Page 56 of The Ex Factor

‘Morning,’ Steve said. He didn’t offer tea. ‘She gone?’

‘Ran for the tube,’ Molly said, double-knotting her left lace. ‘Camden.’

‘Yeah. The thing.’ Steve took a slow sip from his mug. ‘I warned her not to go. It won’t lead anywhere good.’

Molly straightened up. ‘She’s very talented.’

‘She is,’ Steve agreed flatly. ‘That’s not the issue.’

Molly’s shoes were on and laced now, and she was tempted to just give him the old, ‘Fuckity bye-bye.’

But she didn’t. ‘What is?’ she asked.

Steve set his mug down on the Formica table. ‘She tell you about what I used to do?’ he asked.

Molly blinked. ‘No,’ she lied. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

‘I was in a band, Rubix. You’ll know them.’

Molly shrugged, feeling a bit childish but unable not to needle this man.

‘Runs in the family. Music. People think it’s a job or a passion. It’s not. It’s an addiction. Ashley’s got it bad. Had it since she was small.’

‘She’s talented,’ Molly said, aware she was repeating herself.

‘I know she is,’ Steve said, looking Molly dead in the eye. ‘I was talented too. Insisted on moving the date of my own wedding because we had a gig in Munich, even though we were only weeks out from the big day. Thought it mattered.’ He let out a short, dry sound that wasn’t a laugh. ‘It didn’t matter.’

Okay, this was officially awkward. She began to back up, intending to go.

‘Ashley doesn’t do people,’ Steve said, ignoring Molly’s move toward the hallway. ‘Not really. She thinks she does. She brings a pretty girl home, she gets excited, she plays at being a normal twenty-five-year-old. But the second a producer calls, or a record label gives her a nod, everything else will go in the bin. Friends. Girlfriends. Me. You.’ He pointed a blunt finger at her. ‘She’ll use whatever you’ve got for a song, and then she’ll be on to the next thing.’

Molly shoved her hands into the pockets. ‘You don’t know her as well as you think you do,’ she said. It sounded a bit weak, even to her own ears.

Steve smiled horribly. ‘I made her,’ he said. ‘I know exactly what she is, because she’s me. Watch what happens when she has to choose between you and a microphone, Molly. Just watch. She can’t love anything but music. I certainly never did.’

Molly stared at him for three seconds. He didn’t blink. He just picked up his mug again and looked back down at his notebook.

‘Right,’ Molly said. ‘Well. Have a nice day, you sour old fuck.’

She didn’t wait for his reaction to that, turning, walked into the dark hallway, and went to the front door. She pulled the handle, gave the bottom of the wood a sharp kick with her toe as Ashley had said, and stepped out onto the street. The door slammed shut behind her.

Molly walked fast toward the bus stop, her hands jammed deep into her pockets.

Bitter bastard, she thought, forcing a grin onto her face as she stepped over a puddle. Classic jealous dad. Bitter because his own career went down the drain.

She pictured Ashley hopping around the bedroom in her knickers, panicking about her audition. She conjured the way Ashley had held her in bed after sex. Ashley wasn’t cold. Ashley wasn’t a user.

Molly scoffed out loud, shaking her head as she reached the bus shelter. The whole conversation was ridiculous.

She sat down on the metal bench, pulling her collar up against the wind. But as she waited for the 176 to arrive, she couldn’t stop thinking about one thing he’d said.

Watch what happens when she has to choose.

Molly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to flush the sound of Steve’s flat, tired voice out of her head. It was bollocks. Total bollocks.

The bus rounded the corner, red and loud in the grey morning, and Molly stood up to hail it.

Nineteen