Page 68 of The Ex Factor

‘Yeah,’ Molly said dryly. ‘I guess it is pretty crazy that Ashley Malone is with some sitcom nobody.’

‘Can we get a quick selfie?’ the taller girl begged, already crouching down between their seats, thrusting an iPhone directly into Ashley’s face. ‘Just so everyone knows we met the real-life endgame couple?’

Ashley’s smile felt like it was going to crack her face in half. She shrank back an inch, the cramped leather booth offering zero room for escape, while the camera flash went off twice in quick succession.

‘Thanks so much!’ the girl beamed, barely looking at Ashley before tapping away at her screen to upload it.

They darted back toward their table, giggling madly over their phones.

Molly slowly pulled her hand back, placing it neatly in her own lap. Ashley looked down at the empty space on her wrist, her face burning so hot that the man with the SLR outside the window didn't even need a flash anymore.

‘Well,’ Molly said softly, looking at some salmon. ‘At least we’re endgame.’

Ashley gave her a weak, embarrassed smile.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so old in all my life as I did just then,’ Molly noted.

‘Now you know why I never leave the bus. I turned thirty this year. I can’t listen to that kind of thing regularly. It makes me want to lobotomise myself.’

Molly cackled. Her phone started to buzz on the seat next to her thigh.

‘Karen,’ she said, squinting at the screen. She made no move to pick up.

‘It might be important,’ Ashley said quickly, grateful for the interruption. ‘You should answer.’

Molly smiled thinly. ‘That takes me back.’

Ashley smiled too, and for a moment, the shame receded.

Molly suddenly stopped smiling, going for the phone. ‘Yo.’

Ashley watched her face. Molly’s expression went from a bored look to something very sharp. Her eyebrows went up, and she suddenly jerked so fast her knee hit the underside of the table. The water glasses wobbled.

‘Right,’ Molly said into the phone. She put her free hand over her other ear to block out the restaurant music, which was some kind of loud electronica. ‘Yes, I can do Thursday. I’m in Manchester right now, but I can get the train down. Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Karen.’

She hung up and stared at the phone screen. Her mouth was open a little bit.

‘What?’ Ashley asked, leaning forward.

‘There’s this BBC thing I’ve been trying to get.’

‘I know, Freshly Laundered,’ Ashley said automatically.

Molly blinked. ‘Uh, yeah. They want me to audition,’ she said. ‘They want me in London on Thursday morning.’

Ashley felt a sudden, sharp drop in her stomach. Thursday, she’d be gone. ‘That’s amazing, Molly.’

‘It’s a proper audition,’ Molly said. She looked like she might throw up her sushi. ‘Not just a self-tape. The director is going to be in the room. The woman who did that show about the women in the prison.’

‘That’s great,’ Ashley said. She reached out to Molly without thinking about the photographer or Simon or the glass wall. Ashley took Molly’s fingers and gave them a small squeeze. ‘You’re going to get it.’

The man with the camera lens outside took three quick photos in succession, the flash reflecting off the glass like a tiny blink of lightning, but neither of them looked at him.

‘I have to learn six pages by Thursday,’ Molly said. She didn’t pull her hand away from Ashley’s. ‘I struggle with memorising off a screen; I have to print it. How am I going to print six pages of a script on a tour bus?’ she muttered to herself.

She wasn’t really asking for anything, but Ashley didn’t accept it as simple thinking aloud. She wanted to help. She could help.

‘We’ll find somewhere,’ Ashley said. ‘People still need to print stuff. Bound to be some print shop or something.’