Page 83 of The Ex Factor

She knew why her second album sucked now. Because she hadn’t dared to write about the only thing she wanted to—Molly. She’d allowed herself one song for her, and it was the highlight of the album. If Ashley had let herself be real on that album, every track would have been about Molly. It might have had a shot at being decent.

She tuned the low E string down to a flat, heavy D, her fingers moving by instinct. She struck a single, open chord that rattled the loose plastic cup in the drinks holder by her knee.

The words came out before she could think about whether they were clever or radio-friendly. She started singing to the small, tinted window that looked out over the services.

The song was called ‘Coward’.

By the time she reached the final chorus, her throat felt raw, and her left index finger was bleeding slightly where the edge of the high string had caught the cuticle. She played the last D-minor chord and let it ring out until the vibration died against the hum of the bus’s generator.

It was the best thing she’d written in years. It was completely honest and entirely useless, because the only person who needed to hear it was running away from Ashley as fast as she could.

Thirty-Two

The underground platforms at Birmingham New Street were a concrete dungeon of low ceilings and harsh yellow light. It was impossible to be happy standing here waiting for a train.

But Molly was already miserable, so the location didn’t have to do any heavy lifting. She was lower than she’d been in years. Five years, to be precise.

Molly stood under the flickering departure board. The train to London Euston was delayed by twelve minutes. Of course it was. It gave her twelve whole minutes to drown in her own thoughts.

Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket.

Molly pulled it out, wondering if it might be Ashley, reaming her out for fleeing. Instead, the screen read: USELESS AGENT. She really should sort that at some point.

Molly swallowed, cleared the rasp from her throat, and pressed answer. ‘Karen. Hey.’

‘Molly! Just catching you before the gig madness,’ Karen’s sharp, efficient voice cut through the platform noise. ‘Just got off with casting for Fresh Laundry. They’re dead keen for tomorrow. Just checking you’re feeling ready.’

‘Yeah,’ Molly said. Her voice sounded thin. Fragile. ‘Yeah, I’m… I’m on a train platform now in Brum. Coming back to London today.’

A beat of silence on the line. ‘Molly? Are you alright, sweetheart? You sound... off.’

That was all it took. One small, vaguely motherly inquiry.

Molly’s mother had spent Molly’s entire childhood either staring through her or expecting her to act like the adult in the room. Molly had built a fortress out of sarcasm and ironclad self-reliance to survive it. But right now, exhausted and bleeding from self-inflicted emotional wounds, the fortress collapsed in an instant.

A hot tear spilt over Molly’s lashes, followed immediately by a ragged sob.

‘Whoa, hey… Molly?’ She didn’t sound like an agent. She sounded personally concerned. ‘What’s happened? Talk to me. What is it?’

‘I’m fine,’ Molly choked out, pressing her forehead against a cold concrete pillar. She was crying properly now. She knew because a passing commuter was watching her nervously. ‘I’m such an idiot, Karen. I ruined everything. I’m a terrible person.’

‘You are not a terrible person,’ Karen said firmly, her voice steady down the line. ‘Take a breath for me. In and out. Good. Now, is this about Ashley?’

Molly sniffled, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her coat. ‘How did you—’

‘Molly, I’ve been your agent since you were twenty-one. I know you better than you’d like to think.’

‘It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Don’t bullshit me, not when you’re crying on a train platform,’ Karen interrupted gently. ‘What happened?’

‘I blew it up,’ Molly whispered. ‘We had sex last night. And then this morning, she wanted to talk, and I got scared and I… I was so cruel. I compared her to dog food.’

‘Jesus, Molly,’ Karen breathed, though there was a soft, sympathetic edge to it. ‘You really do hit hard when you’re scared, don’t you?’

‘She doesn’t care about me, Karen! Five years ago, when everything was going crazy with her career, I laid my entire heart on the line. I told her I loved her. And she said nothing. That’s why I ended it. I realised we weren’t what I thought.’

‘You still love her,’ Karen said softly. ‘Bloody hell. I knew it. I knew this was a bad idea.’