The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp

by The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp (retail) (epub)

  As Molly was shrugging on her favourite loose grey cardi over a violet vest top in her changing booth, a well-manicured hand slipped in between the curtain and the partition wall, rapping out a quick knock on the dark wood.

  ‘Are you decent, Mollypops?’ Cleo asked crisply.

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’ Molly quickly hoisted up her jeans and buttoned them.

  Cleo darted into the booth, assessing Molly in a quick up-and-down glance. ‘You looked so wonderful in that dress. You should wear them more often, I think.’ Cleo folded her arms, not causing so much as a crease in her cream Ghost jacket.

  Molly caught her mum’s eye in the mirror as she gave her hair a half-hearted tussle. It remained as straight and lifeless as ever. ‘What? Floor-length satin gowns? I might get the hem dirty when I put the bins out, Mum.’

  ‘Ha ha, darling daughter. I meant dresses. You look lovely in dresses. You know, I saw a lovely knitted colour block dress in Boden just this week that would be so practical.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Molly checked the time on her phone. ‘Christ, sorry, Mum. Have to nip off. I’m late for a … um, well …’

  ‘A date?’ Cleo’s eyes lit up with unexpected excitement.

  ‘Yes, but take deep breaths, mother, it’s early days. Just a coffee.’ Molly pulled back the curtain onto the empty room and swung her handbag onto her shoulder. ‘Oh, have the others gone?’

  ‘Yes. They hit it off tremendously, don’t you think? Suzanne is going to take Iris to a little charcuterie she knows just around the corner that apparently Jamie swears by. We’re thinking of Iberico ham and organic goat’s cheese starters, but only if we know the pigs are fed on the right sort of acorns.’

  ‘Oh, obviously.’ Molly shared a funny look with the sales assistant as she carefully handed back the sumptuous dress. She mentally noted that carbs were now her mortal enemy until she’d worn the thing.

  Cleo held up a finger as the assistant turned to take the dress back to the store room. ‘I’ll pay now for the dress, thank you. And please, let’s not have the display garment, yes? Did we want the pearls, Mols? I can’t remember. We’ll just get them, to be on the safe side.’

  Molly smiled at her mother. ‘Don’t you think you’re getting a bit carried away with this wedding stuff?’

  ‘Absolutely not. What’s money for, if not to enjoy yourself with? Life’s for living, Molly, not for hoarding. Anyway, I’ll do exactly the same for you when the times comes. Perhaps this man you’re meeting …’ Cleo let her sentence trail off, ending in a hopeful lilt. She was fishing, but she was doing so with style.

  ‘Nice try. Eek, I really have to go, Mum.’

  ‘Are you sure? I rather hoped we could have a drink and a catch-up, darling. I haven’t seen you in ages, after all.’ Seeing Molly eye the door anxiously, Cleo knew her daughter had other things on her mind, and gave up on the fishing and wheedling. She’d save her energies for another day. ‘Off you go then. Rachel mentioned they had some lovely things in Taupe that would suit me for the wedding, so I might drop you a text when I’m in London for a meeting.’ With a brief cheek kiss, Molly was gone.

  * * *

  Stirring his frappuccino with a long straw in a languid manner, Rob smiled a lazy smile across the table at his date. ‘I don’t remember there being any lessons about playing hard to get during your sessions. Two texts and a week later – finally, I get a response. Have you been keeping the best tricks for yourself, Mols?’

  Molly’s eyes flicked up quickly from her double-shot latte and an annoyed sensation filled her head. Tricks? Why does everybody think I’m tricking them?

  ‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘I don’t trick anyone, Rob, that’s not what the bootcamp was about. Is about, I mean.’

  Seeing the flash of panic and shock on his face, Molly took a breath and remembered she was on a date and not in charge of a firing squad. Perhaps she was still tired from her real-life mannequin work this morning. Molly let her shoulders drop a few inches into a more casual pose and sipped her coffee. ‘Mmm. So, Rob, what are you up to this weekend?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, leaning forward onto his elbows, across the table from Molly, ‘what would you like me to do?’ Insinuation carefully crept out of his low voice.

