‘Yes!’ She nodded emphatically. ‘Yes! You mad, basketball-wielding man. I know I lost it a bit after that magazine article came out, but I think I was terrified you were about to upgrade me. I mean, now you’re all new and perfect and well-groomed, you can have any woman. A blonde, really tall woman. But I’m not going without a fight, my own personal Troy.’ Melissa linked her hands behind John’s neck and leaned in decidedly close.
‘Liss. There’s only ever been you.’ John rubbed noses with his girl and beamed pure PG happiness from his toothy smile. Molly wished she had a camcorder on her; she could have flogged this teen movie bootleg on the Peckham Rye market for a generous profit margin. A tingly feeling in her heart also told her it was a moment worth a million dollars to Melissa and John. This was definitely the start of something big.
‘My first bootcamp wedding, perhaps?’ Molly whispered to herself. ‘I’ll have to get Rach to choose us hats.’
The fitness group were whooping and cheering the happy, now-kissing couple, led by an ever-vocal Josie. After five minutes of applause Jose broke in with, ‘OK, enough dawdling, ladies. Let’s give these guys some privacy and hit two laps of the park. Now now now!’ She finished with a bellow.
Molly decided it was time to do the same: give John and Melissa some privacy (she’d leave out the running bit, obviously). She scrambled back out through the hedge, clasping her mini boombox to her chest. As desperately happy as Molly was that she’d managed to put things right at last, the sight of a deliciously happy couple, eyes shut and lips locked, just reminded her how far from fixable the thing with Patrick was. She didn’t even know what kind of a thing it could have been, but was pretty certain that it would have been fun trying to find out. But now he couldn’t stand her; he despised what she’d been doing.
Turning back to the two figures almost indistinguishable in their close embrace, Molly knew something good had come out of the bootcamp. But in arrogantly thinking she could barge into someone’s life uninvited and point out what was awry, Molly had shown that power very easily goes to her head. She’d make a rubbish Spiderman, as she’d ballsed up the great power that came with great responsibility.
I nearly lost my best friends in Devon over being power-mad; now I’ve screwed things up with an amazing guy. He’ll never take me back. I’ve messed it all up.
With heavy steps, Molly trudged home.
* * *
Part of John’s mega-cheesy seduction was whisking Melissa off to the Covent Garden Hotel for two nights. A bit of a costly gamble on his part; if she’d laughed him off the Rye, he would have been spending two lonely but expensive evenings in a towelling robe, watching pay per view TV. Molly, therefore, had the flat to herself and no bootcamp appointments scheduled for the next two days. Her inbox was fit to burst with new applicants who’d seen the magazine article but Molly was feeling an uncharacteristic level of malaise about replying to them. Each new possible cadet could just be a can of worms, it seemed to her now. She didn’t know if she could stomach them all just yet. Molly set up an out-of-office saying that the bootcamp was shutting up shop for a few days. And that’s exactly what she did, too.
* * *
The next morning, neighbours to the Cooper flat could half-hear the odd whiny chord coming through the walls, but shouldered their bags and headed off to the train station and the jobs that waited beyond London Bridge without giving it much thought. ‘Jagged Little Pill’ was playing at full volume, on repeat, from Molly’s bedroom.
The tall visitor outside her front door could hear it, too. He knocked several times, hard and urgently, but couldn’t be heard above the Alanis telling him, ‘You oughta know’. He rolled his eyes and turned away with a huff, but stopped when he remembered being told about the spare key in the hanging basket of fake flowers suspended just to the left of the front door. He knew she was in there – who else would be playing such awful 90s soft rock so early in the day? He had to talk to her; it couldn’t wait.
Reaching easily in the basket and finding the key in a few fumbles, he let himself in and climbed the stairs. Tentatively walking into the flat, he realised how weird it was that all of a sudden he felt awkward and not an ease here, even bearing in mind all the hours he’d spent hanging on within these walls.
He saw that the door to Molly’s room was wide open, and walked slowly towards it.
She was covered by her purple tartan blanket, head to toe. He smiled. But then the smile slipped as he saw there was no pillow case on either of her pillows and two plates bearing dried-up remnants of microwaveable dinners sat boldly on the floor near the foot of the bed. A tatty gossip magazine lay splayed on the rug. For Molly, this was a total pig sty.
