Page 28 of The Ex Factor

‘No,’ Molly said. ‘No idea why I said that.’

Ashley looked at her for a second. ‘I need to check something. Are you gonna turn out to be a bit odd?’

‘Yes,’ Molly said. ‘Is that a dealbreaker?’

Ashley sighed. ‘When I asked the question, I thought it was. But maybe not.’

Molly grinned at Ashley. ‘Coffee?’

‘Coffee’s fine.’

Eleven

Now

Ashley forced herself to stop laughing at the man’s fright-wig.

Across the small table, Molly was still vibrating with that manic, beautiful energy she always had when she was terrified. The emerald-green dress was stunning, but Molly looked like she was fighting it, her shoulders pinned back in an imitation of high-society poise that didn’t fit her at all.

Ashley felt the familiar, treacherous urge to reach out and smooth a stray curl behind Molly’s ear. She pinched her own thigh under the table instead. Simon’s lecture from this afternoon rang loudly in her head: Keep it light, Ashley. Keep it brief. Get the photo and let the press run the ‘spotted together’ narrative.

‘Right,’ Ashley said, her voice dropping into a polite, professional register. ‘We should probably order. I’m sure you have other places to be.’

‘Yes, absolutely. Busy, busy,’ Molly said instantly, snatching up the heavy, leather-bound menu like it was a shield.

When the waiter appeared, Ashley took the lead, keeping her eyes firmly on the print to avoid looking at the way Molly was biting her lower lip. ‘I’ll have the pan-fried turbot with the sea beet and champagne velouté, please. And a glass of the Chablis.’

The waiter turned expectantly to Molly.

Molly’s eyes darted frantically across the page. ‘I’ll just have the... um. The burger?’ Molly said, her voice lilting upward into a question. ‘But, like, can I get it without the truffle aioli? Just normal mayonnaise? Or ketchup. Ketchup is fine. And chips. Not the triple-cooked ones, just... normal fries if you have them?’

The waiter’s eyebrow twitched a fraction of a millimetre. ‘Of course, madame. And to drink?’

‘Diet Coke. With ice.’

Ashley kept her expression perfectly blank, but a sharp ache of affection hit her dead in the chest. It was so painfully Molly. Give her a Michelin-starred menu in the heart of Soho, and she would still try to turn it into a pub lunch.

‘So,’ Ashley began, flattening her hands on the table and channelling the tone of a distant cousin at a family wake. ‘Where are you living now? I assume not the old flat?’

Molly blinked, sharply thrown into remembrance. ‘Oh Christ. The flat. No, I’m in my own place in Pinner.’

So that was where she was. Ashley had always wondered where she’d landed. She couldn’t imagine Molly moving somewhere pretentious like Knightsbridge, where Ashley lived. Pinner, Ashley thought, was exactly the sort of place you ended up if you’d moved up in the world but didn’t want to change your accent to prove it.

‘You keep in contact with any of them, your old housemates?’

Molly snorted. ‘I barely spoke to them when I lived there. It was more of an extremely broke ships-passing-in-the-night type of vibe.’ She sighed. ‘Though sometimes I do miss fighting the trucker for the washing machine.’

‘And your mum? See her much?’

‘Oddly, she started making a lot more pop-ups after the first series of Off Season aired.’ Molly gave a weak chuckle.

Ashley felt something about that, but she simply nodded, her smile tight and polite. ‘Right. Well, pass on my worst.’

‘How’s your dad?’

‘I haven’t seen him in years, and as long as I don’t miss a payment, I probably won’t have to.’

‘Keeping the old man afloat? Does he deserve that?’ Molly asked.