  Molly promptly laughed it off. ‘Come on. I mean: what do you like to do, what are you into?’

  Rob’s eyebrows knitted. He chewed his lip.

  ‘Reading?’

  ‘Why are you saying that like a question?’

  ‘Because I wasn’t sure it was the right answer.’ Rob fiddled with a torn sugar packet on the tabletop, spilling the last sticky grains, his usual saucy, confident demeanour vanishing for a few moments.

  Molly was really struggling to keep her banter lively and jolly; this suddenly felt like hard work. Was she just tired and grumpy? ‘There is no right answer; we’re getting to know each other. Aren’t we?’ She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, feeling weirdly self-conscious.

  ‘Yes, but you’re, you know, an expert at this stuff. I don’t want to do the wrong thing.’

  Human traffic passed by in a thick stream outside the glass windows of the café. Molly had the urge to leave, get in lane and keep walking with them as far as they were going. The train station? The butcher’s? Just somewhere away from what was becoming an odd and quite awkward date.

  ‘I’m not an expert. And there’s no such thing as the wrong thing – it’s just about finding out if we have stuff in common, a bit of a spark. Look, Rob, if this is going to have a future I need to not feel like I’m giving you a seminar all the time. It’s just me, Molly, as a person right now. Not a bootcamp private.’ Molly tried to say all this with a wry smile, but it wasn’t working. She still sounded like a peeved primary school teacher.

  Strangely, Rob looked almost heartened by what she’d said. ‘So you think this has a future then?’ he asked with a hopeful wink.

  As Rob batted his left eye in just that briefest millisecond, it was like bringing down the hatches on Molly’s heart. There was flirting, and then there was non-stop cheese. But besides that, she realised, there was no future – she just couldn’t see it. OK, so she’d spent twenty minutes with him in a proper date environment at last but she was beginning to suspect that that click she’d heard on the Devon coastal path, as the owls hooted in the dark, had been more a product of a perfect setting than a perfect partner. Rob just didn’t seem to hear what she was saying; it was like he was more interested in the prize of dating the bootcamp leader, rather than finding someone he really enjoyed being with.

  Molly was in no doubt that he’d make someone a brilliant boyfriend – he’d graduated with honours – but just not her.

  This just didn’t feel right.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Sam and Iris were more than happy to move in with Cleo temporarily, rather than turf poor John out of his room, just as he really needed his privacy back again. Molly was pleased for him and Melissa, needless to say, but also felt the familiar dispiriting position of being the third wheel. She always knew to not even take her coat off if she came through the door and heard the opening bars of ‘Breaking Free’ through John’s door, followed by a delighted female giggle.

  Molly had finally started to deal with the new wave of bootcamp applicants, together with Rach and Jose, processing payments and watching both the cadet numbers and company bank balance grow, but somehow the old tingle that came from seeing the business go from strength to strength had diminished and turned into more of a pins and needles sensation. Patrick still hadn’t called. Not that she was bothered, of course. Nope. Not a bit. She only checked her phone constantly for work reasons. Of course. Molly had had the ‘difficult conversation’ with Rob, and wasn’t sure if she was relieved or offended that he hadn’t really seemed too wounded by it all.

  But it was time to put all her stupid dating malarkey behind her and focus on something else: other people’s stupid dating malarkeys.

  Rach had given Mols
and Josie a full and frank fashion lesson one recent Sunday evening in Taupe, covering all the outfit advice she’d given their male hopefuls, so that they’d be fully informed if she wanted a break or to dabble in another field from time to time. Josie wanted the girls to attend one of her extra early military fitness sessions later that week so they knew all there was to know about cardio, stretches and wearing camouflage with style. The sharing system was already feeling good to Molly and the other privates; no one had to bear the entire load alone and they all understood just what the other was putting into the business. All for one, and that kind of thing. Any friendship rifts had well and truly been healed. But something still felt wrong to Molly, some dull, grey stone kept turning over and over in her stomach.