Clearing his throat wasn’t enough to make an impression over the reedy voice of Alanis, so he walked over to the iPod dock and slowly turned down the volume.
A hand flipped back the blanket to reveal a puzzled and grumpy face, with sleep in her eyes and yesterday’s make-up smudged down onto her cheeks. But in a flash that was all transformed into a look of shock and utter delight.
Molly gasped.
‘Sam!’
* * *
Molly’s bronzed brother put down two cups of steaming tea on the coffee table and withdrew the new pack of Jaffa cakes from under his arm, opening them up and offering the first to his still-sleepy sister.
‘Have this. And then spill, Mollypops.’
Leaning her head on his reassuringly square shoulder, Molly took in the smell of sun tan lotion and some new aftershave, and said, ‘Oh, Samwise, I’ve been such a berk.’
‘I figured that out, what with the suicidal pseudo-grunge and lack of washing up. What have you done with John? The last I heard from him was an angry text about a magazine or something, and when I called Patrick today to say I was back he managed about three syllables after I mentioned your name, then rang off. Hmm, Mols?’ Sam patted the top of her head with all the tenderness a little brother can muster for a big sister who clearly needs a shower.
Molly buried her face in her hands and mumbled, ‘Blergh.’
* * *
After three cups of tea and all the Jaffa cakes, Sam had been fully informed about Cleo’s debt-clearing challenge, the bootcamp, John and Melissa, Kurt and Josie, the magazine article, the trip to Devon and finally – and definitely most awkwardly – her and Patrick.
Sam went quite white, which is hard to do after months of solid tanning. ‘Patrick … and you … but … what did he do? If he so much as … I will remove his—’
Molly tried to quell her smile with a firm shake of the head. ‘No, Spam, it’s not like that. Nothing happened, but I suppose – now, don’t get cross – on some level, we both wanted it to. Though I caught on way too late.’
Sam shot up off the corduroy sofa at this point and paced around the room. ‘This is literally my worst nightmare, after rubbing oil into John McCririck’s stomach. Mates do not fancy sisters, and vice versa.’ He ran his hands up and over his dark curls, which had grown longer and much more noticeable in the time he’d been away.
Molly tucked her feet up under her and shrugged miserably. ‘It doesn’t even matter, though, because he won’t speak to me. He won’t even Facebook me! I’m sorry if things are weird between you two for a bit, but it will blow over. He’ll forget about me soon enough – it’s not like we even got to go on one date – and then everything will go back to the way it was. I’ll just hide in the airing cupboard when he comes round to see you.’
Sam looked at Molly for a long minute, his scowl of disapproval turning into a frown of deep thought. He sat down next to his big sister again.
‘Is that what you really want?’
Molly blew through her lips like a grumpy pony. ‘Not really, I’m not sure I’m limber enough to get in on top of the boiler. And there might be spiders in there.’ She snuggled down further into her blanket.
‘No, you knob,’ Sam punched her lightly on the arm. ‘Do you want things to go back to the way they w
ere?’ He took a deep breath, as if he’d just eaten too much and was trying not to be sick. ‘I could … I will get used to you two being, you know, together. If it’s what you really want. He is a top bloke, at least.’ A small part of Sam was beginning to feel OK about this.
Molly picked at the fringed edge of the purple tartan wool covering her knees and was suddenly aware how greasy and lank her hair was as a clump of it swung down in front of her eyes. ‘I do want that, Sam,’ she said in a small voice, ‘but I’ve blown it. Big time. He was so cross.’ Molly bit the inside of her cheek.
‘I must have been gone for much longer than I thought. Or travelled into a parallel universe by mistake.’ Molly looked at her brother with a puzzled expression, wiping some of the old mascara from under her lashes. ‘The Molly I left behind always went after what she wanted, even in the face of adversity. So, you fell out. So what? You’ve set up a successful business, helped John get the love of his life back, helped a nice guy like Kurt come out of his shell and pull an amazing bird – sorry, woman. You can do anything, Mols. Don’t tell me you’re going to give up now?’
