The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp

by The Bad Boyfriends Bootcamp (retail) (epub)

  Martin took off his jacket, placed it gently around Rach’s shoulders and led her to the seats at the back of the deck. Molly watched as Martin took a seat next to his pissed employee and then raised his eyebrows in surprise as she put her head on his thigh and lay down for a much-needed snooze. Instead of flinching from this sozzled 20-something being in dangerous vicinity of decorating his suit trousers with something organic but definitely unsightly, Martin actually smiled down at the top of Rach’s blonde head and pulled the jacket over her legs and small bottom. He seemed very content there, as she quickly fell asleep and started drooling on his fine tweed suit. Molly suddenly realised that Martin’s grumpy moods, holiday home offers and this current fond melty look to his eyes all had something in common: the gorgeous Rachel. He had a huge crush on her! Why hadn’t she seen it before now?

  That cup of coffee had really done its job and cleared Molly’s thought processes. It had been useful, too, as a distraction from her tense conversation with the girls. She’d realised just in time that she was on the edge of falling into the sort of drunkenness where you’d do anything if dared, to anyone, with no amount of shame. That strong filter coffee pulled her back from the brink. But Rachel had disappeared off the edge some time ago. Her long cream maxi dress with an oversized red poppy print showed the messy tell-tale chocolate smudges of a girl who had been dared to eat ten brownies in ten minutes. By a teenager called Brian. And she had accepted. Somehow none of this seemed to phase Martin.

  ‘At least it’ll line her stomach,’ Molly muttered, catching a glimpse of Martin gently moving a few blonde wisps of hair out of Rachel’s face, as she slowly strolled over to the table of food. Cleo didn’t have much experience herself with karaoke but she had heard it involved a lot of booze. So, naturally concerned about the combination of drunken youths and a rocking boat, she’d laid out lots of safety carbs – sandwiches, pizza slices, sausage rolls and the obligatory crisps. ‘Who needs a man when you have snacks like these,’ Molly said to herself, picking up a handful of sea salt kettle chips and stuffing them in her mouth.

  ‘Hi, Molly.’

  Patrick had appeared behind her, just as her cheeks were bulging full of hand fried potato crisps. Molly had no idea if he’d heard her ramblings, but the irregular flash of the disco lights picked up a red colour just under his jaw line. Or maybe it was just the disco ball messing with her head.

  She swallowed a painful gulp of sharp crisps. ‘Mmm, sorry, just—’

  ‘Yes. So. Enjoying the day?’

  Molly considered her bedraggled hair, flushed and sweaty face, mucky dress and bare feet. ‘Yup, you could say that. You?’

  Patrick ran his hand up the back of his neck and into the tufty beginnings of his dark hair. ‘Wasn’t looking forward to the speech, but since then it’s been … yeah.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Molly desperately wished her dress had pockets, so that she’d have something to do with her hands.

  ‘Molly, I … at the park, I wanted to surprise you and I suppose, well, I was surprised …’ Patrick trailed off, a flicker of doubt troubling his features.

  Molly held her breath.

  ‘But I think it’s all to do with what happ—’

  ‘Dudes!’ bellowed a bouncy Sam as he came across his best friend and sister hovering awkwardly at the back of the room. ‘Who’s it going to be huh? Who’ll do it first?’ he wiggled his eyebrows and looked between them.

  Molly willed her brain cells to finish sobering up sharpish. Patrick had his eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to decipher Sam’s ramblings.

  ‘Maybe go with a classic approach; “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling”, hmm? Maybe a bit depressing. Something more hopeful, you know; “How Deep Is Your Love”? Or just go straight to sweet and charming; “I’m Walking On Sunshine”.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow you, mate.’

  Slinging his arm around Patrick’s neck and dragging him in close for a manly hug, Sam crossed his eyes in goofy delight. ‘Durrr! What are you like, Patrick? It’s the first dance, yeah? One of you guys has got to be the one to do it – everyone else’s gone all shy and wussy. Sis?’ Sam looked hopefully at Molly. ‘You wouldn’t leave a brother hanging, surely? On my wedding day?’ Sam batted his long dark eyelashes at his sister, knowing full well they were a feature she envied him for. But as his blurry eyes flashed open and shut in a few quick blinks, he actually took in the scene before him: two people having a conversation. A bit of an important one.