  The other girls knew something was up – mostly because their once-fearless leader was being unusually quiet in their meetings and not interrupting with new and genius ideas every three minutes. After a very well-behaved look through some new season stock that Rachel was unpacking in Taupe (though she might not be taking all the fashion sessions from now on, she definitely wanted some healthy sales to come from them. Martin was suddenly very chirpy and she guessed their generous male shoppers had something to do with it), Molly’s friend finally snapped and held back a fresh cup of coffee at her shoulder when Molly reached for it.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This can’t go on, Cooper. I love you, but you’ve become a wet blanket. No, wait, you’re worse than that – you’re a damp duvet. A very damp duvet. What’s bumming you out? I think I know the answer, and he’s about six foot four.’

  Molly flopped down into the display chair, too floppy to scrabble for the tea Rachel held. ‘I don’t know, I’m just … Do you know that feeling, when you’re just so annoyed that things haven’t turned out the way you planned?’

  ‘I’ve been upset, or frustrated, when things go wrong, but I’m not sure I’d sum it up as annoyance. Is the control freak missing her control fix?’ Rach wheedled, finally cracking and handing Molly the latte. She just couldn’t bear to see that blank little punam all sad and world-weary.

  ‘No, I really like the bootcamp so much better now – everyone’s got an equal share, we’re all making decisions, cadet numbers are through the roof. Maybe I’m just wigging out because the wedding is just around the corner. When my little brother says “I do”, I will officially enter spinsterhood.’

  ‘Oh, behave!’ Rach admonished with good humour. ‘Only last week you had someone falling all over you.’

  ‘Yes, but he wasn’t right for me.’

  ‘Well, you’ll find someone who is soon enough.’ Rach went back to her big cardboard box full of beaded waistcoats and velvet jackets in jewel covers. The siren call of fine fabrics trumped Molly’s slight whinges any day.

  ‘Don’t be smug just because you’re all loved up.’

  ‘Yeeessssssss,’ Rachel began hesitantly, ‘now, about Gary—’

  ‘You’ve broken up?’ The scent of drama and gossip to be shared caught Molly’s bloodhound nose and she sat bolt upright in the creaking leather chair. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Things were just sort of dwindling and petering out, so I said we should just go back to being … well, we never actually were friends to start with, but you know. My suspicions that our relationship was mostly fuelled by the romance of secrecy turned out to be right; he said he “went off” wearing his new jeans because they were too stiff. It was wall-to-wall nylon after the honeymoon period ended. And you know how I come out in hives around shell suits.’

  ‘Ah, chuck, I’m sorry.’ Molly put down her warm coffee and went over to give her friend a quick squeeze.

  Rachel relaxed into the hug. ‘S’OK really, it was kind of exhausting to go out with someone who wanted help and correction constantly. Maybe next time I’ll look for someone without faults. Or just hope I fall for them so hard that I look beyond all the annoying bits.’

  ‘Ahhh! That’s a nice definition of love, Rach. Spot on. If only all the good men weren’t hiding under rocks.’

  ‘Not all of them are. Some of them are hiding in Camden, aren’t they?’ Rachel arched a perfect eyebrow as she went back to her unpacking.

  ‘Patrick won’t take my calls, still. He doesn’t want to know, so I have officially given up.’ Molly shrugged and shoved her hands in her pockets as she strolled around the posh rails, inspecting the high cotton count on a set of turquoise bed linen as if it would change the subject for her if she counted every thread.

  ‘And when Melissa was angry with John and wouldn’t speak to him, I suppose you told him just to give up, hmm?’ Rachel was confident what her question would stir up.

  ‘That was entirely different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Um … because he hadn’t really done anything wrong.’

  ‘And you have?’ Rach wondered.

  ‘I listed Patrick’s faults in Excel. I said he had big feet and that he lurked. I think he’s entitled to feel cheesed off forever.’ Molly chewed on the inside of her cheek as she picked up some bejewelled pill boxes.

  Stifling a laugh, Rachel ploughed on with her point. ‘But you didn’t mean to hurt him; you meant to help, but just went … um, a bit over-the-top. It came from a good place. A good, but bossy and meddlesome, place. That’s entirely salvageable in my opinion. What does Sam say about it all, seeing as this involves his sister and his best friend?’