Molly didn’t know where to look, so Sam ploughed on.
‘Right, so he won’t answer your calls or texts or whatever. You know where he lives, don’t you? Seems obvious to just door-step him, if you really are that keen.’ Sam threw his hands up in disbelief. ‘And you had to give me lessons on romance! Sheesh.’
‘OK, OK,’ Molly found her feisty bone again, ‘this is a bit more complicated than you getting a new pair of jeans and learning how to flirt and lean. Maybe I will go round there.’ In truth, it was an idea that hadn’t popped into Molly’s self-pitying head all week, as she’d mulled over how hopeless the whole thing was. ‘But I think we’ve covered me and all my adventures. How about you? What are you doing back early?’
‘Oh, some sort of riot in Thailand, just as we were going back there to meet up with some friends. So we just thought we’d head home. Plus,’ Sam gave a half-smile and said conspiratorially, ‘Iris has been itching to see how all the wedding stuff’s coming together. I mean, I’m not bothered, but she hasn’t really got long to find “The Perfect Dress”. And all that kind of girly rubbish.’ Sam rolled his eyes at the ceiling, so clearly superior to all that vain business.
‘Oh, right, I can show you the powder blue suit we chose for you, then.’ Molly made to get up off the sofa but fell back again laughing when she saw Sam’s pained expression. ‘Ha! Don’t pretend you haven’t got visions of yourself in some amazing Armani number and handmade shoes, waiting all model-like at the end of the aisle. But never fear, bro, we’ve left your suit choice up to you. As long as it fits the colour scheme and flower arrangements. My little bro, getting married, eh?’ Molly lost her fingers in the tangle of Sam’s curls as she mussed them affectionately. ‘It’s hard to believe it’s all gone so fast. Better start slimming into my bridesmaid’s dress.’ Molly brushed the Jaffa cake crumbs from the arm rest with a guilty flush. Suddenly her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Shit! I missed the appointment Mum made for me at Blushing Beautiful Brides! I was supposed to go just after Devon, but then everything kind of blew up and … oh god, she is going to skin me alive.’
‘And then probably make a handbag out of your hide.’ Sam nodded slowly. ‘Better ring her quick and start the grovelling. Never mind, this way you can take mini Bridezilla with you! And I can catch up on some awful British sport and not have to discuss chocolate fountains for five minutes. Sweet.’ Sam wandered into the kitchen, idly humming the dum-dum-dumdum of the wedding march, which to Molly’s ears sounded more like a deeply sinister death march. Cleo would not be impressed. Not a smidge.
Molly reached a foot under the coffee table and hooked her handbag awkwardly, bending her knee to flip it up into her lap. Trawling through the ‘essentials’ she always carried with her − wallet, keys (still Bold-scented), lip balm, hairbrush, A to Z, notebook, pen, hairbands, tampons, mini umbrella, Ibuprofen, nail file, Oyster card – Molly finally found her BlackBerry, which was flashing madly. Molly realised with all her wallowing she had totally ignored her beloved little multi-communication tool and wiped a finger over its screen to clear off the tiny bit of dust.
Glad to have even ten minutes’ reprieve from calling her mum and confessing to arsing up the dress fitting, Molly checked her texts. There was a sweet one from Rach, checking she was OK when she didn’t reply to the offer of hobnobs and trashy mags in Taupe yesterday. There were the usual handful of phone bills and bank updates that she was always a bit wary of, not really being sure if to open them up would lead to her identity being stolen or something. And then there were two texts that caught her off-guard.
She had forgotten all about Rob.
Text from: Rob
Hey you. I hear they’re running out of coffee. We should get some soon. Whatever it takes to get you on your own and away from all those other bootcamp guys.
Text from: Rob
OK, I was joking. Don’t go catatonic with panic: there are plenty of coffee reserves left. I hope by sending 2 texts in 24 hours I haven’t broken a cardinal dating rule. R x
Molly smiled. It felt nice to be flirted with, even if it was only via a phone display. At least someone still liked her. Double-checking that she hadn’t accidentally skipped by a text from Patrick, Molly scrolled up and down her inbox contents, entirely fruitlessly.
She stretched out her legs and put her feet up on the coffee table, just as she was always telling John not to do.
