Page 72 of The Ex Factor

They found the library by accident. It was a massive grey building with round arches and heavy oak doors that looked like they belonged to a cathedral. The digital clock over the entrance said 16:52.

Inside, the grand circular room had that comforting library smell of mouldy pages. A woman with short purple hair and a plastic badge that said Jean was already pulling a heavy grey plastic cover over one of the large black photocopiers near the main desk.

‘We’re closing in eight minutes, girls,’ Jean said, her voice echoing in the high ceiling. ‘Computers are already shutting down for the night.’

‘Please,’ Ashley said. She stepped up to the counter, pulling down her shades. ‘My friend has a BBC audition. Six pages. We just need to get them off an email. It’ll take two minutes.’

Jean looked up, clearly annoyed, and then she stopped. Her pen hovered over the ledger. She looked at Ashley’s face for three long seconds. ‘Oh. You’re that Ashley person, aren’t you? My granddaughter loves you.’

‘Yeah,’ Ashley said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘That’s me.’ She paused. ‘She got a ticket for tonight?’

‘My daughter couldn’t really afford it,’ Jean said, admonishingly.

‘I’ll put your granddaughter's name on the list for the gig tonight at the Academy. Two comped tickets for…’

The woman smiled. ‘Perry Crunt.’

Molly saw Ashley’s mouth wobble, and she had to look away.

‘So, it’s a deal?’ Ashley pressed.

‘Yes, okay. But you won’t forget that name, will you?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ Ashley said.

Jean looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Ashley’s damp hair. She let out a long sigh that sounded like a tyre deflating, reached under the desk, and pulled out a small plastic card attached to a piece of string. ‘PC number four. Don’t be long. The main server logs off automatically at five on the dot, and I’m not restarting it for the Pope himself.’

The computer was ancient. It had a thick grey monitor that gave off a loud, high-pitched hum when Ashley clicked the mouse. It took four minutes just to load the basic Windows login screen, the little blue circle spinning on the glass like it was stuck. Molly stood right behind Ashley’s shoulder, watching the bottom right corner of the screen where the digital clock was ticking toward 16:57.

‘Hurry up,’ Molly whispered to the machine, her hand gripping the back of Ashley’s chair. Her knuckles brushed against the leather of Ashley’s jacket. ‘It’s going to turn off before it even opens the browser.’

‘I’m trying,’ Ashley said. Her fingers were clumsy on the dirty plastic keyboard, which had half the letters rubbed off. She kept hitting the caps lock by mistake because the keys were sticky. ‘What’s the password for your email?

‘MollyWollyDooDah,’ Molly admitted, embarrassed.

‘Well, it’s not guessable,’ Ashley said with a grin, tapping it in. ‘I’ll give it that.’

Molly shrugged. ‘Exactly. Too stupid to guess.’

The screen flickered, went black for a horrifying second, and then finally opened the inbox. Ashley clicked the attachment from the agency and pushed the print icon. The printer in the dark corner behind the desk let out a loud, grinding screech like it was chewing a handful of gravel. It shuddered, clicked three times, and then a single piece of paper slid out very slowly into the plastic tray. Then another.

By the time the sixth page came out, Jean was already jingling a massive ring of keys by the heavy main exit doors, the lights in the far corridor clicking off one by one with loud thuds.

Ashley grabbed the stack, checking the hot pages quickly before handing them to Molly. ‘There. Six pages. Every line.’

‘Thanks,’ Molly said meaningfully.

She looked down at the top page. It had the BBC comedy logo printed slightly crooked in the left corner, the characters’ names bolded in ugly Courier font. Her throat felt tight, but it wasn’t the bad, suffocating tight from the restaurant. It was just a strange, heavy feeling because Ashley had spent her afternoon running around Manchester for some paper she didn’t even need herself.

Molly had forgotten this. The way Ashley pushed her to reach for the things she wanted, way past the point Molly would have given up. It was nice to have someone do that for her again.

Maybe better than nice.

***

They ran all the way to the Manchester Academy, Molly keeping the pages tucked inside her jumper so they wouldn’t get spotted by the fresh drizzle coming down on them.

When they reached the stage door, the tour manager was standing on the concrete step with a clipboard, looking furious.