Page 42 of The Ex Factor

‘You’re laughing,’ Molly accused.

‘You... you took out a photographer,’ Ashley managed to wheeze, extending a hand to help leverage Molly upward.

‘He shouldn’t have been standing there,’ Molly muttered, finally managing to get her feet under her, though she tottered dangerously until Ashley’s arm securely locked around her waist. She looked like she was trying not to grin.

The talent wranglers were already swarming them like a tactical response team. Hands grabbed at them, brushing them off, pushing them, whispering frantic instructions to just keep moving, head inside, don’t look back.

Ashley kept her grip tight on Molly’s waist, practically carrying her up the remaining steps and through the heavy glass doors of the cinema. The moment the chaotic roar of the press was cut off by the thick, carpeted quiet of the lobby, they both slumped against a velvet-lined pillar.

‘Well,’ Molly said, her voice shaking slightly as she kicked off the offending heels and picked them up in her hands. ‘That certainly got their attention.’

Ashley looked at Molly, whose hair was now a wild halo around her face. The toxic ghost of Reva, which had hovered over Ashley for months, felt suddenly thin.

‘Come on,’ Ashley said, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips for the first time in what felt like centuries.

‘You want to go into the movie?’ Molly asked, surprised. ‘I thought we were just doing the carpet.’

‘Well, we’re here. Might as well see it. If you want to,’ Ashley said, trying to sound casual.

Molly shrugged. ‘Okay. But I’m not putting these fuckers back on,’ Molly said, holding the offending shoes aloft.

‘I wouldn’t dream of asking,’ Ashley said.

And they walked through the lobby and into the screen, Molly barefoot.

Five Years Ago

Ashley woke up first because Molly’s house wouldn’t allow anyone to sleep properly.

At first, she wasn’t entirely sure what had dragged her out of unconsciousness. Then somebody slammed a door hard enough to register on the Richter scale. A second later, a voice shouted something unintelligible from downstairs.

Another voice shouted back, ‘I haven’t seen them! What the bloody hell would I want with adhesive rhinestones?’

Ashley opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, orienting herself. The ceiling stared back. It was yellowing in places. There appeared to be a crack running from one corner to the other.

This wasn’t her flat. The mattress was lumpy. The room was unfamiliar. There was a woman asleep beside her.

Ah. Right. The woman. Molly.

Ashley turned her head slightly. Molly was still asleep, curled onto her side with one arm tucked beneath the pillow. Her caramel-brown locks had escaped in every possible direction during the night. She looked surprisingly peaceful, considering the volume of events around her.

Another door slammed. Molly didn’t move. It was truly remarkable.

Ashley found herself smiling. Which was silly because she’d already identified several reasons she ought to be slightly concerned about the situation.

For one thing, she’d known Molly for one night. For another, they’d slept together. And Ashley did not leap into bed with people. She liked to plan such things. When she bought a guitar, she spent three weeks researching it, and when she first became interested in someone, she weighed the pros and cons for months.

And yet she’d somehow met Molly Sullivan in a pub toilet, fallen spectacularly in love with her face, and ended up in bed before conducting any proper due diligence.

The problem was that every time Ashley tried to imagine making a different decision, she couldn’t. She could no more imagine not sleeping with Molly than she could imagine refusing oxygen.

A floorboard creaked loudly somewhere overhead. Ashley frowned. How was there an upstairs? Weren’t they on the top floor?

Beside her, Molly groaned softly and buried her face deeper into the pillow. Then one eye opened.

She looked at Ashley. Ashley looked at her. Molly smiled.

It was unfair how quickly that smile worked.