Well, Molly thought to herself, pulling her brain out of its recent self-indulgent fug of misery, if this was one of my bootcampers, what would I tell them to do?
Molly flexed her head from side to side, imagining a fictional ‘Monty’ who was being totally ignored by one girl he liked, but who he’d really offended, and who was also being pursued encouragingly by a girl he was pretty sure he liked and who seemed to be a great catch. Something popped into Molly’s head, way back when she first shared The Lean with Sam: if someone doesn’t respond to your advances, then cut your losses, the fish isn’t biting. Live to lean another day.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Yes, you have to invest in a top-quality bustier; it’s going to be your best friend on the day. I don’t rate these at all, get to Rigby and Peller.’ Suze finished giving her lingerie advice to a grateful Iris in a whisper, as she pawed through a rail of lacy, boned corsets with dangly bits for suspenders. ‘Trust me, it’s not just emotional support you need on your wedding day,’ she added with a wink. Suze trundled over to the large fitting room enclosed by a grape velvet curtain. ‘Come on, Mols,’ she called over the top of the partition wall, ‘it can’t take that long to put on a dress. Your mum will be here in five minutes, so I think you’d better start playing the eager beaver, rather than the late … um, primate. We want to see you!’ she wheedled.
‘Yes, come on, Mols. Please?’ Iris asked in her sweetest voice. ‘Don’t make the bride cry.’ She sniffed loudly for good measure.
The curtain was pushed back with a tinkle of metal curtain hooks and Molly did her best to walk forward in a floor-length gown without stepping on the hem and going spaghetti strap over heels. Though she wasn’t actually wearing heels.
‘Mols, why haven’t you got the gold Mary Janes on?’ Suze pointed to the abandoned strappy heels left by the changing stool.
‘Because,’ Molly answered with a decidedly frustrated tone, ‘I didn’t realise that after you zip up this blummin’ silly long dress, it becomes really hard to put your shoes on. You can’t reach … under it … it’s everywhere!’ She tried to demonstrate, unable to bend over every far in the tight satin frock and failing to reach the hem or lift one leg very far away from the other. ‘I can’t even sit down in it!’
Suze came forward to arrange the swell of the dress at the hem. It was a classic, glamorous style: a satin halter neck that didn’t show too much cleavage but was fitted snugly around the middle and hips, came in close to the thighs and then
flowed out into a short mermaid-tail train. It was a deep emerald green, which seemed to bring out the chestnutty tones to Molly’s hair and the sparkle of her eyes. If only she would stop grimacing.
‘I’ll put them under there and you can just hop on, so we get the right impression.’ Iris grabbed the shoes and tucked them gently under the edge of the dress. Carefully, Molly slipped her feet into the heels, treading on the back and completely ruining them. The sales assistant tried to hold back her growl of annoyance – they were the best sample shoes they had, now flattened by a grumpy bridesmaid.
‘Are you sure you don’t want your sister to do this instead?’ Molly asked Iris desperately, but only got an indulgent smile and a firm ‘No’ in response.
‘Where are they?’ The crisp, ever-loud tones of Cleo Cooper filtered through from the front of the boutique and seconds later Molly’s mum strode into the suite of changing rooms, her slick bob of hair moving gently against her cheek, Gucci sunglasses perched artfully on the top of her head. Her eyes immediately found Molly’s.
‘If you didn’t look utterly beautifully right now, I would be tempted to give you a piece of my mind, darling daughter. Now, have we discussed what we’re going to do with her hair?’
And so Molly escaped an ear-bashing for the next twenty minutes as her mother, future sister-in-law and friend prodded and preened her like a Christmas tree about to be put in a department store window. Was the colour right? How much jewellery should she wear? Stockings or tights? Molly was happy to just stand and rotate when called on, if it meant she didn’t have to give an opinion on shades of ivory or wade in on diamantes vs. pearls. And if it also distracted Cleo from Molly’s unusually bad organisational skills, so much the better. Molly wasn’t quite ready to unleash the truth on her straight-talking mum, purely because she was afraid that Cleo would get straight to the heart of what Molly was beginning to realise: she might be in horribly over her head.
The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp Page 28