  ‘Oh, crap!’ Sam pulled a ‘Macaulay Culkin plus aftershave’ face. ‘You two were … ohhh, sorry dude and dudette, I’ll leave you two it.’ Sam spun on his heel but then thought better of it and did a full, wobbly 360. ‘But just one more thing: he’s great,’ he mock-whispered to Molly, ‘and he’s mental about you. He’s been asking me questions all day. “Has Molly mentioned me? Was she upset after the argument? Is she bringing that a-hole Rob to the wedding?”‘ Patrick coughed and rubbed at his chin, looking out of the boat’s large windows and wincing into the distance. ‘I mean, I don’t really want to think about what you two – no, I just don’t want to even think about thinking about it. But if someone has to go out with my sister, he’s the best man for the job. Ha! Best Man! Because you are. Ha.’

  Molly pursed her lips and conducted an internal debate about laughing or crying right now.

  ‘And you,’ – he jabbed Patrick in the chest playfully – ‘say your sorries, so she can say hers and you can both get on with … it. She’s a stubborn old troll—’

  ‘Hey, Hobbit!’ Molly broke in.

  ‘—but she’s also funny and clever and makes great tea. I’m butting in because when she butted into my life it ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me. And I am including the invention of the Xbox in that equation. If neither one of you will back down then you force me to play Cupid.’ Sam did a funny little bow and arrow mime which actually made him look more like a very camp snooker professional.

  ‘My work is done!’ he bellowed again. ‘Bring me my wife! I want to dance!’ Beating his chest with both fists and grinning wildly, Sam swaggered off, content in his meddling.

  Molly could just about hear the pleading voice of the DJ asking for someone, anyone, to come forward and sing the first song. For a fiver. And a pint.

  But all she could think about was a pair of liquid brown eyes, fixed on hers, bringing back memories of that night in Camden with all their urgency. And in a second the eyes were gone. Molly realised she had been holding her breath the whole time and now gave a gasp for air. Patrick was striding away, after Sam.

  So that was it. No dramatic reunion, after all. No violins, no smooching in the moonlight, no ahhhing from her drunken friends and thumbs up from her brother.

  Just Molly, left alone at the edge of a dance floor, desperately catching her breath and trying to forget the shape of a broad pair of shoulders under a duvet.

  ‘Oh, great. Now he’s going to have a go at Sam because he, in fact, can’t stand me and any insinuations otherwise are offensive. I bet he wants to get off this bloody boat. Why aren’t there are icebergs in the Thames?’ Molly whinged. She walked to the window and leant on the frame.

  ‘Whassit?’ Rachel mumbled from the chairs, rising up slightly from Martin’s now drool-dampened trouser leg.

  ‘Nothing, treasure, go back to sleep,’ Molly said numbly. ‘Just your spinster friend mucking things up for the fifty-fourth time this month.’

  ‘Mmm, OK,’ Rach said dreamily and snuggled back against Martin. He blinked a few times and shrugged. It was hard to keep up with what went on with these ladies – seeing as all of a sudden they turned up with great gangs of men to buy entire new wardrobes full of clothes from Taupe, he had learnt not to complain.

  The karaoke machine kicked into life with a few synthesised drum beats. Someone had obviously taken up the musical gauntlet. She was just glad it wasn’t her – maybe she could slink off to the boiler room and scrounge a cuppa from the crew.


  ‘Molly.’

  She turned. Patrick had the mic and was at the DJ booth.

  Oh god.

  ‘Sometimes I can’t say what I want to. I want to say that I was a paranoid idiot who overreacted. I want to say sorry, Mols, for not calling and apologising sooner. I know I’m the one who needs to make things right now, and though I don’t have a bus stop and I’m not pissed on gin in the afternoon, this will have to do. Besides, they didn’t have “Jealous Guy” on the karaoke machine. Ahem.’

  Molly recognised the song as the intro played on: ‘The Power of Love’. Huey Lewis and The News! He was singing to her.

  Singing to her!

