pretty tall, he looked out over the heads of the chattering Cooper masses at his sister, and simply mouthed, ‘Mols.’ His eyes were wide as he waited for her reaction to this stupendous bit of news.
In a flash, Molly’s brain sent a message through the mist of booze fumes in her head, which finally reached her heart. She didn’t have to double-check how she felt.
‘Well done, little bro,’ she mouthed back with a wink. ‘Well done.’
Chapter Eight
The morning after the night before is always a painfully hectic time. There are the ubiquitous black bags to fill with the equally ubiquitous empty bottles, cans and discarded items of clothing. There are plans to be made: what time will the tent people come to take it down; how the hell will we get melted chocolate out of the cream hallway carpet; how do we avoid ever inviting those teenage cousins again? All this was going on at the Cooper residence on Clewer Park Road, but much, much more.
Molly joined her mum at the large, rough wooden kitchen table. It was the one thing that Cleo had kept from their family home with their Dad, and the one thing that had survived each house move through the years as her expanding business bought them expanded properties. It had crayon scribbles, forked-out gouges and half-peeled stickers dotted here and about, but Molly knew Cleo wouldn’t change it for the world.
‘It is wonderful news, Mum, I totally agree. It’s just so …’ Molly stirred her tea – the perfect thinking aide, as ever – as she watched the poor catering assistant who had to deal with the now-solid chocolate fountain. With last night’s ale and some Alka Seltzer swirling about in her lower intestine it was tantamount to an I’m a Celebrity Bushtucker Trial.
‘It’s just so …’ Molly repeated, trying again to find the right word.
‘Lovely? Surprising? Confusing? Wonderful?’ Cleo supplied, breaking off the nose of a croissant and dabbing it in a little butter.
‘Don’t lynch me straightaway, but I was thinking more unwise or maybe rash?’
‘Molly!’ Cleo’s characteristically booming voice made the gardener jump at the bottom of the patio. He must be new, Molly thought. Everyone else has developed imaginary ear plugs by now. ‘I’m surprised at you! You were the one who rolled out Project Sam as a way to help him be more successful with women. And look what you have here: pure proof that your project was a success. As successful as it ever could have been. It’s fast, yes, but it doesn’t mean to say it’s rash. He loves her. I knew your father for three years before we got married and look how that turned out.’
‘That’s different.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, because Sam isn’t a plonker like Dad? Because Sam knows how to operate a phone and email account, unlike my wonderful father? Let my hangover clear and I’ll give you a better reason. Anyway, how can you be so calm about all of this? Aren’t you worried he’s making a big, permanent, messy mistake?’
Cleo licked her finger and calmly picked up a croissant crumb and transferred it to her mouth. ‘A small part of me did have concerns about how wise this all was. But that was a split-second thought because the look your brother had in his eyes was undeniable. He’s in love. And I knew if I didn’t help this happen, it was still going to happen. It’s like when I realised that you were likely on the verge of becoming sexually active—’
‘Ewww, Mum!’
‘Let me finish, Molly Sue Cooper. When I realised you were going to have sex, no matter how much I wished it wasn’t so − I mean, my lovely, clever daughter getting ready to do such an adult thing at sixteen when she has her whole life ahead of her, what with all the STDs that run rife through the teenagers of today …’
‘Mum,’ Molly broke in, ‘I think you had a point? At least, I hope you did.’
‘Oh, yes. Well, the point is, I let you have that Darren boy to stay the night because I thought: “This is going to happen. Better under my roof, than the back of a Vauxhall Corsa in a B&Q car park.” And at least you would have better access to precautions and the like. Plus, I could give Darren the evil eye over breakfast, so he didn’t feel too pleased with himself.’
‘It was both a progressive and ball-breaking move on your part. Well done.’
‘I will ignore your sarcasm and take that as a real compliment. But, back to Sam: he knows his mind and his heart, and I trust his judgement. Look at the upside, Molly, and get with the programme on this one.’
Molly chewed on a big bite of a raspberry jam doughnut and nodded her consent. She was mixed up about Sam’s engagement – could you really know in three months if you wanted to be together forever? – but she realised it really didn’t matter what she felt about it all. As Iris and Sam had said goodbye early that morning to get a train to tell her parents in Oxford, Molly could see that something invisible but unquestionable now linked them
: wherever Iris went in a room, Sam kept taking quick peeks in that direction to check she was OK. If they stood next to each other for more than two seconds, Iris’s hand would subconsciously snake up to find Sam’s. It was like they were on the same axis, always linked, tuned to just one frequency. It might all just be the first flushes of the honeymoon period, but it was still a great place to start, Molly told herself.
If I were to objectively analyse my concerns, Molly thought later as she stepped into a hot shower, I would find that they are A) many B) varied and C) mostly selfish. If I’m honest with myself, I’m scared poopless that I’m losing Sam and that my life will change. Which, of course, it will. I’ll have to find a new flatmate – married couples don’t want to live with spinster sisters.
Argh! The penny dropped and Molly’s subconscious gave her a sharp pinch. I’ll be a spinster. My younger brother is getting married before me!
* * *
Dressed, blow-dried and with the burgundy monstrosity shoved back into a deep, dark corner of her wardrobe, Molly set out for the train station, leaving Rach behind under Cleo’s care to sleep off her giant hangover. As the train rattled back to the big smoke, she adopted a new state of mind. Sam was young to be getting married; she wasn’t old not to be married yet. Sam met his soul mate in a local bar; Molly was therefore just as likely to bump into hers in Somerfield. If Gethin Jones moved to East Dulwich. Sam may have to move out permanently, but not for a long time yet; Molly had ages to acclimatise to the idea. And to maybe convince Iris and Sam that they should save money for a mortgage by sharing his room for a while longer. Just a few years, give or take. Simple. Nothing to worry about, nothing to get panicky over. Simple.
Somewhere outside Royal Oak, Molly’s phone twinkled with a ‘new message’ sound. Fishing out her BlackBerry, Molly dived into her inbox. It was an email from Cleo.
The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp Page 6