  Molly replaced a solid silver pig-shaped corkscrew on the kitchenware shelf and ambled back to her friend. ‘He got cross, then a bit pale, then oddly seemed OK with it. He told me I shouldn’t give up if it’s really what I want. He said if Patrick won’t come to me then Muhammad, mountains, all that stuff.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan to me.’ Rachel shrugged sweetly.

  Molly gave a baffled sigh. ‘But if I just show up there, what will I say? How can I change his mind?’

  Rachel put down the expensive frilly knickers she was sorting with a grunt of frustration. ‘For goodness’ sake! This is the woman that found her brother a wife! This is the woman who engineered a romantic gesture so unforgettable for her flatmate that it was reported in the East Dulwich Gazette! “Zac Efron Spotted on Peckham Rye” is not your everyday headline, you know. And suddenly she doesn’t have any tricks up her sleeve? Hmm. Interesting.’

  Molly slapped her hands to her forehead. ‘But what if he just slams the door in my face?’

  ‘Then you’ll know, won’t you? You’ll know that it wouldn’t have worked because he obviously hasn’t fallen for you hard enough to overlook all your little faults. Your bossiness, your need to be right, your failure sometimes to listen to peop—’

  ‘Yes, thanks, mate! This is hardly filling me with confidence. But I get the drift. Agh, maybe. After three gins or something.’

  Rachel smiled and ducked into the storeroom. She came back out with a big bottle of Bombay Sapphire. ‘Excellent! I’ll pour.’

  * * *

  Sadly, at least three of the measures Rachel had forced down her nervous friend’s throat had worn off by the time Molly’d caught the bus and changed tube lines twice in order to arrive in Camden. But the other two neat measures still swirled around her head and her empty stomach, making her feel dreamy and light-headed, as if she was really floating over the chewing-gum pocked pavement. She flew past market stalls and troops of Goths, tattooed hipsters and juicy fresh fruit sellers, not really taking anything in as she desperately tried to come up with a plan.

  Luckily, there was a bus stop just outside Patrick’s front door. The perfect place to sit and think and gather romantic energy.

  A phrase kept repeating in Molly’s head as she perched on the red plastic seat, swinging her legs: those who can, do; those who can’t … Molly gave a few firm shakes of her head. The little blue-rinsed granny sat next to her edged a few inches away.

  Molly practised in her head: Patrick, I’m sorry. Sorrier than you’ll ever know. And I’ve been a berk, but a well-meaning berk. With ju
st one more chance I could show that I am actually human and quite nice and fun to be around. So … don’t hate me.

  Um, that’s probably a bit desperate.

  So … how about a Nando’s?

  Hmm. Aim a bit higher.

  So … do you have a date for the wedding?

  ‘Molly?’

  Molly hadn’t noticed the long shadow falling over her. But now she did.

  ‘Patrick!’

  With a nod, Patrick confirmed that yes, strangely enough, it was him, standing on his own road, just outside his own house.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ His dark eyes were frustratingly unreadable, but he wasn’t frowning. Or gnashing his teeth. Which was at least something.

  ‘Just hanging out,’ Molly tried. ‘And, I wanted to see you. To talk. Nice T-shirt.’ Molly pointed at the leaf-green T-shirt Patrick was wearing. Its graffiti-like spray of black paint across the middle gave it an edgy twist.

  ‘It’s new. My sister chose it.’ Patrick pulled at the hem, colour coming to his cheeks. ‘Someone pointed out that I tend to wear the same thing a lot.’

  Molly tried to bite down a small smile, in case it was totally presumptuous. ‘Someone? Like, a friend “someone”?’

  ‘Molly, I … I should have called you back—’

  ‘No, let me just say what I want to say. Please.’ Molly cleared her throat and tried to remember her speech, through the gin haze. ‘Patrick, I’m more of a berk than you’ll ever know. And I’m sorry-meaning. But I can be human and nice if you don’t hate me. Um, wait. Oh …’ Her cheeks burnt a fiery red.

  The little old lady beside Molly squinted in confusion, but thought this was probably going to be worth missing Doctors for.

  Patrick let a snort of laughter escape. ‘Are you drunk?’ he teased.