  Some gooey warmth spread along Molly’s limbs and torso, and into her head. She was so shocked and delighted and shocked some more that she couldn’t move. She could only grin. A hand gripped her arm lightly from behind. Iris breathed into her ear, ‘It’s always a gamble, but I’d say he was going all in for you, Mols. Public humiliation: it doesn’t get more romantic than that.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Molly breathed back. Iris nipped past her to join Sam on the dancefloor and they twirled and danced and laughed hysterically as Patrick sang.

  Molly listened as Patrick sang. Nope, it didn’t take money, or fame, or credit cards. But it could change your life.

  As Patrick’s voice escalated into that of a tired seagull choking on a tin can, as he struggled for those high notes, Molly found the muscles in her body again and sprinted to the booth. As best anyone can sprint in a fitted, satin, floor-length gown. Leaping on stage, she ran straight into Patrick’s arms and pressed her face against his warm, slightly stubbly neck. He smelt of sweat and beer and utter contentment.

  ‘I’ve been such an arse,’ he mumbled into her hair. Molly thought she heard a deep sniff, like someone smelling a posh wine. ‘Seeing you ordering those guys around brought back bad memories. But I should have trusted you. Remembered how amazing and kind you are. But I was worried I wouldn’t measure up and what with Rob wooing you and—’

  Molly stopped him with her lips against his.

  The crowd were whooping with shameless delight, like a Big Brother eviction crowd when a housemate trips on the stairs. But louder.

  When they finally broke away, Molly lifted up her eyes to Patrick’s and said, ‘Can we iron out the details tomorrow? Because it’s past one already and by now the Best Man and Bridesmaid are supposed to have done a lot more than just kissing.’

  Six months later…

  ‘And so, in a nutshell, that’s the ideal approach to a first date. Remember, you’re out to impress – but your date should be just as impressive in your eyes. And who knows.’ Molly half-turned from the lectern to point at the large screen behind her. As she hit a button on her notebook laptop, the bullet points vanished and a candid shot from Sam and Iris’s wedding popped up on the six foot projection screen. Sam had offered a brownie up to Iris’s mouth and the photographer had caught the exact moment when he’d pulled it back, tantalising his new wife and causing a flicker of delighted anguish to flash over her face. Underneath the photo was the following line in white italic letters: You could be next …

  The assembled town hall of women and men in their mid-twenties through to the late thirties laughed gently and a smidge self-consciously as they read the line. ‘I look forward to seeing you all next week when we’ll be looking at creative and affordable date ideas in the city, so bring your pens and diaries, but leave your fat wallets at home!’ With a wide grin, Molly nodded as the crowd of fifty or so people shuffled their way out their seats and ambled out of the hall. ‘And don’t forget to check the website and drop me an email if you have any dilemmas in the meantime.’

  ‘Thank you,’ a young blonde from the front row mouthed as she picked up her bag and coat, and walked off into the winter night. As the blonde headed out to the back doors, Molly spotted Gary at the coffee and biscuit table by the exit, deep in actual conversation with an attractive redhead. Who was dressed in running gear, obviously heading straight to the gym. Next to Gary’s black jogging bottoms, she didn’t actually look that incongruous.

  Molly gave a short hum of satisfaction. An almost sold-out night, and at least ten more than last week. Word was spreading. She shut down her notebook, slipped it into her laptop bag and gave the screen a sharp pull so that it rolled up with a satisfying smack into its bracket on the ceiling. As much as she loved being part of a team back in her bootcamp days, the glory-hungry and bossy part of Molly – admittedly a bit part – really enjoyed running events solo now. And it was pretty clear that things were better all round this way; Josie had happily taken the reins at the bootcamp – using not just her skills on the pitch but off it, too. She was bringing her own cheery brand of sports psychology to seminars on self-confidence and social interaction. Admitting that she was more JB Sports than Jimmy Choo, Josie dropped the fashion overhauls and stuck to what she knew best. Martin and Rach were happy enough at Taupe without any bootcamp customers: the original bootcampers still came back in regularly for their capsule essentials to keep the takings healthy. Rach had been given all new sorts of responsibilities at Taupe, while taking a night course in accountancy so she could seriously begin to think about running her own boutique. And besides all that, Martin had finally plucked up the courage to ask Rach out, after being her knight in sober armour at the wedding.

  It turned out his grumpier than usual disposition stemmed from Rach answering texts from Gary and talking about him non-stop back when they were together: Martin was jealous. He’d been in love with the gorgeous Rach from afar for months and months. He was all mixed up over asking her out before because of all the ‘creepy perve boss’ connotations, and his Devon invitation completely backfired. Rach just thought he was being kind, when it was all really part of his wooage.

  When this all came tumbling out during a staff meeting in The Bishop, Rach quickly decided that thirty-two wasn’t really that old. Plus, Martin had great taste. The new A/W purple velvet jackets were testament to that. And when he threw off the grumps and actually smiled, as he had when he blurted out how he’d been feeling, Rachel could see what Josie had all those months ago in Taupe: he was a bit of a hottie, especially when he shaved. Martin had felt OK about making his declaration when Rach said she was thinking of setting up her own clothes stall on the Saturday market in six months or so. He didn’t have to worry about being taken to a sexual harassment tribunal now, just about being shot down by a stunning and talented woman.

  But Rach went for it, and not just to get longer lunch breaks. It was amazing to find a (heterosexual) man she had so much in common with, and who didn’t just think fashion was mucking about with silly belts and handbags. Martin’s collection of manbags was actually a sight to behold. His clothes obsession equalled Rachel’s but she thought this was refreshingly unique and impressive in a man.

  There was a healthy feeling to Making it Work, Molly’s new business venture which offered advice, trouble-shooting and lecture sessions like this one on dating and relationships – but to both sexes. Molly realised that getting right into the nitty-gritty of people’s love lives through the bootcamp was a high wire to trouble strung over a hot bed of headaches. One wrong move and you were toast. Just look at the problems she’d unearthed for John and Melissa, nearly ruining their burgeoning reunion. And she nearly messed up Kurt and Josie’s honeymoon period, not to mention certain tricky phases she’d been through herself. It was all to do with tangling herself up in the loose threads of other people’s love lives. Molly realised she was no love guru, but she had a few useful things to share. From a distance: a cyber distance. She answered emails and texts at the speed of light but vowed never again to hide behind a shrubbery and force a grown man to dance like a teenager. That was, admittedly, going too far.

  So Making it Work was still getting off the ground, but it felt like a really good thing. And though Molly wasn’t quite ready to write the book on love, someone was interested in her writing the bo
ok on dating; she’d had an email just a week ago from a small publisher that wanted to meet with her. Whoops of delight could be heard all the way in Streatham as she’d read that piece of news. OK, so this hadn’t been her light bulb idea, but the future was looking very bright nonetheless. Finally, Molly was feeling every bit the successful businesswoman – and luckily no one was getting miffed this time.

  Molly’s BlackBerry vibrated silently from her back pocket and she fished the sleek black phone out of her grey straight-legged trousers. Rachel had virtually jumped for joy when Molly came to her a few months after the wedding, metaphorical fashion bowl in hand, and begged for some help in acquiring a smarter, more feminine wardrobe to launch her new company. Molly had even been talked into a merino wool dress, but had yet to wear it for fear of the spills that would surely come. She wasn’t giving up curry for an outfit, no siree, but Rach was being persistent and patient. She had a pair of spindle-heeled suede boots in sight for Molly next.

  Speak of the devil: Rachel’s name flashed up in her message inbox.

  Text from: Rachel

  OMG, he said it he said it he said it! Martin said the L word! Just now, over his chocolate bread and butter pudding. After much snogging, had to nip to the loo to text you. Aaaagggh! Can you believe it? I said it back, of course. Everything has been feeling so right, ever since we got together. Won’t keep you as I know you’re in the middle of a lecture: full disclosure tomorrow at lunch. Love you (but not as much as he loves ME, obvs), R xxxxxxxxx

  Molly giggled and shook her head. ‘It all goes to show,’ she said to herself into the echoing hall, ‘that sometimes you just never know.’ She slipped her phone back into her pocket and carried on packing up her things.

  ‘You never know what?’ a deep voice called from the back of the room.

  Molly squinted to see. ‘Ah! I was hoping it was you. Come and carry my stuff, please, hunky thing? I brought too many handouts again.’ Molly nudged a deep box of printed purple paper with her hip.